When the police arrived she put a handkerchief over her hand before she drew the front door bolts and let them in, although there was not likely to be any evidence, she thought, that the murderer had been the last person to handle the bolts.
The police superintendent wasted no time. ‘Serious ma’am, so Mrs Gavin said.’
‘A dead man. This way,’ said Dame Beatrice, going towards a door at the back of the shop.
‘When we heard it was the chap who kept the shop here, we smelt a rat.’
Dame Beatrice looked at Laura, who said:
‘Sorry, but I had to give this address and the police insisted on a detail or two. I didn’t say the chap had been murdered.’
‘It has not been established that he died by the hand of another,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘not yet.’
‘Anyway, I’ve brought my boys and the police surgeon has been notified and will be here at any minute, so if you two ladies would show us where the body is, we’ll get weaving,’ said the Superintendent.
Dame Beatrice conducted him, the fingerprint expert, a sergeant and the official photographer to the office. The fingerprint expert got to work on the room, the sergeant, wearing gloves, methodically turned out the desk and the filing-cabinet, the photographer stood by, waiting for orders, the Superintendent and Dame Beatrice studied the blood-soaked figure on the floor.
‘All right, Ford,’ the Superintendent said. ‘Take from all angles. The knife is still in the body, but it looks like murder all right. And I’m not altogether surprised,’ he added, leading Dame Beatrice out of the room and away from the sweetish, horrible stench of decay. ‘We’ve thought for a long time that this shop was a cover for something illegal, but we’ve never been able to pin down what it is. We got a tip-off from the local manor of his last place of residence, which was in a suburb of Manchester. They hadn’t been able to get anything on him, but they’d have loved to pull him in.
‘To the local police station, you mean? Well, Superintendent, perhaps what I have to show you upstairs may interest you, although, since the Witchcraft Act was repealed, it will not be so significant as it might have been before 1951, and most certainly before 1736.’ She led the way to the staircase, followed by the Superintendent. Laura, who had stood aside at the doorway of the office to let them out, hesitated a moment, but, impelled by curiosity and having received no orders to remain downstairs, followed them up the staircase.
The Superintendent looked around the walls decorated so startlingly with their nudes and then he looked at the carpet with its white painted square, its circle, its pentagrams and other magical devices, before he turned his attention to the witches’ altar.
‘I suppose that table would be moved into the centre of the circle when anything was going on,’ he said. ‘Oh, well, that metal job must be hiding something – a special cup, I daresay – but it’s locked, so we’ll have to wait before we get it open. Anyway, it ought to yield some very nice dabs, although I bet they’ll only be Bosey’s own. Well, it’s a very elaborate set-up, Dame Beatrice, and hardly tallies with the junk shop downstairs. Neither does the office, for that matter. He can hardly have needed that expensive desk and a big filing-cabinet for the amount of antique-dealing he did. Ah, well, there may be a lot of perverse nastiness attached to this Satan’s Circle, but I can’t spot anything criminal about it, unless we can get him on a charge of procuring, and that’s no use now he’s dead.’
‘Ah!’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Sacrificial virgins! Dear me!’
‘Elysée Barnes!’ muttered Laura in the background. ‘Gosh! That would explain a lot.’
The Superintendent did not seem to have heard the slight mutterings, but when they had returned to the ground floor and the Superintendent, a handkerchief over his hand – ‘although I expect Davis has dusted everything off in here already, to get any dabs there may be – not that they’ll help us much, I’m afraid—’ had drawn back the bolts to let the ladies out by the shop door, Dame Beatrice said, when they were settled in the car:
‘Elysée Barnes? Yes, it all ties up very nicely.’
‘Do you really think she was mixed up in this business? She didn’t seem at all the type to me. Anybody ass enough to rush into marriage for the reason she more or less gave, is too much of a rabbit to be mixed up with what could be black magic.’
‘If there were no rabbits there might be no stoats,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘and to that extent the rabbits may be deemed to be culpable. Girls are enticed to embark upon evil courses because human nature, even when revolted by evil, has a devouring curiosity about real wickedness. Before they realise what is happening, these rabbits are petrified and rendered helpless by the stoats and then (to change our metaphor back into human terms) they are first victimised, as I say, then perverted and at last either discarded or, in extreme cases, murdered.’
‘But that only refers to young girls, not to young men.’
‘In a different way, men are corrupted too. The balance of their minds is upset and they find themselves taking part in doings which are more like a madman’s nightmare than any course of conduct they had ever visualised.’
‘Seems to me there must be the germs of corruption, anyway, in such men and women. It can’t just be nothing but curiosity in the first place.’
‘Well, you may be right, but, of all things, I think that witchcraft has its own fascination. The old gods may be dead, but, in the words of Miss Gracie Field’s deservedly popular song, they won’t lie down.’
‘Of course, witchcraft is no longer against the law, as you said. I believe there are dozens of covens in England alone.’
‘And numberless fertility rites outside them, although their practitioners nowadays seldom recognise them for what they are. At risk of causing you a certain amount of disappointment, I will go alone to visit Miss Barnes for this second time.’
