‘Woods?’ Amos snarled. ‘Trees? I am not here to discuss flora, my good man! No one is going to push me off the case.’ He turned to the three of us. ‘I shall require a little assistance from you foolish young men. There is information I need to know.’
‘We’re going to the boat,’ Emlyn said hastily.
‘Then I’ll come with you.’
MT intervened. ‘It may be – how shall I put it – an arduous walk for you, Mr Ellyott.’
‘Then they must drive me,’ the old man said as he trotted smartly around the car and eased himself on to the passenger seat. He sat there, his chin resting on the handle of his stick, and leered at us.
‘Oh, God,’ I said.
‘Well we can’t leave him here,’ Emlyn said, ‘otherwise your neighbours will complain and you’ll be handed a notice to quit.’
Mash drove. Emlyn and I crouched in the back.
‘You come and lock up for me,’ Laura cried out. ‘I’m not staying in that hall with murders going on.’
We had to hump him over the dune, but Amos was suspiciously nimble on the mud and astonished us by climbing unaided up the ladder to the deck.
‘Sailing south, eh? I’ll come with you. I once lectured to the police of Hong Kong in Chinese. I also lectured to the police of Samoa in Polynesian. At least I think it was Polynesian. I am a linguist of some repute.’
‘Oh, I bet,’ Emlyn said as we settled him down on a deck chair.
‘Mine was a brilliant family. My father was an antiquarian and a diarist. If one wants to make water what does one do? Over the side?’
‘Just mind which way the wind’s blowing,’ Emlyn said as we began to sort out the painting gear.
Mash suddenly got to his feet and announced very simply, ‘I’m sorry Lilian’s dead – that’s all.’ We all were, Emlyn assured him. Mash nodded firmly, then he picked up a can and a couple of brushes and began to hum as he stepped on to the ladder and climbed down.
‘So,’ the old man said softly, ‘so.’
‘Write it down in your notebook,’ Emlyn said, ‘but it wasn’t Mash – for sure.’
‘And that’s why you decided to confess, both of you? To point out how absurd it was to hold your friend?’ Amos tilted his hat over his eyes. ‘Dear me! How noble of you. Or was it because you knew the authorities were bound to get round to you three in time?’ Up came the brim of his hat. He stared at us keenly over his glasses. ‘And they will return to you. The relief is only temporary. Once they’ve interviewed other gentlemen callers. Once they’ve checked your stories.’
‘It’s possible you may never leave this ship alive,’ Emlyn said. ‘Grab a paintbrush or go to sleep.’
Amos Ellyott cackled like an old hen. ‘The confessors! What an incredible notion. Straight out of Boys’ Own, my worldly friends...’
‘How did Mash go on with them?’ Emlyn enquired.
‘I am not prepared to divulge information of that kind,’ Amos replied stiffly. ‘Not to suspects.’
‘In which case,’ Emlyn said, ‘may every passing seagull shit on you!’
Amos chuckled, his chin now deep in his scarf. ‘But what about a man burnt to death in pound notes? Incinerated in genuine notes of the realm, my absurd friends? Now there’s a notion for you.’ And he left us hanging on that, and slept.
We patched and caulked and painted. Mash sang for most of the afternoon. The old river stank. We were on an island, cut off from the town. We had work to do, and work cancelled out thinking; served as a temporary cure for shock.
Once during the afternoon Emlyn came up the ladder to say he had decided that we had to do a turn for the carnival. ‘We’re going to be a jazz band on a lorry and to hell with them,’ he said. ‘All we need is a white shirt and a bow tie.’ I told him to piss off. No more stunts for me. Especially now. ‘Oh God,’ he said, ‘was yesterday too much for you? I’m sorry. But we can’t let old MT down.’ Piss off, I said. ‘We can’t, Philip. We’ve promised.’ You did the promising. ‘Yes but you’ll think it over, won’t you? Give it some thought?’ Today I’m not doing any thinking – about anything. ‘Oh well, – tomorrow, then. We’ll have a chat about it tomorrow.’
I was alone with Amos when he woke up. ‘She was killed inside the Market Hall,’ he said. ‘Did you know?’
‘Just tell me how she got up there,’ I said. ‘That door was locked, and where would she get the keys, tell me? She’d need a key for the padlock on the gates too.’
