An Open Window, page 21
Now I got a reaction. He leaned forward. His large, hard hand slapped down on his desk surface. ‘What the hell’re you talking about?’
I answered by producing one of my three copies, and handed it to him. He was so long sitting there, staring down at it, that he could have read through it three times. When he looked up his face was haggard.
‘I didn’t send this.’
I spoke softly. ‘The thought occurred to me…’
‘D’you know what this is about?’ he demanded harshly.
‘The death of your partner. I’m sorry—’
‘The death of my wife, Patton. Nancy was my wife.’
I couldn’t say anything.
‘When I went to the hospital to speak to you and your wife, I’d gone to Aberaeron to arrange for her to be brought home.’
If he’d broken down and wept it would have been less distressing. But his eyes were dry. His jaw was set, the hard hands now hard fists. When he spoke again, I felt that each word was torn free separately.
‘Do you imagine I didn’t know what had happened? Nancy went to trace your wife. You were known to have a touring caravan, so she took ours. She located you, or where you’d probably be returning. She drove back here, leaving the caravan, to tell me how the situation stood. Then she drove back.’
If he’d been saying this in court, not one word would have been challenged. Each was etched in acid truth.
‘She died,’ he said. ‘Later, I had a call from Philip Carne. Could I locate Amelia Jane Patton? Of course I could. My wife had already found her.’
‘But it was Walter Mann she’d been working for?’
‘She’d found her for him. We’d already reported that. I went round to see Mr Mann.’
‘Then, later, he was dead?’
‘And didn’t it take a great detective to connect the two!’ His cynicism was ice cold.
I took a deep breath. He seemed to have run out of bitter words. He lit the cigarette, and I took out my pipe again.
‘But between the two deaths,’ I said gently, ‘there was a short period. During that time, copies of that newspaper cutting were circulated to the family.’
He nodded. This time it was a signal for me to continue.
‘And by that time, realising what it was all about, you’d have decided that someone in the family was responsible for your wife’s death?’
This time his lips moved. It could have been a sarcastic smile.
‘So I’m suggesting that to strike back at them, whichever of them might have done it, you sent one copy each of that cutting to all three. To build up hope, and then to have it snatched from under their noses when the will was read.’
He sneered at such an idea.
‘You mean you didn’t?’
‘I said not.’
‘You’re telling me you did nothing?’
He shook his head.
‘Then what?’
He gave a thin smile, opened a drawer in his desk, and took out a sheet of paper. With no comment, he tossed it at me.
I caught it in mid-air. It was an A4 sheet of notepaper. On it had been gummed a newspaper cutting, above which was printed:
WESTERN EVENING STAR 1 SEPTEMBER. The cutting read:
Identification has now been made of the woman killed in last Friday’s caravan tragedy. She was Nancy Rafton, of Bridgnorth in Shropshire. Mystery still surrounds her death, and the police have not ruled out foul play.
Also seriously injured in the blast was Mrs Amelia Patton, of no fixed address. She was taken to hospital with extensive injuries. An interview with Detective Inspector Melrose will be found on page 7.
‘I sent that,’ he said. ‘A copy of it. To where it would do the most good.’
I guessed, but all the same I asked. ‘Where?’ He meant the most harm.
‘To Walter Mann. He’d know what it meant. I thought it would stir up something.’
‘Oh, it did. It did. And can you tell me when you sent it?’
‘I delivered it by hand. Through his front door letter-box. On Saturday.’
‘The Saturday?’
He nodded.
‘Then you killed him.’
‘No. No. They did.’ He made an attempt at a grin. His lips certainly drew back, and brown teeth showed. But it gave him no pleasure. I thought he was slightly insane, and wasn’t certain I could blame him for that.
‘May I have a copy of this?’
‘That is a copy.’
I looked again. Photocopies are getting so good these days. It was a copy. I folded it away and stood with one hand on the chair back. ‘I didn’t hear anything about this at the inquest.’
‘I wasn’t asked.’