‘She’ll be more likely to talk to you on your own, you think? I guess that’s so. Anything useful I can do while you’re gone?’
‘Yes, if you will be so good. Nothing may come of your errand, so I must warn you against more disappointment. I should like you to take your yataghan to Weston Pipers, tell Niobe Nutley where it was purchased, but do not, of course, mention that I was with you when you bought it, and ask her whether it has a history. She will tell you that she knows nothing about it, since it did not come from Weston Pipers, which, I have no doubt, is true.’
‘Then what?’
‘In the words of one of the ancient ballads of which you and I are fond, “and do you stand a little away, and listen well what she shall say”.’
‘Willie’s Lady. You don’t think Niobe is a witch, do you?’
‘There are less likely possibilities. Of course, do not press your point about the yataghan. I trust to your discretion.’
‘Implied rebuke noted and digested.’
‘Neither implied nor intended.’
‘Right, then, I’ll be an auditor.’
‘An actor, too, perchance, if you see cause, but prenez garde, as Abbie would say. First, however, we have to explain ourselves further to the police – or so I fancy. There was an unfathomable expression upon the Superintendent’s bland and otherwise benign countenance. He will want to know more about our researches.’
Chapter Thirteen
Another Case for the Police
« ^ »
‘SO here’s a pretty kettle of fish,’ said Laura to the Detective Superintendent. ‘A nice thing for the wife of an Assistant Commissioner at New Scotland Yard to go about the place snooping in at windows and discovering dead bodies.’
‘Mustn’t pull your rank, you know, Mrs Gavin,’ said the Superintendent, with an avuncular smile.
‘I must. Otherwise you might think I’d done the job myself,’ retorted Laura. ‘I know you lot! The first person on the scene is also the first to be suspected.’
‘Oh, no. That honour, ma’am, goes to the last person known to have been present. I may tell you – but this is not for pu
blication at present – that our investigations into the death of Miss Minnie have caused us to keep a wary eye on this Black Magic gang, and even now that this Bosey whom we think was their leader has gone, if we can catch them putting even half a foot wrong, it’s curtains for their organisation, because we shall jug the lot of them. They wouldn’t be any loss to society, I assure you.’
‘You haven’t really got anything on them yet, then?’
‘Only simple faith that they’re up to N.B.G. That goes especially for Minnie and this Bosey who kept the junk shop. We’ve been able to trace their movements over the last ten years or so, and everywhere they went there are histories of missing schoolgirls. Those two beauties are out of it now, but the rest of their crew must have guilty knowledge of what went on. Of course, girls do go missing, the silly little what-I-won’t-describe, but the coincidences occurred a bit too often to be ignored, and we were getting ready to crack down on this little organisation when this chap, who seems to have been the boss-cat of a very dirty alley, got himself bumped off.’
‘Or bumped himself off,’ put in Dame Beatrice, who, by previous agreement, had left the opening exchanges to Laura as the person who had first seen the body.
‘As you say, ma’am,’ said the Superintendent noncomittally. ‘That could be so of course. Only thing is that those milk bottles seem to tell a different story.’
‘Have you spoken to the milkman?’
‘We have, ma’am. Most of his ilk are sharp-witted fellows who soon smell a rat if milk is left on a doorstep, especially if the householder is elderly and lives alone. This chap seems to have been an exception. He’s also an auxiliary. The regular deliveryman happens to have been down with flu during the period under advisement. This chap says he noticed that two bottles hadn’t been taken in, and that there was a CLOSED notice on the shop door, but he didn’t know what to do. He left the third bottle, but had wit enough to report at the depot. They told him not to leave any more, but, the next time he called, all the bottles had disappeared. However, he obeyed orders and did not leave any more milk, figuring that the customer, with three bottles in hand, was hardly short of milk and would contact him when he wanted more. All the householder had to do was what most of us do, just stick a note in an empty bottle, but Bosey doesn’t seem to have done this.’
‘Apparently not, Superintendent. I spoke to the man myself on one occasion.’
‘The milkman? Really, ma’am? How was that, then.’
‘Mrs Gavin and I had visited the shop and she had made a purchase. In the back of the shop I had seen a picture which, I thought, had magical connections and I wanted to persuade the proprietor to sell it to me, but the shop was closed. Although there was no milk on the step, I noticed that the man did not leave any.’
‘Well, the bottles do pose a problem, Dame Beatrice. Now, ma’am, the doctors (we had two of them, our own and an outsider) agree that the corpse was at least three days old when they examined it, so who but the murderer took in the milk?’
‘These are indeed deep matters, Superintendent.’
‘What we and our colleagues in the other parts of the country where Minnie and this man are known to have lived are doing next is to check up on the parents of the missing schoolgirls. One of them – one of the fathers or boyfriends, presumably – may have got to know something of these Satanists’ nasty little activities and trailed them down here and exacted a private vengeance, and if what we think happens to be true – molestation of virgin girls after kidnap and followed by the ritual death of the victims – well, speaking ex-officio, I damned well don’t blame him. Still, my job is my job, and, if I can find him, it’s my job to bring him to book.’
‘Were there fingerprints on the milk bottles?’
