‘He was in his work clothes?’
‘Oh, yes, mucky boots and all. So I grabbed him by the shoulder and hustled him out, and he was, like, trying to look behind me and saying, “Where’s my wife?” so I said she was in the storeroom and he wasn’t going to annoy her, not on my premises, and I shoved him out. And he stood there a bit, arguing with me, but I just said I wasn’t moving until he’d gone, so after a bit he got into his pickup and drove off.’
‘And the second time?’
‘That must have been near eleven o’clock. Not long before closing, anyway. He came in just like before, only I was serving someone and I wasn’t quick enough to catch him before he got up to the bar. Anyway, he asks where Jen is and I told him she’d left and gone home, and he said I was lying, she’d gone off somewhere and I knew where. Well, in the end I told him if he didn’t clear out I’d call the police – which he didn’t want, because he was well over the limit and still driving about in that truck of his. So after a bit he goes, and that was the last I saw of him.’
‘Where was your wife at the time?’
‘She was in the kitchen clearing up and getting ready for the morning. She didn’t see any of it, fortunately, but I told her afterwards, of course. I mean, I told her Eddie’d been in drunk looking for Jen after Jen’d gone home. She said, Lin said, I ought to phone Jen and warn her, but I said Jen could take care of herself and we shouldn’t get involved, and she saw the sense of that.’ He stopped and gazed at Atherton with fawning eyes. ‘I didn’t know how it would turn out. I mean, covering up for Jen, I was just doing a favour for a friend, that’s all. I didn’t do wrong, did I?’
‘That’s entirely your business, sir,’ Atherton said, ‘but as far as these timings go, we shall have to have a statement from you about it.’
‘Yes, I do see that.’ He bit his lip, frowning anxiously. ‘But it wasn’t my fault he killed her, was it? I mean, who’d have thought he’d do a thing like that? All right, he got drunk and mouthed off a bit, and he had hit her once or twice, according to what Lin says, but I’d never have thought he had the balls to really do it.’
Atherton thought of Eddie Andrews, drunk and looking for his wife, being fobbed off so easily by Jack Potter, and was inclined to agree with him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eyes That Last I Saw In Tears
In the CID room, the sandwiches were out in force. ‘I don’t suppose anyone got me anything,’ Slider said plaintively.
General mastication was arrested for a micro-second of guilty silence; then McLaren said, ‘I got an egg and cress here you could have.’
‘I don’t want to deprive you.’
‘No, it’s all right, guv, I got plenty.’
That was true. He was already eating a sandwich, and Slider saw on his desk, besides, two jumbo sausage rolls (made with real jumbos, to judge from the grey colour of the filling), a Cellophane-wrapped Scotch egg, a Twix, a big bag of salt ’n’ vinegar crisps, an apple turnover and, betrayed by its slippery stench, a Pot Noodle sweating it out from the microwave in the coffee-room next door. Slider accepted the sandwich. It was the depressing sort of low-grade egg and cress on white sliced, with margarine instead of butter, and the thin slices of hard-boiled egg which, given nothing to weld them together, fall out of the side of the sandwich when you lift it. But beggars, Slider reckoned, couldn’t be critics, and he was famished.
‘You can have my Kit Kat as well, boss,’ Norma said, slinging it over, belatedly troubled by conscience.
‘Thanks,’ said Slider.
‘Don’t mensh.’
Hollis had already got the name and details up on the whiteboard, along with the photographs of the body and its position. ‘My second murder since I’ve been here,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘And I thought it was going to be quiet.’
‘We don’t know that it’s a murder,’ Slider said patiently, but he still had no takers. Over the groans he said, ‘She might have died of natural causes: pegged out in the middle of a naughty, for instance, leaving someone in an embarrassing position, or a blind panic, with a body on their hands. Don’t let’s get carried away. Remember Timothy Evans.’
‘What, the Christie murders geezer?’ Mackay asked thickly, through a cheese-and-pickle gag. ‘What’s he got to do with it?’
‘He went to the police station to say he’d put his wife’s body down a drain, but the officers assumed he was confessing to murder, and he never smiled again.’
