by John Creasey
Defence in Depth
“Well, anyway, there can’t be any danger to the kid,” Evans declared to Roger.
At the end of The Close there had been two police cars and two men in plain-clothes, as well as the drivers. Halfway along, two men had been working on an electric cable in the road, and a uniformed policeman was with them. By the front gate were two more Divisional officers, and yet another was in the porch of the lovely house, which Roger saw for the first time in daylight. The fact that there were so many policemen about distracted his attention from the long, low building, with a Norfolk thatch roof, the beautifully-leaded windows, the oak beams and the ornamental garden. A small fountain was playing in the middle of a lawn which looked as if it had been brought from the quadrangles of Oxford. Apart from the waiting, watching men, there was quiet everywhere, except that a long way off a lawnmower clattered.
Roger and Evans walked up to the front of the house, and a local C.I.D. man came from the hall.
“Is Maddison here?” asked Roger.
“There was a telephone message ten minutes ago, to say that he’s on his way.”
“How’s his wife?”
“Absolutely distraught,” the other man answered. “She won’t let the baby go out of her sight for a moment. Her doctor’s with her. The housekeeper sent for him.”
“Sounds the sensible thing to do,” Roger said, and then the door opened and a brisk, elderly man came hurrying down the drive, peering shortsightedly at Roger. Roger, unexpectedly, grinned at him, and the doctor said: “Well, well! It’s Mr West. How are you?” They shook hands. “I hope you don’t allow this case to drag on much longer; that young woman will collapse. I can’t even persuade her to take aspirins. She’s afraid that if she sleeps for five minutes the child might be hurt.”
“We won’t be a minute longer than we have to,” Roger said.
“Sure you won’t. How’s your wife?”
“Fine, thanks.”
The doctor went off, nodding, and Roger looked up at the policeman by his side.
“The first time we met he hated my guts,” he explained. “I was on a job in which some patients of his were suspects. They weren’t guilty, so … that’s beside the point. Are you making sure that no one goes near the house?”
“You bet I am. All the tradespeople leave the goods at the back gate, with our chaps.”
“Checking baby foods for poison?”
The local man said: “God!”
“Better get everything checked in a hurry, and get hold of some sealed and tinned foods for present use,” Roger said briskly. “We ought to have sugar, packets of baby foods, dill-water, Milk of Magnesia, all unsealed goods that might be given to the baby.”
“She’ll never let you go near the stuff!”
“We’ll see,” said Roger.
The front door was closed. As he approached, the policeman rang the bell, but there was no answer. He rang again when Roger drew up, and said under his breath: “She won’t even let the servants answer.”
“Has anyone been in since the threat was received?”
“Yes, sir, she allowed the first detectives who called to come in, and then locked the door. I don’t know how—”
There was the sound of a car turning the corner. Roger looked round, not surprised to see a Rolls-Royce. It came smoothly along the road, with a chauffeur at the wheel, and Maddison sitting in the back and leaning close to the window, as if he could not get the door open fast enough. The moment the car stopped, the door was thrust open, and Maddison leapt down and began to run towards the gate. Roger stood on the porch, surprised by the older man’s agility, if not by the expression of alarm on his face. A policeman opened the gate, and Maddison came through as if he had not realised that it had been there. He had a hand at his hip pocket, and by the time he reached the porch, had his keys in his hand. Roger stood to one side, and Maddison thrust a key towards the door, saying: “Is my wife all right?”
“As far as I know.”
“What the devil do you mean, as far as you know?” growled Maddison. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Protect citizens?” The key caught, he thrust at it, and muttered under his breath; the door opened and he hurried inside. Roger went after him, caught his shoulder, pulled him back and stood in front of him.
“If you don’t let me pass—” Maddison began.
“Quiet!” Roger ordered. And then he called: “Are you there, Mrs Maddison?”
There was a pause; and silence.
“Hilda!” cried Maddison.
For a dreadful moment Roger thought that, in spite of the precautions, someone had got in, had reached the mother and her child, and had struck them down. It was by far the worst moment he had known. Then, a door at the end of the hall opened, and a heavily-built man appeared.
“Where is your mistress?” demanded Maddison tautly.
“She—she’s locked herself in her bedroom with the baby, and won’t come out, sir. She ordered us not to let anyone in, and not to answer any telephone calls.”
Roger was already halfway up the stairs, heart pounding, fears increasing. He tried the handle of the main bedroom door but the door would not budge. Maddison came just behind him, calling out: “Hilda! Hilda, open the door!” There was a moment of silence before Maddison rattled the handle and shook the door wildly.
It opened.
Hilda Maddison stood holding the side of the door. Beyond her was a lovely room, with the curtains drawn and the blinds down. Behind her was the cot, and she sheltered it with her body, as if determined to make sure that no one could get near it without passing her. She had no vestige of colour, except at her lips and eyes; and her eyes looked startlingly blue.
“Are you all right? Is Charles—”
“Don’t let that man come near me,” Hilda said shrilly. “Don’t let anyone come near baby. Someone is going to kill him – they said so on the telephone again. Someone is going to kill him!”
