Pick Up the Pieces

by J F Straker

  Some time later Chitty remembered that he had not yet completed his task. He leaned across and turned down the radio.

  ‘There’s something else I want to ask you,’ he said diffidently. ‘You saw Loften the night Mrs Gooch was run over, didn’t you?’

  She did not answer, but gazed woodenly at a lurid print of the Bay of Naples that hung on the opposite wall. He repeated the question impatiently.

  ‘I told you, I don’t want to talk about it any more. Just leave me alone.’

  ‘But this is different,’ he pleaded, angry with himself that he dare not be angry with her. ‘Loften was in Tanbury that evening. We had a drink at the George with him, and he left just before us. He went to meet you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said wearily, a trifle sullenly. ‘What of it?’

  ‘You were at Mrs Quayles’, you said. What time did he pick you up?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  Well, that was something, thought Chitty. At least Loften can’t prove he was back here before the old woman was killed.

  ‘No idea at all?’ he asked.

  ‘Only that it was between a quarter-and half-past ten,’ she answered. ‘I can’t be more exact than that.’

  Chitty swore.

  ‘You’re certain?’ he persisted.

  ‘I saw his wrist-watch while he was driving.’ Now that she had started she was glad to talk. The long silence, with Dave glowering at her, had been even more unnerving than his anger. She had wondered what new devilry he was planning. ‘It was half-past ten, and we’d been in the car a few minutes.’

  ‘His watch could have been wrong. Did you look at the time before you left Mrs Quayles?’

  ‘No.’ She remembered that she had said all this before, and a flicker of real interest shone in her eyes. ‘Anyway, he didn’t pick me up at Mrs Quayles’, I met him on the main road. But his watch wasn’t wrong, I checked it when I came in.’

  That seemed decisive, for the kitchen clock, the only one in the house, kept excellent time. ‘What made you do that?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘It was five past twelve by his watch when he dropped me at the end of the lane. The time seemed to have gone so quickly I thought his watch must be wrong, but it wasn’t. Our clock said ten past when I got in, which would allow five minutes for the walk. That would be about right.’

  He nodded glumly. Then, as he leaned forward to turn up the radio, she said, ‘You wanted to put that on to him also, didn’t you? Mrs Gooch’s death, I mean. You thought I wouldn’t be able to give him an alibi.’

  ‘Rubbish! Nothing of the sort,’ he said, annoyed that she should have seen through him so easily. He turned the knob to full volume, and the sickly harmony of a girls’ choir filled the room.

  ‘The Inspector had the same idea,’ she shouted.

  That startled him. He jumped up, and once more the room was quiet. ‘How the hell do you know that?’ he asked.

  ‘He was here this afternoon, and he asked me almost the same questions as you did.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’

  ‘What I’ve told you, of course. So at least it won’t be much good your trying to blame the old lady’s death on to George Loften, will it?’ she said, with a touch of malice.

  10 The First Arrest

  Wickery wondered why Forthright should look so drawn and haggard that Saturday morning. He hasn’t got wife trouble, he reflected bitterly; he can go home of an evening and be free of all this. Ma doesn’t look at him the way Doris looks at me sometimes — as though I’m something the cat brought in.

  He checked his thoughts abruptly, ashamed of his disloyalty. Doris wasn’t to blame. If he’d stood firm on what he knew at the time to be right he wouldn’t have landed them both in the cart.

  Loften too looked far from well, as though he had slept little. Apart from an abrupt good-morning he ignored the men; there was no reference to the money or to the events of the previous day. ‘Maybe he realizes it’s not going to be all jam,’ Wells said hopefully. ‘He looks real worried.’

  ‘There was a light on at his place at four o’clock this morning,’ said Forthright. ‘I saw it from my bedroom.’

  Wickery was about to ask why he was awake himself at that hour when they were startled by the arrival of Chitty and his sister. ‘What the hell made him bring her along?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I hope it doesn’t mean more trouble.’