I left him to his thoughts, found my car, and drove like hell away from there. West. To Amelia.
But after a couple of miles I drew into a lay-by, filled my pipe, and got out for a walk round the car a few times, puffing madly. I had to examine what I had before I presented it to my wife. She had a tendency to see right through my ideas, and point out a vital snag here and there. But I could discover none. I now knew how it had been possible to kill Walter Mann, and from that the rest followed, Tolchard’s death and Nancy Rafton’s.
I drove on, stopped for lunch, drove on again. There didn’t, now, seem to be any great rush.
Her leg was no longer in traction. The dressing on her arm was less obtrusive, giving an impression of improvement. She was in good spirits.
‘They had me sitting in a chair this morning, Richard. If it wasn’t for the arm, I could try a walking frame.’
‘Splendid.’
‘Now tell me why you’re looking so pleased with yourself.’ Silently, I produced the copy of the cutting, as supplied by Burns, offered it to her, and watched her read it.
‘I know people like to see their name in the paper,’ she said, ‘but if I have to be involved in an explosion…’
‘The woman who died was Burns’s wife. He sent a copy of that to your uncle Walter. Now…what would Walter think? What would he do?’
‘I know what I’d do. I’d be furious.’
I nodded agreement. ‘He’d realise in a second that somebody had tried to kill you. Because of the will. But what would he do?’
She smiled like an angel, knowing how much I enjoyed expounding my theories. ‘You tell me, Richard.’
‘He’d got a phone there. He’d ring round and get each of the people involved to come and see him, and demand to know if they’d done it. One by one…’
She was shaking her head, lips pursed. ‘Mr Leyton first.’
‘Oh?’
‘He would be the obvious one to have known where we’d been traced. Uncle Walter would see that at once. He’d phone him, and ask him who he’d told.’
Told you, didn’t I? Amelia sees everything so clearly. She was correct, of course. Leyton was the obvious one to be phoned first. Leyton could have been indiscreet. After all, he had told me he’d opposed any change in Walter’s will. He could well have thought it was his duty to warn the three children.
‘Right,’ I agreed, smiling. ‘So he phoned Leyton. Leyton told him who, and he’d ask that person to come round and see him.’
‘Just that one?’ she asked sweetly. ‘Why not all three? Together.’
‘Donald wouldn’t have been available.’
‘Do you know that? You don’t know where Donald was that day. All three, I’d suggest. Richard, wouldn’t you think so?’
‘All right. Three together, or two, or even one.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t trying to draw a picture, I was simply offering you a reason why he’d open his door to somebody he’d refused to admit for two months. He’d feel he was safe, because he’d already changed his will.’ I shrugged, just a little put out.
She laughed. ‘Your face! Richard, I’m only trying to prevent you from making a fool of yourself. But there’s still the problem of Sheba. What about her?’
‘Two things. Walter might have shut her away, anticipating that his anger and distress would upset her, and also I’ve got proof that Sheba doesn’t necessarily react as you’d expect.’
Here I’d led myself where I’d not intended to venture, but there was no avoiding it. I explained how I’d had an interview with Clare, omitting the bits about her attempt to suggest that the situation could be improved if Amelia were to die. I simply put it that I’d infuriated her.
‘I can understand that,’ she said. ‘You do that often.’
‘And she threw the dog’s lead at me. I stood up…and Sheba went at me.’
She laughed. ‘I get your point.’
‘So…one of the three went there on invitation, and knocked Walter unconscious—’
‘Sheba or no Sheba?’
The seat was becoming uncomfortable. I moved restlessly.
‘However you like to put it, it was done. By somebody. I now have an explanation of how they got in: they were invited. And that there’s at least a vague suggestion that Sheba wasn’t necessarily an obstruction, and I can show how the door could have been left in a locked condition afterwards, by replacing the key round Walter’s neck.’
She brought her hands together. A clap would have been painful. ‘You are doing well.’
