Death of an Old Girl

by Elizabeth Lemarchand

  ‘Bed for me,’ she said. ‘If you want a drink, there’s plenty of milk in the fridge, and some made black coffee. And beer, of course.’

  ‘Sorry to be so lacking in entertainment value,’ he said. ‘I’ll try not to disturb you.’

  He tried to concentrate on the reconstruction, but the problem of motive kept fretting at the back of his mind. What made people kill more or less on sight? Not thugs, but educated, civilised people… There was self-defence, of course, but in what conceivable way could the elderly and undersized Beatrice Baynes have threatened a hefty chap like Torrance, if it was really their first meeting? Or anyway, their first meeting of any significance… He visualised the encounter in the studio over and over again, until the scene became quite jerky with repetition, like a real puppet show.

  This won’t do, he thought, raising himself, and forced his thoughts back to tomorrow’s programme. He’d to see Helen Renshaw first, of course, and explain what they were going to do. Perhaps she’d be able to think of some means of keeping people out of the way…

  Eighteen

  ‘Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.’

  Context questions in Upper Fourth examination paper in Meldon

  It had rained during the night, and the next morning was cool and fresh, with big post-depression cumulus clouds sailing across the sky. Pollard picked up Toye at the Yard soon after eight. The worst traffic was incoming, and they made good time in getting out on to the now familiar road to Linbridge.

  ‘I can’t make up my mind,’ he said, sniffing the rain-freshened air, ‘if having a case in an area puts you off it for good, or not. It’s an attractive part of the world down there, but at the moment I feel as though I never want to set eyes on it again.’

  Toye thought it wore off in time. Look at that chap Inspector French. First thing he always did in the tales was to make up his mind to come back to the scene of the crime for his next holiday. Personally, he didn’t feel all that struck on Upshire. A bit tame, he thought. Now, a case in Devon or Cornwall at some nice place on the coast would suit him down to the ground…

  After discussing their plan of action for a time, they agreed that a third man would be useful, and that the Super should be asked for the loan of Constable Freeth or anyone available. There were really two distinct jobs ahead of them. The first was to work out the basic minimum of time that Torrance would have needed to carry through the murder. The second, and much trickier, was to establish much more accurately the length of time Ann Cartmell had spent in the Secretary’s office before being rejoined by Torrance.

  ‘I’ll have a bash at Mrs Kitson myself this time,’ said Pollard, ‘while you’re writing up the reconstruction. I don’t know when we shall be through, but I must get back as quickly as I can, especially if we get what you might call a positive result.’

  On arriving at Linbridge they went straight to the police station, and Pollard put his request for a helper to Superintendent Martin.

  ‘You’d better take Beakbane along,’ Marti said. ‘Acting’s right up his street. He’s a leading light in the Linbridge Dramatic.’

  Pollard would have much preferred a humbler colleague of lower rank, but Beakbane’s pleasure at the prospect of taking part was so evident that he hadn’t the heart to demur.

  ‘I suggest that you stand in for Miss Baynes,’ he said, thinking quickly. ‘It’ll be a great help if Toye and I can give our whole minds to getting over the ground at the right sort of speed.’

  ‘Good thing he hasn’t got to be jammed into the puppet theatre,’ remarked the Super. ‘Chap of his girth would’ve bust it.’

  After further badinage the three men left for Meldon in convoy, Beakbane driving Pollard in a Linbridge police car in order to be brought up-to-date in the case.

  ‘You two had better go and read a nice book,’ Pollard said as they got out of the cars. ‘I’m going to spend a bit of time preparing the ground.’

  Remarking that he didn’t think he’d opened one since he left school, Beakbane led the way to the library…

  Helen Renshaw was upstairs in her flat, and received Pollard in her sitting-room. She looked at him shrewdly as he outlined the reconstruction he proposed to attempt.

  ‘As far as attracting attention goes, you’ve hit on a rather good moment,’ she said. ‘It’s the last cleaning day, and the women have worked round to New Wing which doesn’t overlook the Quad. We haven’t touched the studio yet, of course. As soon as you give the all-clear, I’m having the decorators in.’