‘So you have been thinking. And you don’t know there is another way up there? Oh come now – you must know. Good God, everybody else in the Market Hall knows. Didn’t you ask your stepmother?’
He was sitting up now, giving me all his attention. ‘We had other things to talk about,’ I said. ‘Well go on.’
‘A lift,’ he said. ‘At the far end of the Hall. Surely you remember that from your boyhood?’
‘That old thing? You pulled yourself up with a rope? Well of course I remember it. They were going to have film shows up there. Before the war. It was to carry all the equipment up. They did away with it.’
Amos preened his moustache. ‘Perhaps I had better come with you to lock up the shop for Mrs Roberts.’
On the way back Mash ran over a nail and we had to get the spare wheel out. Amos Ellyott took my arm.
‘Philip and I can’t wait,’ he said to Emlyn. ‘We must reach the lady in the shop before the assassin strikes again.’ He pointed his stick up the High Street and Emlyn shouted ‘Charge!’ And the old man chuckled deep in his throat as we set off.
‘Don’t let go of my arm,’ he warned me, ‘but contrive to keep your distance at the same item. My bones are very brittle.’ People stopped to stare at us. Ceri Price thought we looked a treat. She even came over to tell us. ‘I was married to a lovely girl like that,’ Amos declared loudly outside Woolworth’s. ‘She left me, of course.’
Laura was struggling with the shutters when we arrived and was only too pleased to let me finish the job. ‘There is no danger, Madam,’ Amos called after her, but that only made her heels click a little bit faster on the stone floor of the Hall. I had expected a policeman on guard but there was none. All the shops were shut except for Isaac Moss Cobblers. Amos took a small length of wire from his pocket and slipped it into the lock of the bird man’s shop. There was a click.
‘Follow me,’ he ordered as he went in. ‘I take full responsibility. Don’t be afraid.’ I brushed past him and took the stairs two at a time. I was looking down the aisle of chairs when he came panting up. The screen that had been painted on the wall had a door in it now, and it was open. In one corner there was an open stairway to the roof.
‘Observe dimensions,’ Amos said. ‘Surely you must have noticed the discrepancy in dimensions when you came here before?’
‘I wasn’t looking for discrepancies,’ I replied as I went on ahead of him to the door. Through it there was another room, wide as the hall, I guessed. A black room without windows. Amos all but pushed me in. He produced a small torch and let the beam roam along the walls. Totally empty and very clean.
‘Mr George Garston has reported the loss of a bunch of keys,’ Amos said. ‘Interesting, don’t you think?’ The beam of the torch was fixed on a second, narrower stairway leading to the roof. ‘Intriguing, intriguing. An empty room. A suspiciously clean and empty room, wouldn’t you say? And dimensions – think about dimensions here too.’ A circle of light fingering the room. ‘It was here she came. It was here she was killed.’
We stood on the open roof and looked down at the chimneys of the old town. I was glad to be up there, even if heights weren’t for me.
‘Down there – Maldwyn Street,’ Amos said. ‘Her body was cast forth from here, wouldn’t you say?’
As he said it Mash and Emlyn came up the stairs into the
cabin-like structure on the roof. Following them closely came the Inspector’s assistant, Mr Stubbs, who was protesting, ‘Not allowed! You have no right to be here! This is evidence!’ He banged his head as he came through the narrow doorway on to the roof and stood there patting his gleaming hair. ‘Mr Ellyott! Please! With all due respect!’
But we were watching Mash. He had gone directly to the side that overlooked Maldwyn Street and was looking down, swaying there. ‘Hey – fire escape!’ He called to us over his shoulder. Then he went closer to the edge and began to wave his arms about, his knees bending. Emlyn and I ran for him. I grabbed the back of his trousers. He fell on top of us and I could hear his laughter roaring in my ears. ‘Wasn’t going to jump!’ he protested. ‘Just showing the fire escape, that’s all!’
‘You made me very ill,’ Emlyn told him.
‘If you please, Mr Ellyott,’ Stubbs called out despairingly. ‘I don’t want to have to report you.’ Emlyn, Mash and I went, meek as schoolboys, but Amos held on for a while to give Mr Stubbs some advice about Police methods in an efficient force.
