The Saint Valentine’s Day Murders

by Ruth Dudley Edwards

  ‘You were just doing your job. Is that it? And friendship comes second.’

  ‘It has to.’ Milton felt miserable.

  ‘I know it bloody has to. And I’m not as cross as I sound. I’d already worked out that you didn’t really have any choice but to ask Shipton to keep the status quo. I just wanted you to sweat it out for a bit too.’

  Milton grinned with relief. ‘All right, you bugger. I did. Honours are even. How do you want to hear about Bill?’

  ‘Hang on a moment.’ Amiss put down the receiver and fetched his cigarettes and lighter. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Fire away.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Wednesday, 23 February

  The expert seemed confident. ‘There’s little doubt about it. The typewriter is Amiss’s and Illingworth typed this note. Of all the suspects, only he typed with all his fingers. Hence the lighter type of the letters depressed by the weak little finger. Do you want to compare the note with the samples?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Milton. ‘I believe you.’

  The expert received his thanks and left.

  Milton looked at Romford. ‘Fill me in,’ he said. ‘How did you get hold of these samples of typing?’

  ‘From Mr Amiss, sir.’ Milton looked blank. Romford consulted his notes. ‘On Saturday you asked the BCC security men to let us have the anonymous letter about Mr Short and his practical jokes. At the time, you said you bet it had been done on a BCC office typewriter. So over the weekend I got someone to take samples from all the PD machines and when the note arrived on Monday our man said it had been written on Mr Amiss’s. Yesterday I rang Mr Amiss and asked him if he’d be able to give us samples of the typing of any of the suspects without them knowing. These arrived this morning.’

  ‘When did you ask him to do this, Romford?’

  Romford tried to guess the possible relevance of the question. He concluded that he would never understand the inscrutable way the super’s mind worked. ‘Just before lunch, sir.’

  A couple of hours after he heard from Shipton that I’d scuppered his break for freedom, thought Milton. He favoured Romford with a beatific smile. ‘You didn’t fear he would give you forgeries?’

  ‘No,’ said Romford seriously. ‘He could be found out too easily, couldn’t he? And that would be incriminating. Although if you want me to check…?’

  ‘No, no. Of course not. You’ve behaved very sensibly. It’s much better that none of them knows about this.’

  ‘Does this mean Mr Illingworth is behind all that nonsense at Twillerton?’

  ‘I think so. Yes. I definitely think so.’

  ‘And does that mean he’s the prime suspect over the poisoning?’

  ‘I don’t know, Romford. Don’t forget that the murderer was clever enough to make his typing untraceable. Still, this certainly adds to my interest in Illingworth. See that someone goes round all the likely joke shops with his photograph. As soon as possible.’

  Romford withdrew. He’s coming on, reflected Milton. Maybe he’s not so bad. Perhaps not Traffic Division.

  ***

  ‘Do you think there’s anything in my ideas, sir?’ Pooley took his eyes off the road for a moment and looked hopefully at Milton.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ellis. I’m only getting down to reading your stuff now. I haven’t had a minute today, between meetings, phone-calls and preparing a progress report for tomorrow’s session with the Assistant Commissioner.’

  ‘I’ve dealt with Farson on one page, sir. But I’ve written down some general thoughts as well.’

  Milton saw to his alarm that the memorandum headed ‘Some possible lines of enquiry’ covered six sheets of foolscap in crabbed handwriting.

  ‘I’m sorry it isn’t typed, sir. I did it in the middle of the night and I haven’t got a typewriter at home. I thought you’d want to see it first thing this morning.’ He sounded rather hurt.

  ‘I appreciate the hard work you’ve put into this. Why don’t you come in for a drink when you drop me home, and I’ll read it and we can have a chat about it. If you’ve got time, that is. I’d like to concentrate on what you’ve said about Farson now.’

  ‘Oh, sir! I’d love to,’ said Pooley fervently.

  A couple of minutes later, Milton closed the file and returned it to his briefcase. ‘You’re wasted in this job, Ellis,’ he observed.