  ‘I hope we really shall be able to hand it over early next week,’ he told her, and went on to explain what he wanted from Joyce Kitson.

  ‘I’m perfectly sure she could remember very accurately indeed what happened when Ann Cartmell was there. She’s got an almost photographic memory.’ Helen Renshaw hesitated. ‘I was going to suggest having a word with her myself about cooperating, but on the whole I think not. It suggests at once that we’ve discussed her attitude. Better for me just to warn her that you’ll be about the place doing a reconstruction. Your talk with her will follow on naturally from that.’

  School Wing smelt of disinfectant and floor polish. It had been closed for the holidays, and it was a relief to throw open some of the studio windows and let the air in. Standing in the middle of the untouched disorder and accumulated dust, Pollard briefed Beakbane and Toye.

  ‘We’ll assume that the puppet theatre is in the old place,’ he said, ‘and that Beatrice Baynes is hiding inside it. That’s you, Inspector. I’ll play Torrance to Toye’s Ann Cartmell. We two go down, quite briskly, because I realise I’m going to be very late getting to the Scorhills. As soon as you hear us going downstairs, come out and go over to the table. What else you ought to be doing, I’m afraid I haven’t a clue at the moment. As soon as we get out into the Quad, Toye asks me if I remembered to pick up my copy of Artifex. I haven’t, and brush aside his offer to come back for it, telling him to run on ahead to the office and get the parcel ready, while I go back myself. I turn back into the building and hurry up the two flights of stairs. Not hell for leather, for I’m in my forties and carrying quite a bit of weight, but I don’t hang about. Then I shove open the swing doors and am in this room before I see you —’ he turned to Beakbane — ‘standing here, by the table. I’m afraid at this stage. I’m still not clear about what you’re doing, or exactly what happens next. I rather think you challenge me, making some really serious accusation or threat. I probably deny it flatly, see that nothing’s going to stop you taking action, snatch up this stone,’ Pollard extracted one of the remaining large flat pebbles from the box and put it out on the table, ‘and smash down on your skull with it. You collapse in a heap on the floor. I look round, probably with some idea of carrying you into the next room and hiding you there, and catch sight of the puppet theatre. I think I have to go over and take a look at it, in case it’s full of gear. It isn’t, so I carry you across the room, stuff you into it, and shove the whole contraption up against the wall. Then I hurry back to the table, pick up the stone, and cram it into my pocket, missing the spot of blood it’s left on the table. I take a look round to see you haven’t left a handbag or gloves or anything lying about, and I’m just starting for the door when I remember the copy of Artifex which I came for. I find it under the discarded paintings on the table, and dash down the stairs and out into the Quad, slowing down a bit in case my speed attracts attention. Arriving at the office, I make my lateness an excuse for rushing out to the car rather unceremoniously. That’s the general idea, I think. All right?’

  ‘Would you have done anything about your prints?’ asked Beakbane.

  ‘I don’t think so, except possibly putting a handkerchief over my hand before touching the puppet theatre. I’m pretty fly, and realise rough hessian probably won’t take them. If they’re found on the table and door and so on, that’s fine. I’ve been up here for half-an-hour on perfectly legitimate business.’

  After a further short discussion
, the three men went into action. Beakbane went across the room and took up a position in his corner, his back to the wall where the puppet theatre had stood. Pollard arranged a heap of books to represent Artifex and the paintings, and took a stop-watch out of his pocket.

  ‘Right,’ he said, pressing the release catch. ‘Let’s push off, Toye.’

  They went smartly to the door, which Pollard held open for Toye to pass through. As they went rather quickly down the stairs, it closed behind them with the little thud which Sister Felicity had commented on. The door into the Quad stood open. After they had taken a few steps, Toye suddenly stopped short.

  ‘Have you got your Artifex?’ he asked.

  ‘Damn! I’ve left it upstairs.’

  ‘I’ll dash back for it, shall I?’

  ‘No. I’ll go. You run on and get that form filled in. I’ll join you in the office.’