  It had been Dave’s idea. Afraid that they might think he had bungled it, he had insisted that Susan should tell the others what she had told him; and when Susan had objected that there was no need to go to the garage for that, that they could come to her if they wished, he had stressed that it would be easier for her at the garage. With Loften around they would have little opportunity to try to dissuade her from her decision.

  ‘Just tell them you don’t want to be mixed up in it either way,’ he had said. ‘They’ll have to leave it at that.’

  But he hoped they would not. Since he could not convince her himself, he hoped that the combined persuasion of the other three might do the trick. That had been his main reason for wanting her to go to the garage.

  But they listened to her in silence. There were no questions; no one attempted to coerce her. ‘Okay, Susan,’ said Forthright, when she finished with a stumbling apology. ‘It doesn’t matter. You do what you think is right.’

  Chitty was puzzled, unable to understand this spineless acceptance of her refusal to play ball. Yet he could not argue against it in Susan’s presence.

  She was about to leave when Loften came out of the office. He looked thoughtfully at the girl and then walked over to greet her. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  Susan eyed him with trepidation. She had spoken the truth when she had said she did not wish to be involved. It seemed she had convinced Dave and the others of this; did she now have to convince George Loften?

  ‘I won’t keep you long,’ he said. ‘It’s just something I think you ought to know.’

  Something about her brother, she wondered. If so she did not want to hear it. But because she was tired of argument she went reluctantly into the office with him.

  Chitty made to follow, then turned angrily on the others.

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you talk to her?’ he demanded. ‘That’s why I brought her along. She was stubborn last night, but I reckoned the four of us together might wear her down. And now that devil’s got hold of her there’s no knowing what he may not put her up to.’

  Wickery thought again what an unpleasant, boorish oaf Chitty was. That a man could talk so of his own sister! What the hell was Pop thinking about, letting a fellow like that marry Molly? Maybe he was attractive to women, and he was a beefy brute who was not averse to throwing his weight about; but what sort of recommendations were those in a prospective husband?

  ‘Susan can’t do us any harm,’ said Forthright. ‘Not if she just tells the truth, as I think she will. I thought about it a lot last night — that’s what kept me awake — and I reckon the truth from Susan’ll be all in our favour. It’ll do more harm to Loften than to us.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the way he sees it,’ said Wells. ‘Maybe that’s why he wanted to talk to her.’

  ‘I’m not worrying,’ said Forthright. ‘It’s a pity he’s out of the picture as far as Mrs Gooch is concerned, but that doesn’t mean we must have killed her. It could have been anyone. As long as White’s woman keeps her nose out of it we can still say she was dead when we found her.’

  They’re still at it, thought Wickery, annoyed. First they try to wheedle me into agreeing with them and then they just ignore me. Well, this is one time nobody’s going to tell me what to do.

  Inspector Pitt arrived. He bade the men a gruff good-morning, inquired after Loften, and went into the office.

  ‘It’s a good sign, him asking Susan all them questions about Loften,’ said Wells, nodding in the direction of the office. ‘Shows we’ve got him thinking. Must have bee
n the key as done the trick.’

  Susan came out with the two men, and Loften and the Inspector went off in the latter’s car. The mechanics watched them go and then turned to the girl.

  ‘What did Loften want?’ asked Wells. ‘Nothing. It was just to tell me that his wife’s left him.’

  Forthright whistled. ‘What, again? Seems like it’s becoming a habit with her.’

  Chitty sighed. He wouldn’t want to marry anyone but Molly, but there was something about Mrs Loften that Molly hadn’t got. She did not often come to the garage, but when she did it always made him feel hot under the collar. It could have been her perfume, or the way she dressed, or the bold, appraising way she looked at him. She was a hot one, he thought. It had been Mrs Loften who had intensified his dissatisfaction with Chaim, who had strengthened in him a longing for the big cities where there were many women who dressed and looked as she did.

  ‘I wonder if she’s gone for good this time,’ he said regretfully.

  ‘He seemed to think so,’ said Susan.

  ‘He showed me the note she left.’

