by James Andrew
Alan glanced now from Blades to Peacock, then addressed Blades. ‘It was a few weeks ago. I was delivering lamb and sausages next door and was running a bit late, so I wasn’t hanging about. Then I saw them and that made me stop. It was a sunny day, so I wasn’t surprised to see Miss Wright having a stroll in the garden, but she was with someone I’d never seen before, a man. He was younger than her, a lot younger. He had fair hair and a beard. I noticed that in particular. He’d a full-length coat on, navy-blue, oh, and he wore a navy-blue felt hat. And he had a stick; that was black, with a silver handle.’
‘You noticed quite a lot, then?’
‘I must have gawped a bit. They were holding hands. She was looking at him quite the thing as they chatted away, and I thought, Oh, Miss Wright, who’d have thought it? But I didn’t hang about. I had my rounds to do.’
‘Was this someone you’d seen before?’
‘I’ve never seen him about.’
‘Can you be exact about the date?’
‘It was a Tuesday because that’s when I do that delivery and it’s at about eleven in the morning, but which Tuesday was it? Let’s see. Three weeks ago.’
Well before the murder then, Blades thought. ‘I don’t suppose you heard anything they were saying?’
‘I was too far away for that.’
Blades supposed he’d found out what he’d come to discover. ‘Thanks for your help,’ he said. ‘You’ve already given your statement to Constable Wintour, so you don’t need to give another one. You’ve been a good lad. It’s a pity there aren’t more like you.’
This pleased Alan who preened himself.
As they left the grocer’s shop, Peacock said, ‘He’s telling the truth, sir.’
Blades grinned back at him. ‘Undoubtedly. There are too many details for it to be anything else.’
‘And the man he saw is neither Digby nor Osgood.’
‘No.’
‘Do you think we’ve found the owner of the prints on the poker at last?’
Blades was feeling hopeful of that but reminded himself it might not turn out to be the case. ‘If we can find him, we’ll get the answer to that,’ he said.
‘How do we do that?’
‘We release a press statement.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The article that appeared in The Birtleby Times was less sensational than might have been expected, as if the writer was himself shocked at reporting such a crime in Birtleby.
SUSPECT SOUGHT FOR THE MURDER OF MISS WRIGHT
The investigation into the murder of Miss Evelyn Wright on Thursday, 26 July continues. Some information has come to light since the discovery of her body in the drawing room at her mansion in Birtleby at Evans Gardens. The police still seek the person who left Miss Wright with gashes on her forehead from a fire iron left on the rug beside her in front of her drawing-room fire. Who did she struggle with? Things had been thrown around, but there was no sign of a break-in and nothing was taken. The police think the attacker was probably known to Miss Wright. So far there are no major suspects but the police wish to interview a man described by one of the witnesses. He is a young man, in his twenties or thirties, has fair hair and a beard, is said to be well-dressed, and has been seen wearing a navy-blue, full-length coat and a navy-blue felt hat. He carries a black stick with a silver top. If anyone knows who this might be, could they please get in touch with the police at Birtleby? The police would be grateful for anyone with further information to come forward.
‘It might help,’ Peacock said.
‘I’m not sure how else we can find him,’ Blades said. ‘And there must be witnesses around who saw something else useful. Perhaps we’ll get more people coming forward, just as long as it’s not attention-seekers.’
‘It’s amazing,’ Peacock said. ‘Someone walks unobserved into a house, commits a murder, and departs without leaving traces or being seen leaving.’
‘It’s what we’re left with. Of the people we know were there, none of their prints fits, not even the servants’. In any case, I don’t see the motive for any of them.’
‘She travelled about in Leeds,’ Peacock said.
‘Yes,’ Blades replied. ‘We could publicise it in a Leeds newspaper too.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The article was helpful because some people did come forward with useful information, and a clerk from the railway station turned up at the police station. Sergeant Ryan was on duty.
Sergeant Ryan was not only the regulation six foot, but he was broad. As he was in his mid-forties now, a lot of his bulk was padded and comfortable, but he knew he still looked ominous and often played on it, though it could be a disadvantage on desk duty. Today he noticed that the man approaching the desk visibly quaked, even though Ryan had given him his official welcoming smile. The clerk, Philip Middleton, was five feet two and, being sedentary in his habits, was not a muscular man. Visibly nervous, he turned as if to leave again. The sergeant coughed as if in apology.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ he said in a tone as mild as possible.
Philip stopped, thought for a moment, then turned around again.
‘I suppose as I’ve come this far,’ he muttered.
‘What’s the problem, sir?’
‘Well, it’s this.’ Philip paused as if losing his nerve again, then continued, ‘It’s in answer to that newspaper article.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘The one about the murder of Miss Wright. You asked if anyone had seen a man answering a certain description?’
‘We did.’ Sergeant Ryan’s eyes were keen as he looked at Philip Middleton now.
‘I’ve seen him. I’m a clerk at the railway station. I saw him when he arrived in Birtleby and when he left.’
‘You’re sure it’s him?’