  Turning back, Pollard hurried into the building again. It was extraordinary, he thought, how much detail you noticed when you were doing something self-consciously which was normally automatic, like going upstairs. The half-landings were quite big as you swung round … the banisters of hard polished wood a decided help to anyone in a hurry. He reached the top, and plunged through the doors which thudded noisily behind him.

  Beakbane had emerged and was standing by the table on the far side of the room. He swung round sharply. Pollard was quite startled at the aggressive vindictiveness which he managed to convey. The man certainly could act…

  ‘Yes, I was here all the time,’ he said with an unpleasant note of triumph in his voice. ‘I heard every word. And I’m going straight to Miss Renshaw and then to the police.’

  ‘I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.’ Pollard had come up to the table and stood only a few feet away.

  ‘You needn’t try that nonsense on me. I heard every word you said. I’m going now.’ Beakbane made a move towards the door.

  In a flash Pollard grabbed the stone and tapped Beakbane’s head with it. The latter collapsed on to his knees. Remembering to pause and look round, Pollard dashed across the room, snatching his handkerchief out of his pocket, and mimed the dragging out of the puppet theatre from the wall. Back again, he assisted Beakbane to his feet.

  ‘As you’re about seven stone heavier than Beatrice Baynes, you’ll have to walk,’ he said. ‘Not too fast … that’s about it. I let you down again here while I pull the thing out further. Now then, you’ve got to be packed in … not all that easy … it’s narrow … there, that would have done it, I think. Now I shove the whole contraption back, as close to the wall as I can … there, about like that…’

  He ran across the room, snatched up the stone and stuffed it with some difficulty into his trousers pocket. Then, on the point of turning to rush away, he checked himself and scrabbled at the pile of books to extract the one at the bottom. The next second he was through the doors and running downstairs at full speed.

  Slowing down to cross the Quad at a normally hurried pace, he entered Old House, came into the entrance hall, and arrived outside the door of the secretary’s office where Toye awaited him, his fingers closing on the catch of the stopwatch at the exact moment of his arrival.

  ‘Eight minutes,’ he said. ‘Say it was three minutes from the time he arrived here to his actually driving off at eight-thirty-eight… I expect Cartmell stood gazing after him. Say eight-thirty-five… That means they must have come down at eight-twenty-seven at latest…’

  Beakbane gave it as his opinion that more time should be allowed for the stowing away of the body, arguing that it would have been quite a difficult job in the restricted space of the puppet theatre.

  ‘I reckon she was wedged up against the wall,’ he said.

  They re-staged the whole business, letting him determine the length of the stowing away. This time they took nine and a half minutes, pushing back the descent from the studio to 8.25 p.m.

  ‘It’s perfectly possible, as far as that goes,’ Pollard said as they conferred once more in the studio. ‘The only thing I’m not sure about is what he did with the stone. I had a devil of a job getting this one into my pocket. The next thing is to find out if Ann Cartmell could have taken all that time to do up the paintings, in spite of the fact that both she and Mrs Kitson declare that Torrance arrived so quickly —’

  He broke off as footsteps sounded on the stairs, and there was a knock on the door. Toye opened it, to reveal Jean Forrest, white-overalled and imperturbable as ever.

  ‘I don’t want to disturb you,’ she said, ‘but Miss Renshaw thought you might like some coffee?’

  ‘That’s most kind,’ Pollard replied, ‘if it isn’t giving you too much trouble… I wonder if you could spare us just a moment? Do come in and sit down. It’s this endless business of checking up on times, I’m afraid. I suppose there was a good deal of clearing up to do after supper on Saturday. Have you any idea of when it was finished?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she said, ‘just let me think. Actually it didn’t take long. There were only about sixty people … a much smaller affair than lunch, and we washed up as we went along. I mean, there were only two courses and biscuits and cheese, and each lot of plates and cutlery was dealt with as it came out… Yes, the women went off at about twenty-past eight. They’d had a hard day, and I said we wouldn’t do more than bare essentials, as cleaning was due to start on Monday, anyway. I was pretty whacked myself, and just saw them out, and came through to Old House and up to my room, and put my feet up. I didn’t see any signs of life over here, as I told your sergeant.’

