Death of an Old Girl

by Elizabeth Lemarchand

  ‘Yes. He had offered to take the parcel back to London for me, and I had to collect the entry form from the secretary’s office.’

  ‘Did you notice the time as you went down?’

  ‘No, not then. But it was just before twenty to nine when he drove off from the front door, so it must have been about half-past eight.’

  ‘It took you nearly half-an-hour to choose the paintings?’

  ‘We had some personal conversation after we finished,’ she told him rather grandly. ‘Mr Torrance was one of my referees for the scholarship.’

  Personal conversation my foot, thought Pollard. Advanced necking, if I know anything… He glanced through his notes.

  ‘Did you return to the studio after Mr Torrance had left? I think you mentioned some girls just now?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ann replied. ‘Two Sixth-formers were waiting for me in the Quad, and offered to come up and help. There wasn’t much to do, but I thought Bert Heyward would be starting to lock up quite soon and was quite glad to have them. Their names are Nicola Stainsby and Rachel Rivers, if you want to know.’

  ‘Were the three of you together all the time in the studio? Try to remember what you all did. For instance, did anyone go near the puppet theatre?’

  She repressed a shudder.

  ‘No, thank goodness. It’s right over in the corner, out of the way. We don’t use it much — only in the winter terms. The girls folded the screens and put them over in the opposite corner, and sorted a lot of waste paper, while I collected my own gear to take home. Then they helped me carry it down to my car, in the car park. If you want to know the time, I can tell you exactly. It struck nine as we went across the Quad, and I remember thinking I’d just done it before locking-up time.’

  ‘And then you drove off to the staff house. Did you go straight there?’

  ‘Yes, except for stopping in the drive to offer someone a lift. A Miss Thornton, one of the staff, who’d been at supper?

  ‘Did she accept?’

  ‘No. She said she was on her way to Applebys: Miss Baynes was her godmother.’

  ‘You didn’t by any chance see Miss Baynes or anyone else as you went past the house?’

  ‘Not Miss Baynes, but now I do remember seeing a man coming out of the porch, and wondering casually who it was.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’ Pollard struggled to keep the excitement out of his voice.

  Ann shut her eyes and tried to concentrate.

  ‘I really hardly took him in. It was just a glimpse as I began to accelerate. I’ve got a sort of impression that he was quite young, with brown hair and wearing a green shirt. Rather hikerish.’

  Pollard painstakingly established the circumstances of her arrival at the staff house, and the communal packing of the young members of the staff ending with a brew, as she called it, about half-past eleven.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think that’s all for the moment, Miss Cartmell. Tomorrow morning I’m going to ask you to help me in a way that may cost you rather an effort, but I feel sure you’ll manage it. I want you to come up to the studio with me, and I don’t want to tell you why until we get there.’

  Ann swallowed.

  ‘There isn’t…’ she began.

  ‘Of course not. Everything is quite normal, except that the puppet theatre has been taken away, and my fingerprint expert has made rather a mess.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, with the sudden resilience of youth. ‘I suppose I’ll have to, sooner or later. I wonder what Miss Renshaw will do?’

  Suddenly she was back in the thick of her immediate anxieties, and looked at him beseechingly.

  ‘I can go home afterwards, can’t I? I’ve got to pack. I shall be able to go on Thursday, shan’t I?’ she pleaded desperately.

  ‘I can’t answer that question this evening. No one wants to delay you unnecessarily. In any case, we shall help you all we can.’

  Pollard escorted her to the door and watched her crossing the hall, a kind of despairing tautness in her bearing… A figure stirred in a corner, and Sergeant Toye rose and came over and joined him.

  ‘Looks as though the brutal police have been grilling her, doesn’t it?’ said Pollard as they went into the library. ‘She’s in love: that’s the trouble. With this bloke Torrance who got her the scholarship to America. She’s in a tiz in case she’s kept back to give evidence. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to her that she might be a suspect herself. She just isn’t interested in the murder, even if it did happen in the room where she works. Actually, she doesn’t seem to have been alone there for a single moment from about six o’clock onwards. Did you call in at the sickbay?’

