Dead Letters

by Joan Lock

  ‘Seems as if there was no other servants,’ he said to Smith when the woman had gone. ‘You’d think there would at least be a cleaner in a place this size? Especially as Miss Forrest claims—’

  Best stopped as he spotted Miss Forrest framed in the doorway. How much had she heard? He was becoming careless.

  He leaped to his feet and went towards her with his hand outstretched and a reverent look on his face. ‘We are so sorry to intrude at such a time,’ he murmured indicating the funeral brougham outside the window.

  She nodded her head rather awkwardly, as though formal niceties unsettled her, particularly when coming from a policeman. Best had heard that northerners thought southerners ‘fussy’ and ‘smarmy’ but also that Geordies were usually very friendly.

  ‘I’m trying to give Alice a good send-off,’ she said suddenly, as though she had been accused of something untoward. ‘We were like sisters, you know.’

  Was this guilt or just sheer awkwardness? Clearly, soft words and charm were not likely to work here, Best decided. Straightforwardness, or at least the appearance of straightforwardness, would have to be the order of the day.

  Miss Forrest was wearing a deep black barathea dress which hung a little loosely on her lean body. A row of pins down the left side were evidence of an attempt to rectify this problem. Doubtless, a matching row was scheduled for the right hand side but she’d clearly thought their visit important enough to break off her fitting.

  She indicated that Best should sit down again and drew up an upright chair opposite him. Her mourning outfit, he noticed, was completed with a lacy black collar, matching gloves and a jet necklace and earrings. The full regalia. To impress whom?

  ‘Are Alice’s relatives coming down for the funeral?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Maud said quickly, then she pulled herself up. ‘Well, she didn’t have any, did she? Not any very close anyway – and it’s such a long way from Newcastle …’

  ‘What made you come all the way down here?’ Best enquired politely.

  ‘My sister lived here, didn’t she.’

  Best had already noticed the woman’s curious habit of speaking as if he should know the answers. As if everyone must. Maybe this was the result of living in a small village where everyone did, indeed, know everything about you? Maybe this was a Tyneside way of speech.

  ‘Married a southerner, didn’t she.’

  Her tone suggested that this was only one remove from being sold into white slavery. Best realized she’d spoken in the past tense.

  ‘You said “lived”. Where is she now?’

  Maud bowed her head and tears sprang into her eyes, but she fought them back.

  ‘Dead too, isn’t she!’ She shook her head in almost angry disbelief. ‘Would you gainsay it? We’d only just sold the old house up there and bought the new one down here, and she took ill with pneumonia and there she was dead – within a week! My only relative gone!’

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around her body in a gesture of self-comfort. ‘Family weakness, you now – the chest.’

  ‘So now the only person you’ve got is your brother-in-law?’

  The brother-in-law had quickly assumed a certain importance in Best’s mind. If Maud was as wealthy as her gold brooch, diamond ring and house-owning status suggested, this brother-in-law, this only remaining relative of sorts, might not have fancied his inheritance being diluted.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she exclaimed as if he ought to know. ‘He’s gone as well, has he not! Ten years ago. Heart. That’s why our Ena wanted me to come south, wasn’t it.’

  ‘Your new neighbours,’ said Best encouragingly, ‘are they friendly?’

  Her answer was surprisingly waspish. ‘What them! Course not. They’re typical southerners!’ She stopped and drew back a little. ‘Well,’ she said more mildly, ‘I suppose they’ve said “Good morning” now and then.’ She sighed. ‘It takes time, I know.’

  Best resisted the urge to spring to the defence of southerners, and instead cleared his throat. ‘Of course. Wherever you are,’ he murmured. ‘Did Alice have any friends or relatives down here?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ There was a certain satisfaction in her voice. ‘There was just the two of us.’

  He leaned forward and enquired casually, ‘No sweethearts or anything?’

  Her eyes widened in astonishment at the question. ‘Why no, man!’ Uncertainty crept into her eyes. ‘What did you ask me that for?’

