by James Andrew
‘Alfred Cummings?’ Blades asked.
The postman looked up at him with apprehension on his face. ‘Yes?’ he said.
Blades showed his card again and said he had come to speak to him about the report he had made at the station about the day of Miss Wright’s murder. A look of embarrassment came over Albert.
‘I wasn’t sure whether to mention that or not. And after I did, I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing. My wife nattered on about it. She said there were other women in Birtleby and if any more were murdered it would be my fault for not telling the police what I knew, so there wasn’t any way out of it when a policeman came around asking questions. I just had to say. Even if it was the wrong time of day, it couldn’t have had anything to do with it, and I don’t know. I don’t want to be putting some innocent person in a spot.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.
‘I’m sorry you’re being bothered like this, Mr Cummings,’ Blades said. ‘And you won’t be putting anyone in a spot. We check things. We operate on establishing facts, and they can’t harm the innocent.’
‘I suppose not,’ Cummings said, though he did not look convinced. He pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘I’ve been busy this morning, what with delivering mail, collecting it, and sorting it. If they pay you, they think nothing of working you to death, so I’m glad in a way of the chance to stop for a rest.’ He laughed, wiped his brow with his handkerchief again, then put it in his pocket. ‘Though I wish you were asking me about something else.’
Blades gave Albert a reassuring smile. ‘The important thing for us is to have the facts to sift through,’ he said. ‘Then we can decide whether to dismiss them or not.’ But Albert still looked anxious despite his own attempt at a smile. ‘I know you told the duty constable all about this when you made your statement, but would you go over it again?’
Albert thought for a moment, sighed, and then began. He began slowly but seemed to gain confidence as he spoke. He seemed to be relieving himself of a burden. ‘It was on a Thursday afternoon, the 26th. There’s a post-box at the end of Evans Gardens and I was emptying it. I’d unlocked it and taken out the few letters that were there when a man spoke to me, so I turned around. It was the day of the murder, which caused a stir round here, so you can date things by then. And this was that day.’
‘Was there anything striking about the man?’
‘I’ll tell you he was a bit odd. He gave me such a wide smile it quite frightened me, not that it would be supposed to. Apart from that, let’s see. He was tall but not as tall as you. How old was he? Mid-twenties? He was a slim man, well put together. Neat hair. Dark brown. He was dressed in quite a dandy suit, a black one, and he had a bright tie, red it was, with a diamond pin in it. I remember that. You don’t see that many of them. And he had ever such smart shoes on. You couldn’t help but notice them. Black and white patent leather. Not the type of person you come across all that often around here.’ Then he stopped, having run out of words.
‘What did he say to you?’
‘He asked the way to Miss Wright’s.’
‘Did he say why he wanted to see her?’
‘He said a relative of his knew her and he’d been asked to look her up as he was in the area. I pointed out the house to him, and he looked in its direction and nodded. Then I turned around to put the letters in my bag, locked the post-box and continued with my round.’
‘Did you notice what he did?’
‘He didn’t go up to the house which I thought a bit odd, just stood at the gate and stared in its direction. Then he got back in his car and drove off.’
‘His car?’
‘Did I not mention it?’
‘What was that like?’
‘Big sporty model. Black.’
‘What make?’
Cummings grimaced. ‘Couldn’t tell you. I know nothing about cars. Horses yes. Cars no.’
It did sound as if it could be Jack Osgood’s car, Blades thought, which fitted nicely with the description Cummings had given, and which contradicted what Jack Osgood had said.
‘Do you know what time this was?’
‘Two o’clock in the afternoon.’
‘That sounds precise.’
‘That’s when I always empty that post-box. That’s when it’s supposed to be done.’
‘And you were on time that day?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’d never seen him before?’
‘He was a stranger to me.’
‘Have you seen him again?’
‘No.’
‘Did anyone else ask you the way to Miss Wright’s?’