  ‘Nothing doing tonight, sir. The patient’s not to be questioned till tomorrow morning — doctor’s orders. Badly shocked, the nurse said.’

  ‘Let’s pack up here for tonight, then, and go along to our pub in Linbridge and get something to eat. Unless you wangled a meal out of the Heywards while you were pumping the poor boobs?’

  ‘Ham and eggs,’ Toye told him sedately. ‘Done to a turn, and home-made cake to follow. And one or two useful bits of information.’

  ‘You can keep those until I’ve fed. I’ve got mental indigestion already.’

  Seven

  ‘I give and bequeath to the Governors of Meldon School the sum of ten thousand pounds free of legacy duty, subject to certain conditions’

  Last Will and Testament of Beatrice Agatha Baynes

  The White Horse at Linbridge was an eighteenth-century coaching inn which reflected the leisurely tempo of life in the small town. There was nothing functional about its layout or decor: it suggested, in fact, a rather shabby private house which had somehow become involved in the hotel business. Pollard’s room had a curious assortment of miscellaneous furniture, including a basket chair, an immense frowsty wardrobe in dark oak, and limp net curtains. Descending to the dining-room he found a turkey carpet and chairs with well-worn leather seats. Only a few of the tables were occupied, and he wondered absently if the place could possibly pay. He was led to one by an elderly waitress dressed in black with a muslin apron, and ordered a steak and lager. A sabbath calm descended, broken only by distant voices behind the service door.

  When the food eventually arrived it was unexpectedly good. Old-fashioned domestic cooking, he thought, propping a newspaper against a monumental cruet stand, and trying to get his mind off the case. He ate with enjoyment, following up the steak with cherry pie and cream, but deciding against possibly dubious coffee. As far as he could see, no one was showing the slightest interest in him as yet.

  On leaving the dining-room he went in search of Sergeant Toye. The latter was in a corner of the bar with an evening paper, and showed him a short paragraph giving the bare facts of the discovery of the body. They made for the writing-room, a small bleak place on the first floor. It smelt unmistakably of dry rot. Pollard flung open the window which looked on to a blank wall, and ejected a number of dead flies which were lying on the sill. The writing table bore an unsullied blotter, an ink-stand with dried-up ink and one pen with an encrusted nib. Remarking that it didn’t look as though they’d be disturbed this side of doomsday, Toye fetched a chair from the passage, and the two men got down to work.

  Jane Pollard called her husband a compulsive tabulator. When on a case his invariable method was to get the results of fieldwork on to paper as quickly as possible. In this way the confused mass of statements and impressions which, in the raw, merely gave him mental indigestion, was reduced to assimilable columns of related facts. These lists, made on sheets from pads which he carried round with him for the purpose, were known to his colleagues and subordinates as Pollard’s washing bills, and had become a standing joke. As a case progressed they were duly amended or rewritten. Sergeant Toye, trained in the technique, was now equally addicted to it. On this occasion they pooled their information and proceeded to build up a detailed timetable with marginal comments:

  SATURDAY

  7.05 p.m.

&nb
sp; Beatrice Baynes sees off friends from Applebys. Confirmed.

  7.18 p.m.

  Ann Cartmell arrives at Meldon and goes straight to dining-room. Unconfirmed.

  7.30 p.m.

  Festival Supper.

  7.59 p.m.

  Clive Torrance goes into School Wing. Could he have arrived earlier?

  8.01 p.m. approx.

  Ann Cartmell joins him in studio.

  8.20 p.m.

  Bert Heyward sees Madge Thornton leaving Applebys. ? Confirm by Thornton.

  8.30 p.m. approx.

  Ann Cartmell and Clive Torrance come down from studio and collect form from office. ? Confirm by Secretary.

  8.38 p.m. approx.

  Torrance drives off. ? Confirm by Secretary.

  8.41 p.m.

  Cartmell returns to studio with two girls. ? Confirm by girls.

  8.59 p.m.

  Cartmell and girls leave studio. ? Confirm by girls.

  9.02 p.m.

  Cartmell offers lift to Thornton in drive. ? Confirm by Thornton.

  9.03 p.m.

  Cartmell sees man in porch of Applebys.

