Final Witness

by J F Straker

  As a shower of spray enveloped him he shook his body free of the tenseness that had held it, spread his feet wider on the wet, slippery surface, and awaited Baker’s onslaught. From behind him came the sound of the girl crying, punctuated by hiccups. But Wilhelmina had lost much of her importance for David. This was now a personal battle.

  It was never joined. All except Winstone were watching Baker. Winstone, who since his arrival had shown little interest in the proceedings, had turned away, his aspect one of unhappy dejection. Now his body stiffened. In his high-pitched voice he shouted excitedly, ‘Hey! Look there!’

  His voice held such urgency that they all, David included, followed his pointing finger. ‘There’ was the cliff-face down which they had come. From where they stood they could see only the lower half of the rude track, but that was enough for David. Hope was something he had abandoned; now it surged through him anew. For there were men on the track; men in uniform, men in civilian dress. And they were coming down remarkably fast.

  Winstone was the first to act. He gave a frightened look at Paul, hesitated, then turned and ran, slipping and sliding over the greasy, uneven surfaces. Once he fell. But he picked himself up and went limping on towards the far side of the promontory, away from the men on the cliff. He did not know, as David knew, that there was no escape that way.

  Baker went next. Like the others, he appeared to have lost interest in David and the girl. Agile for such a big man, he hoisted himself off the ledge and without a word to his companions set off in pursuit of the West Indian. He took a more direct course, clambering over rocks where Winstone skirted them, and moving faster.

  David took a cautious step forward. Paul and Dunn had their backs to him, and he prayed that neither would look round. The knowledge that rescue was on the way had not dispelled his anger. Paul had trapped him. Now he wanted to be the one to trap Paul.

  Dunn said, ‘Looks like a good idea.’ His voice was sharp and incisive, without a tremor. ‘We can’t handle a mob that big.’ His eyes turned from the cliff to follow the retreating figures of Baker and Winstone. ‘I reckon it’s time to go, Bandit. Coming?’

  Paul was watching the cliff. He stood with his feet firmly apart, legs straight, shoulders square. The empty sleeve at his left side was still tucked neatly into the pocket of his blazer.

  ‘I’ve business to attend to first,’ he said evenly.

  As Dunn turned to look at him David froze into immobility. The man gave him a twisted grin, raised slim fingers in a mock salute, and strolled casually away, picking his path delicately. The last man on the cliff-face disappeared into the deep V of the cove. It seemed to be the cue for which Paul had waited. Hand in pocket, he turned to peer down at David.

  ‘You’re a fool,’ he said. ‘A fool and a meddling nuisance. Now you’re going to pay for your meddling.’

  David saw the small automatic in his hand as he withdrew it from his pocket, and braced himself. It was agonizing to realize that those men on the cliff, despite their nearness, could not help him now.

  ‘You’re a fool yourself, Paul.’ His throat was dry and his voice hoarse. He swallowed painfully. The grim expression on the other’s face told him that no appeal for mercy would succeed. Only if he were persuaded that to linger would imperil his own safety might Paul decide to forgo his murderous intention. ‘It’s not all that easy to kill a man; not with a toy like that. And what about the girl? You’ll have to kill her too — she’s the star witness against you. Only there won’t be time; not for both of us. They’ll get you first, Paul.’ Water buffeted into his face, and he blinked furiously. His voice was shrill as he repeated, ‘They’ll get you, Paul. They’ll get you.’

  Paul took a step forward and raised the automatic. Now he was at the very edge of the rock. David felt sick. Courage was rapidly deserting him, and he had to force himself to stand his ground. He knew that his one slim chance lay in attack.

  ‘There’ll be time,’ Paul said.

  The automatic came up slowly. David watched it, mesmerized by its snub nose. Summoning all his nerve, he tore his eyes away and stared across to his left.

  ‘There won’t, damn you!’ he said hoarsely. ‘They’re here now.’