‘Careless talk costs lives,’ Atherton remarked.
‘And careless listening, too,’ Slider warned. ‘So let’s wait for the post-mortem report before we go assuming anything.’
‘My money’s on murder anyway,’ Mackay said, swallowing. ‘And it doesn’t take a genius to guess who.’
‘Disappointed?’ Hollis said.
‘Oh, I like a challenge, me. But it’s got to be the husband, hasn’t it?’
‘I met Murder on the way: he had a face like Eddie A.’ Atherton said. He intercepted Slider’s look and said defensively, ‘You can et tu me all you like, but our Eddie’s story’s got more holes in it than the Labour Party manifesto.’
‘All right,’ Slider said, settling on the edge of a desk, ‘I can see you’re not going to heed my warnings, so let’s have it out in the open.’
Atherton, stretching his elegant legs across a good part of the room, extended his thumb. ‘Point one – to begin at the beginning: Andrews says that the work on the terrace was at Mrs Hammond’s instigation, that she practically begged him to do it, though he told her it wasn’t needed. But she says he told her it had to be done, the terrace would fall down otherwise. Why would he lie about that, except to cover up that the existence of the hole was all his idea? And what was the hole for, if not to conceal his wife’s body?’
‘He may just have wanted the work,’ Norma said.
‘Everyone says he’s doing very well,’ said Atherton. ‘She was dripping jewellery, and he has just a stately pleasure dome decreed—’
‘Eh?’
‘Built himself a big new house, which, vile though it is in every detail, is someone’s idea of luxury.’
‘He might have put himself into debt satisfying her and building it,’ Norma pointed out reasonably. ‘We don’t know he didn’t have money troubles.’
‘Good point.’ Slider nodded. ‘That’s something to check up on.’
Norma went on, ‘All the same, I can’t see why he lied about whose idea the work was. It’s nothing to us if he persuaded Mrs H. to part with unnecessary cash. It does look as if he’s trying to dissociate himself from it, which looks guilty. So I’ll give you half a point, Jim.’
‘Ta very much,’ he said, and extended his forefinger. ‘Point two: he says he went home from work and stayed there all evening, had supper, watched telly and went to bed. But the house is as immaculate as if the cleaner had just left it – which I propose is the case. Mrs Chatterbury did for them on Tuesday morning after both Andrewses had gone to work, and she was the last person to set foot in the house before we arrived.’
‘But hang on,’ McLaren objected, ‘surely Mrs Andrews would’ve gone home at some point? I mean, minimum, a smart-looking bint like her wouldn’t’ve stayed in the same clobber all day, would she?’
‘You’d expect her to’ve gone home to change before going to the pub for the evening,’ Hollis seconded.
‘According to Jack the Lad, she wasn’t going to the pub for the evening,’ Atherton pointed out. ‘She was going on a date.’
‘All the more reason, then,’ said Norma.
‘Check on that,’ Slider said. ‘What was she wearing at lunchtime? But I suppose she might have changed without leaving any trace in the house, though God knows why she should.’
Atherton sighed and extended his middle finger. ‘Point three: Andrews says he worked through his lunchtime and stayed home all evening, whereas we already know he made three visits to the Goat In Boots. Why is he lying?’
‘Because he�
��s dead stupid,’ McLaren said pityingly.
‘Harsh words from a man who has to write L and R on the bottom of his shoes,’ Swilley said.
‘And point – whatever this finger is,’ Atherton pursued patiently, ‘we have from several sources that the Andrewses were on bad terms and given to quarrelling, and that he was a jealous beast and had been known to hit her. We know he was looking for her, and probably the worse for drink. Ergo, dear friends, we may postulate that he found her – somewhere – and had a row with her; killed her – somehow – and put the body in his nice handy hole, meaning to fill her in with concrete in the morning. Unfortunately for him, the early-rising Mrs H. got there first. Simple.’
‘You are,’ Swilley agreed. ‘What’s all this somewhere and somehow stuff? You sound like a chorus from West Side Story.’