Maddison stepped past her towards the cot, and stood gripping it and staring down; his lips were working, and he seemed to be gasping for breath. His wife, still defensively, was watching Roger and there was no doubt that if he made a move to pass her she would fly at him. The strange brightness of her eyes and the tension of her lips gave her a ferocious expression; a maddened beauty.
Roger said sharply: “Mr Maddison, I don’t want the child to have any food that is now in the house. Everything – milk, powders, and medicines – must be brought in sealed. I will arrange for a policewoman to come here to prepare the food and act as nurse until the emergency is over.”
Maddison swung round. “Do you seriously think—”
“It’s a possibility and must be checked. All the foods now in the house are to be sent to an analyst at once. Have you any idea who threatened the child?”
“No. I had a message from my wife – that is all.”
“Was it from a man or a woman, Mrs Maddison?”
The woman did not seem to hear him.
“Hilda! You must tell us who telephoned.”
“Was it a man or was it a woman?” Roger demanded.
“Woman?” Maddison echoed.
“Answer me, please,” Roger said roughly. “If we’re to find out who it was, we’ve got to be quick.”
“Hilda—”
“It was a woman,” Hilda Maddison answered. “It was a woman, and she said—”
“Step up the search for Helen Osborn,” Roger ordered Evans. “Call the Yard, and ask them to call all London and Home Counties police stations, give a new description of her, alert all stations, ports and airfields. Then try to find out if she was associated with Cartwright as well as with Maddison.”
“Right,” Evans said, and hurried down the path towards the police cars.
Roger turned back to the house, where the Maddisons were still upstairs. The elderly servants came from the kitchen together, a little alarmed and put out because food was being taken away by the police.
�
�If we’re not trusted—” the woman began. She was bigger even than her husband, and had a remarkably lined face.
“It’s not a question of not trusting you,” Roger said. “Anyone could have come to the house and poisoned some food without you or anyone else knowing it. If I were you I would carry on as normally. After it’s all over, you’ll be all right.”
“That’s all very well, but—”
“When did Mrs Maddison first begin to show fear about the baby?” Roger asked.
“Oh, it was only a few days ago,” the ex-policeman answered eagerly.
“Was there any special reason? Had anyone been to see her, or had she had a telephone call or a letter?”
“I think it was something she read in a newspaper,” the woman answered.
“When did you first find that she was afraid of Mr Cartwright?”
“Oh, that wasn’t until yesterday, when his name was in the newspapers.”
“Thanks,” said Roger, and went upstairs to meet Maddison coming out of the bedroom. Through the open door, Hilda Maddison was visible, sitting by the cot. Maddison looked pale and shaken and old; much of the alertness seemed to have gone from his face.
Roger said: “Can you spare me a few minutes alone, sir?”
“Yes,” agreed Maddison, in a low-pitched voice. “Yes, of course. Come into my study.” It was a small, beautifully furnished room, overlooking the back garden, with the fine lawns, a magnificent herbaceous border, and a fountain on one side. “Sit down, Mr West.”
Roger didn’t move, but asked roughly: “Have you heard from Helen Osborn today?”
“No.”
“Do you know if your nephew and Helen Osborn were associated in any way?”
“What?”
Roger didn’t repeat the question.
“Good God, no!” Maddison exclaimed. “In fact Roy resented her very much indeed, just as much as he resented my marriage. I believe that he always suspected that I might marry Helen, and he was always aware of the fact that my marriage to anyone could affect his own future, although of course that would be affected only by issue of the marriage.” He was sitting back in an easy chair, still very pale, and his eyes narrowed, as if he had an almost unbearable headache. “Roy disliked Helen intensely. I suppose—” He pressed his hands against his forehead, paused, then went on as if with great effort: “I suppose it would be better if—if it turned out to be Helen rather than Roy. But I don’t know what my wife will do if she should ever find out that this happened because of that old affaire.”
There was no useful comment to make.
“Have you seen Helen Osborn recently outside the office?”
“No,” said Maddison. “I haven’t been back on the old footing with her there, either. As my secretary, she had a sinecure – and often the very pleasant job of showing customers round, taking them out to a meal occasionally; she couldn’t have had a better job. I can hardly believe—” He broke off, squared his shoulders again, and went on: “It won’t help if I talk like that. Mr West, how can we take this awful threat away? What can we do? What chance is there of your finding Helen? Haven’t you any idea where she is?”
“No,” Roger answered, “but I think there’s a way that we can find out – if she did make the threat and is determined to try to harm the baby.”
“How?” Maddison demanded, and gripped his shoulder tightly. “Tell me how.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ruse
“We can only do it with your co-operation and with your wife’s,” Roger said, “and I don’t think that Mrs Maddison will want to work with us.”
“I’ll make sure that she does,” Maddison assured him. “Are you sure it will succeed?”
“As soon as your nephew was under arrest, this new threat was made,” Roger reminded him. “That showed a defiance and a kind of bravado more likely in a psychopath than from a person who is normal, and doing this for a coldblooded motive. We can’t take that or anything else for granted yet – the man might be trying to persuade us that he’s not sane. But either way, if he believes that the child is unprotected, he’s likely to try again.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” demanded Maddison harshly.
