by John Creasey
“And Anne Blythe?” went on Roger.
“I—I don’t know what you mean!” Bert muttered. “Why do you ask me all these questions?”
“Why did you want to hurt these women?”
“I never hurt them!”
“Killing their babies hurt them, didn’t it? And killing Helen Osborn hurt her, didn’t it?” Roger demanded in a stony voice.
“I didn’t, I saved her!” cried the labourer. “Corrissey would have killed her, and I saved her. Why, I let her go. She promised faithfully not to talk and make trouble.”
This was much better.
“Where is she now?” Roger demanded.
“I don’t know, I tell you. If I don’t know, I can’t tell you, can I?” May’s voice was strident in his vehemence. “Corrissey was going to kill her because she had seen him attack that policeman who came for Mr Cartwright, but I saved her!”
Once he had started to talk, the rest was easy. He confessed to everything he had done, but insisted that he had no idea where Helen had gone, and no idea why Corrissey had helped Cartwright to escape. Whether he was lying or not, he no longer pretended to be half-witted. He admitted under very little pressure, that he had idolised all the attractive girls at Maddisons. A few had known of that, and apparently all had been compassionate because he had seemed pathetic in his devotion. He swore that that was all.
He might still be protecting Helen Osborn, Roger knew; there was no way of being sure.
Roger returned to his office, and first checked the charges which could be brought against Roy Cartwright. There was sufficient in what had happened on the night of the Kindle baby’s murder to charge him with that on circumstantial evidence. Hardy would prefer something stronger, but would almost certainly give Roger his support. The Assistant Commissioner was away, so Hardy would be the man to decide. Roger telephoned him, and Hardy said: “I’ve got to go along to the Commissioner’s office, Handsome. Can’t we fix this by telephone?”
“I want to charge Cartwright with the Kindle baby’s murder.”
“Got new evidence?”
“No, but—”
“You’d better handle it the way you think best,” said Hardy, “but don’t lay yourself open to too strong an attack from Maddison. He’s been trying to pull strings at the Home Office today.”
“He won’t try to pull any more,” Roger said grimly. “Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”
He went downstairs to the waiting-room where Cartwright was being held. There was a uniformed policeman outside the door and another just inside. Cartwright was sitting by the barred window, looking out into the courtyard, where Flying Squad cars and private cars were parked, and where Yard men were continually on the move. It was just possible to see the traffic in Parliament Street, beyond Cannon Row. Cartwright stood up when Roger entered, and declared: “I’ve already made it clear that I have nothing more to say.”
“Please yourself,” Roger said. Evans came in at that moment, with the look of excitement about him which had been evident since the affair at the riverside. “Is your name Roy Montgomery Cartwright?” went on Roger.
“Don’t be a fool. You know it is!”
“Roy Montgomery Cartwright, it is my duty to charge you with wilfully causing the death of an infant, to wit Nigel Arthur Kindle, on the night of May the third, and to inform you that anything you say may be taken down in writing and used in evidence,” Roger said formally.
Cartwright seemed to wilt.
Evans’ eyes glowed.
“Have you anything to say?” Roger asked.
Cartwright said: “You’re a bigger fool than I thought you were. My uncle killed them. He’s as mad as a coot in some ways. If Corrissey were alive I’d make him talk; that’s what I knew I’d have to do. My uncle and he fixed this devilry between them.”
“Are you guessing, or have you any proof?” demanded Roger.
“If I had proof I wouldn’t be here,” Cartwright said bitterly.
Roger left him, and went to the Back Room, the small office near the Embankment where a chief inspector dealt with releases for the Press. Sitting in the small waiting-room were half a dozen men in addition to Aunt Martha, who had a benign matronly look, and smiled brightly at him. As if knowing that he had arrived, as many reporters then outside on the Embankment thronged in.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell us that it’s all settled and done with,” Aunt Martha cooed. “It would be very nice if we could have a statement like that without Spendy knowing in advance, wouldn’t it?”
