A Trio of Murders: A Perfect Match, Redemption, Death of a Dancer

by Jill McGown

  ‘She wanted to be treated like that? Is that what you’re saying?’ asked Judy.

  ‘Possibly. Or at any rate put up with it, in order to get what she needed. Whichever, I think Freddie’s right. I think she consented to the sex, and I am inclined to believe that she was killed by someone else. Someone who discovered what was going on, and didn’t like it.’

  The office door opened. ‘A Mr Coleman to see you, Chief Inspector,’ Jack said.

  His look was one that Lloyd knew well; Jack was the only person he knew who could wink without batting an eyelid. He ushered in a small, plump man with a neat, greying moustache. He carried a large cardboard box, which he held protectively, not without difficulty, under his arm.

  ‘Coleman, Coleman’s Outfitters. I thought I really ought to bring this to your attention in person, in view of the circumstances. I do hope I’m not making a fuss about nothing.’

  So do I, thought Lloyd. ‘Mr Coleman, we welcome any help we can get in a murder case. Well – all cases, really. Do have a seat,’ he said as Judy got up.

  Coleman sat, transferring the box to his lap. ‘I wouldn’t want to send you on a wild-goose chase,’ he said.

  Lloyd was always chasing wild geese. One more wouldn’t hurt. ‘So,’ said Lloyd, smiling. ‘I gather the box has some significance?’

  ‘Well – I think so. It was brought back yesterday by a customer – it’s one of our hire suits. Now, normally, they’re checked over – you know – just to see that we have got the same suit back, but yesterday – well, we’re short-handed at the moment, with the stand at the Civic Hall.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘The exhibition of non-central traders – to let people know where we are, and so on. A number of my assistants are manning the stand, and so yesterday, when this one was returned, no one checked it.’

  Lloyd frowned. It was hardly relevant, but it bothered him. ‘But isn’t your shop . . . ?’ He pointed vaguely out of the window in the direction of R. J. Coleman, Gentlemen’s Outfitters, smack in the middle of the town centre.

  ‘Yes. But we also have a shop in Queens Estate. Mary Tudor Square. It’s quite different. Young, casual – sportswear. You know.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Lloyd, startled. What was the world coming to? The Queens Estate shops had had to be boarded up even during working hours in the old days. You knew where you were with it. You could go to the Good Queen Bess at chucking-out time and make your arrest-tally look good. A gentlemen’s outfitters? Lloyd shook his head. Queens Estate had fallen to the Yuppies.

  ‘See?’ said Mr Coleman. ‘That’s why we’ve got the stand. Anyway, we had hired out a number of suits to people at the school where – well, the young woman was – you know. And that meant we had a lot of dry-cleaning to sort out, so I decided to pop in this morning to see what was what before tomorrow. And ...’ He stood up with difficulty. ‘I mean, we expect the odd soup stain, perhaps even a slight tear, but . . .’

  Lloyd sat forward.

  ‘I thought you ought to see it.’

  He placed the box on the desk, and grasped the lid, inching it up to reveal folded tissue paper. Lloyd glanced at Judy as she came over to witness the unveiling, and the tissue was drawn away.

  The jacket was smeared with mud; dark stains had dried on the lapels, and others, more visible at the time, had been subject to an ineffectual attempt to remove them. One pocket had almost been torn off. Lloyd carefully lifted out the jacket, laying it down, and picked up the trousers. More of the dark stains, under the waistband, and at the tops of the legs, were clearly visible. No attempt had been made to clean them up. The knees were caked with the thin, dried mud.

  The shocked silence into which Mr Coleman spoke was almost tangible, and his words wedged themselves into it, seeming not to break it at all.

  ‘It was hired by a Mr P. Newby,’ he said.

  Lloyd looked at Judy, at troubled brown eyes that held no hint of triumph.

  Freddie was wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  Judy stared out of the window at the darkening sky, as, armed with a search warrant, they drove back to the school. She hadn’t formed much of an opinion of Newby, except to register that he was an attractive man. She tried to remember what he had been like the first time she had seen him, when Mrs Knight had brought him into Treadwell’s office. What had her impression been then?