‘He fitted the description.’ Philip started to look more relaxed, even relieved as he unburdened himself. ‘He came off the Leeds train. As the paper said, he was young, about medium height, wearing the exact clothes they described, and carrying that cane. Definitely not from around here. It was a southern accent he had.’
‘When was this, sir?’
‘A few weeks ago. Maybe three weeks. Yes. That would be right. Not the night of the murder. I don’t see how he’s connected to Miss Wright’s death, but he did ask the way to the house.’
‘Miss Wright’s house?’
‘That’s what I’m saying. He said he was a cousin who’d always meant to look her up and he happened to be nearby.’
‘He came off the Leeds train?’
‘The nine o’clock. And he went back on the three o’clock I think it was.’
‘Did you see his ticket?’
‘I had to check that. It was a return ticket all the way from Leeds.’
‘Not just passing then, unless he’d other business in Birtleby. How did he seem?’
‘I don’t know really. I didn’t pay much attention when he arrived. He was just another customer asking a question. I noticed him more when he was on his way back. He was cheerful as if something had gone well.’
‘Did he speak to you?’
‘He just kept himself to himself, but he was whistling as he stood about waiting for his train. I couldn’t help noticing that.’
‘And you’d recognize him again?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘That’s helpful, sir. If you’d care to make a statement, I’ll pass it on to Inspector Blades when he returns.’ Sergeant Ryan concealed his excitement, but he did expect this would be important.
* * *
Another member of the public came forward with useful information, a local lady called Mrs Isobel Wharton. She was a large person with a wide, sweeping, feathered hat, who was wearing a red fox-fur collar. She had a look of steel in her eye and her demeanour, and she certainly did not look the sort of person to be intimidated by overgrown police sergeants.
‘You asked for information,’ she boomed. ‘In your newspaper article about poor Evelyn’s death,
about a certain person, and gave a description. I’m here about that.’
Suitably deferential, Sergeant Ryan replied. ‘It’s very good of you to come forward, madam. What information do you have for us?’ He asked the question punctiliously even though something about her did make him nervous.
Isobel picked at her fox collar. Unsatisfied with it somehow, she took it off, then threw the fox’s head behind her as she swung the fur into a more comfortable position round her shoulders. By then, Sergeant Ryan supposed, she had worked out the content of her speech. ‘I knew Evelyn well,’ Isobel continued, ‘from when she was such a keen member of the Methodists. We were on a committee together, so I would recognise Evelyn anywhere. And it was because of where I’d known her from that she surprised me. I was on a train to Catterick in the Dales when I saw her. She was on it too, with a young man. This was a few months ago. I was there with my children. My husband was supposed to be with us as well, but something had cropped up in his business. When I spotted her, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She was standing looking doe-eyed at this young man, young enough to be her son, and he was looking back at her, equally struck.’
Isobel started playing with her collar unconsciously again and Sergeant Ryan studied the hand movements.
‘He did have the fair hair it said in the newspaper,’ she continued, ‘and blue eyes, and this neat little beard, fair as well. I didn’t know whether to acknowledge her or not. Anyway, I got off at Catterick and she remained on the train and that’s all there is to my story. I hadn’t thought it worth bothering you with, but my husband thought any information could help you. After all, somebody murdered her, and you don’t know who, and you’ll want to know something about the kind of people she was associating with. But I’ve no idea who he was. I’d never seen him before and I’ve never seen him again.’ She played with the collar again but left it in place.
‘Would you recognize him if you did?’
‘I don’t see why not. I had a good look at him. I was curious.’
‘Thank you for the information ma’am. It sounds invaluable. Now, can I ask you to make a statement?’
‘Of course, young man.’ It surprised Sergeant Ryan to be called this as no one had said that to him in years. ‘That’s why I came.’
Various other people appeared at Sergeant Ryan’s desk in answer to the newspaper article, and Ryan duly listened and took statements, but most were inconsequential and a lot unlikely. Ryan did not see any of them were going to make it easier for Blades and Peacock to locate the man they were looking for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Blades and Peacock were seated in the manager’s office at The Princess Grand, which had been loaned to them for the occasion. Peacock held his notebook in his hand as usual. The room wasn’t as opulent as the rest of the hotel, though it still boasted striped blue and gold wallpaper and a majestic oak desk; there were no gilt-framed pictures, just a board with staff notices, and the carpet showed signs of wear.
The young man seated in front of them was about eighteen, sallow, thin, and with eyes that shifted here, there and everywhere. That did suggest unreliability to Blades but he checked himself. It would be a mistake to pre-judge the witness.
Word had gone around the hotel about the line of questioning Blades had been following during his previous visit, and it had occurred to this young man that he might know something the police would be interested in. After taking his statement, Leeds police had phoned up Blades.
Len Hodgkins’ eyes settled on Blades as he started to speak. ‘I wasn’t on last week when you were at the hotel questioning staff and I’m sorry I didn’t come forward earlier than this.’
‘You have now,’ Blades said. He smiled and waited for the witness to continue.
‘I need my job here. It can be difficult to get one and you don’t want to call attention to yourself.’ He indicated his helplessness with a movement of his shoulders.
‘So you served Miss Wright?’