“Now don’t rub Handsome up the wrong way,” someone called out.
“Impossible today,” Roger rejoined. “If Spendlove gets on the spot before you do, whose fault is it? I didn’t come to see you people, anyhow, I came to see Nebby.”
The Chief Inspector in charge said: “It’s all yours, Super.”
“Can we quote you, Superintendent?” inquired Aunt Martha.
“Yes,” said Roger briskly. “We have just charged Roy Montgomery Cartwright with the wilful murder of the Kindle baby. He will be in court in the morning. We shall offer only formal evidence of arrest and ask for a remand in custody. That much is official. If you’d like one or two oddments off the record—”
“What do you want, that’s more to the point,” said Aunt Martha.
“I want a piece on every front page on the lunatics who utter threats after an arrest has been made,” Roger said. ‘Cartwright’s arrest this afternoon was in the early evening papers, and within an hour the Maddison’s baby had been threatened. We found who did it – someone who is half mad all the time. But you can take it from me that we’re not worried about the Maddison child, and we’re not keeping any special watch after tonight.” Eyes were glistening.
“Why tonight?” demanded Aunt Martha. “If the danger’s over, why not withdraw your men right away?”
“Because Mrs Maddison has been almost frantic with anxiety,” Roger answered. “We don’t want to be too abrupt.”
“Kind-hearted Scotland Yard,” scoffed Aunt Martha. She did not join the scramble to get to the telephones, but waited until Roger and the Back Room inspector were alone, and then asked in her familiar, cooing voice: “Sure it was Cartwright, Handsome?”
“How often have you known me make an arrest before I’ve got a case?”
“I don’t really know,” said Aunt Martha thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t put anything past you. You didn’t tip Spendy off about this first, did you?”
“I did not.”
“Have you found Helen Osborn yet?”
“No.”
“Expecting to find her alive?”
“Let’s say I’m hoping to,” Roger said, and then glanced up and saw Spendlove come in. He looked more pale than usual and his eyes were lack-lustre, but he found a grin for Roger and Aunt Martha.
“There seems to be some excitement,” he observed. “What’s it all about?”
“Handsome has decided not to have favourites anymore,” said Aunt Martha. “Handsome, if there’s a word more in the Globe than you’ve told us, we shall start a campaign against you, and say that it’s time the Yard’s glamour boy stopped talking out of turn.” Her smile was hardly benevolent as she went out.
“She always was the smartest of the lot,” said Spendlove. “I had a word with one of our chaps outside – they’d sent a message that you were in the Back Room. Hi, Nebby – is West pinching all the limelight again?”
“As usual,” said the Back Room inspector.
“That right it was Cartwright?” Spendlove asked.
“It looks as if he was fooling you,” said Roger. “He’s been charged, and I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble.”
“I hope you’re right,” Spendlove said. He spoke almost as if he knew that this move was a ruse, and that Roger was a long way from being sure of himself.
“You got him, then,” Scoopy said eagerly at breakfast next morning. “I always thought it was Cartwright, but you weren’t so su
re, were you?”
“Of course he was, only he didn’t let you see it. I could tell,” Richard declared.
“What a relief that poor mother must be feeling,” Janet said, as she came in with the frying pan in one hand, and a sausage at the end of a fork in the other. “Hurry up, Richard, you’re always last. Like a piece more fried bread, Scoop?”
“Ooh, yes, please!”
Roger said: “You spoil him, that’s the trouble.”
He rang the Yard, puzzling the boys by asking for two identical suitcases, very light in weight and with ventilation holes in them, to be available for him round the corner from Maddison’s house; then, leaving the boys mystified, he drove to Esher. Only one or two policemen were in sight, and these seemed bored; there was none of the excitement that there had been the previous evening. After putting the cases in his car, Roger went straight to the front door carrying one of them, and the middle-aged ex-policeman opened it immediately.
“Mr Maddison is expecting you, sir,” he greeted, and led the way upstairs.