‘Yes, but nobody’s that we could check up on. That’s the worst of murder. Unless there’s direct evidence and provided the man or woman only does it once and has never been in our records for any other crime, fingerprints don’t mean a thing.’
‘What about the weapon?’
‘It was sticking into him. It was a broad-bladed kitchen knife and as sharp as a razor. He was sitting at his desk, we think, and the murderer sneaked in – probably from the shop if it was open – and caught him napping. Then either he fell or was tumbled on to the floor the way you found him. Well, he deserved what he got. He was a swine all right, if we read the papers in his desk and filing-cabinet correctly. They were in code, of course, but our experts soon broke it down and the details, although given in what we believe is a very low key, were horrifying enough, in all conscience. If somebody did take the law into his own hands and kill a monster, well, as I said, I’m only too sorry it’s my job to catch the fellow, that’s all.’
‘It is a pity the shop is comparatively isolated,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘You might have obtained useful information from the neighbours.’
‘He was too fly a bird to want neighbours, ma’am, with the kind of doings we reckon went on in the top-floor rooms of that shop. A well-meaning party in the next street, Number Twelve, contacted us but wasn’t helpful.’
‘I take it that the question of suicide is not ruled out? People do stab themselves, and a nice mess some of them make of it,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Suicide? But I’m sure we’ve been very careful not to ring any alarm bells. No, my view is that some father with a real grievance had been brooding over things until he couldn’t live with himself until the deed was done. My God! If one of those schoolkids had been my daughter, I’d have finished him off myself and be damned to my career and everything else!’
‘A man of blood and iron,’ said Laura, when they had left the Superintendent.
‘A man whose professional training has not warped his social conscience. Well, there are various steps which you and I can take. First I want another talk with that milkman.’
‘If he’s as moronic as the Superintendent thinks, he won’t be much help. In any case, I expect the regular milkman is back on the round by now. Influenza doesn’t last all that long unless you die of it.’
‘There speaks the heartless healthy.’
‘Nonsense! I have every sympathy with illness. Well, if you’re going to seek out the milkman, what do you want me to do?’
‘Do nothing at all, and in your own masterly fashion, just for the present. Later on I shall be requiring signal service from you. You will have to conduct an interview which in your hands may bear fruit, but from which I myself should most probably obtain nothing at all.’
‘If you still suspect Niobe Nutley of murdering the Minnie woman, who killed the shopkeeper? Niobe would have had no motive for that.’
‘Who knows? – although I think you may be right. Besides, I no longer suspect Niobe any more than others I could mention. Since we discovered the antique shop and its varied contents, including the dead body of the proprietor, my range of suspects has been considerably widened.’
‘You don’t really think the police believe Bosey performed human sacrifices, do you? It seems utterly incredible to me.’
‘It is not incredible at all. As we have reason to know, there are monsters among us. I am afraid that the Superintendent’s observations on the matter are of the utmost importance and it is more than possible that whoever killed Bosey (unless he committed suicide) may have scotched the snake, not killed it. Oh, I am quite certain that the Superintendent’s remarks were far more than lurid hints. I think the police were closing in on these so-called Panconscious People and I think the death of Miss Minnie is proof of that. Well, now, if you will stay in the hotel tomorrow and await my return, I may come back with news. There may be telephone calls while I am out, so it will be as well if somebody is available to answer them.’
George drove her into the town next morning and parked the car outside the house nearest to the shop, the number twelve mentioned by the Superintendent. Dame Beatrice rang the bell and asked whether the milkman had called that morning, adding, with specious truth, that she had not seen him t
hat day. The housewife, a kindly body with a strong local accent, stated that the milkman had left her herself a pint bottle, as usual, and that it was ‘the right man on the round again, and not that silly boy who was always making mistakes.’
Had the woman any idea of the time of day?
‘When he called? No, not to half an hour or so, I haven’t, but he was in the road when I went out shopping at ten, and my milk was on the step when I came back about eleven.’
‘Oh, thank you so much. I am sorry to have troubled you. No doubt they will be able to supply me with milk at the supermarket.’
‘Anyway, you’re welcome to come in and have a cup of tea, my dear. You must be desperate for one.’
Dame Beatrice went in and, over very strong tea and a home-baked scone, she and her hostess were soon deep in conversation. Dame Beatrice admitted to being a newcomer to the neighbourhood and, to avoid any reference to her present address, stated that she had spent a short time at Weston Pipers.
‘You probably know it,’ she said. ‘It is a very large house in the next village and has been converted into flats.’
‘I expect you left there on account of the murder.’
‘Yes, chiefly that, but I also found it very expensive.’
‘Did you know the party who was murdered?’
‘I do not think anybody knew her. I am told that she kept very much to herself. In any case she was dead before I arrived.’
‘The murderer must have known her, mustn’t he?’
‘Unless he was a burglar and killed her so that she should not scream and raise the alarm.’
‘A burglar? Oh, well, in a rich place like Weston Pipers that might well be, but that couldn’t be so with our murder, could it?’
‘Our murder? (The subject had come up easily and early.) ’Oh, you mean the man who kept that little shop on the corner. No, I shouldn’t think there was much worth stealing there.’
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