Roger said: “I should keep your voice down, sir. It isn’t uncommon after an arrest has been made to have someone quite unconnected with the crime telephone and say that lie knows all about it. If in this case we let it be generally believed that we’re sure we have the right man in your nephew, and that we’re taking off the guard—”
“But you can’t be sure!”
“No, but we can pretend that we are,” Roger said patiently. “The Press will co-operate in every way. We have reasonable grounds for charging Mr Cartwright with the murder of the Kindle baby. If we do that, then the newspapers will report it in such a way that the general public will believe that no one else is involved. We can make sure that the newspapers say that the house is no longer being especially guarded. That is where we shall need your wife’s co-operation, although there’s a risk that we won’t get it.”
“Do you mean you want to provoke an attempt on my child?” Maddison demanded, incredulously.
Roger thought: He must have a mind or else he’s just playing dumb. He said aloud: “I want to provoke an attack on this house, sir. Your child would be removed to a place of safety, of course.”
Maddison frowned. Roger didn’t go on, and suddenly the other man’s expression cleared, and he said: “Of course! I quite see the point. I’m afraid that I’m not myself, Mr West. The child will be taken away but the attacker will believe that he is still in the house. Yes, of course, but – can you be sure that everyone will believe that?”
“We can try,” Roger said.
“I can see the possibilities,” Maddison conceded slowly. “If your men are withdrawn, if the newspapers imply that you believe there is no further danger, then the killer is likely to think it safe to come. Yes.” He began to smile a little tensely. “I understand why you have a reputation for unorthodoxy, Mr West. As you rightly say, the great stumbling block will be my wife, and I think that the best thing will be to make sure that she has a sedative at the crucial time. I can arrange that – Dr Fisher left tablets for her. I shall stay home for a day or two, or would it be better if we were to go away with the baby?”
“You’ve got to live here, and you’ve got to behave normally,” Roger said.
“Ah, yes. Of course. Shall we dismiss the nurse and the staff?”
“If you do, it will look as if you think there’s still danger,” Roger argued. “They must believe that the baby is still here, so we’ve got to smuggle him out. If the newspapers come out with the story tomorrow morning, the best time to deal with your wife and to bring the baby away will be about ten o’clock. Is that all right with you?”
“Perfectly all right,” Maddison said, now almost eager. “Do you expect an attack immediately?”
“If it isn’t made before your wife comes round we’ll have to think up another one,” Roger said dryly.
“At least you’ve given me some cause for hope,” declared Maddison.
Roger made no comment, but went out of the house soon afterwards. A police car with a tray containing baby foods was being driven away. A crowd of a hundred people or more was watching, and the end of the street was almost blocked with cars, with the police trying to make sure that the traffic was kept on the move. A path was made for Roger’s car. He drove straight to the High Street, and stopped outside a small Georgian house, with brass plates on the gate; one announced Dr C. Fisher. He saw Fisher’s Rover by the garage and within two minutes was standing with a whisky in his hand, while the doctor said: “Here’s to your success, West.”
“Cheers,” Roger said, and drank. “Ah, I needed that! I’ve really come to ask if you think it will be safe to—”
He told Fisher what he proposed, and how Hilda Maddison would be treated. Fisher nodded both comprehension and approval.
“That
’s all right. Good idea, I should think.”
“Thanks. Have you known Maddison long?”
“Most of my life.”
“Is he quite normal?” Roger asked bluntly.
Fisher hesitated, and then asked: “In what way might he be abnormal?”
Roger said bluntly: “I could understand a lot more than I do if Maddison was sterile in the sense that he couldn’t become a father. Is he?”
Fisher said quietly: “You can’t expect me to break a patient’s confidence, West.”
“Keeping it might condemn another patient to death.” When Fisher didn’t answer, Roger grinned unexpectedly. “A nod being as good as a wink, I’ll call that a day. Is the child Maddison’s?”
Fisher answered gruffly: “No. The mother’s terrified of the truth coming out. I’m one of the few men alive who know that her baby can’t be his. I knew his first wife, you know, before she died in a car accident; she always longed for a child. West, don’t let harm come to the baby.”
Roger said, tensely: “Not if I can help it.” He felt a kind of exhilaration which often came when he believed that he was near the end of a case, sat back at his desk, alone, with all the notes in front of him, and made fresh ones about Cartwright, Helen Osborn, Spendlove and the Maddisons, especially this latest piece of information. He was glancing through reports which had come in while he had been out, and was brought up sharply when he read:
Telephone message from AS Division: Mrs Graham recalls that the Maddison warehouse labourer, May, was devoted to her, also to Mrs Shaw (nee Barber) and Mrs Kindle (nee Blythe). He was also devoted to Helen Osborn.
Bert May looked vacant when Roger went across to him at the cells at Cannon Row police station, and puzzled when Roger said: “Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison, May?”
“No, sir, I certainly don’t.”
“Then tell me the truth, without wasting any more time.”
“But I have, sir,” May insisted. “I don’t know nothing about them babies, I swear I don’t.”
“You knew their mothers,” Roger said. “Do you remember Joyce Barber?”
The man’s eyes lit up momentarily, but the light quickly faded.