  It was an old trick, but it almost worked. In the fraction of a second in which Paul started to look over his shoulder and then changed his mind, David sprang. But the tension and the wet had stiffened his limbs, and he was not quick enough. He scarcely heard the report. He felt the impact of the bullet and a stabbing, searing pain in his side, but it did not stop him. Momentum carried him forward, and he flung both arms round Paul’s legs and tugged. The gun fired again, the bullet grazing his left leg. Momentarily his clasp weakened. But before Paul could free himself David had slipped his hands down and gripped him by the ankles and, exerting all his remaining strength, had tugged again. Paul’s feet slid from the rock and he fell heavily on to the ledge, striking his head against it and sending David sprawling.

  Slowly David got to his knees. He was too weak to stand. But weakness had not dimmed his rage. Through misted eyes he saw the prostrate figure of his enemy and, unaware that the fall had knocked the other senseless, he smashed a fist into the hated face. The effort weakened him further, and he fell across the still body. For a moment or two he lay inert. Then he thought he felt Paul stir, and again he pushed himself up and raised his fist.

  Before he could use it a hand gripped him by the wrist.

  ‘That’s enough, sir,’ a voice said. There was an arm round his shoulders, a peaked cap was bending over him. ‘Leave him to us. We’ll know how to deal with him.’

  17

  ‘Bandy or Bandit, I hate his guts,’ David said. He eased his body into a more upright position, felt a stab of pain in his side, and sank back on to the banked pillows. ‘Which was it, by the way? I’m sure Dunn addressed him as Bandit.’

  On the tiny square of grass beyond the ward windows two nurses were chatting. One was young and blonde and pretty, and Rees Morgan watched her contentedly. It was at his request that David had been brought to London by ambulance as soon as the Helston doctors had pronounced him fit to travel, and it was at his insistence that David had been given a room to himself in the hospital here. David was an important police witness, he had told the protesting authorities; he had to be readily available for questioning. The protests had continued, but with the support of his superiors he had overcome them.

  ‘Bandit,’ he said. ‘The One-arm Bandit — that’s what the gang called him.’

  A fresh wave of anger engulfed David. Even now he could not reconcile himself to the recollection of how easily he had been duped. Would he have been suspicious of Paul, he wondered, if Nora and Morgan between them had not started him off on the wrong foot, if he had been given ‘Bandit’ instead of ‘Bandy’? It was such an obvious nickname for a crook with one arm. He knew that Paul had been at the Crocodile when Elsie Sheel had broadcast that her room-mate had witnessed the murder; it was Paul who had hastened to get in touch with him, not he with Paul. That last should certainly have made him wonder; they had had nothing in common at school, could expect to have little or nothing in common now. Instead he had felt flattered, had allowed Paul to hoodwink him completely. And with chagrin he remembered that Paul himself had used the word ‘Bandit’ when they had lunched together at their first meeting.

  ‘Why did he do it?’ he asked wearily. ‘What makes a man like Paul become a thief and a killer?’

  Morgan shrugged. ‘I dare say he got a kick out of it. He also seems to have had a grudge against society and against policemen in particular. But principally for the lolly, I imagine. He had expensive tastes.’

  ‘Lolly?’ David sat up sharply, winced, and fell back. ‘But he was loaded! An aunt in America left him a fortune. He told me so.’

  ‘He told you a lot of things. I’m surprised you bought that one. He hasn’t got an aunt; never did have. Susan knew that. What’s more, she says she told you so.’

  Had Susan told
him? He could not remember. They had discussed Paul and his parents after they had met him at the Seventy-Seven, but had there been anything about an aunt? Not that it mattered. It was just another instance of his own magnificent credulity.

  ‘And the chip on his shoulder? Was that because of his injury?’

  ‘Against the police, yes. The driver of the other car involved in the accident was a constable off duty, and he happened to be drunk.’ Morgan sighed. ‘We have our sinners, unfortunately. And it robbed your friend of an England cap. I gather that was something he’d set his heart on.’

  ‘He hasn’t got a heart. And don’t call him my friend. I told you, I hate his guts.’

  ‘It’s a pity you didn’t get to hating them earlier.’