  Different, she thought. He hadn’t been in anything like as much pain, of course. He had been able to walk better; much more quickly, deftly. There had been something almost dashing about him. And that was when she remembered.

  ‘How the hell would he get hold of the golf-club?’ Lloyd was muttering.

  Judy closed her eyes. ‘He didn’t have the golf-club,’ she said. ‘He used his stick.’

  ‘No,’ said Lloyd. ‘I thought of that, but Freddie said it was something wooden – it splintered. His stick’s metal. And it wouldn’t be heavy enough – these NHS sticks are—’

  ‘His other stick,’ she said, waiting for the explosion.

  There was a silence, which was worse.

  ‘What other stick, Judy?’ he said, at last.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Lloyd. I knew there was something about him, and I couldn’t think what it was. I thought it was just . . . Anyway, he had another stick when I saw him first. A walking-cane. Black. With a heavy silver knob.’

  This time the silence seemed to be going to last for the rest of her life. But no such luck.

  ‘Cawston was giving Allison a hard time,’ he said conversationally.

  The tone didn’t fool Judy.

  ‘I wonder what he’s going to say when he finds out that the thefts had nothing to do with the murder at all,’ he continued. ‘I suppose Allison might let me off with my entrails intact. I mean, all he did was go three rounds with Cawston because of some mythical murder weapon that I said junior might have stolen.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Judy said again, as he drew a breath. ‘But I wasn’t at the school to see Newby, was I? I was there about the thefts – the man had only arrived that morning. I wasn’t taking any notice of him.’

  ‘Some ancient golf-club that we couldn’t even find,’ Lloyd went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Which was stolen last December. Which was kept in a barn. A barn, no less, from which anyone could have taken it, and from which young Mr Cawston denied taking it. And, to cap it all, it doesn’t matter if he did take it, because Mr Newby used his stick.’

  Judy apologised again. If she hadn’t been so keen to get her own back on Lloyd, she might have seen the golf-club in perspective. She might never have seen the damn thing at all. Perhaps it was just as well she was transferring.

  ‘Still, all is not lost,’ Lloyd said, pulling into the school driveway. ‘I’m sure if you need a beat bobby in Malworth you’ll put in a good word for me.’

  Oh, God. She would be second-in-command at Malworth. Where she would make a habit of getting everyone running round looking for the wrong thing, while overlooking the one thing that only she knew.

  The squad car waited outside the staff block, and she and Lloyd met up with its occupants before Lloyd knocked loudly and officially on the flat door.

  Sam Waters opened it.

  ‘Christ,’ he said. ‘You’ve come mob-handed.’

  ‘Is Mr Newby here?’ demanded Lloyd.

  ‘I expect he’s in his room,’ said Waters, standing aside as they trooped in behind Lloyd.

  Judy watched as Lloyd strode across the room to Newby’s door. He knocked, and opened it. She could see Newby as he lay stretched out on top of the bed; he was struggling to get to his feet as she walked across to where Lloyd stood in the doorway.

  Lloyd held up the warrant. ‘Search warrant, Mr Newby,’ he said. ‘Right, Sergeant.’

  Judy took a step into the room, followed by the uniformed constables.

  ‘No – wait,’ said Newby, looking baffled. ‘What do you want? What are you looking for?’

  Judy took a breath. ‘A silver-toppe
d walking-stick,’ she said.

  She could hear a soft chuckle from Sam Waters, and turned to look at him. He smiled, and left the flat.

  ‘I . . . I lost it. I think it might have been stolen.’

  Judy looked back at Newby. Lloyd said that her look made strong men tremble; it certainly saved a lot of time when discovery was inevitable, and Newby was not a strong man.

  He blushed. ‘Bottom of the wardrobe,’ he mumbled.

  Judy opened the wardrobe, and moved some bed linen. Underneath was the cane, broken almost in two. ‘Chief Inspector,’ she said.

  Lloyd knelt down, and looked at it, then at her. ‘He made a better job of cleaning that than the suit,’ he muttered, looking a little puzzled. He stood up. ‘Mr Newby, can you tell me how your stick came to be broken?’

