Pick Up the Pieces

by J F Straker

Tense and expectant, she awaited his reply.

  ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘No, I didn’t kill him. I don’t even know who did.’

  7 The Menace from Without

  Although White’s flat had been sealed off by the police, the garage was open for business on the Thursday morning. Custom at the pumps was brisk. People from miles around found occasion to visit Chaim that day and to stop at the garage for a close-up of the scene of the murder. But they found the staff singularly uncommunicative, and were sent on their way with their thirst for information unquenched. Nor did the reporters fare much better. The mechanics refused to talk, either of the murder or of themselves, becoming abusive and sometimes threatening when persistence was carried too far. Only Loften received visitors with civility. He welcomed the trade which, although maybe only temporary, was now pouring in, causing him to send urgent requests to the petrol companies for further supplies. But even Loften was evasive and unhelpful when pressed for information.

  ‘Ruddy vultures,’ muttered Chitty, as he watched the cars queueing for service at the pumps. ‘What do they expect? Blood in the petrol?’

  The others felt somewhat ashamed of their conduct of the previous evening, and among themselves had offered and accepted grudging apologies. They appreciated that, however much truth there might have been in some of the accusations levelled, a certain amount of unity was essential if they were to defeat the police endeavours to discover White’s murderer. Even the loss of the money was tacitly ignored for the time being. But when apologies were offered to Chitty he scornfully rejected them; he seemed quite unrepentant of his behaviour, and pointedly ignored his workmates. Only to Wells did he condescend to talk, and even to him his conversation consisted mainly of abuse of the other two. Wells tried to patch up the quarrel, explaining that none of them now believed he had broken his spectacles in White’s room. Chitty said he couldn’t care less what they believed — from now on he was looking after his own interests. He didn’t need help or advice from anyone, least of all from a couple of tricksters like Forthright and Wickery.

  Inspector Pitt arrived at ten o’clock, bringing with him a stout, red-faced man in tweeds. Pitt and Loften went into the office, but the stout man did not accompany them. He wandered idly about the garage, periodically coming to a halt near where one or the other of the mechanics was working. It seemed that the men themselves, rather than their jobs, were what interested him. He made no attempt to engage them in conversation, but stood staring at them sheepishly; and when Chitty rudely told him to ‘—off’ he scuttled away into the yard and remained there out of sight until the Inspector reappeared from the office and took him off in the police-car.

  ‘Who the devil was the fat bird?’ asked Wickery. ‘Didn’t look like a police-officer to me.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Wells agreed. ‘More like a farmer.’

  ‘I’ve got an idea I’ve seen him some place before,’ Forthright said slowly. ‘Damned if I can remember where, though.’

  He was still puzzling over the fat man when Jack Iverson, a neighbour of the Chittys, called in on his motor-cycle. Forthright spotted him in the queue outside the pumps and went over to speak to him.

  ‘Thanks for the eggs you sent up last week, Jack,’ he said. ‘Darned good of you. Ma doesn’t care much for meat, but she’s a real glutton when it comes to eggs.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ said the other. ‘There’s more when she wants ‘em. I meant to bring them up myself and have a word with the old lady — I know how she likes people popping in to see her — but the missus wasn’t feeling too good that evening, so I took ‘em next door. I thought Dave could hand them over in the morning.’

  ‘Susan brought them to the cottage.’

  ‘Yes, I know. She had her hat and coat on and said she was going past your place, so she took them with her.’ He eyed the long queue of cars with interest. ‘Looks like murder’s good for trade,’ he said. ‘If you had one a week maybe you’d all make your fortunes. How are the police making out? D’you think they’ll get the chap who done it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. They ask a lot of questions, but they don’t give much away.’ Forthright spoke slowly, his mind busy with another problem. Something Jack Iverson had said... ‘Is the missus better?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. Nothing to it, really. Nothing that a night’s sleep wouldn’t put right.’ ‘Which evening was she queer?’

  The other thought for a moment. ‘Tuesday week — the evening Susan took the eggs.’

  ‘Susan brought them midday on the Wednesday,’ said Forthright.