‘She was here about a month, not that I’m always on as I say. I wish I’d more shifts. I served her maybe seven, eight times. No. It must have been more than that. I dunno.’
‘And did she eat alone, or did she have company?’
‘That Jack Osgood, I saw her with him a few times.’
‘How do you know his name?’
‘Everyone knows Jack Osgood. He’s loud. He talks to everybody. And a right lad for the ladies they say. Nobody thought Miss Wright was his one and only, whatever she might have thought.’
‘We were aware she knew him, but confirmation is useful.’
‘There’s not much I can add to what you probably know but there were no words between them, not when I was there. I can tell you how smarmy he was and how much she drank it up. She was flattered with him being so much younger, I should think, which probably isn’t new to you either. But there is something else I thought you might not know.’
Blades nodded to Peacock who made a show of his readiness to ply his pen.
‘There was another bloke with her one time. He was someone I’d seen around the hotel before. I sometimes noticed him talking to some of the wealthier looking residents. When you heard them speaking about him, some said they were a bit doubtful of him. He had some shares he was trying to sell – in a mine in South America – if it exists. He didn’t look like the sort you would want to buy shares from, not without doing a lot of checking.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘He’s a young man. Maybe anyone in trousers could talk Miss Wright into anything or thought they could.’
‘Young, you say? About how young?’
‘Older than me. Mid to late twenties? And a fit-looking fellow. Had an odd smile, but Miss Wright lapped it up.’
‘How tall was he?’
‘About five nine? Thereabouts. And he had fair hair, combed back, short, neat. And a close-cut beard. It was blonde too. His accent wasn’t from around here. Somewhere southern I would say. Cockney maybe. He laughed a lot, and he had this really loud laugh, particularly when he was laughing at his own jokes. He was a smug know-it-all, not the sort of person I take to, but women seemed to like him, especially that Miss Wright, though I only saw her with him the once.’
‘About when was this?’
The waiter thought about this, shook his head, then thought again. ‘Second week in June? Yes, it would have been then. The same day as my brother’s birthday, June the 10th. I can place it by that.’
‘Did you hear anything they spoke about?’
‘He didn’t half pile on the compliments. I thought, she’ll never believe that, but she seemed to. Looked like a cat that had got the cream. He told her she didn’t look a day over thirty, and if he’d said fifty I’d have found it believable.’
‘So he flattered her?’
‘And he did take out papers at one point. Would have been to do with those shares he was usually trying to sell I suppose. She looked at them, then just put them to the side. It was him she was interested in, but how the conversation developed beyond that, I couldn’t say. I had a lot of tables to wait on.’
‘Did you make out his name?’
‘It was Renshaw, Peter Renshaw.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
‘Oh yes. He’s well known around here.’
‘He is? Do you know where we can find him?’
‘Didn’t I say? He’s the Sales Manager at the Ford garage in Camberwell Lane.’
Blades and Peacock grinned at each other.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mr Peter Renshaw fitted the description of their suspect exactly, with his wispy fair hair and neatly trimmed beard, and Blades and Peacock were seated opposite him now, pretending to be interested in buying a Model T Ford. Renshaw had on his work suit, but it was of a reasonable quality, and he wore a striking tie in a lurid purple and black with a silver tiepin set in the centre of it. At a push, you might describe him as well-dressed. They could vouch for his charm as he prattled
on about the technicalities of the engine, the rpm and the comfort of the leather upholstery, his gushing enthusiasm as eloquent as his words. Blades soon realised that the only way to get out of a test drive would be to show his police card, even if the drive would be fun.
But, for now, Blades contented himself with asking questions. ‘Have you been with this firm long?’
‘Quite some time. I started off as a salesman but worked my way up.’ He sat further back in his seat with a self-satisfied smile as he started to boast. ‘I’ve improved business no end. This showroom is twice the size it was before I was promoted. Sales up every year. Profits up. My wife’s father is the brother-in-law of the owner.’ Blades tried to work out that relationship while Renshaw continued. ‘But he has nothing to complain about. I’ve made the most of the opportunity. Now the Model T Ford. You must view it properly.’
‘I’d like nothing better,’ Blades said, ‘but–’ And it was then that he produced his card. ‘Unfortunately, it isn’t the Model T Ford I’m interested in.’
‘But I thought you said–’
‘I didn’t. You assumed it, sir, because I talked about cars when I first approached you, and it’s a topic worth addressing but it isn’t what I’m here for.’
‘Are you investigating the showroom? Why?’
‘No, sir. I’m here to ask questions about you. You know how it is. The police receive information and follow it up. The information we get is supposed to be helpful, but that’s what I’m here to establish. Now, if you don’t mind answering a few questions.’
The peeved expression on Peter’s face was the opposite of charm. ‘If I must,’ he said. He took out a cigarette without offering one to either Blades or Peacock, leaned back in his chair and waited. Blades now noticed the solid gold cufflinks and the silver-monogrammed cigarette lighter. Perhaps this Renshaw was better turned out than he’d given him credit for.
‘Do you ever visit Birtleby?’
There was a tightening of the lips but otherwise Renshaw answered evenly. ‘I’ve been there with my wife and nippers once or twice. A visit to the seaside.’