‘Well, obviously,’ Atherton said kindly, ‘there are a few minor details left to be filled in. That’s just routine legwork, and since you are numero uno in the legs department, Norm, I feel I can safely leave that to you.’
Slider retrieved crumbs of hard-boiled egg-yolk from his chest and said, ‘There’s a great deal we still have to find out. Where the death took place and how the body was transported to the terrace of the Rectory are two that spring to mind, whether it was murder or not.’ There was a general groan, and he raised his voice slightly. ‘Whether it was murder or not, we are still dealing with a crime: not reporting a death is an offence, not to mention attempting to conceal a dead body, and our old friend obstruction. But to ease your turbulent minds, I will say that I am now much more inclined to think that it was Eddie—’
‘Hallelujah! A conversion!’ said Atherton.
‘And the best way we can overcome his natural reserve is to apply some facts to his story.’
‘Or electrodes to his cojones?’ Atherton suggested hopefully.
‘I thought that was Spanish for rabbits,’ Norma objected.
‘Comes out the same,’ said Atherton.
Slider went on patiently over the top of them, ‘We must find out exactly where he was all through the evening and last night and present him with it. When he knows we know nearly everything, I think he’ll cough up the rest. If he did love her, he’ll want to tell us – it’s just a matter of helping him to get there. We also need to find out where Mrs Andrews was for the whole of the day—’
‘And what she was wearing,’ Norma added.
‘Nothing like some nice, knobbly facts to trip up a liar,’ Slider concluded. ‘So how about garnering me some?’
Atherton stood up, sighing. ‘Here we go. Another crime passionelle.’
‘Sounds like an exotic fruit-flavoured blancmange,’ said Norma.
‘Blancmange?’ McLaren pricked up his ears, like a dog hearing its name.
‘Never fails,’ Norma said witheringly. ‘Mention food …’
‘You what?’
‘Confection is good for the soul,’ Atherton explained kindly.
‘Yeah, I read that,’ McLaren said, starting on his apple turnover.
‘An alimentary deduction,’ Atherton concluded.
Slider was in his own room doing the preliminary paperwork when Hollis shoved his head round the door.
‘Guv? Some good news.’
‘I’m up for that.’
‘They’ve found a handbag in the back of Eddie Andrews’s pickup.’
‘A handbag?’
Hollis followed his head in. ‘Funny, everyone says that when I tell ’em. It’s like being stuck in a lift with Edith Evans.’
‘What do you mean, everyone? You mean I’m the last to know as usual?’
‘Oh, not the last, guv. I thought you’d like to tell the Super.’
‘Always grateful for crumbs. What sort of handbag?’
‘It’s Jennifer Andrews’s all right. Got her driving licence and all sorts inside. I suppose he chucked it in there meaning to get rid of it later, and forgot. Or didn’t have time.’
‘We must have it tested for prints.’
‘They’re doing that,’ Hollis nodded.
‘Not that it will help to find Andrews’ dabs all over it. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t be there.’
‘No, guv. But there’s every reason why the bag shouldn’t be in the back of his pickup. I can’t see someone like her riding on the sacks, can you?’
‘Quite. If it had been in the cab, now—’
‘Well, no-one can think of everything.’
‘But where a woman is, there shall ye find her handbag also. Meaning—’
‘Get Forensic to check the back of the motor for any traces of madarm,’ Hollis said smartly, ‘dead or alive.’
‘You’re quick. You’ll go far.’
Hollis looked hopeful. ‘Is it enough to arrest him on?’
‘If he can’t provide a decent explanation, I think it probably will be.’
Half an hour later Slider was back in the CID room with the good news.
‘Andrews burst into tears at the sight of his wife’s handbag, and offered no explanation as to how it got into the back of his pickup, so I’m here to tell you, ladies and germs, that with Mr Porson’s blessing, Andrews is now officially nicked.’
‘For murder?’ Anderson asked.
‘Hold your horses. We still don’t know what she died of. Suspicion of interfering with the body is all we’ve got so far, but it means we can get stuck in.’ There were murmurs of satisfaction around the room. ‘Right, the house-to-house continues. Norma, you’re going to look into Andrews’ finances. Let’s have the BT record for his home number – that will give us some corroboration as to whether he was home or not, and may help us with the whereabouts of Mrs. Find out if either or both had a mobile and get the call records on them – McLaren, you can do those. And someone had better call her GP and find out if she had a heart disease or was taking anything.’
