‘Did anyone go out of dinner early?’ Pollard asked as casually as he could.
‘Only Paul King, to finish editing the Fortnight Film. He’d said he’d have to cut the speeches.’
Pollard moved on quickly to the subject of the coaches. Here Marcia told him that she could not understand how the muddle about the time of return had arisen.
‘I’m not really clear about what actually happened,’ she said. ‘As you can imagine, everyone was a bit het up when they did get back, and there wasn’t time to go into it. But I can only say that Wright of Biddle Bay is a most reliable firm. The school always uses them for matches and outings, so I can speak from experience. I’ve never known them make a bish before. And Michael Jay is terrifically competent, and I can’t believe that he slipped up over the arrangements. He was very put out by the hitch,’ she added, amused by the recollection.
‘Now one more thing,’ Pollard said. ‘I think you and Mr Jay watched the film show from the gallery, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘Can you tell me just when the Fortnight Film started? A shorter one was shown first, I believe?’
‘Yes, one of Paul King’s lovely bird films, to fill in time until he’d got the main one ready. I came in about half-past eight when I’d had my dinner, and saw the last bit of it. The Fortnight Film started amid cheers at ten to nine. I was clock-conscious because of my staff.’
Toye was making shorthand notes of the interview, but Pollard made a show of writing himself while considering his next approach.
‘I know very little about cine, films,’ he said conversationally. ‘My wife and I only rise to colour transparencies. Why did there have to be this last-minute work on the Fortnight Film?’
‘Because without editing it would have been so bitty. All sorts of activities had been going on, and had been shot just as they happened. It made much better sense if — say everything to do with botany — was grouped together.’
‘I see,’ Pollard replied. ‘And I suppose the last film would have been the final stages of the work done, and simply had to be included?’
‘Oh, yes. The main thing on it was the expedition to Winnage on the Thursday, which summed up Michael’s course on settlement. I went on it, actually, and it was simply fascinating. I’d no idea what an interesting town Winnage is, both historically and architecturally.’
‘Did you feature in the film?’ Pollard asked, smiling at her.
‘I did, as a matter of fact. Several of the Fortnighters were in it, too. We were only lay figures against important backgrounds, though.’
So it wasn’t simply a film from a previous year, Pollard thought…
‘Well, the Kittitoe Fortnight seems to have been highly successful,’ he said aloud. ‘I wonder how the one at Crowncliff has gone? It ends tomorrow night, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, it does.’ Marcia looked suddenly radiant. ‘I’ll be hearing all about it from Michael on Tuesday evening.’ Her eyes met Pollard’s. ‘We’re going to be married, you know. I don’t know why I’m telling you this,’ she added, going pink.
‘It’s charming of you to tell us,’ Pollard said warmly, ‘isn’t it, Toye? We aren’t often told anything as nice as this in our rather sordid job. May I wish you both great happiness?’
Toye, overcome by the occasion, took refuge in formality, and wished to be associated with what the Superintendent had said.
‘When is the wedding to be?’ Pollard asked.
‘Oh, not until the New Year. I have to give St Julitta’s a term’s notice — it’s in my contract, and anyway, I wouldn’t leave them in the lurch. You know,’ she hesitated a little, ‘I can’t help feeling a bit guilty at being so happy. This ghastly business about Wendy, and all the misery and worry it’s causing people…’
‘You mustn’t dwell on it,’ Pollard told her. ‘You were only involved in it incidentally. Don’t let it spoil your happiness.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, as they both got to their feet, ‘that’s helped.’
He watched her go out of the room with Toye in attendance, and immediately sat down at his desk, grabbed a sheet of paper and began to make notes.
After a short time Toye reappeared, having arranged transport for Marcia.
‘All starry-eyed, aren’t you?’ remarked Pollard, glancing up at him. ‘Here, take a look at these times.’
Toye took the paper held out to him, and perused it carefully.