But I could see the enthusiasm wasn’t there. ‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Then you ought to be.’
‘It’s all theory, with not an atom of proof to support it.’
‘Pooh!’ she said. ‘Put it all together, and you’ll get your proof.’ She eyed me, considering what I was thinking. ‘You know who, don’t you?’
‘Only a guess, and as I say, no proof.’
‘You’re not a policeman now.’
‘Yes. Well. If it happened like that, and Walter was killed because of that cutting, then it follows that whoever did it also killed Nancy Rafton. And Boreton’s a hundred and fifty miles from here. I doubt Paul could have gone missing long enough, because the explosion was on a Friday. Donald possibly, but I doubt he could have afforded to get here. That only leaves Clare.’
‘Do you think she would have been capable…’
‘Yes. Capable of anything.’
She raised her eyebrows at my tone. ‘But there’s still Mr Tolchard’s death. You haven’t said anything about that.’
‘All I’ve got is negative. You see, Clare could have annulled her marriage, but she didn’t.’
‘Don’t you mean dissolved?’
‘Not really. Her marriage hadn’t even been consummated.’
‘Legal words, Richard. You mean he couldn’t…’
‘So she said.’
‘You discussed her sex life?’ She was appalled.
‘She did. I just sat there like a clown.’
‘Poor man,’ she said feelingly. She didn’t mean me, she meant Tolchard.
I wasn’t going to express an opinion on that. ‘The point I want to make is that if she’d ended their marriage, she couldn’t have got her hands on the thirteen shares he’d bought from Donald. With Tolchard dead, she did. And it’s easy to get into that factory. There was a clear hour between the time Chad went to his father’s office and the discovery of Tolchard’s body.’ I shrugged.
‘So what do you intend to do about it?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing myself. I’ll take that cutting to Melrose, and he can sort it out from there.’
‘You were going to try to help Chad.’
‘This will do it. Prove two of the killings, and the other follows.’ She was playing with the lace on the bedjacket I’d bought her for her birthday. ‘I wish I could be sure of that, Richard.’
‘Once I’ve told Melrose how somebody could’ve been invited in, and how the locked door was wangled, he’ll clear it up in no time.’
‘And then he can take his guards away?’
I had to get going, and catch Melrose before he went to bed. On my feet now, I grinned at her. ‘I saw him on the way in. He’s certainly good looking.’
‘That’s a different one. I’ve identified three now.’
‘I’ll see about it, love.’
I left slowly, exhibiting reluctance, waving at the swing door, but once outside I put on speed. The policeman was strolling the corridor. I didn’t speak to him.
I did the return journey in three hours and four minutes, though that was to The Dun Cow, not all the way to The Beeches. It was twenty minutes to closing time, and I found Melrose in the saloon.
He was leaning casually against the bar, a pint glass clasped in that lethal right hand, chatting to a couple of large men who could have been off-duty policemen. I ordered a lager, loud enough for him to hear and recognise my voice, then I looked round for parking space and took my glass over to a corner, where a small table was located in the angle of two bench seats. After a couple of minutes he pushed his way through and joined me.
He had a fresh pint, and raised it. ‘Good health to you.’
I plunged straight in. ‘Would you mind telling me why you’ve put a guard on my wife?’
He stared at me, the glass rim poised in front of his open mouth, then he took a large swallow and put it down. ‘The short answer to that is that I haven’t.’
‘I saw him there. One of your men.’
‘Describe him.’
I did that. He gave a snort of something, contempt or amusement. ‘That’s young Pearson. Got his eye on the staff nurse. He’d be waiting for a word with her.’
‘My wife says she’s seen three of them.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. Davies, Pearson and Jones. They’ve all got their eye on her. We’re hoping to get her into the force.’ He sucked up beer. ‘That’ll liven the place up a bit,’ he added lugubriously.
‘I don’t know that I believe you. You’ve still got this stupid idea that I’d harm her.’