‘Guv, what’s the SP on the post?’ Anderson asked.
‘Doc Cameron’s doing it this afternoon, if we’re lucky.’
‘Blimey, that’s quick,’ said Hollis.
‘Close personal of the guv’nor,’ McLaren said. ‘It pays to be popular in this game.’
‘How would you know?’ Norma asked cruelly.
Freddie Cameron telephoned very late. ‘What are you doing still there?’
‘What are you?’ Slider countered.
‘Struggling with this corpse of yours.’
‘Metaphorically, I hope.’
‘Thanks to you I’m now thoroughly behind with the rest of my work. It was an absolute stinker – absit omen – but I think I’ve cracked it at last. Would you like to guess?’
‘Can’t be anything obvious, if it took you so long.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. Mine in you to solve the crime, let me say, is as solid.’
‘Crime? It is murder, then? I’m glad to hear it, because we’ve got the husband binned up.’
‘You arrested him? That was bold of you.’
‘We found her handbag in his truck, and Porson agreed that was enough to start with. But we’d sooner know what crime we’re dealing with. So far all we’ve got is interfering with the body.’
‘Ah, yes, now, we knew she must have been moved, but the hypostasis confirms it. The distribution suggests she was left at first in a sitting position for several hours. Sitting as if on a chair, with the legs bent at the knee. And she was tied to whatever it was to keep her in position.’
‘Tied up?’
‘With something broad and flat, like a luggage strap, for instance, passed around the upper body, but with the arms inside. Definitely post-mortem. No ante-mortem ligature marks. Tied quite loosely: her weight had fallen forward against the strap.’
Slider digested that. The being tied in position suggested it had been for purposes of hiding the body, presumably until it was late enough and quiet enough to take it to the trench. In the back of Eddie’s truck, sitting on a sack under a tarpaulin? Something like that. ‘So what did you
decide in the end was the cause of death?’
Freddie hesitated. ‘If it came to court, it’s one of those cases where defence would probably bring in their own expert opinion to contest my findings, so you’d better try your utmost for a confession. But I’d say it was suffocation.’
‘I’ve never known you so cautious,’ Slider said. ‘Suffocation? Surely that leaves definite signs? Petechiae, for instance? And cyanosis?’
Cameron chuckled. ‘There’s my educated copper!’
‘It’s a misspent youth hanging around morgues. Well, am I right?’
‘You are,’ Cameron agreed. ‘But, you see, petechiae aren’t caused by the lack of oxygen itself; it’s the raised venous pressure that does it – due to, for instance, constriction of the throat or thorax. Cyanosis – and oedema, for that matter – are congestive signs. Where asphyxia is not accompanied by any violence or struggle, the classic signs can be completely absent. Plastic-bag suicides, for instance, are often quite pale.’
‘So what’s the actual cause of death in those cases?’ Slider asked.
‘Probably a neurochemical reaction of the heart. The heart just stops; which, of course, leaves an appearance of natural death. Which is what makes it fun.’
‘So you’re saying she could have died naturally?’
‘My personal belief is not, though it was a close decision, I have to tell you, even on my part; and my assistant – who likes to err on the safe side of not sticking his neck out – doesn’t agree with me. But I would say she was smothered.’
‘Smothered? You mean with a pillow, or something?’
‘Little Princes in the Tower job,’ Freddie agreed.
Slider laid this against the image of the drunken marital row and found it wanting. ‘But how could you smother somebody without a violent struggle?’
‘It happens – probably more often than we like to think – with the frail and bedridden. It’s the front runner for easing your terminally ill relly out of life without having the State come down on you for the price.’
‘Mrs Andrews was hardly frail and bedridden.’
‘Quite,’ Cameron said. ‘But a healthy and active adult could be smothered without violent struggle if she was first rendered helpless or comatose.’
Shallow Grave (Bill Slider Mystery) Page 8