FRIDAY AUGUST 20th PM
7.40 King leaves dining room.
8.00 Wendy Shaw takes phone call.
8.40 King arrives in hall with Fortnight Film.
‘If this chap King’s the killer, he must have done the job pretty smart to get back by 8.40,’ he commented.
‘Exactly. But even on foot, he could have been up at the bungalow by five to eight, and that’s started me thinking. I’ve got a nasty feeling that if my aunt hadn’t rung just when she did, Wendy might still be alive.’
Toye stared at him. Then sudden illumination came into his face, and he gave a brief whistle.
‘Meaning the call brought her out of the lounge where she was watching the telly, and she heard somebody, and went to have a look?’
‘Just that. Did you notice that the phone was in a sort of recess in the hall? I only hope Aunt Is won’t tumble to it, if I turn out to be right. She will, of course.’
They sat on in a silence which became oppressive. Toye, looking like a meditative owl behind his hornrims, laboured painfully with an idea. At last it came out.
‘Seeing that Wendy Shaw was a reliable type,’ he said slowly, ‘it mightn’t have been that she heard anything. As she was halfway there after taking the call, she might have thought she’d just go along and have a look at the kid.’
An involuntary movement by Pollard sent a paper knife skimming across the floor into a corner.
‘Leave the damn thing!’ he shouted, as Toye made to get up and retrieve it. ‘My God, what a fool I’ve been! Of course, King was after the kid!’
13.
Here will I smell my remnant out…
George Herbert. The Temple.
A statement from the County Planning Officer was handed to Pollard when he called in at the Stoneham police station early the next morning, before starting for Kittitoe. In it, Mr Thornhurst confirmed that he had dined with Mr Donald Glover at the Crown Hotel, Winnage, on the evening of August 20 last, and that they had parted company at about 9.40 pm.
Pollard read the statement with the surface layer of his attention, while aware of the startling suddenness with which a new insight into a case transported you into a totally different context. Don Glover had become irrelevant at the drop of a hat. The stage, until so recently well occupied by suspects, now held three figures only: Eddy Horner’s infant grandson, Wendy Shaw and Paul King, all three remorselessly pinned down in a circle of a spotlight.
‘Thanks, Sergeant,’ he said, surfacing and putting the typewritten sheet into his briefcase. ‘One more for the file. Tell Superintendent Crookshank that we’ve gone down to Kittitoe again, will you? We’ll be looking in here again later but how much later I can’t say yet.’
He hurried out to the waiting car, firmly reminding himself that between moral certainty and proof a great gulf was fixed.
On the Winnage road Toye asked him if there was anything particular that he hoped to get out of Geoff Boothby, their first objective of the day.
‘The short answer to that’s no,’ Pollard replied. ‘But when he hears we’ve nothing on him, he may be quite chatty from sheer relief — people often are. It’s possible we might pick up something useful.’
‘Well, one thing,’ Toye said, ‘Mrs Townsend was definite that the Friday night runs up to Stoneham to collect her husband were discussed on August 6, when the Horner staff were up at Uncharted Seas. So far, it’s all so circumstantial, though.’
‘Fair enough, but you don’t often get an eyewitness of a murder, do you?’
They
drove in silence for a couple of miles. The morning was cloudless, pale blue and slightly crisp, and the road almost empty at this early hour.
‘King had opportunity all right,’ Pollard said suddenly. ‘Can we establish that he engineered it by some fiddle over the return time of the coaches, which gave him a convincing reason for fading out at the vital time? As soon as we’re through with Boothby, we’ll go straight to Biddle Bay. There’ll be staff on duty at the company’s office on a Bank Holiday.’
‘What about the Fortnight Film?’ Toye asked.
‘We’ve got to get hold of it somehow, without putting King on his guard. I’ve been thinking about this editing business, and remembering that they’ve been holding these Fortnights in the area for some years, based on the Horner pub at Biddle Bay that’s out of commission. Suppose King used the Winnage section of a previous year’s film, cut out any shots of people, and put in sections of this year’s that included Mrs Makepeace and some 1971 Fortnighters. That would have cut down the work he had to do on the Friday evening. Or he may have done it during Thursday night, of course — he must have had a key to that door near the labs. If there’s been any hanky-panky with the film, I’m hoping the Forensic chaps will be able to spot it, by tests on the adhesive tape, or something.’