  ‘It snapped,’ he said. ‘The doctor said it might. He told me I shouldn’t use it.’

  ‘Why did you lie when the sergeant asked you about it?’

  Newby’s skin reddened again. ‘I had nothing to do with the murder, if that’s what you think.’

  ‘Then you have some explaining to do,’ Lloyd said. ‘Can you tell us how the clothes you were wearing that evening got into the state they are in?’ Lloyd waited, but Newby said nothing. ‘Where were you between ten-fifteen and eleven-fifteen on Friday night?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve told you.’

  ‘And you have nothing to add to what you’ve told us?’

  Newby shook his head.

  ‘Do you have your car keys, Mr Newby? We will be taking your car for forensic examination.’

  Newby produced the keys.

  ‘And you had better get your coat,’ said Lloyd. ‘It’s cold out.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Newby asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s happening,’ said Lloyd. ‘You are being arrested on suspicion of murder, Mr Newby. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say will be taken down, and may be given in evidence.’

  The constables led Newby to the squad car.

  ‘Here,’ Lloyd said, giving his own keys to Judy. ‘You take my car back.’ He called to one of the constables just preparing to leave the search, and together they went to Newby’s car.

  The squad car swept away, followed, after a few moments, by Newby’s car. Lloyd lifted a hand in salute as they drove off, and Judy walked slowly back to the car. They were never what you expected, even if you had seen it all before. Somehow, you still thought you would know. But no one ever did. Not neighbours, or friends, or colleagues. No one. And especially not the victim.

  Waters was standing beside Lloyd’s car. He clapped his hands slowly together as she approached. ‘I told you so,’ he said.

  Judy got in, slammed the door, and started the engine, but Waters tapped on the window.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she wound it down, and he bent down towards her.

  ‘You don’t have to rush off, do you?’ he said. ‘You’ve got him now – you can take some time off.’

  ‘I have work to do, Mr Waters.’

  Waters leaned his arms along the window. ‘I just thought that now that I’m no longer a suspect you might come out for a drink with me.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Waters, but I’m still on duty.’

  Waters glanced over to where the other police officers were assembling at the van, ready to go home.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be right now,’ he said. ‘When do you get off?’

  ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea, Mr Waters.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ he said. ‘No hard feelings.’ He winked. ‘On second thoughts, I can promise you some,’ he said.

  ‘I’m driving off, Mr Waters. If you are still leaning on the car, you might get hurt.’

  ‘But that wouldn’t be a nice thing to do,’ he said. ‘And I can get you and your boss into trouble as it is, without your adding injury to insult.’ He smiled. ‘So why don’t you just come out for a drink with me, give me my pen back, and I’ll forget the whole thing.’

  One hand dangled into the car, his fingers brushing her knee. Judy switched off the ignition and removed the keys before he thought of it.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, giving her knee a squeeze. ‘I’m sure you can be nice when you want to.’

  Judy smiled, and looked round at the police van. ‘Well,’ she said quietly, ‘I’ll tell you what . . .’ She beckoned him closer to her.

  And no one but the predictably and profoundly shocked Waters heard what she said.

  Sam watched as she accelerated away. He had never really held out any hope of the sergeant; he had just wanted to rattle her. Instead, she had rattled him. My God, to look at her you would think she wouldn’t even know words like that, much less use them. He looked over at the crowd of policemen getting into the van, and went into the staff block, slamming the door. He didn’t go into his own flat; he took the stairs two at a time, and knocked lightly on Caroline’s door.

  He heard the bolt being drawn back, watched her smile fade. She tried to push the door shut again; he wedged his foot in the crack.

  ‘Go away,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got some news for you.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ she said.

  ‘I was angry,’ said Sam. ‘I called you names. You’re not going to hold that against me, are you? I’d rather you held something else against me.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Sam. And go away.’ She tried to shut the door, but Sam’s foot was immovable. A bit painful, with being crushed in the door, but immovable.

  He smiled. ‘Guess who the police have just taken away,’ he said.