  Pollard thanked her and she went away, saying that the coffee would be put in the library.

  ‘I suppose we could try all the Old Meldonians and Sixth Formers again, asking specifically about Torrance,’ he said. ‘What about those two girls you interviewed, Toye, who were hanging around and offered to help Ann Cartmell?’

  Toye consulted his notebook.

  ‘They weren’t hanging around on this side. They were dodging about in the front, to see if he kissed her goodbye, they said. When he didn’t, they nipped round to the Quad again.’

  Inspector Beakbane remarked that posh schools or secondary moderns alike, girls had only one idea in their heads as far as he could see.

  ‘How did they know he was here?’ asked Pollard.

  ‘They saw him arrive, from the dining-room, just as the supper ended. They had quite a giggle about it, they said.’

  ‘I don’t see how you can hope for confirmation of the time within such narrow limits,’ said Beakbane, ‘especially as the daily women had all cleared off. The thing that sticks out a mile is the chap’s apparent lack of motive. He could have done it — just, but why the flipping hell should he?’

  ‘I only wish I knew,’ said Pollard. ‘Let’s go down and have that coffee…’

  After Inspector Beakbane had left for Linbridge, Pollard went across to the secretary’s office and knocked politely. On being told to come in he opened the door and found Joyce Kitson standing at a filing cabinet with her back to him. She glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘Do you want Miss Renshaw again?’ she asked rather curtly.

  ‘No thank you. This time I want some help from you, if you can spare me a few minutes.’

  Without answering Joyce Kitson returned to her desk and sat down with an air of resignation, indicating another chair as she did so.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Pollard, moving it slightly in order to get the light from the window full on her face. She looked tired, he thought, and generally under the weather, with dark shadows under her eyes.

  ‘The enquiry,’ he said, ‘has reached a critical stage. A stage at which the investigation has to take calculated risks. As you are a person accustomed to dealing with confidential business, I realise that I can afford to put my cards on the table, and save quite a bit of valuable time.’

  ‘I know nothing beyond what I’ve already told your sergeant,’ she said, sitting primly with her hands clasped on h
er blotting-pad.

  ‘We’ve made a good deal of progress since he interviewed you,’ Pollard told her. ‘I’m now interested in a different aspect of the case. I want, with your help — and no one but you can do this — to carry out a carefully-timed reconstruction of everything that happened during Ann Cartmell’s visit to this office last Saturday night, down to the minutest detail.’

  He watched first astonishment and then startled comprehension come into her face. She made an involuntary gesture of pushing something away from her.

  ‘I loathe all this hunting down of human beings like animals,’ she said vehemently, ‘whatever they’ve done. It’s — it’s degrading, somehow.’

  ‘Unfortunately there are certain degrading jobs which have to be done if society is to survive. Admittedly they call for guts — I know that.’

  ‘What exactly do you want me to do?’ she asked in an expressionless voice, after a brief pause.

  ‘I want you to relax, first of all, and then imagine that you are back in Saturday evening. You’ve had a very busy and tiring day, which must have held up your normal end-of-term work. After supper when things have calmed down, you decide to put in a spell at your desk on the arrears. Am I right so far?’

  ‘Quite right,’ she replied, looking at him with some surprise.

  ‘Hold it then, as they say on the film set. All right? Now then, you hear someone come running across the hall outside, and Miss Cartmell bursts in. Can you go on? Your first reaction is annoyance, surely?’

  ‘Well, yes. I’d hoped for a little peace and quiet to get on with things. She — she almost fell into the room, looking very flushed and excited. And young and attractive,’ Joyce Kitson added, with a slight tinge of envy in her voice.

  ‘Can you remember what she said?’

  ‘Not to swear to the exact words. Something like “Can I have that entrance form for the art competition? Miss Renshaw said she’d given it to you. Mr Torrance is here and he says he’ll take the paintings back, and he’s in a frightful hurry.” As she spoke she came right in and up to the desk, and stood there in front of me.’