Maddison came hurrying out of his study. Obviously he had slept quite well, and he looked more youthful; the age gap between him and his wife no longer seemed almost absurd.
“I gave my wife a special sleeping draught, which Dr Fisher sent round, with her morning tea, Mr West, and she is asleep now. I know from experience that she will sleep for at least six hours. And I have arranged for my car to be here in half an hour. For safety’s sake I will take the baby – who has also had a mild sedative – and you will be here to make sure that you catch anyone who comes. There can’t be any slip now, can there?”
“None at all,” Roger said. “Except—”
“If there can be, tell me what it is,” Maddison demanded. He was impatient and arrogant as well as eager. “I’ve gone to great trouble, even to the extent of drugging my wife, in order to make sure that there is no more danger. Don’t tell me that you aren’t sure now!”
Roger said: “I’m quite sure, Mr Maddison, but I don’t want you to take the child.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“I want one of my men—”
“Don’t be absurd!” barked Maddison. “No one will know that I have the baby with me. I shall take a small case – this one here,” he added, and pointed to an overnight valise. “That is what I carry my papers and books in to and from the office. No one will suspect that my child is in it, and there is ample room – I have laid the baby inside the case once already, to make sure. If you think that I am going to allow anyone else to have the custody of the child, you are quite wrong.”
Roger said: “Very well, Mr Maddison, on one condition.”
“You are in no position to impose conditions.”
“I shouldn’t force that issue,” Roger said dryly. “It’s very simple – the child must go in this case.” He held up the one he had brought. “All my men have a description of it, in case anything goes wrong.”
“Oh, very well,” said Maddison. “I am glad that you agree that only a father has the right to take care of his own child. I shall go straight to the City. Armchairs in my office will be used as a cot. It is not uncommon for me to instruct everyone to stay outside while I concentrate and that is what I shall do today. No one but I will know that the child is with me, Mr West. From that point of view, nothing at all can go wrong. From yours – have you any idea where the young woman is?”
“I think you can be sure that an attempt will be made on the child at the house,” Roger said, “and that we shall make an arrest this morning.”
“Do you think my nephew was involved in it?”
“I think I would rather await events, sir.”
“Very well,” said Maddison again. “Now I’ll go in and see my wife. Will you be present when I take the child?”
“Yes,” Roger answered.
“I can’t see why you’re so certain,” Evans said, almost sharply. “I agree it might work, but you’ve stuck your neck right out, Handsome. Supposing no one does come here today?”
Roger grinned.
“No one will,” he said. “You switch those cases, so that we have the baby safe, and Maddison has one with a bundle in it. Even if I’m wrong, no harm will be done then. We’ll follow the Rolls-Royce in a van. The attack, if that’s the word, will be on the Rolls, not on the house. Come on.”
“But—”
“I’m making sure that the Rolls is delayed round the corner to give us time to get on its tail,” Roger said. “Let’s hurry.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Last Attempt
“If you expect the Rolls to be attacked, why the hell did you lay all this on?” Evans demanded, as they got into the plain blue van which had radio and a super-charged engine.
“Because I had to fool the killer,” Roger answered. “And if I’d fixed everything I’m fixing now any earlier there might have been a leak of information. Spendlove has been learning too much, and I suspect there’s a leak at the Yard – nothing serious, but enough to risk our man getting a warning.”
“Do you think Spendlove—” Evans began, but Roger had flicked a switch, and began to talk to Information, at the Yard.
“In about ten minutes Edward Maddison will be leaving his home in his Rolls-Royce car, a black 1959 Silver Wraith. He will be driving himself, and his child will be in a brown fibre-board case beside him. I want him followed by at least two of our cars. Its route is likely to be straight to the Kingston by-pass and, if it gets that far, to Roehampton, Putney, Fulham, then along the Embankment. I expect some kind of attack on the Rolls-Royce, probably in the form of an accident. I’ve asked for the co-operation of all Divisional and Surrey police, to have radio-equipped police cars at all likely spots for an accident. I shall be following in a garage service van, a Commer, registration number 8JE 12. Let me have freedom of movement everywhere. Is that all clear?”