But we were all in the empty room when we heard the sound of wheels turning, smoothly, softly, turning in oil. A sound, I reasoned, that you could hear only in the quiet of night. It seemed to come from the ground floor – about where Isaac Moss Cobblers had his shop, I thought. And it was rising to our level, like wheels turning in the wall.
‘There will be a door,’ Amos whispered, his torch searching. ‘A door that can only be opened from inside the lift.’ Out of the floor the noise came. It ended with a snap. Then there was silence.
The beam from Amos’s torch was steady on one spot. The wall came away as a small door opened and we were looking at Inspector Marks’ backside as he eased himself out. He turned to face us. A hand came up to hold back the glare from the torch. ‘Mr Ellyott,’ he said, ‘is it your intention to blind me?’
‘You have no right whatsoever to be on these premises,’ the Inspector said. Amos flashing his torch into the lift. Amos inside the lift. ‘Mr Ellyott, please! I don’t want to impose sanctions!’ Amos pulled the door shut. We heard the lift descend. ‘I am ordering you all to keep out of this,’ Marks thundered. ‘Especially that old man!’
‘Inspector,’ came Emlyn’s voice out of the darkness, ‘what if he has a heart attack in there?’
Marks’ torch came on, a powerful beam that burnt on the narrow door. ‘Heart attack?’ He said, ‘Oh my God, no!’ The lift came to a halt; Amos was having some trouble with the door. ‘Are you all right Mr Ellyott? It’s a catch on the right hand side.’
The door swung open and Amos emerged. ‘Mr Garston took some time to tell you about this contraption, didn’t he Marks?’ The Inspector was brushing dust off the old man’s shoulder. ‘Will you stop patting me, man?’
‘You know the rules, Mr Ellyott. There can be no discussion. None whatsoever...’
‘Down there,’ Amos said, ‘what is there down there?’ I remembered then. ‘A loading bay of some kind?’
‘A garage,’ the Inspector said. ‘Now... Come on.’
‘Belonging to Garston?’ A large lean-to structure in that most vile of building materials – corrugated iron. Have you charged him yet?’
The Inspector’s torch was pointing at the ceiling. I saw him draw himself up to his full height, saw him adjust a cuff, straighten his tie. ‘Mr Ellyott – you ought to know better than to ask. Besides, is it a crime to possess a garage? Is it a crime to possess a lift?’
‘It is to withhold evidence,’ Amos snapped, and they had a quick slanging match which Emlyn broke up by asking if it was all right to have a ride in the lift.
‘How long was it before he told you there was a lift?’ Amos persisted.
‘That will do!’ the Inspector roared. ‘I now order you to leave these premises. All of you! At once!’
Amos waved his torch at us as he came stumping after us down the aisle between the chairs. ‘I have friends in high places,’ he was muttering. ‘I am not to be spoken to in that tone of voice.’ But out in the street his mood changed. ‘Now it becomes fascinating,’ he said. ‘Mr George Garston – isn’t he a card? Only answers the question. Volunteers nothing. I took it upon myself to survey these outbuildings, you know. Special lock, would you believe? And expensive. Mr Garston had something to hide. We must draw him out – like a boil.’
We went out on the town that evening, and I thought it was all very embarrassing because, wherever we went, the conversation took a dive and was some time rising again. ‘Notorious at last,’ Emlyn said with satisfaction.
The only dance was in the Girl Guide Hut in the sand hills on the way to the golf club. Music courtesy of gramophone record. The dance was due to finish at eleven. We arrived at twenty to, the wrong place, and the wrong time, and I was about to suggest a retreat until I saw Ceri was there. MT Edmunds was building up to the climax of his speech at that point.
‘Let us build our town into the premier resort on this lovely coast,’ he declaimed. ‘Big ends have small beginnings!’ I saw Ceri raise a hand to hide a smile. She was standing next to Mrs Williams-Brown who was famous for being in charge of the Brownies and who was fat and hearty and didn’t like our appearance one little bit. ‘You young people,’ said MT, one of his posters on display, ‘you are the flowers of our town. Support must come from you.’ He waved his poster like a banner. ‘Turn up in your hundreds. Join in. Revive our beautiful town!’ Mrs Williams-Brown boomed out a ‘hear, hear!’ And without ceremony brought the speech to an end with the next record at full volume. Even so, MT managed the last word, ‘On with the dance,’ he cried, ‘let joy be unconfined!’ Then he swept out, pausing only to give the three of us a friendly punch, the dedicated man himself, and to hell with murder and apathy and a poor weather forecast.