  The pushing stopped, the door opened. Caroline was pale.

  ‘Who?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s better. Can I come in?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I won’t tell you,’ he said, sing-song fashion.

  She left the door open, and went back into the room. Sam followed, closing it. ‘They’ve taken Newby away,’ he said.

  ‘Why? What for?’

  ‘For murdering Diana, that’s what for,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a mistake.’ Instantly, without thought.

  ‘It didn’t sound like a mistake. Murdered her with his silver-topped cane – doesn’t that sound wonderfully decadent to you?’

  ‘You’re a liar.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘They came with uniforms, search warrants, squad cars – the lot.’ He smiled. ‘See what a narrow squeak you had?’ he said. ‘Entertaining him up here on your own.’ He put his arms round her. ‘But never fear – Supersam’s here.’

  She shook him off. ‘Get out.’

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ he said. ‘I told you so, didn’t I? I told you it wasn’t healthy. You could have gone the same way as Diana.’

  He saw her shiver.

  ‘Just thought I’d let you know you can sleep easy in your bed tonight,’ he said, and left.

  He heard the door close behind him, heard the bolt being sent home, heard Caroline crying.

  He was going to get something to eat.

  Philip looked up as they came in. For some moments, Lloyd didn’t speak. He looked at Philip rather as though he was considering whether or not to buy him, then walked to the window, and looked out.

  The sergeant sat down at the table, her notebook at the ready. She didn’t look at him at all. She turned the pages back, making little ticks here and there, then found a fresh sheet, and sat, pen poised.

  Lloyd seemed to come to some sort of a decision. He squared his shoulders, and turned from the window. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘You are going to tell us what you did between leaving the Hall at ten-twenty on Friday the fourteenth of February, and talking to us at three a.m. on Saturday the fifteenth. You are going to tell us in detail, missing nothing. And,’ he said, leaning over the table, his face close to Philip’s, ‘you are going to tell us now.’

  Philip moved back a little. ‘I didn’t kill Diana Hamlyn,’ he said.

  ‘D
iana Hamlyn spoke to you, then left the Hall,’ said Lloyd. ‘You left five minutes later. What did you do after you left?’

  ‘I’ve told you. I left because I was going to be sick. I went to the toilet – what would you have done?’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then I was sick. When I came out I went to my car, and drove down to the staff block. I’ve told you all this.’

  ‘No, Mr Newby. You omitted to mention that your car was in the Barn. Was there some reason for that?’

  ‘No,’ said Philip. Yes. Yes, there was.

  ‘Do you have some sort of explanation of how your clothes got into the state they were in when you took them back to the shop?’ he asked.

  Philip didn’t speak. He should have known he could never be that lucky. But he couldn’t tell them. He didn’t have to. They had said so.

  ‘Why was your car in the Barn? I thought cars weren’t allowed up there?’

  ‘I get a special dispensation,’ he said. ‘I can’t walk very well on the cobbles in bad weather.’

  ‘Whose idea was it?’

  ‘Mine,’ said Philip. ‘Barry doesn’t mind as long as I park in the Barn and make sure the doors are closed so that other people don’t get the same idea.’

  But Lloyd was off on another tack altogether by the time Philip had finished explaining.

  ‘How did your clothes get into that mess? How did you break your stick?’

  ‘I fell. The stick broke, and I fell.’

  ‘It must have been some fall,’ Lloyd said. ‘Where did you fall?’

  Philip leaned his head on his hands, his mouth covered, his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about that.

  Lloyd got up, and went back over to the window.

  ‘Why did you leave the ball early?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘I was sick. How many more times?’

  ‘You left the toilets, and went to your car. Did you see Diana Hamlyn?’

  ‘I did what I’ve already told you a dozen times.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I drove down to the staff block, but the light was on in the flat, and I didn’t want Sam’s company. I’m sure you’ve seen enough of him to know why.’

  The sergeant smiled, suddenly and involuntarily. He hadn’t seen her smile before. He would probably have liked her if he’d met her in a more conventional fashion. She reminded him a little of Caroline.