  ‘He did? What was in it?’

  ‘Just that she couldn’t stand it here any longer, that this — this business of Andrew White (those were her own words) was the last straw. She was through with him for good, she said.’

  ‘When did she go?’ asked Wickery.

  ‘He doesn’t know. He said she was there yesterday afternoon, but when he got home after having dinner with a friend she’d gone.’

  ‘So that’s why he had a sleepless night,’ Forthright reflected aloud. An idea occurred to him. ‘Did he say you could tell us about it, Sue, or were you supposed to keep it a secret?’

  ‘He asked me to tell you. He said you’d get to hear of it sooner or later.’

  ‘Trying to arouse our sympathy, I suppose,’ Chitty said scornfully. ‘He’s got a hope!’

  ‘That’s not true. If you’d seen him when he was telling me about it you’d know. He’s terribly upset.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Wells, puzzled. ‘I thought they fought like cat and dog, hated the sight of each other. You’d think he’d be glad to see the back of her.’

  ‘Pride,’ Wickery said briefly.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Pride. It makes a chap look a fool when his wife leaves him. Everyone thinks he’s a poor sort of bloke — something wrong with him, perhaps. A chap like Loften who’s full of his own importance would hate it like hell.’

  Chitty eyed his sister speculatively. Was it possible, he wondered, that Loften’s liking for Susan might be partly responsible for his wife’s departure? It wasn’t in the note, from what Susan had said; but then Susan wouldn’t have mentioned it anyway. Suppose there was a divorce, would Loften marry Susan? Loften hadn’t much to recommend him as a man, but he wasn’t a bad prospect as a brother-in-law. If they got out of their present trouble Loften might be useful.

  Chitty decided that it might be wise to adopt a more friendly attitude towards his employer. He’d have to toe the line with the others, of course, but if it came to a showdown he could keep in the background. And perhaps in private... ‘Where’s he gone with the Inspector?’ Forthright asked the girl.

  ‘To his house, I think. I wasn’t really listening.’

  Had her thoughts been running on similar lines to his own, wondered her brother.

  ‘We might be able to make some use of that,’ said Forthright, when Susan had gone.

  ‘How?’ asked Wells.

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  Normally the men took it in turns to work on a Saturday afternoon, but when Loften returned he told them curtly that he would need none of them. He would look after the place himself, he said.

  Neither he nor they referred to his wife.

  ‘And a fine mess he’ll make of it,’ said Wells. ‘However, it’s his worry, not ours.’

  ‘Funny he didn’t say anything about the money,’ said Forthright. ‘Looks like he’s going soft. Must have lost his grip along with his missus. I wonder if there’s any hope of getting some wages out of him?’

  ‘No harm in trying,’ said Wells.

  They tried. But if Loften was going soft he wasn’t going that soft. He did not refuse to pay them, but said there was no money on the premises — they had seen to that —and arrangements would first have to be made for him to draw on the firm’s banking account. At present he had no authority to do that.

  ‘And what are we supposed to live on in the meantime?’ asked Forthright.

  ‘That’s your worry, not mine,’ Loften retorted, with some of his old spirit. ‘You’ll not starve. Not on the money you filched from White.’

  ‘But we told you before only one of us has got that. What about the rest of us?’

  ‘That’s your worry too. You’d better try and persuade the thief to disburse — and don’t forget my share while you’re about it.’ He looked directly at Forthright. ‘You didn’t honestly expect me to fork out, did you?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  Loften’s gaze strayed to the other three. Wickery and Wells said that they too had expected to be paid. Only Chitty was silent.

  ‘How about you, Dave?’ asked Loften.

  Chitty shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I could do with the money, of course,’ he said awkwardly. ‘But if it’s difficult for you I — well, I dare say I can manage without it.’

  He kept his head down, not wishing to meet the angry glances of his workmates.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to,’ Loften said drily, and went into the office, closing the door behind him.

  No one spoke. They stripped off their overalls and donned their jackets. Chitty was the first to leave. Without a word to the others, without even looking at them, he hurried out of the garage.

