Dead Before Morning

by Geraldine Evans

  ***

  Tuesday morning was fresh and bright. The tantalising intimation of spring made Rafferty reluctant to head straight for their grim temporary office. Instead, he lingered in the hospital grounds for a few precious moments of peace. But at a sound behind him, he realised that brief respite was to be denied him.

  'Psst.'

  Rafferty stopped and turned, but there was no-one in sight. He shook his head and told himself he’d be seeing pink elephants next.

  'Psst.'

  There it was again. It seemed to be coming from the trees bordering the perimeter wall and he tried to peer through this newly-leafed bower. 'Who's there?' he called.

  'Shh. Be quiet can't you?' he was asked in a furious whisper. The voice sounded whinily familiar. 'Come over here, for God's sake, before somebody sees you.'

  Rafferty put his hands in his pockets and, after a casual glance around to see if he was being observed, sauntered as nonchalantly as curiosity permitted, towards the trees and the urgent, whispered summons.

  He wasn't altogether surprised to find that it was Gilbert, the gate porter who had found the body, who was indulging in such James Bondian tactics. 'Not got the sack, yet, then?' he enquired dryly, which conversational gambit only earned him a scowl. 'What do you want, Gilbert?'

  'Got something that might interest you, 'spector,' said Gilbert, with a quick, furtive glance over his shoulder. 'I meant to tell you before, like, only it slipped me mind.'

  What dreadful secret could be pummelling Gilbert's flexible conscience? Rafferty had told the little man to consider him as a priest; perhaps he was now to be treated to a confession? He hoped Gilbert didn't realise that full confessional secrecy was not something that he personally had any truck with. 'I'm listening, Gilbert,' he responded, assuming as pious a stance as he could muster. 'Go on.'

  'I wanted to tell you about who I saw in the local pub the night the girl was killed. As I say, I meant to tell you before—'

  'And who might that be?' Rafferty interrupted.

  'Simple Simon.'

  'Dr. Simon Smythe do you mean?'

  'That's right. Simple Simon. Only he didn't meet a pie man.' Gilbert sniggered at his own wit.

  Rafferty smiled obligingly and waited for him to elaborate.

  'He met a girl. And 'im meant to be on duty, too.' He sniffed, adopting the self-righteous tones of a man who knew his duty and did it, come what may.

  'You're sure it was the night of the murder?'

  'Course I'm sure. He was in the small, private bar; knocking back whisky like it was going out of fashion. He didn't see me as the angle was awkward, but I saw 'im all right. I only caught a glimpse of the girl, though.'

  'This girl—are you saying it was our murder victim, Linda Wilks?'

  'I'm not saying nothin'. I'm just tellin' you what I saw, ain’t I?'

  'But Linda Wilks was a local girl and Elmhurst's a small place. Are you saying you didn't know her?'

  'I wish you'd stop tryin' to put words into me mouth,' Gilbert complained. 'I didn't say I didn't know Linda. I did.' Hastily, in case, Rafferty should think he had murdered her, he added, 'Just to nod to like, when she was 'ere, which wasn't often.

  ‘Anyway, all I'm sayin' is that the girl I saw could 'ave been Linda. But as I only caught a glimpse of the back of 'er 'ead, before the landlord came and served me and blocked me view, I can't swear to it. I can't be sure who she was. But Linda must 'ave been in Elmhurst that night, mustn't she?' he remarked slyly. 'She managed to get 'erself murdered, after all. Bit of a coincidence that, to my way of thinkin'. Mind, I'm not sayin' that Simple Simon done it. That's fer 'im to know and you to find out, ain’t it?’

  Rafferty sighed. Who'd have suspected that Gilbert had such delicate scruples? For some reason, he wanted to drop Simon Smythe in it, but his strange code wouldn't let him make a proper job of it, wouldn't let him say anything definitely helpful to the police.

  'Mind,' Gilbert went on, confidingly. 'If it was Linda Wilks, we all know what 'e was doin' wiv 'er, don't we? Simple Simon rarely 'ad a girlfriend. Not a proper one, like.' He sniggered. 'You might call Linda Wilks more an improper one, mightn't yer?'

  Ignoring the salacious look in Gilbert's eye, Rafferty asked, 'Did they come in together?'

  Gilbert shrugged. 'Don't know. I only noticed them at the last knockin's.'

  'Can you describe this girl?'

  Gilbert screwed up his face, as though to emphasise the difficulty of casting his mind back in time the vast distance of four days. 'Let me see. She had long, dark hair,' he at last revealed. 'Admittedly, Linda Wilks was blonde the last time I saw 'er, but I generally never saw 'er with the same colour 'air twice in a row, so that don't mean nothin'. Bit on the skinny side. Meself, I prefer a woman with a bit more meat on her bones.'

  'Never mind about that. Get on with it.'

  Gilbert tutted. 'I'm tellin' you ain’t I? She was about nineteen, twenty, I'd say. Quite tall, about 5' 7".'