  9.06 p.m. approx.

  Cartmell arrives at Staff House and packs with friends until brew-up at 11.30 p.m. approx. ? Confirm by friends.

  9.50 p.m.

  Heyward locks fire-escape door of studio on inside, and landing door on outside. Unconfirmed.

  The two men sat smoking in silence, contemplating the timetable.

  ‘Reactions?’ suggested Pollard presently, and they began to make jottings independently, with long pauses for thought. Apart from an occasional passing step and a distant clashing of pots and pans the little room was completely silent. Faint smells of cooking came wafting in at the window. Finally they exchanged notes, and after discussion drew up a second list:

  OPPORTUNITY DEDUCTIONS FROM TIMETABLE

  Madge Thornton: Seen leaving Applebys at 8.20 p.m., and going there by her own admission just after 9 p.m., but otherwise unaccounted for. Why did she make two visits to Applebys within an hour?

  Ann Cartmell and Clive Torrance: Alone in studio from 8.01 to 8.30 approx. Possibility of A.C. paying it an earlier visit before supper, and C.T. during supper, using the fire-escape entrance, which cannot be seen from the dining-room.

  Bert Heyward: Admits being in studio about 9.50 p.m. when he locked up. It would be useful to get evidence other than his wife’s that the locking-up round took its normal time and course.

  Person(s) Unknown: The studio was empty and accessible from School Wing and the fire-escape for considerable periods of time:

  7.05-7.59 approx.

  8.30-8.41 approx.

  8.59-9.50 approx.

  Also accessible at any time during the night from Old House to anyone knowing where the key of the connecting door(s) was kept.

  Toye picked up the sheet of paper and stared at it. Pollard swore suddenly.

  ‘This looks like being one hell of a case, doesn’t it? Wide open as far as opportunity goes, and not a whiff of a motive so far.’

  ‘Must have been a motive, cutting out a homicidal maniac dodging around, or Bert Heyward having a brainstorm.’

  ‘Too right. Well, let’s take the usual ones. Financial gain. Who benefits? Only the solicitor chap can tell us for sure, but we can make a few guesses. What about this great-nephew who seems to be the next-of and only kin? Could he be the man Miss Cartmell saw coming away from Applebys just after nine? Mr George Baynes will certainly have to be interviewed about his ploys on Saturday evening. Then we seem to hear an awful lot about this godchild of Miss Baynes, Madge Thornton, and she might have been down for something in the will. Her mother died recently, and perhaps an allowance has stopped.’

  ‘Teachers do pretty well these days,’ objected Toye. ‘More likely she was helping her mother.’

  ‘If you know a better ’ole than conjecture at the moment, old son, lead me to it.’

  ‘I’ll try a bit of my own, sir. What about the school? Wouldn’t deceased have left it something handsome, seeing she was so nuts about the place?’

  ‘You mean the headmistress or one of the Governors might have done her in to get some money for new buildings? Beakbane rather favoured a case against Miss Renshaw: he’s got traumatic memories of his schooldays. Ingenious, Toye, and theoretically possible under opportunity, but would it have been the unpremeditated affair this looks like? Let’s try the sex motive.’

  ‘Torrance and Cartmell?’

  ‘Yes. Miss Baynes decides to take an evening stroll, drops in at the studio, and surprises them in an advanced embrace. She threatens to tell all, and Torrance kills her. Cartmell suggests the puppet theatre as a handy disposal unit. Unconvincing, I’m afraid, don’t you think?’

  ‘Well, yes, sir. Not a situation that would lead to a murder these days, especially with people in a good position like this Mr Torrance, even if he’s a married man. Even if Miss Cartmell got the sack, she’d find a new job fast enough, teachers being so scarce.’

  ‘Absolutely sound. And I’m convinced that girl knows nothing whatever about the murder. She’s amazingly naive in some respects, and she’d’ve given herself away twenty times over when I questioned her, especially if she was trying to cover up for her boyfriend. Of course, Torrance could have done the job without her knowing anything about it. Suppose he arrived at 7.35, and went up to the studio by the fire-escape, which can’t be seen from the dining-room. He would have had plenty of time to commit the murder, hide away the body, go out the way he came, and turn up in the Quad at the time Miss Cartmell expected him. But how did he know Miss Baynes was going to be there? If they’d made an appointment, it would have been at Applebys, surely? And what about motive?’