  ‘With sudden death we have to ask a few questions,’ he assured her apologetically. ‘We have to get the full picture of the situation.’

  ‘But she had a heart attack – you said!’

  ‘We said we thought she might have had a heart attack. We didn’t know for certain until after the post-mortem.’

  She stared at him aghast. ‘Alice wouldn’t have wanted to be cut up by strangers!’

  ‘We had no choice,’ Best murmured patting her hand. ‘But they were very respectful – and tidied her up afterwards.’

  He took a deep breath, might as well get on with it. He’d kept it back so as to get as much information out of her as possible in case she collapsed at the news. He leaned forward and said, ‘Look, I’ve something to tell you.’

  She frowned, glancing perplexedly from one man to the other. ‘What d’you mean?’

  Her eyes, he noticed, were red-rimmed and her face blotchy from crying. Poor woman. And he was about to make it worse. But – no niceties.

  ‘Well, come on, man,’ she said bluntly. ‘What is it you have to say?’

  All right. If that’s what you want. ‘Just that the pathologist is not happy with the result of his post-mortem,’ he said equally bluntly.

  ‘Not happy? What do you mean? What are you talkin’ about, man? If he’s not happy he should do it again!’

  ‘Ah, no. I see that I haven’t made myself quite clear. Forgive me.’

  She gazed at him implacably.

  ‘What I mean is, that we have found signs that her death may not have been from natural causes.’

  Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Signs? What signs?’

  If she was guilty of anything, she was making a poor do of hiding it by responding to ‘signs’ rather than ‘causes’.

  Best shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s all too technical for me, I’m afraid.’ No it wasn’t. When they’d opened up the stomach the stench of bitter almonds had billowed up like a fog from the river. ‘It’s just suspicions at the moment, you understand. We have to wait for the results of further tests.’

  ‘But, but that’s stupid! I mean …’

  ‘It may be,’ he said coldly. ‘But we’ve got to act on this, you understand,’ he said firmly. ‘So what it means to you is that we’ll have to hold the burial back for a while.’

  ‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘You can’t do that!’

  Oh really, why not? he wondered.

  ‘Not in this heat. We can’t do that to poor Alice.’

  ‘Meanwhile, if you could help us get this thing sorted out,’ Best continued in the businesslike, steamroller manner he had decided was the best option with this woman, ‘you will be able to bury your friend all the sooner.’

  He was startled to hear a sob burst suddenly from the woman’s stringy throat. A torrent of tears began streaming down her angular face. When the tough ones broke they usually went all the way, exhausted by all that holding back. If this were genuine, a touch of kindness now should complete the process.

  He reached forward and patted her hand. She looked down as he did so, as though not believing that someone had touched her. ‘Will you do that for us, Miss Forrest? We would be most grateful.’

  She nodded speechlessly as he handed her his clean handkerchief.

  ‘Quicker done, quicker cleared up.’

  But not too quick, he thought, we’ve got to get those poison test results back first.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The goods on offer spilled outside the shops and in some cases right a
cross the pavement: shiny pans, exotic bird cages, carcasses of lamb, glossy fruit and colourful vegetables. Delivery vans and carts still cluttered the kerbside and shopkeepers were putting finishing touches to their displays.

  ‘Commerce Road,’ murmured Best. ‘Well, they gave it the right name, didn’t they?’

  He held a list of the establishments patronized by Alice and Maud. With luck, they might offer some clues as to any contacts Alice might have made in the area. The neighbours had been friendly enough when approached but verified Maud’s assertion that they never exchanged more than the occasional ‘Good morning’ with the newcomers. At present, it almost seemed as though neither woman knew anyone at all.

  If that were really so, how were they going to trace the murderer, never mind get a hint of a possible motive? Up to now, there seemed no reason why anyone should want Alice dead.

  Maud would have had the opportunity, but why should she want to kill her help and only companion of many years? By her account the woman was a dear friend. What’s more, Alice had no money. Maud had shown them Alice’s savings book, which held a princely £4 10s. Nothing to the likes of a woman like Maud.