  Gilbert seemed to be having few problems with his memory now, Rafferty noted. He suspected that the real reason he was the recipient of Gilbert's news was that the porter had tried to get Simon Smythe to cough up in return for keeping quiet and had been refused.

  Smythe’s hitherto unsuspected bravery surprised him. Unless it was that the poor sap just hadn't had the wherewithal to buy the porter's silence.

  Gilbert continued in an even more confiding tone. 'I'm not normally a man to snitch, like, but if 'e done it, then it's my duty to 'elp the police ain’t it? 'Ere,' he looked sideways at Rafferty. 'Isn't there usually some sort of reward offered for 'elping the police? Not that I'm doing it for the money,' he added hastily, as he saw Rafferty's frown. 'But if it's my entitlement, I might as well 'ave it.'

  Rafferty’s lips tightened. Gilbert struck him as the sort of man who would milk a system for every penny of his entitlements, whether he deserved them or not.

  Not without a certain amount of satisfaction, he said, 'I'm sorry, Gilbert, but you must have been watching too many cops and robbers programmes on the telly. You're thinking of insurance companies. They're the ones with money to burn on financial rewards for informants, not the poor copper.'

  Gilbert looked as if he regretted his confidences now the chance of any profit was gone. Rafferty decided it was time to get tough with him. 'I must say, I'm surprised it's taken you so long to "remember" what you saw. What's the matter, Gilbert? Did Smythe tell you to go to hell?'

  Gilbert stiffened, the image of injured innocence. Unfortunately for him, it was at odds with the shifty look in his eyes. 'I don't know what you're talkin' about,' he retorted belligerently. 'I'm only tryin' to do me duty. But if all you're goin' to do is make nasty 'sinuations, I won't bother.' He clamped his mouth tight shut and made to go. But Rafferty grabbed his arm and held it tightly.

  'Not so fast, Mr Gilbert. If there's any more I want to hear it.' He smiled grimly into the man's sharp, weasel features. 'After all, you want to do your duty, don't you?'

  Evidently Gilbert thought better of playing hard to get. Sticking out his bottom lip, he remarked plaintively, 'I was just about to tell you, wasn't I? You don't give a man a chance.'

  'So, I'm giving you the chance now. Take it.'

  'All right, all right, keep yer 'air on,' Gilbert complained. 'Though I don't know what else you expect me to say. You coppers are always putting words into a man's mouth. I don't want you to think—’

  'Never mind what I think. Did they leave together?'

  'No,' Gilbert reluctantly admitted. 'They seemed to have a bit of a row and she just upped and left. He hung about for a minute, then he followed her out. He could 'ave caught up with 'er easily enough, what wiv those great long, gangling legs of 'is.' He eyed Rafferty speculatively. 'Gonna arrest him are yer?'

  Rafferty tapped the side of his nose with his finger. 'That's for me to know and you to discover, Gilbert.'

  The porter scowled and Rafferty eyed him thoughtfully. It seemed that Gilbert had notice
d rather more than a second's glimpse would reveal. It didn't surprise him. Smythe was supposed to be on duty at the hospital and Rafferty could imagine the porter's shifty eyes out on stalks when he saw Smythe in the pub. Gilbert’s grubby little mind must have worked overtime, calculating the nice little profit he’d receive for keeping his mouth shut. It was surely only a base spite that had made him tell Rafferty what he'd seen when any blackmailing demand he’d attempted had been refused.

  He eyed the man with distaste. 'Would you recognise her again?'

  'Doubt it. I told yer, I only saw—'

  'The back of her head. I know. I just wondered if any more of your memory had inexplicably returned.'

  'I'd tell yer if it did, 'spector,' Gilbert protested, with a show of hurt pride. 'You needn't sound as if I forgot deliberately. I reckon it must 'ave been the shock that made me forget. Yes,' he added firmly, glad to have found a believable excuse for his memory lapse. 'That'll be it. Shock can do funny things to a man's memory, you know. You learn things like that workin' in an 'ospital.'

  'Really? Well, we must just be glad that the shock's started to wear off, then, mustn't we?'

  Gilbert scowled and his face fell into disconsolate folds. Rafferty ignored him and concentrated on the implications of what the porter had just told him.

  If Linda Wilks had been with Smythe just before she was murdered, it looked as if Melville-Briggs would be off the hook, which was rather a pity. He'd been looking forward to tackling him about the disappearing note. He still might do it, though, he promised himself, as a small reward for putting up with the doctor's increasing harassment. He seemed to expect Rafferty to debrief him on their results at the end of every day and he was getting fed up with it. If it wasn't for the fact that he was a buddy of the Chief Constable...

  Rafferty found a pleasant smile for his informant. 'Thank you, Gilbert. You've been most helpful. I expect the Chief Constable will send you a letter of thanks. You could frame it.'

  Gilbert snorted. 'Likely story. Seems to me all the likes of me get from the police is nasty 'sinuations.'

  'I wonder why?' Rafferty walked away, leaving a disgruntled Gilbert muttering obscenities behind him.