‘You owe me a dance,’ Ceri said. ‘My word, you smell like a brewery.’
‘Get your coat – I’ll walk you home.’
But she insisted on a dance. ‘I came to give old Williams-Brown a hand with the kids,’ she said, ‘until their mothers come to collect. Don’t stand so stiff, for goodness’ sake. It’s like dancing with a lamp post.’
Mash and Emlyn were being daft and dancing with two little girls. ‘Isn’t Emlyn Morton a cherub,’ Ceri said as the last waltz began. ‘I remember dancing with him before the war. He dared me to climb the flagpole and I took him on.’ Then we stopped dancing and stood still in the middle of the floor and watched two mothers in macs and scarves grab their children away from Emlyn and Mash. Emlyn was tight-lipped; Mash bewildered.
They came over to us. ‘We’re off,’ Emlyn said. ‘See you’re fixed up, Philip.’ We watched them go, a platoon of mothers at the door stepping aside for them.
Ceri said grimly, ‘You stand there where everyone can see you. I’ll get my coat.’
We walked slowly along the narrow road through the sand hills. ‘They’re not going to make public enemies of my friends,’ she said. ‘You should have heard what my father said when the police came to see me.’ I told her about the station and the visit to the Market Hall, and Amos Ellyott. ‘Now him,’ she said, ‘he drops in on us – for hours! But you and Emlyn Morton and Mash have got the tongues wagging – you know that, don’t you?’
‘Bound to,’ I said.
‘She was a nice woman. Bit of a hard case. It was a scream when you went there to have your hair done – the things she came out with.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘Did you like her?’
Lilian Ridetski, fat fingers caressing the cards. Her death hit me then. ‘Of course I liked her.’
She drew me to a halt and reached up and kissed me on the cheek. ‘I’m glad you said that.’
‘We all liked her.’
‘And that.’ I held on to her then, and she was warm and encouraging until I pushed her back against a gorse bush. ‘Ow! My
bum! God – the places you take me!’ She was saying that when we heard a shout ahead.
We ran forward. Out of the darkness MT came staggering, a handkerchief to his face. ‘Oh my goodness,’ he said through it, ‘what a terrible nosebleed.’
Then I heard a car door slam shut. Its lights came on as it moved off using too many revs. MT was breathing heavily, ‘Thank God it’s you Philip.’ Not a nosebleed, I decided. MT had just been thumped.
‘What’s going on, Mr Edmunds? Whose car was that?’
‘Now Philip – young lady, know your father well of course – I implore you. On your word of honour say nothing about this to anyone, please. Please.’ He touched his nose, the handkerchief white in the darkness. ‘It’s the embarrassment, you see.’
I had a clean handkerchief and I gave it to him. He made a speech of thanks and found more ways to apologise than I thought possible. He walked away after wishing us half a dozen good nights, but called me over before he finally went to whisper urgently. ‘Not a word of this to Marshall – will you promise on your honour?’ I said of course. ‘And the young lady?’
‘She’ll keep quiet too,’ I assured him.
‘What have I got to keep quiet about?’ Ceri enquired as we walked on.
‘Doesn’t want anybody to know he’s been in a fight.’
‘Oh – do you suppose George Garston’s anti sports and carnival like the rest of the town?’
‘Why George Garston?’
‘His car,’ she said. ‘I’m positive. And do you know the police have been talking to David Garston too?’ She laughed softly. ‘When your old man’s a gentleman of the press you hear it all.’
VIII
During the war, Maelgwyn’s population had taken a leap. Out of the cities had come the refugees from the bombs, most of them elderly, most of them well–heeled. One of the features of the town was the number of women you saw trotting around to the shops, chattering over cups of tea, taking the air on the promenade. Little, birdlike women in floral dresses and ancient hats, monied widows and spinster ladies, firm believers in keeping themselves to themselves who had decided not to return to the big towns when peace finally arrived. Such a one was Catherine Jane Porterhouse, who was discovered at ten on that Tuesday morning, perched on King Teddy’s lap. Dead of strangulation.
Say Goodbye to the Boys Page 7