  As far as they could yet discover, Alice’s life had not been insured. If it had been, the policy would soon surface along with the claimant, and if the company suspected anything they would soon be investigating and informing the police.

  When calling on the neighbours, Best and Smith had not announced themselves as police officers, merely hinted that they were representatives of an insurance company searching for information and for possible benefactors.

  This, Best had found, was a sure way to bring ‘relatives and friends’ out of the woodwork. Quite often they turned out to be bogus, but also, quite often, police learned something new during the exercise.

  A close look at Maud’s financial situation might reveal something. Was she as secure as she appeared to be? Even if not, why would that give her a motive for killing Alice?

  Commerce Road and Finsbury Road, which crossed it two thirds of the way up, proved to be a thriving residential shopping centre with the usual mix of retailers catering for the domestic needs of a neighbourhood aspiring to middle-class gentility.

  On the greengrocer’s laden trestles, exotic foreign fruits such as figs, peaches and pomegranates sat side by side with crisp Cox’s Orange Pippins. At the two butchers’, pheasants vied with mutton and the fishmonger offered lobsters as well as North Sea cod.

  Appetizing aromas were coming from Bennet’s High Class Bakers and Confectioners which offered ‘Choice Desserts on the shortest notice’ in addition to everyday Maid of Honour Tarts.

  Best could not imagine Alice and Maud wanting ‘choice desserts’ for fancy dinner parties, but the baker’s was on his list so they began there. The fact that there was a tea shop attached also influenced his decision. He and Smith could partake of a scrumptious pastry while chatting casually to the waitress whose name, they soon discovered, was Emmy.

  It turned out to be a good move. The hour was still early and Emmy had time to spare, particularly for such a presentable pair of gentlemen.

  ‘What’s happening about Quicksilver?’ Best asked Smith after she had taken their order.

  ‘Cheadle has sent Sergeant Lansdowne out to Pentonville to see Grimes’s old cell mates. He reckons he might have given someone else the idea of quoting poems. But he wants us to keep an eye on old Mrs Grimes to see if we can get anything more from her. Find out whether there are any relatives or mates “in the picture” who might be bent on revenge.’

  Best looked skywards. ‘Bit far-fetched, isn’t it? You’d have to be a good mate to do that. You could be hanged for setting off an explosion like that.’

  Smith nodded. ‘But they can’t think of nothing else to do until they get something more from Major Majendie – or receive another threat.’

  Little Emmy, the waitress-cum-shop assistant, was so young and innocent-looking in her simple dark dress and white, frilly apron, she could be a mere child playing shops. But she was not overawed by her responsibilities.

  Her blend of concentrated determination and innocence reminded him of Mary Jane when she had played shops and dragooned him into acting as a difficult customer. He sighed; poor girl must be wondering where he had got to.

  This Emmy must be the baker’s daughter, Best decided. His guess was confirmed when the man himself appeared with a tray of bread rolls.

  Like her, he had fair, crinkly hair, a stocky build, pale blue eyes and a bustling way of walking as though his life was one of non-stop activity – which it probably was.

  Emmy busied her way over to their table to place their coffee and pastries before them. Best smiled up at her and Smith winked his thanks. She blushed, clearly unused to attentions from such well-set-up gentlemen.

  It was obvious that the boyishly handsome Smith had made an impression by the way Emmy kept her eyes averted as she swiftly unloaded a tray of sugar buns into the counter display shelves.

  ‘These,’ Best called across to her after a decent interval, ‘are the best almond slices.’ He licked his lips. ‘Every bit as good as we were told they would be.’

  Emmy smiled acknowledgement in an uncomprehending manner.

  ‘They certainly are,’ Smith agreed. ‘Just like poor old Miss Maud said they would be.’

  When that brought no response, he added, ‘Miss Maud Forrest. I think her maid, Miss Alice, used to come here to place their order.’

  ‘Oh, yeh,’ said Emmy, relieved at being able to grasp what they were talking about. ‘Miss Forrest is a good customer.’ She laughed conspiratorially and confided, ‘They don’t half eat a lot of cakes.’ She paused and shook her head and frowned. ‘But I can’t always tell what Miss Alice is sayin’, can you?’