‘How are you planning to get hold of the film, sir?’
‘The only thing I can think of is to do it through Horner. He could reasonably ask to see it, or something of that sort.’
‘Means telling him quite a bit, doesn’t it?’
‘He’s bound to realize that we think the whole business is involved with the Fortnight, but after all, there were eighty members of the public, and only five Horner staff. It’s a risk we’ve got to take, I think.’
‘Wonder how he’ll react to the idea of attempted kidnapping of his grandson? Remember how he dashed off to tackle Mr Glover when he thought he might be involved in the murder?’
‘Yes, I do. He’ll need handling, especially if things hot up.’
The suburbs of Winnage were drowsing in a prolongation of the Sabbath calm, the streets deserted except for an occasional milk float, or a family car being loaded up for a day out. The centre of the town with its closed shops was a city of the dead. Toye turned into the car park of the police station, and within a few minutes they were being received by Superintendent Bostock.
‘Young Boothby’s here,’ he told them. ‘Made no bones about coming along — said he’d rather that than have coppers round at his people’s place. From the look of him, he thinks you’ve come with the warrant in your pocket.’
‘Nothing like that, Super,’ Pollard told him. ‘He’s completely cleared.’
Superintendent Bostock expressed relief and warm satisfaction.
‘That’s a real bit of good news,’ he said. ‘They’re a decent public-spirited family, and it would have been a terrible thing for them. And there’s never been anything against the lad, either… Things moving, I take it?’
‘Just beginning, we hope.’
Geoff Boothby, very white and tense, was sitting slumped at a battered table in a waiting room, and gave them a quick look as they were shown in. Pollard was cheerfully matter-of-fact.
‘Good morning, Mr Boothby. Thank you for coming along here: I suggested it because I thought you’d probably prefer it to our calling at the house. I’m afraid the last few days have been pretty unpleasant for you, but in a murder investigation these things just can’t be helped. You’ll be glad to know that as a result of information received, we no longer have the least interest in you.’
The young man made an unsuccessful effort to speak.
‘Have you had any breakfast?’ Pollard asked practically. ‘No? I thought not. Toye, see if you can rustle up something, will you?’
Geoff Boothby took out a rather grubby handkerchief and wiped his clammy face.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m not the stuff heroes are made of. I’ve been scared stiff. Nightmares, and waking up sweating like a pig. Everything seemed so hopelessly against me.’
‘You’d have been a most abnormal type if you hadn’t been rattled,’ Pollard replied, taking out his cigarette case. ‘Fag? How sensible of you not to smoke. You’ve got another week’s holiday, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, I have, thank the Lord. I feel I want to get right away. Take the car, and simply drive and drive…’
The return of Toye, followed shortly by a constable with tea and sandwiches, created a welcome diversion. With a hot drink and some food inside him, Geoff Boothby began to relax. Pollard had no difficulty in steering the conversation towards the Horner Discovery Fortnights.
‘This one was my third,’ Geoff said, in answer to a question, ‘and it’s bloody well going to be my last, I can tell you. I never want to see Kittitoe again.’
‘Have the rest of this year’s staff been on the job long?’ Pollard asked casually.
‘Mike Jay has, right from the start. That’s about ten years, when old Horner first thought up the idea. Mike’s really worked it out for him. Susan Crump came in early on. The Kings were recruited when I was.’
‘The Fortnights certainly seem to have caught on.’
‘Old Horner’s mad keen on them,’ Geoff Boothby replied. ‘Salves his conscience, I always think, for having made such a packet out of ordinary holidays. The Fortnights barely pay their way, but people without much cash get a decent couple of weeks away, and new interests into the bargain. At least, most of ’em do.’
‘I suppose Mr Horner’s particularly interested in the local one, as he lives in the district?’