‘What? You! I’ve met her, you know. You didn’t know? Well, I have. And I’ve seen you in action. You’re no danger to her, Mr Patton. What’re you having?’
‘I’m on lager, but…’
He was already at the bar, obtaining service with the ease of an experienced copper. I had the sheet of paper ready on the table for him when he got back. He noticed it at once; very nearly put his glass down on it. ‘What’s this?’
‘Burns, the Bridgnorth enquiry agent, sent a copy of that to Walter Mann on the morning he died. Read it, will you.’
He picked it up and read it carefully, his right hand wandering absently round his glass, then withdrawing. He finished, and looked across at me. ‘And?’
‘It offers an explanation of how Walter, in his locked room, might have invited somebody inside whom he’d normally have kept out.’
He seemed unimpressed. ‘Does it? Tell me how.’
I explained in detail, crisply this time because I’d rehearsed it with Amelia. I went on to explain how the key could have been taken from Walter, and replaced in the conservatory. Though his glass was raised and lowered as I spoke, his eyes never left me.
‘I’ve seen a copy of this,’ he announced calmly. ‘It was in Walter Mann’s trouser pocket. He had on old slacks, an open-necked shirt, with a baggy old cardigan over it, and shoes.’
‘And a key on a chain round his neck?’
‘That too. Hung inside his shirt.’
‘Which is what I’ve been talking about.’
‘You do keep trying, don’t you! I think you’ve been trying too hard. You’ve been hopping around from one place to the other, like a mad thing. From one death to the other. You’re tired, Mr Patton. You’ve exhausted your brain. No.’ He held up his palm. ‘Let me say this. Thump me later, but by heaven I’m going to lay it out for you first. Your basic thinking has been wrong, hurried. Just look at it. One: the dog, Sheba. You’ve simplified the whole scene there. Whatever happened, violence would have to have been involved. The dog would’ve done something—reacted violently. Somebody would’ve been marked. Who? I’ve seen no indications. All right. It was just a thought. But just look at your thinking on the next point.’
‘My thinking has been—’
‘Hurried,’ he interrupted. ‘Point two: you’re saying Walter Mann would’ve phoned and ordered a specific person to visit him, because of what he suspected had happened—Nancy Rafton’s death.’
‘What’s wrong there?’ I had to interrupt, or explode.
‘I’ll tell you. Now…the person going there would—did, we’re certain—believe that your wife was dead. Okay? They had been invited into this locked room of his. Yes, I’ll say they. Assume all three, if you like. They, I say, were admitted. It would be an ideal time to do away with him, because the new will, assuming your wife was dead, would result in everything coming back to them.’
I growled in my throat, and managed to nod. I’d seen where he was heading.
‘So did they rush into that room like a howling pack of hyenas and fall on him before he had time to open his mouth?’
‘You’re deliberately making a mockery of it.’
‘I’m making sense. They’d at least wait to hear what he’d say. And all he’d need to say, Mr Patton, was two words: “She’s alive.” That’s all. It would stop ‘em in their tracks. Kill him then, and they’d lose everything. As they have. Can you really imagine he wasn’t given time for that?’ He emphasised the last word by banging his glass on the table.
I croaked: ‘I’ll get ‘em in.’
‘No. Let’s finish this.’
I sat back. He was calmly and expertly cutting me to pieces, as he’d destroyed the lout in Lucas’s office. His eyes were blazing with intelligence, and pitiless.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, not sounding it, ‘but you’ve never stood a chance in this. There’re things you don’t know. All I’ve just said is completely irrelevant, because Walter Mann could not have been pushed from that window, however clever you might be about that key.’
‘If it’s irrelevant, why plod through it?’ I growled.
‘To slow you down, Mr Patton. You’re over-stressed. I was about to say, there’s forensic evidence you don’t know. It’s something we didn’t mention at the inquest. Too gruesome, we thought. He fell face down, you see, flat on his chest. The key, inside his shirt…well, it was kind of impressed into the flesh. It could not have been replaced like that. Could not, Mr Patton.’