  Pooley looked at him warily. With the experience of a young man too often rebuffed, he asked, ‘Do you mean all my possible motives are too far-fetched?’

  ‘Not all. Though I must admit the one about a concealed pools win he didn’t want to share with his wife is stretching my credulity rather far. I meant it as a compliment. You obviously have a remarkable imagination that can’t get much expression in your normal work. However, enough of that now. I think one of your ideas is a beauty. The life insurance one.’

  A deep flush of pleasure crept over Pooley’s fair skin. ‘That’s my favourite too, sir.’

  ‘Good. Now leave me in peace for the rest of the journey. I’ve got to think about how to make use of it.’

  ***

  For a mean man, he lives in unexpected opulence, thought Milton. This house must be worth at least £80,000. But I suppose he sees it as an investment. He must have done some clever cashing in on property booms to afford this on his salary. He looked appreciatively around the landscaped housing estate as he waited for someone to answer the door. As such developments went, it was very well laid out.

  ‘It’s like one of those neighbourhoods where they go in for wife-swapping,’ said Pooley.

  ‘I should think Farson probably charges for his,’ said Milton. As the door opened to reveal Gloria, he felt conscience-stricken about this coarseness. The woman before him, vulgar though she might be, was a bereaved mother. She bore the signs of it too. Her hair, though apparently expensively dyed and permed, looked neglected, as if she hadn’t bothered to do more than pull a comb through it. Her jeans fitted her superbly, but there was a large brown stain on the knee. As she led them into the living room he saw that her bottom bore the legend ‘Gloria Vanderbilt’. She was certainly taking the loss of Tommy hard. No woman vain enough to throw away money on a label would have normally allowed herself to appear like this.

  She went in search of Tony, allegedly working in his den. Milton looked curiously at the decor. He would have expected Tony to save on items with a low re-sale value, yet the room was well if rather garishly furnished. It was only as both Farsons entered that he realized that even though they clashed, the carpet and the furniture had one thing in common. They were all hard-wearing. Gloria might have chosen the colours, but Tony had been around to make sure that what she got would need no replacing for years.

  ‘Would you like a beer or a whisky?’ asked Gloria.

  Milton wondered if he was imagining an expression of instant resentment on Tony’s face. What misery must it be to love money so much that you grudge a stranger a can of beer? Every day must bring Tony several moments of exquisite agony. Well, he thought, I’ll start him off in a good mood. ‘No thank you, Mrs Farson. You’re very kind, but we’re on duty.’

  ‘Tea and biscuits?’

  ‘No thanks. We couldn’t manage a thing. We’ve just eaten.’

  His stomach reminded him sharply that it had that day consumed a bowl of cornflakes and a ham sandwich, but he had his reward in the relaxation of Tony’s face. He sat down opposite the policemen as Gloria left the room and said abruptly, ‘I hope you’ve come here to tell me you’ve caught the man who murdered my son.’

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’ve always known that the tax-payers’ money was wasted.’

  ‘Actually, our salaries come out of the rates, Mr Farson.’

  ‘Very high salaries they are too.’

  ‘Look, Mr Farson. I haven’t come here to discuss the level of our recent pay increases. My job is to find the person who was responsible for Tommy’s death and bring him to justice. For that I need your help.’

>   Tears gathered in Tony’s eyes and began to trickle down his face. He hastily wiped them off with a crumpled handkerchief. Milton suppressed his compassion. There wasn’t any doubt that Tony regretted Tommy’s death. The question was: would he have regretted Gloria’s?

  He decided to eschew the routine introduction and questioning. If the man had no time to recover from his emotional state, so much the better. ‘Mr Farson. When I spoke to you last week you did not tell me that the children were due to be picked up from school on February the fourteenth by your mother-in-law.’

  ‘What if I didn’t?’

  ‘We understand from her that they would have been away from home until the following afternoon, as the circus she was to take them to—the one that was cancelled—would have ended late and she thought it better they should go straight home to sleep at her house.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you believed they would have left the house before the first post on Monday and not have returned until mid-afternoon on the Tuesday.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So had you—to put it crudely—wished to murder your wife, you could have been sure your children would run no risk.’