  ‘Did she? Well, I saw her set off with them Tuesday. About nine-thirty, it was. But maybe she changed her mind and didn’t go for her walk.’

  ‘I dare say,’ Forthright agreed. He did not wish to arouse the other’s curiosity.

  It was not until an hour later that he was able to talk to Wells and Wickery alone; but when he told them of his conversation with Iverson they looked puzzled. ‘I don’t get it,’ said Wells. ‘What’s biting you?’

  ‘Jack said Susan left about nine-thirty Tuesday evening to bring the eggs up to my place; Tuesday week, I mean, not last Tuesday. But she didn’t bring them not till the next day.’ He paused, and added weightily, ‘Remember I said I thought someone was in the hall? That could have been Susan.’

  ‘But she’d have come in. She wouldn’t wait in the hall.’

  ‘She might — if she heard what we were talking about,’ Forthright said.

  Pop Wells’s eyes popped even farther. ‘Good Lord! You think she overheard us planning to kill White, and was too frightened to let us know she was there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Wickery. ‘We weren’t planning to kill White, Pop, only to take the money. Remember?’

  The little man flushed. ‘Of course I remember,’ he said testily. ‘It was a slip of the tongue. You’re too damned touchy, Bert, that’s what’s the matter with you.’ He turned back to Forthright. ‘Would she have told Dave, d’you think?’

  ‘No. They’re not very close, those two. More likely she’s kept it to herself. I thought she was a bit odd when she called on the Wednesday. Sort of scared.’

  ‘We’ll have to speak to her,’ said Wickery, trouble reflected in his watery blue eyes. ‘If you’re right, Harry, we’re in a bigger mess than ever.’

  They decided that Wells should leave early for lunch, bringing Susan back to the garage with him on the pretext that Dave wanted to see her urgently. Dave did not go home to lunch, but was in the habit of wandering off into the woods on fine days to eat his sandwiches there. With any luck they could tackle Susan without her brother’s knowledge. In his present mood Dave might turn ugly if he found they had sent for Susan without first consulting him. If Susan had been at the cottage Dave would have to be told eventually; but they hoped that the seriousness of the news would swamp any protests he might wish to make about the manner in which it had been obtained.

  They were unlucky. Chitty did not go into the woods to eat his lunch, but sat in the garage. When he saw Wells and Susan arriving he put down his bread and cheese and went out to meet them. Forthright and Wickery, uneasy in their minds, thought it best to leave it to Wells.

  ‘Thank the Lord Loften isn’t here,’ muttered Wickery. ‘If we’re in for fireworks at least we can keep them private.’

  ‘What are you doing here, Susan?’ asked Dave. ‘Anything wrong?’

  The girl looked from him to Wells. Something in the latter’s face warned her not to ask questions. Bewildered, she shook her head.

  ‘I brought her up, Dave,’ said Wells unhappily. ‘I — we — there’s something we feel we ought to discuss with her.’

  ‘We?’ said Chitty, frowning. ‘Who’s ‘we’? Why wasn’t I told about this? Damn it, Pop, you’ve no right’

  ‘Wait, Dave.’ Wells saw Forthright and Wickery coming out to join them. ‘This is something real serious — honest it is. If you hadn’t been in such a black temper abou
t last night we’d have spoken to you first; but you might have refused, and we knew it couldn’t wait, and so —’

  He paused, as Chitty turned, still scowling, to confront the two men behind him.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded truculently. ‘What have you two devils been cooking up now?’

  ‘You’re a fool to carry on like this, Dave,’ said Forthright. ‘We apologized for what we said, didn’t we? What the hell’s biting you?’

  ‘You are,’ said Chitty. ‘I want to know why you chaps sent for my sister without asking me first. Damned cheek, I call it.’

  ‘Call it what you like,’ Forthright answered impatiently. He had not found it easy to apologize, and Chitty’s curt rejection of his peace overture was difficult to swallow. ‘Maybe you’ll think differently in a moment. I’m going to ask your sister a question — any objection?’