  The superintendent was looking particularly smart that afternoon. David had not seen the suit before — a discreet mixture of yellows and browns and reds, perfectly cut and immaculately pressed — and guessed it to be new. The familiar bow tie had been discarded for a Jacques Fath, square cut and admirably knotted, and the cream shirt had just the suspicion of a check to relieve the monotony. From where he lay David could not see his feet, but he had no doubt that the socks blended perfectly and that the shoes had a high gloss polish.

  The picture irritated him. To his mind policemen should look like policemen and not like tailors’ dummies. And the old buzzard hadn’t the right figure; too much paunch and too much neck. David suspected he had a girl lined up for the evening. Probably been dating one of the nurses. Certainly he had been a more frequent visitor to the hospital than official business would seem to warrant.

  ‘How about handing out some information for a change?’ His tone was peevish. ‘Unsatisfied curiosity can’t be good for an invalid; it increases the blood pressure. And you must know all the answers by now.’

  ‘You’re no invalid,’ his godfather told him. The blonde had moved from his line of vision, and he shifted his gaze to the flowers. The yellow tulips were his, the red ones probably Susan’s. The rather ragged wallflowers had no doubt come from David’s editor, if the rascally old blood-sucker had thought to send flowers at all. ‘You’ve got a hole in your side through being a damned sight too impetuous, but you’re as healthy as I am. Healthier.’ He put a hand in his pocket and rustled the inevitable paper-bag. ‘However, you’re right about the answers. Properly scared, Winstone is a great talker — though neither he nor the others would say a word about Dyerson’s murder. Killing a copper is something no crook will confess to. However, I’m not worrying. We have our eye-witness. She’ll do the trick for us.’

  David glowed with smug complacency. The police might say what they liked about his handling of the affair —and Morgan for one had said plenty — but they owed their witness to him. It was he who had saved Wilhelmina.

  When, with a proper show of modesty, he pointed this out to his godfather, he was answered by a non-committal grunt. Aggrieved at this refusal to give praise where praise was undoubtedly due, he said sharply, ‘Well? Do I get the story, or don’t I?’

  ‘You do.’ Morgan put an acid-drop into his mouth and delicately licked the tips of his fingers. ‘Where shall I start?’

  ‘For crying out loud! What’s wrong with the beginning?’ The frown on the superintendent’s face warned David that he had overstepped the bounds of permissible familiarity. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’ve been in this blasted bed too long; it’s getting me down. All right, then — let’s start with the Rotherhithe job. Surely it wasn’t a coincidence that the gang picked on a warehouse almost next door to Nora’s parents?’

  ‘Not entirely. On one of the rare occasions she spoke about her family she mentioned to Winstone that her father was night watchman there, and how her mother was worried about him. That was while she and Winstone were living together; she knew nothing of his criminal activities, of course. Winstone passed the information on to Brenn-Taylor, who saw its possibilities. His first idea was that Nora should try to fix the old man. Winstone squashed that flat. He knew Nora wouldn’t play. Incidentally, did you know Brenn-Taylor owned the Seventy-Seven Club? That was the gang’s headquarters.’

  David shook his head. ‘So it was entirely a coincidence that Nora chose that particular night to visit her daughter?’

  ‘Must have been.’

  According to Mrs Einsdorp, Nora had left without seeing Wilhelmina. Perhaps she had spotted the couple on her way to the bus, and had followed them to Rotherhithe Street. She had mistrusted Lumsden’s intentions, the old woman had said.

  ‘O.K. So they raided the warehouse and coshed old Einsdorp, and Nora and Lumsden and Wilhelmina saw them shoot the constable. I know that bit. Can we take it from there?’

  Morgan smiled his attractive smile and looked sly.

  ‘You never learn, do you?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Skip it. Well, taking it from there brings us to Brenn-Taylor reading the newspapers, and learning of the existence of witnesses.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’ Crack for crack, thought David, still mystified by his godfather’s comment.

  ‘If you care to put it that way.’ Morgan was unperturbed. In his low, musical voice he went on equably, ‘Elsie Sheel was a slice of luck for them. That one of the witnesses should turn out to be not only Elsie’s room-mate but also Winstone’s ex girl-friend was an even larger slice. Winstone was detailed to discover how much she had seen and heard. Unfortunately for Nora she knew how to keep a secret.’