  Best nodded his sympathy. ‘Difficult accent to understand.’ He shook his head gravely. ‘Sad business about Miss Alice.’

  The girl looked puzzled.

  Oh good, she didn’t know.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘Dead!’ Emmy ceased her ladling of iced tarts and stood immobile, tongs upended and mouth agape.

  ‘Yes,’ Smith broke in, ‘up at the palace the day before yesterday when the police fête was on.’

  The girl’s eyes widened. ‘But, but … she was in here just …’

  ‘She was riding on one of those new galloper merry-go-rounds when she fell forward,’ Smith went on, leaning forward, almost aping her fall, which Best thought was over-egging the pudding somewhat. But the lad was learning. He had the girl transfixed. ‘She was hanging down from the saddle and people were screaming but the roundabout kept going round and round and her head began dragging on the ground and bouncing.’

  Emmy’s hand went to her mouth and a tiny cry escaped her lips.

  ‘The roustabouts couldn’t hear her, you see – for the noise of the music and the steam engine,’ Best put in, then crunched into his almond slice and left Smith to complete the picture.

  Wisely, the young sergeant decided it was time to put a damper on the dramatics. No sense in having the girl go into hysterics. ‘Of course, they stopped the roundabout in the end,’ he said quietly, then paused. He added even more soberly, ‘Her heart, they think it was.’ He patted the left side of his chest.

  A young woman with two bouncy children entered the shop and began pointing to their choice of cakes. But Emmy still stood transfixed, her mouth open and eyes wide.

  ‘Excuse me?’ the woman said.

  Emmy’s eyes were still on Best, who pointed the stunned girl’s gaze towards the customer. She turned towards her unseeing but was brought round by the woman’s impatient glance.

  They had her now. The rest should be easy.

  ‘Miss Alice said our baking reminded them of home,’ Emmy said when the customer had gone.

  ‘Well,’ said Best softly, ‘that must have been a great comfort to them. They hadn’t been here long. Didn’t know anyone. Very sa
d. They must have been a bit lonely.’

  Emmy nodded uncertainly. She was clearly still stunned and wanted to talk more but Best got up, thanked the girl, paid her and turned to leave.

  Smith was puzzled by Best’s urgency. Why go now when they had her in the palm of their hands? He opened his mouth to ask another question but was silenced by a look and closed it again.

  ‘Later,’ whispered Best as they reached the street. ‘Leave her wanting more.’ He grinned at Smith. ‘Give her time to think.’

  They continued their quest at the butchers’ and fishmonger’s, tea merchant’s and grocer’s and came to the conclusion that Alice and Maud had a sweet tooth and very healthy appetites. As well as cakes and tarts from the baker’s, they were partial to large joints of beef and legs of lamb, kippers, mussels and Dover sole, jellies and blancmange, and ginger parkin.

  The shopkeepers had noticed little about Alice except that she was quite friendly, if a bit abrupt and difficult to understand, and that they seemed to eat a lot considering they were only two women living alone. Certainly they couldn’t remember seeing her in company with anyone else, but shopkeepers were probably too busy to absorb the social nuances of their customers’ lives.

  The tea merchant, who was offering the New Seasons Blends from Lipton’s Tea Gardens in sunny Ceylon, proved a little more helpful. His wares were more limited so perhaps they took less of his attention. He imagined he had noticed Alice chatting to a cabman once or twice. But this was a street alive with carts and vans delivering and cabs and dog carts ferrying customers – so he could have been mistaken.

  ‘Right,’ said Best as they left. ‘It’s time we got some humbugs.’ He headed back down Commerce Road, then stopped and entered Bennet’s High Class Bakers and Confectioners, where he ordered a quarter of a pound of rum and butter drops.

  Emmy was obviously pleased to see them again and eager to talk.

  ‘Can’t get over it,’ she kept saying. ‘That poor woman, dying like that.’