  As Tony’s face assumed an expression of fury, Milton added, ‘Please, Mr Farson. Don’t tell me I’ve no right to make any such suggestion. You know as well as I do that I have to ask unpleasant questions whether you like it or not. It’s only by getting the truth from the innocent that I can identify the guilty.’

  He was pleased to see the mollifying effect of this platitude.

  ‘All right, then. If I had wanted to kill my wife, which I didn’t, I suppose I could have known my children would be safe.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this when I saw you last, Mr Farson?’

  ‘Why should I? I don’t have to do your job for you.’

  ‘No. You don’t of course. Although I should have thought you might consider it in your own financial interests to assist in saving police time.’ The jibe seemed to go over Tony’s head at first. Then he glowered.

  ‘You’re wasting your time with me anyway. Why would I have wanted to kill my wife?’

  ‘I don’t know. Quite possibly you didn’t. But I should like to put a few specific questions to you. If you wish to be left in peace, I suggest you co-operate.’

  The sullen silence lasted some seconds, then Tony said, ‘Oh, all right. Go on.’

  Thank God he’s a bit more intelligent than Graham Illing worth, thought Milton. Resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands, he leaned closer to Tony. ‘When did you learn that your wife was pregnant?’

  ‘Some time in the middle of January.’

  ‘Were you pleased?’

  ‘You can’t have the right to ask me questions like this. I’ll complain.’

  ‘Complain away. I have the right. Perhaps I should put them to your wife instead?’ He watched Tony closely. He could see the facial signs of his mental struggle. He would have to come clean. He couldn’t trust Gloria.

  ‘If you must know, I was a bit put out.’

  ‘This baby was not planned?’

  ‘No. It was an accident. Or so she said.’

  ‘How much did you mind?’

  ‘I said I was a bit put out and that’s what I meant.’

  ‘Did you want her to have an abortion?’

  ‘She thinks abortion’s wrong, so there wasn’t any point arguing with her. I’m glad now anyway. It might take our minds off Tommy.’

  Milton sat back on the sofa, crossed his legs in a relaxed way and then said suddenly, ‘Why didn’t you want a baby, Mr Farson? Most men would have been pleased.’

  ‘I’m getting a bit old for all that crying at night. But I didn’t mind that much. I mean I might have got a bit cross, but I was getting used to the idea.’

  You’re lying, thought Milton. But I doubt if I can prove it. Gloria is unlikely to rake over the dirt at a time like this.

  ‘If you’re saying I tried to murder Gloria because I didn’t want the kid, you must be daft. How could I afford to hire someone to do the work Gloria does?’

  The fellow’s a monomaniac, thought Milton. He sees everything in terms of money and thinks everyone else does as well. Still, it’s convenient that he’s set up this opening. From the corner of his eye he could see Pooley, aware of what was coming and tense with anticipation. ‘Have you not got life insurance on your wife, sir? I should have thought that a responsible man like you…?’

  The colour drained out of Tony’s face. He stared at Milton with loathing. ‘You don’t mind what you say to people, do you? Have you forgotten my son’s only been dead nine days?’

  Milton decided to treat that question as rhetorical. ‘Have you or have you not taken out life insurance on your wife?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘For how much?’

  ‘Not a lot. Only about £20,000 or so.’

  ‘Can you show me the policy?’

  ‘I’ll get it now.’

  While he was out of the room Milton observed, ‘That’s no motive, I’m afraid. It’s just not enough.’

  ‘But sir. Maybe he’s got more than one policy.’

  Milton cursed himself for a fool. He was beginning to miss the blindingly obvious. When Farson returned and handed him the policy he looked at it perfunctorily.

  ‘I want you to think carefully before you answer my next question, sir. You should know that I will be able to go if necessary to all the insurance firms in the country and check with them. Have you any other policies covering your wife?’