‘This is it. He’s crazy about this part of the world, and that bungalow of his. He designed it himself on the fantastic site he managed to buy, and just can’t stop showing it off. He always asks the Fortnight staff to drinks the night before the show starts, and every year we’re toted around the place to admire the latest improvements, and expected to say how super everything is. This year all the women had to go and goggle at the kid.’
‘He’s selling Uncharted Seas, you know,’ Pollard remarked.
Geoff Boothby gaped at him, then suddenly looked rather shamefaced.
‘Because of — of what’s happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good Lord — somehow I never thought of him minding all that much. About Wendy, I mean.’
‘In fact, he minds one hell of a lot, Mr Boothby.’
‘I didn’t mean to knock the old chap … he’s a decent bloke. Not like some of the stinking rich crowd. I mean, he liked his bungalow because it was in a fab spot, and good design and whatever, not just because he owned it, and it had cost the earth. Oh, hell, I can’t explain.’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Pollard said, ‘and you’re dead right, too. Well, Inspector Toye and I must be getting along.’
A quarter of an hour later they were on the now familiar Winnage-Biddle Bay road.
‘I didn’t expect to get anything as definite as that,’ Pollard remarked. ‘I’d been wondering what chances the Kings had had of going over the ground beforehand. We now know that Mrs King had been taken along to Penny Townsend’s bedroom, and actually seen where the child’s cot was.’
Toye agreed that they’d had a real bit of luck. ‘You know,’ he went on, ‘You wouldn’t think a chap could possibly have been in the bedroom, strangled a girl, got her body out of the house, and collected her handbag without leaving a trace of some sort, would you?’
‘I’ve been thinking along that line myself,’ Pollard said.
‘I’ve come to the conclusion that we’d have found traces all right if we’d been in at the start. I’m not blaming Pike in the least. He was geared to the idea of Wendy having gone off with a boyfriend, as the two Townsends were. He checked for signs of a break-in, and was assured that nothing had been disturbed or was missing. When Penny Townsend got to her room, her whole attention would have been on the baby. Can’t you imagine her bashing around the place, blowing her top, seeing about
the bottle it hadn’t had, and so on? She just wouldn’t have noticed any small signs of a struggle, like a ruckled mat, for instance. It’s not as though the contents of drawers or cupboards had been disturbed. Then the next morning that damn-all daily of theirs went through the whole bungalow like a hurricane.’
‘Not much hope of our finding anything now,’ Toye commented gloomily.
‘I’ll give you that. But there might have been something Penny Townsend did notice, but which went clean out of her head in the schemozzle over the baby. If so, it’s just possible that we might be able to get at it by asking the right sort of questions. We can have a bash, anyway.’
They drove straight through Kittitoe without calling on Constable Pike, past the turning to Hugh Stubbs’ impeccable house and the King William, and out on to the Biddle Bay road, finally reaching the holiday resort itself. The beach and the seafront were crowded, and Toye edged the car along with difficulty.
‘There’s the place,’ Pollard said. ‘Wright’s Coach Tours. Double yellow lines, though. Look, there’s a turn-in at the side of the office. It must lead to a yard of some sort. Let’s try it, for a start.’
Ignoring a notice saying STRICTLY PRIVATE, Toye negotiated the narrow entry, and they arrived in a small enclosed space in which several cars were already parked. He had just eased into the only remaining vacant space when a door burst open, and an elderly man charged towards them shaking his fist, and demanding in lurid terms what they thought they were doing on private property.
In reply, Pollard held out his credentials.
‘We are CID officers, investigating the murder of Wendy Shaw at Kittitoe on August 20,’ he said, ‘and urgently require to talk to someone in authority here. Are you the proprietor of the firm?’
‘Yes, I am,’ replied the man. ‘James Wright. How was I to know you were police, seeing you’re in plain clothes?’
‘You couldn’t possibly have known,’ Pollard replied soothingly, getting out of the car. ‘If we’re in the way here, I expect Inspector Toye can find somewhere else to park.’
No Vacation From Murder Page 17