  And as Chitty stood irresolute Forthright turned to the girl. ‘Did you call in at my place Tuesday night last week with some eggs from the Iversons?’ he asked.

  The girl’s face was white and set. ‘I — I brought them Wednesday,’ she said. ‘You were having lunch.’

  ‘I know. But you called Tuesday night also, didn’t you?’ And as the girl did not answer he said softly, ‘How much did you overhear, Sue?’

  Tears began to well from her eyes as she looked at the grim faces of Wickery and Forthright, at the unhappy Wells, the puzzled, angry Dave. Then she broke away from them and ran into the garage. She leant against the wall, hiding her face, her body shaking spasmodically as she cried.

  Wells went after her. He put an arm round her, trying to comfort her.

  ‘What the hell is all this in aid of?’ demanded Chitty.

  Forthright told him. Chitty swore fluently. ‘You mean Susan heard everything?’

  ‘Not everything, perhaps. But enough.

  ‘Why didn’t she come in, otherwise?’

  ‘We’ll find out,’ the other said grimly.

  If Susan had meant to keep her secret she made no effort to do so now. Faced by an angry, almost threatening brother, her defences were down. Yes, she said between sobs, she had gone into the cottage without knocking, and was about to open the living-room door when she had heard their voices raised in what seemed to her like angry argument. She had not meant to listen, only to wait until the argument was over. ‘But you spoke so loud I couldn’t help hearing,’ she said.

  ‘And just what did you hear?’ asked her brother.

  ‘Well, that you were going to rob Mr White the next Tuesday and that you’d been paying him money because of Mrs Gooch.’

  ‘Did you understand why we had been paying him money?’

  Not at first I didn’t. But afterwards I remembered about the accident, and I supposed it was because you’d killed her and Mr White had found out.’

  Chitty turned to the others. All the antagonism had gone out of him. It was as though he were appealing to them not to hold him responsible for his sister.

  Susan had stopped crying. She, too, looked at her brother’s companions — half fearfully, half defiantly.

  ‘Why didn’t you come in afterwards?’ asked Wickery.

  ‘I was too frightened. You all sounded so — so different, somehow. I just wanted to get away as quick as I could.’

  ‘But you could have told Dave afterwards, when he got home.’

  No, she couldn’t, thought Wells. She was probably even more afraid of Dave than she was of us. He felt sorry for the girl; it was no fault of hers that she had become involved in their troubles. She was to be pitied rather than blamed.

  ‘There’s no real harm done,’ he said. ‘Susan’ll keep her mouth shut. The police won’t suspect she knows anything, so they won’t try to get at us through her.’

  Chitty nodded, relieved. ‘They’ve already had a talk with her,’ he said. ‘They won’t bother her again. You didn’t tell them anything then, Susan, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Well, you’d better get home. We don’t want Loften to find you here he’ll wonder what’s up.’

  But Susan did not move. There was fear in her whole demeanour — in her eyes, in the way her body, pressed against the wall, shrank away from them. But there was something else as well; an almost desperate defiance, that finally conquered the fear and made her say, her voice almost a whisper:

  ‘Why — why did you kill him?’

  Watching her closely, Forthright had guessed it was something of that sort which was troubling her. ‘You heard what we planned,’ he said. ‘We didn’t mean to kill him, you know that.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But why did you?’

  It wasn’t easy to explain, but he tried. Her eyes were fixed intently, searchingly, on his face, as though to make certain that what he was saying was the truth.

  ‘So you see,’ he concluded, ‘we don’t know why he was killed or even who killed him. It was one of us, of course that’s all we can say for certain. But which one...’

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  Her eyes left his face, and in turn she looked at the others. She stood more upright now. Defiance had ousted fear.

  ‘You didn’t like him, did you?’ she said. ‘None of you. Dave was always saying how you hated him.’

  ‘That’s got nothing to do with it,’ Wickery said impatiently.