‘Not me. Though anyone could be visiting that house for all I know. I just go past it on my rounds and I don’t have time to waste.’
‘Thank you, Mr Cummings. You’ve done your civic duty and you can take pride in it.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Definitely a lounge lizard, thought Blades as he looked across the room at Jack Osgood again. They had tracked him down to a suitably lavish hotel, where he was seated in the restaurant sipping from a gold-rimmed china teacup and talking to a young lady dressed in silk.
Blades had waited till he had sight of Osgood’s record when it was sent up from London. It had made interesting reading, and he was glad of the chance to question Jack about it. ‘Pleased to meet up with you again, Jack,’ Blades said as he drew up a chair to their table and Peacock did the same. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said to Jack’s lady friend, tipping his bowler at her. He gave Jack his own best effort at a charming smile, but, on this occasion, Jack did not give one in return.
‘I thought we’d finished discussing that matter,’ Jack said.
‘Matter? What matter?’ the young lady interrupted. ‘Who are these men, Jack?’
Blades handed over his card to her as he introduced himself to her. ‘Inspector Blades of Yorkshire Constabulary, and this is Sergeant Peacock.’ He gave her a smile too.
‘The police? What have you been up to, Jack?’
Jack shrugged his shoulders, then simpered at her. ‘I haven’t been up to anything, Clara. I don’t know what this is about.’ He now shot an inquiring look at Blades.
‘Just some more questions, sir. About the murder of Miss Wright.’
Clara sat back in her seat. She frowned in Jack’s direction.
‘Tell me he didn’t say that, Jack.’
‘It’s about someone I met once or twice who was found dead in mysterious circumstances, and they’re questioning anybody who might have known her even slightly to see if they can give them any information that’ll help them catch whoever did it. That’s all.’ Then he turned to Blades. ‘But I don’t know anything, which I’ve told you before.’
‘More information has come to light, sir.’
‘I don’t want to be dragged into anything, Jack,’ Clara said as she looked the policemen up and down. She seemed impressed by the seriousness of their demeanour.
‘And I don’t think Clara’s ever met Evelyn Wright at all,’ Jack said. ‘They don’t need to talk to you,’ he said to Clara.
‘Evelyn Wright, did you say?’ Clara said. ‘I’ve heard about her. She was murdered, wasn’t she? Why are they asking you about that, Jack?’
Jack now looked nonplussed and seemed to think it wiser to say nothing.
Blades considered Clara. She was attractive, but probably not bright, someone else who might be manipulated by a man like Osgood. ‘Your boyfriend did know her,’ Blades said.
‘But you don’t need to speak with me,’ Clara said, rising from her seat.
‘No. They don’t,’ Jack said, ‘but don’t go, Clara. This won’t take long.’
‘I don’t want to get involved,’ she said to Jack as she put her wrap over her shoulders. ‘We can meet up again some other time. I won’t say I was glad to meet you,’ she said to Blades and Peacock, ‘but do have a good rest of the day.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Blades said.
Clara turned a
nd left. Jack looked after her then turned to Blades and Peacock. ‘You certainly spoiled that little interlude,’ he said.
Blades supposed he ought to apologise but did not. ‘As I said, sir, new information has come to light.’
‘Which is?’
‘I didn’t know about your record the last time we met?’
‘Oh, that.’ Jack looked annoyed but dismissive. ‘It was some time ago.’
‘It’s not something small, sir. You were arrested in London for the murder of your mother.’
‘And released,’ Jack said quickly.
‘To recap the whole sorry tale,’ Blades went on, ‘you were enrolled at university and I daresay you told your mother you went to lectures, but you spent your time at dance halls instead, whooping it up with a variety of young ladies, none of them very light on the wallet. The point being that you paid for this by stealing cheques from your mother and forging them.’
‘I was a bit younger then. I would have more sense now.’
‘And when your mother found out about this, there was a dreadful row, and a couple of days after that she was found dead, apparently of an overdose of medicine, leaving you a nice size of fortune.’