  ‘Might be something going a long way back,’ Toye suggested.

  ‘Well, if it is, we’ve bloody well got to unearth it, that’s all… What’s your considered opinion of this Heyward chap?’

  ‘Much what yours is about Miss Cartmell, sir. But psychological grounds aren’t factual evidence, and you can’t rule out mental instability altogether. Suppose, as you were saying just now, deceased went for a stroll, only later — say just before nine. She’d see the locking-up hadn’t been done, and could’ve gone up and sat in the studio to catch Heyward out when he did turn up. Maybe threaten to report him. He might have gone for her in a sort of black-out?’

  ‘What seems so unlikely to me is that an old girl like Miss Baynes would be gallivanting round as late as that, after the sort of day she’d had. And this applies even more strongly to any idea of her turning up somehow after locking-up, and being murdered by somebody getting through from the rest of the school. All that strikes me as fantastic?’

  Toye agreed.

  ‘All the same,’ he said, ‘there are still the earlier times when the studio was empty, as far as we know. Leaving Mr Torrance out of it, she could have gone for a stroll during the supper, say, and surprised a casual thief up there, who hit out and killed her without meaning to. After all, someone did break into Applebys?’

  ‘The hell they did! That break-in bothers me as much as anything in the case. On the face of it, there surely must be a connection with the murder, but when you start trying to work it out you’re up against one snag after another. I ask you, would a chap who’d just got away with about fifty quid and a dollop of grub go wandering about the school afterwards? Or if he’d just killed an old woman who’d chanced on him up in the studio, would he be likely to hang around a few hundred yards away, and try his hand at a spot of housebreaking? Then there’s the decidedly phoney touch about the break-in itself: the theft of the grub and the theft of the money don’t match up.’ Pollard stubbed out a cigarette and sat frowning, his chair tilted and his legs straight out in front of him.

  ‘Do you think there’s any chance of something a bit more definite about the time of death?’ asked Toye.

  ‘Not much. Not in court, that is. We might get an unofficial opinion. Well, let’s push round to t
he station before we go and see the solicitor. I shall get claustrophobia if I stay in this undersized morgue much longer.’

  Inspector Beakbane was off duty, and the Scotland Yard men were received by Superintendent Martin of the Linbridge Constabulary. The Super was a tall, cadaverous man with a hooked nose and hooded eyes, suggesting a large bird of prey. Distant at first, he responded to Pollard’s request to run over the latest developments with him, and listened attentively. He remarked that there was no sense in overlapping, and that the most useful thing that the Linbridge Force could do was to trace the man seen coming out of Applebys on Saturday evening. A pity there were so many people about on Saturday with a big affair on at the school: a stranger was less likely to attract attention. Still, they could do their best. The Inspector would want to know about the inquest. It was fixed for twelve noon the following day, and they could count on its being adjourned after identity had been established. And would he ring this number at Scotland Yard, and ask for Detective-Constable Longman…?

  Pollard knew Longman, a keen and promising youngster recently seconded to the C.I.D. Waiting for his call to go through, he surmised correctly that he had been given the job of contacting George Baynes. Longman apologised for the delay in reporting back to Linbridge, explaining that he had gone to the address given him only to find that Mr Baynes was out at his job and nobody knew where he worked. It was a scruffy sort of place off the Edgware Road, one of those tall terrace houses gone to seed, and now let out in single rooms called service flatlets… Pollard’s interest was sharply alerted.

  Longman had eventually found a Mrs Bragg who lived in the basement and did the cleaning. She’d been hostile at first, but on hearing that he’d come to contact Mr Baynes about a family bereavement, thawed and became quite chatty, wondering if it was his rich old auntie down in the country who was going to leave him a fortune one of these days. He, Longman, got the impression that George was a favourite with her, and tried to lead her on a bit. It seemed that he was a lively young spark with a hole in his pocket, but always a joke and a pleasant word for her, even if he did leave his room in a shocking mess.