  ‘What the hell’s he playing at?’ said Forthright, completely bewildered. ‘Has he gone soft too?’

  Wells shook his head. He was as mystified as Forthright. But Wickery was in no doubt at all.

  ‘Dave’s got an eye to the future,’ he said bitterly. ‘With Mrs Loften out of the way he’s hoping Loften’ll ask Sue to marry him. That’d suit Dave fine. As for him not needing the money —well, we all know why that is.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Wells.

  The look which Wickery gave him was half pitying, half contemptuous.

  ‘A week’s wages don’t mean much to Dave,’ he said. Not with White’s money safely tucked away.’

  *

  Unaware of the reason ascribed to his behaviour by his workmates, Dave Chitty hurried home. He wanted to talk to Susan; to sound her out, as it were. She had insisted that she was not interested in Loften, but that was before she knew that Mrs Loften had left her husband. Her thoughts might already be running in the same direction as his own. If not, he intended to see that they did.

  As he climbed the stile into the lane he saw a police-car outside the cottage, and his pace slowed. There were men in the garden, a uniformed constable outside the front gate. Uncertain what to do, he walked slowly on; he knew he had been seen, that any attempt to run would be useless. But his boots felt like lead, and a butterfly fluttered in his stomach.

  Inspector Pitt met him at the gate. Susan was there, and behind her Doris Wickery. The frightened look on the girls’ faces was, Chitty knew, reflected on his own. There could be only one reason for the presence of so many policemen.

  The Inspector held out a metal box. Damp soil adhered to its edges. ‘Have you seen this before, Mr Chitty?’ he asked, his voice grave.

  ‘No,’ said Chitty.

  ‘It has been identified as similar to the cash-box belonging to Andrew White,’ said Pitt. ‘The box that was stolen from his room on the night he was murdered. It was dug up in your back garden.’

  Chitty wanted to protest, to demand what right they had to dig in his garden without his permission, to deny that the box had ever been in his possession. He wanted to blast them with his wrath, to shatter them with some undeniabl
e evidence of his innocence. But the anger would not come, the words remained unspoken. He felt cold and sick and lost, and very, very frightened.

  ‘Oh!’ That was the total of his eloquence.

  ‘I must ask you to accompany me to the police station at Tanbury,’ said Pitt.

  ‘Why?’ asked Chitty. ‘Are you arresting me?’

  ‘We have a few questions to ask you,’ said the Inspector. ‘And I should warn you that you will probably be held in custody on a charge of being in possession of stolen property. Because of that I should also warn you that anything you say now may be taken down and given in evidence later.’

  No mention of the murder. Was that a trap, or was it because they weren’t quite sure? Well, if they hoped to get a confession out of him they’d got another think coming.

  He squared his shoulders. ‘All right,’ he said.

  And then suddenly he was filled with a violent rage that empurpled his face and shook his whole body. The faces in front of him were no longer the faces of the Inspector, of Susan, of Doris Wickery; they were other faces, grinning at him, mocking him. He wanted to smash his fist into them, to tell them...

  With a tremendous effort he controlled himself.

  ‘All right,’ he said again, his voice expressionless. ‘You’re wrong, of course. I don’t know anything about that box never seen it before, as I said. If you found it in my garden someone else must have put it there. I didn’t.’

  Inspector Pitt looked at him curiously. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘We’ll go into that later,’ he said.

  *

  Will Dave keep his mouth shut, like we agreed?’ said Wells, nervously licking his thin lips. ‘That’s what worries me most.’

  This time there were only three of them in the Forthrights’ front room. Yet the absent figure loomed larger in their thoughts than it had ever done when present.

  ‘If he was right in what Susan heard him say to the Inspector — if he thinks one of us did plant that box on him then he won’t feel bound by any agreement,’ said Forthright. ‘He won’t trust us, and he’ll do what he thinks is best for himself. But if he killed White and took the money he’s got nothing to gain by talking.’