  The snake writhed on Forthright’s arm as he raised it wearily to his head. It wouldn’t do to get impatient, to antagonize her. ‘I think you’d best leave us to sort it out,’ he said quietly, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘When we know who did it —well, that’ll be different. But until then we want to keep our mouths shut. Otherwise it means that three innocent people will suffer just because the fourth lost his head or his temper; and you wouldn’t want that. So you mustn’t breathe a word about this, Sue; not to the police, not to anyone. You appreciate that, don’t you? Not to anyone.’

  She did not answer. The frightened, troubled look was back. And suddenly, looking at her, Forthright began to sweat. He said, trying to sound casual, ‘Of course, you haven’t told anyone yet, have you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I told George Loften.’ There was a stunned silence.

  ‘Loften!’ exclaimed Wickery. ‘Heaven help us!’

  ‘You —you —’ Chitty’s face was purple with rage. Forthright saw his arm come up, and moved to protect the girl. But the arm dropped. Spluttering and swearing, Chitty subsided into impotent, silent fury.

  Susan did not appreciate fully the harm she had done. Although her brother had never yet harmed her physically, alone with him she might not have ventured to speak in defence of herself. But the presence of the others gave her momentary courage.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I tell him?’ she asked. ‘We’re friends, aren’t we? He met me when I ran away from the cottage. I was frightened to death of what I knew you were planning to do, and when he asked me what was wrong I just told him. I couldn’t help myself. I had to tell someone — and he happened to be there, and he said he wanted to help me, and — and — well, who else was there to tell?’ She spoke quickly, the words tumbling after each other as though she feared that were she to stop she might never get them out. ‘You’ve no right to accuse me, I haven’t done anything wrong. I was only trying to help, to stop you from doing such a wicked thing. And then — then you killed him,’ she cried hysterically. ‘Why — you’re murderers!’

  She uttered the final accusation in surprise, as though realizing for the first time the enormity of their crime.

  ‘We’re not murderers, and we’re not accusing you,’ said Forthright. ‘What did you tell Loften?’

  ‘What I heard you say. That you were going to break into the garage and rob Mr White.’

  ‘Did you tell him about Mrs Gooch?’ She nodded. Now that she had had her say her body felt limp, drained of all energy. She slumped against the wall, crying quietly.

  The men ignored her. They had known themselves to be in great danger, but they had never contemplated the possib
ility of anything like this.

  ‘Loften!’ said Wickery again. ‘Of all people she had to tell Loften!’

  ‘Why hasn’t he said anything?’ asked Wells, perplexed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Forthright. ‘But we’ll soon find out. Here he comes now.’

  Loften stopped the car in the yard and walked towards the garage. The men waited for him, watching him, half expecting that, with their new knowledge of his power over them, they would see some difference in him. Susan Chitty alone took no interest in his approach. She was still leaning against the wall, her face buried in her hands.

  As Loften entered the garage his footsteps slowed. The grim, expectant faces of the four men, the presence of Susan, must have warned him that the secret was out. But he gave no sign. ‘No work to do?’ he asked, not unpleasantly.

  ‘What’s Susan doing here?’

  It was Forthright who answered for them.

  ‘She’s just told us you know about us,’ he said quietly. ‘We want to know where we stand, Mr Loften.’

  Loften frowned. ‘So that’s it, eh? Well, you had to know sooner or later, I suppose, although I’d hoped to straighten it out in my own mind first. Quite a problem, isn’t it? One can’t just ignore murder.’

  ‘But we didn’t aim to murder him,’ Wells said eagerly, his wizened face even more lined than usual. ‘Susan told you that.’

  ‘Maybe. But he’s dead, isn’t he?’

  There was no real answer to that. Wickery cleared his throat. But his voice was still hoarse as he said, ‘But what are you going to do, Mr Loften? You can’t leave us in the dark.’

  ‘Can’t I? It seems to me, Bert, that you fellows have got the wrong idea about this. I don’t owe you anything. Damn it, man, you’re still at liberty, aren’t you? Doesn’t that tell you I’ve said nothing to the police as yet?’

  That ‘yet’ silenced them for a moment. It had been spoken quietly enough; but such was its potential for danger that it seemed to grow in volume, echoing round the stone walls of the garage until it filled their ears and minds, drowning the other words Loften had spoken.