‘I didn’t kill her.’
‘In despair at her son, she took her own life. That was the official conclusion.’
‘As I said, I did not murder her.’
‘And you show no remorse for the death of your mother?’
‘Why should I? I’m not a murderer.’
‘You miss the point. Even if you’re not, you were the cause of her death.’
Now Jack simply said nothing, as if he’d realised there was no arguing with Blades.
‘You said something about Evelyn being a mother-substitute?’ Blades continued. ‘And the police seemed to think you murdered your mother even if they couldn’t prove it. That doesn’t sound good.’
Jack leaned back in his seat and laughed. He took out a cigarette. ‘Would you like one, gentlemen?’
‘No, thank you, sir,’ Blades replied.
‘I suppose you wouldn’t,’ Jack said. ‘Well, I will.’ He lit his expensive Turkish cigarette, breathed in a lungful of smoke, then slowly exhaled, but he said nothing as he waited for Blades to continue.
‘You say you never visited Evelyn in Birtleby?’
‘I would have done but she wanted to keep me a secret. I did suggest developing the relationship by seeing each other over there as well, but no. She had one life in Birtleby and one here. She’d been repressed a long time I think, something to do with that father of hers. She was the virtuous spinster who did good works, and she seemed to find it difficult to move on from that image.’
‘So, it would surprise you to hear that a witness has placed you in Birtleby?’ Peacock asked him. Jack drew in more smoke from his cigarette and gave Peacock a lengthy stare.
‘On the day of the murder,’ Blades added.
‘So, who’s this witness?’ Jack replied. ‘I don’t know anyone in Birtleby and I doubt if anyone knows me there.’
‘It’s not someone who knows you, but it is someone who can describe you – and your car,’ Blades said.
‘Oh, that.’
‘It is distinctive.’
‘I suppose it is.’
‘And we can do a witness parade.’
‘If you wish, but it won’t worry me.’
‘You stood on Miss Wright’s street almost opposite her house and asked for directions to it. Now, why would you do that?’
Jack drew in more smoke. ‘I dare say you’ll have it out of me,’ he said. ‘I might as well just tell you. She was a funny sort, Evelyn, so secretive. I was in Leeds, hidden away from everybody in Birtelby, and everybody in Birtleby was hidden away from me. I just wanted to have a look at her place out of curiosity. You never know, she might not have been the lady she made herself out to be. She could have lived in a hovel for all I knew.’
‘You wanted to see if she was worth the bother of cultivating?’ Peacock said. ‘You were checking there was money there to be wheedled out of her?’
‘Doesn’t say much, your friend, does he?’ Jack said to Blades, ‘but when he does, he’s straight to the point.’
‘He’s sharp is Sergeant Peacock. That’s how I would describe it. And you did get a prison sentence for forgery.’
Jack ignored that remark. ‘So I had a quick gander at her house, decided she was probably kosher and drove back to Leeds.’
‘And we’re supposed to believe that, are we, sir?’ Peacock said.
‘You’ll believe what you decide to,’ Jack replied, ‘but that’s what happened, and I do have an alibi for that evening.’
‘We’ve been looking at Miss Wright’s bank accounts,’ Blades said. ‘There were large withdrawals when she was here in Leeds.’
‘Evelyn was bright. She wasn’t the sort to leave her chequebook lying around.’
‘You checked that, did you, sir?’ Peacock said.
There was a flash of anger in Jack’s eyes, but he controlled it. ‘She did buy me this,’ he said and flourished a gold ring.
‘Very nice, sir,’ Blades said.
‘And I encouraged her to buy herself attractive jewellery.’
Blades studied Osgood and took in the note of pomposity. ‘And you helped her with her wardrobe too, you said.’
‘She was an attractive woman. There was no need for her to dress dowdily. And you’ll find her jewellery somewhere in her house I should think, along with the receipts, unless the murderer took it. And that was not me. I suppose you did check my alibi?’