  About half a minute later Tony muttered an assent.

  ‘May I see them, please? All of them?’

  Before he returned, Milton said, ‘Ellis. Would you please wipe that grin of triumph off your face? You are supposed to be invisible.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. But…’ He relapsed into silence as Tony stormed into the room and handed Milton one of the two files he was carrying.

  ‘They’re all there. I took the other two out over the past few years. But I was only being prudent. I’m heavily insured as well.’

  Milton examined the contents of the file. ‘You, I note, are insured for £50,000. Your wife appears to be insured for eight times that amount.’

  ‘I thought you’d get the wrong end of the stick. First, she’d have my pension. And look at this. This is how much she’d cost to replace.’

  Milton blinked at his choice of word but took without comment the newspaper article Tony had pulled out of the second file.

  ‘You see. It says that taking all the costs into account, you’d need about £10,000 a year to pay housekeepers and babysitters and laundries and so on. And her part-time job brings in £3,000.’

  ‘Even accepting these inflated figures, a capital sum of £130,000 would cover it.’

  ‘Not if interest rates go on dropping the way they are,’ said Tony darkly.

  He’s mad, thought Milton. But is he bad as well? He looked down at the floor where Tony had placed the second file and observed that it was labelled ‘FAMILY’. He lent casually over, picked it up and opened it. ‘I must say, sir, you have a very tidy mind. Do you file in date order from front to back or vice versa?’

  As he flicked through the papers inside apparently in search of an answer to this fatuous question, he came to a heading that made him pause. ‘Goodness me, Mr Farson,’ he said. ‘I never realized that bringing up children was so extraordinarily expensive.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ‘If you’ve finished, we’ll go in next door.’

  Pooley jumped up. ‘Let me clear this up first, sir.’

  Milton waved dismissively at the fish and chip wrappers and the empty plates. ‘Don’t bother. It’s not worth doing now. Come on.’

  He led the way inside and switched on two reading lamps. ‘You can get the drinks if you like. You should find all you need in that cupboard. I’ll have a neat brandy. And make it a large one.’

  He sat down and began to read the memorandum. Poole
y passed him his drink and sat down in the opposite armchair with his own whisky and soda.

  ‘I know you’re driving, Ellis. But that looks too weak to taste. You’re not just being polite, are you?’

  ‘Oh no, sir. I drink very little. I like to keep in condition.’

  ‘I commend you,’ said Milton solemnly. ‘I like my men to be fit.’ He took a long enjoyable swallow, reached over to his side-table and selected a cigar. As he lit it he saw Pooley’s eye upon him. He could not repress his chuckle. ‘It’s all right, Ellis. I’m only an occasional sybarite. Now I must get down to this. Find yourself a book and put on a record if you like.’

  A couple of minutes later he heard the opening bars of a Fats Waller number. He looked up and saw that Pooley was sitting down with an anthology of New Statesman competition winners. Milton felt pleased. Pooley wasn’t such a prig after all.

  When he finished reading, he took a thoughtful pull on his cigar. ‘Ellis,’ he asked, ‘have you any idea what all this would cost?’

  ‘But that doesn’t matter, does it? Not in a murder case.’

  ‘Not in one sense. If it could be shown to be necessary, no one would quibble about undertaking the projects you outline here. But I would have to be able to make out a good case, and frankly, for most of this, I couldn’t. Now don’t be disheartened. There’s some good stuff here. Let’s go through your paper in detail and find what I can justify. But first give me a refill.’

  ***

  It was just after eleven when Milton got rid of Pooley and was free to ring Amiss. He was unable to resist describing the meeting with Tony at considerable length.

  ‘You’re sounding pretty pleased with yourself.’

  ‘Do you blame me? It’s the first real break I’ve had. Although much of the credit goes to Pooley.’

  ‘So where does this leave Tony?’

  ‘With far and away the best motive to date. If his figures are right, the death of a pregnant Gloria would have made him overall about £400,000 better off than if she had stayed alive and produced the baby.’

  ‘Where do you go from here?’