  ‘Why unfortunately?’

  ‘If she had told Winstone then why she could not identify the killer they might have believed her. Not later, of course; not when the heat was on. But she didn’t. Not because she mistrusted him, but because we had told her to mention it to no one. Winstone couldn’t put direct questions without revealing his connexion with the crime, so he got no direct answers. No answers at all, in fact.’

  ‘Was Winstone also in on the kidnapping?’

  ‘He was. He couldn’t care less what happened to her so long as any violence done was not done by him. He was squeamish that way. The plan was for Baker and Dunn to pick her up as she left the Centipede. Winstone was to arrange that he and she did not leave the building together; he could be of more use to the gang if she remained unaware of his complicity.’ Morgan cracked the thin remnant of the acid-drop between his teeth and sucked the fragments avidly before swallowing. ‘Chapman made that easy.’

  ‘Suppose Nora had insisted on leaving with Winstone?’

  ‘They would probably have pretended to knock him out, and carried on as planned.’

  David shifted his position in the bed. With each day the mattress seemed to grow harder. ‘What went wrong?’ he asked. ‘Me?’

  ‘Chapman. Winstone’s job finished when he left the club. He should have gone back to the Seventy-Seven, but he stopped to look at your Alvis. To him it was something of an oddity.’ The fleeting smile that invaded the superintendent’s round face aroused David’s resentment, but he let it pass. ‘And then Chapman came out, spotted Winstone, and decided to finish what he’d started. Beat him up good and proper. Winstone’s as crooked as they come, but physically he’s a coward; Chapman would have eaten him had not Dunn intervened. Unfortunately for Chapman Dunn’s intervention took its usual course. He stuck a knife into him.’ Morgan shrugged. ‘So there they were, all set for a snatch, and with a large and unexpected corpse on their hands. Tricky, eh?’

  ‘Very,’ David agreed. This was news to him. He had not supposed that Chapman, dead or alive, could have any bearing on the events subsequent to that evening. ‘Was that why they delayed the snatch, as you call it?’

  ‘Chapman had priority. Winstone went off in a taxi, and Dunn and Baker bundled the corpse into the back of their car, drove down to the river, and dumped it. We don’t know exactly where, but it was fished out near Hungerford Bridge the following night. They then returned to the main business of the evening. Only now they decided to wait for Nora outside her flat. For one thing, it was n
earer. For another, she might already be on her way home. I imagine they were somewhat dismayed when she arrived with a companion. Happily for them, you were not the sort of escort to go upstairs with the lady.’

  David nodded absently. At that moment he was not interested in his godfather’s opinion of his morals. He said, ‘Winstone was speaking the truth, then, when he said Nora was alive. The blood you found in the Zodiac was Chapman’s.’

  ‘It was about the only truth he did speak.’

  The door opened to admit a tea-trolley. Morgan stood up, smoothing down his jacket. The trolley was followed by a tall negress, who beamed at them out of a shining black face, her thin drain-pipe legs apparently having difficulty in supporting the heavy body.

  ‘You want some tea?’ she asked the superintendent, arranging a tray on the bed trolley. ‘I brought another cup.’

  He thanked her politely. David thought he looked somewhat dejected; had he been expecting the blonde? When the negress had left them he said, ‘A teapot! This must be in your honour, sir; usually it’s just a cup. Care to pour out? I must conserve my strength. And go easy on the milk, will you? I like mine strong.’

  With a derisory grunt his godfather complied. Into his own cup he poured almost as much milk as tea, adding a generous quantity of sugar. He eyed the two pieces of bread and butter and the two small cakes, decided there was only enough for one, and sat down.

  ‘So it was Chapman, not the gang, who messed up Winstone’s face?’ David said, spreading jam. ‘Came in handy, didn’t it? I mean, I suppose he really did have that interview with Nora.’

  ‘I imagine so. It was the obvious tactics to employ. But whatever lies he invented to persuade her to talk, he had no success until she inadvertently mentioned the name of Robert. Then, of course, he pressed her for the man’s full name and address. He says she told him she’d forgotten it; it was in her diary, she said, but she must have lost that when she dropped her handbag in your car.’