‘Oh yes. We checked it, and it stands up. We haven’t worked out how you got to Birtleby to do that murder – if that’s what you did. But we’re going to continue asking questions.’
‘You do that,’ Jack said.
And that was that. They’d got Jack to agree to what was written in his file, and it would have been difficult for him to do anything else. They’d also learned his excuse for being in Birtleby, which might have been true and might not. But they’d learned nothing new from him, and Blades was disappointed that they hadn’t managed to rile him more than they had. This was a cool customer. Or was he just cold?
‘Can you tell us about her friends in Birtleby?’
‘She didn’t talk about them much. I knew about Digby Russell, of course. He struck me as being rather wet, but he might be your man for all that.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Or might not be. I wouldn’t know.’
Blades asked Jack some more questions, but deliberately flippant replies betrayed nothing that might be of any help to the investigation.
* * *
‘You decided not to arrest him then?’ Peacock said as they left.
‘On what grounds?’ Blades replied. ‘Because we’ve proof he visited Birtleby once?’
‘I didn’t think you would,’ Peacock said.
Blades felt disappointment after the interview but, at the same time, relief. On the one hand, Osgood was a beautiful suspect. He already was a murderer – probably. But what had he earned from Evelyn’s death? It was easy to see what he had gained from his mother’s death but why kill Evelyn? Blades wondered if he would be like this with every suspect, pleased to be convinced of their innocence. He knew too well that charging someone brought its own problems and he didn’t want to go through it lightly. Then a report turned up of another suspect, which drew his mind away and gave him another avenue of investigation.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was Constable Wintour who had turned up something. ‘Look at this, Peacock,’ Blades said, looking at Wintour’s report. ‘A grocer’s boy. You’d think they’d stand a chance of seeing something. Nobody notices them, and they have a habit of turning up unexpectedly. Cavendish’s delivery boy. That’s the grocer Miss Wright did her regular business with. The boy saw Miss Wright taking a stroll in her back garden with a man much younger than her. And they were holding hands.’
‘T
he respectable Miss Wright at it again?’
‘Unless he’s making it up, and he could be. Some boys like to feel important. Why didn’t any of the servants report this, or the gardener? But we can hardly ignore it. We’ll look him up.’
When they entered the grocery shop, they found Mr Cavendish engaged in giving instructions to various white-aproned men and boys who bustled around, fetching this and that for different orders. Mr Cavendish stopped to attend to them.
‘You have a delivery boy called Alan Young I believe?’ Blades delivered the statement in a clear and authoritative manner and Mr Cavendish’s face immediately took on a flustered look. ‘I do. What’s he done? I’m very strict with my staff. I don’t put up with anything.’
‘He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s done the opposite. He came up with some information that might help us with a case we’re working on.’
This didn’t appear to cheer up Mr Cavendish who tutted and frowned but then called out to one of the assistants to go and fetch Alan. ‘You’re in luck,’ he said. ‘He should be loading up his delivery bike out back right now. What’s this got to do with?’
Blades gave him a polite smile but did not reply. Alan appeared, looking perturbed. He was a boy with a ruddy face and alert eyes that darted between Mr Cavendish and Blades before settling on Blades. Blades recapped for him. ‘You volunteered some information to Constable Wintour about something you’d witnessed at the Wright house.’
‘The Wright case?’ Cavendish boomed. ‘We’ve heard all about that. And Alan saw something? Why didn’t you come forward with it before this, Alan?’
Blades bit back a sterner comment as he said, ‘If you don’t mind, sir, if you would leave us alone with Alan, it’ll work better that way.’
Cavendish looked disappointed and annoyed but one look at Blades’ face told him to comply. ‘I’ve some paperwork to do in the office,’ he said and left them to it.
Blades smiled at Alan and put on his most benign expression. ‘If you could just tell us what you told Constable Wintour?’