Evans was staring at him as if he had gone mad. “All clear, sir,” Information said.
“Thanks.” Roger rang off, and grinned at Evans. “I know,” he said. “And don’t take the huff because I didn’t tell you about this beforehand. I didn’t tell a soul.” He drove his own car towards the centre of Esher, parked it in a side street behind the repair van he had told Information about, and took the wheel of the van. He sat watching the driving mirror, with Evans saying nothing, but looking out of the window from time to time. He exclaimed: “Here it comes!”
Roger let in the clutch. The repair van with a specially tuned engine slid into the road fifty yards ahead of the Rolls-Royce. Traffic lights were green for it, but held up the other car. Roger turned towards the Kingston by-pass and reached the roundabout beyond Haydock Park at least a hundred yards ahead of the Rolls-Royce.
Evans said: “What are we looking for?”
“A car to bump into the Rolls-Royce almost certainly on the passenger’s side, or in the rear,” Roger said. “It won’t be a big smash. The baby will be snatched from Maddison’s side, and Maddison will probably appear to be knocked out.”
“How the hell do you know?”
Roger said: “It’s inevitable, if I’m right about the people and the motives.” He did not slow down, but the Rolls-Royce came sweeping behind him. It would pass before they reached the next roundabout. Roger saw a police car pulled up at one side, and knew that a radio report would be made as soon as the Rolls-Royce passed. He watched all the side turnings intently and, as he approached roundabout after roundabout, watched the right-hand side for any car which might swing into the Rolls-Royce.
Nothing did.
Evans asked out of the blue: “Do you think it is Mad—” A sports car swung round a corner towards the Rolls, and for a moment it looked as if it would crash into the rear. Maddison appeared to be oblivious. The driver of the car, young and fair-haired, jammed on his brakes in time to miss the other car by a hair’s-breadth, grinned, and drove on.
“Gawd!” groaned Evans.
“You’ll get used to it,” Ro
ger said.
A Jaguar swept up from behind the van, and passed. The driver was a middle-aged man with a cigar, who appeared to be taking everything quite leisurely, but he cut in, and for a moment gave the impression that he would hit the Rolls. He missed it.
“Damn it, I can understand his framing Cartwright, and even killing kids, but not his own—” Evans began.
A motor-cycle swept across the by-pass from the right, against the lights. Roger saw the figure astride it, a girl wearing big goggles and a crash helmet, so that she was almost unrecognisable. A police car by the cross-roads started into action. Roger jammed his foot down hard. The motor-cycle cut across the Rolls-Royce, and Maddison jammed on his brakes.
The Rolls-Royce was veering to one side; it looked as if Maddison had been so startled that he had lost control. It banged into the stone wall round the centre of the roundabout and, as it did so, the girl motor-cyclist stopped by the passenger’s side of the car. The police car would not have reached her in time to stop her. Maddison was leaning back against his seat, as if dazed; the door was opened, and the girl stretched her arm inside and grabbed the case.
Roger drew alongside.
The motor-cycle was between him and the Rolls, and there was no room for the rider to get away. Case in hand, head twisted round, she looked dumbfounded. Evans was already out of the car. The police car from the other side of the road came up, and a man jumped out of it and began to regulate the traffic. Maddison’s head was against the back of his seat, and his eyes were closed.
Roger saw them flicker open. For a second the girl glanced at him, then he closed his eyes again.
The girl said: “Get out of my way or I’ll kill the child.”
And she raised the case head-high, unfastening the catch as she did so.
She looked as if she meant exactly what she said, and there was a long pause before Roger asked: “Why don’t you order her not to, Maddison?” That was the great chance and the great moment. If he were right, and he felt sure that he was, the question would startle both Maddison and the girl long enough to give him the opportunity he needed. And he was right. The girl glanced, astounded, at Maddison. Maddison’s eyes opened and he sat bolt upright. Roger simply reached up and took the case away from the girl.