‘He went behind my back,’ he snarled. ‘That’s what I could never forgive.’
‘Your wife works here, doesn’t she?’ remembered Marmion. ‘I take it that he never approached her during his research.’
‘Cyril wouldn’t have dared to do that.’
‘Yet he did talk to librarians — correction, to library assistants — in other parts of the borough. His suggestions seem to have been well received everywhere.’
‘They weren’t suggestions, Inspector. They were insults aimed at me.’
‘I never saw the report,’ conceded Marmion, ‘so I can’t judge, but it’s hard to believe that someone as dedicated to his job as Cyril Ablatt didn’t come up with some good ideas for improvement.’
‘They were stale ideas,’ said Fussell, irritably. ‘I’d already considered them and rejected them as inappropriate.’
‘Yet I’m told that some of them were adopted at Finsbury library and have worked well. The librarian there clearly had more faith in your assistant.’
‘He didn’t have to work beside him.’
Marmion nodded. ‘So there was antagonism between you, after all.’
‘It was largely on his side, Inspector. For some unknown reason, Cyril could never accept my authority as readily as he ought to. That’s why he drafted that absurd report of his. It was an attempt to undermine me.’
‘Then why didn’t you sack him?’
‘I did,’ said Fussell, ‘but I was overruled by local government officials.’
‘That must have led to a lot of tension between the two of you.’
‘I tried to rise above it.’
‘How did he react?’
‘In fairness, I have to say that he did the same.’
‘But you must have nursed some resentment, sir.’
‘It was a breach of trust,’ said Fussell, ‘and that was unforgivable. What the public saw was an obliging young man always ready to advise people what to read. What I saw was — to put it no higher than this — a snake in the grass.’
‘So why did you tell me that you liked him?’ asked Marmion.
‘One should never speak ill of the dead, Inspector.’
‘But that’s just what you’ve been doing.’
‘It was only because you pressed me about that infernal report.’
‘I can see that you must have felt betrayed.’
‘Let me be more explicit,’ said Fussell, shedding all pretence. ‘I loathed Cyril Ablatt for reasons too numerous to list. When I couldn’t sack him, I tried to get rid of him another way. I’m sure that a meticulous man like you was going to check my claim that I put in a word for him with the librarian in Lambeth. You can save yourself the trouble, Inspector. It was true. I was so desperate to unload Cyril onto someone else that I traded on a close friendship.’
‘Nevertheless, he was turned down for the post.’
‘The word had got out about him.’
‘What word was that, sir?’
‘Cyril Ablatt was a disruptive influence. Nobody wants that.’
The portrait was changing even more. When Marmion took charge of the case, Ablatt was a murder victim with a steadfast belief in the tenets of Christianity and with a job in which he excelled. Darker elements had intruded. He’d not only had an intimate relationship with a married woman, he’d had the gall to challenge the librarian’s authority by producing a critique of him. Marmion scratched out the mental note to visit Lambeth. Fussell was being honest for once. He’d tried to shift a burdensome assistant to another library and had failed.
‘I can see why you won’t be attending the funeral,’ said Marmion, ‘but, when all is said and done, he did work under you for some while. I daresay that you’ll be sending your condolences to his father.’
Fussell was brusque. ‘No, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I’ll send no card. I’ve washed my hands of the entire Ablatt family.’
There was a steady stream of customers at the forge on Bethnal Green and, because Percy Fry was there by himself, they either had to wait in the queue or be turned away. Things had eased by mid morning and Fry was able to snatch a few minutes’ rest. He was relieved to see Dalley striding in.
‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Jack,’ he said.
‘I came as soon as I could.’
‘No need to come at all. I can cope.’
‘If truth be told, I was glad to escape, Perce. All that misery was getting me down. Not that I’m hard-hearted,’ said Dalley, keen to correct any misunderstanding. ‘I’m very upset at what happened to Cyril, but I’m a practical man. I’ve a job to do and a forge to run.’
‘How’s the wife?’
‘Nancy is worse than ever this morning.’
‘Don’t forget that offer we made.’
‘Later on — when the worst is over — Nancy might be glad of Elaine’s company. But that time may be weeks away.’
‘Where is she at the moment?’
‘I took her over to her brother’s. She can’t bear to be apart from him.’ He took off his hat and coat and tossed them onto a stool. ‘Everyone knows now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s in all the papers, Perce. The one I saw even had a photo of Cyril. As we walked to my brother-in-law’s house, people were already pointing and whispering. I’m not a blacksmith any more,’ complained Dalley. ‘I’m the uncle of the lad who was battered to death.’
‘That will pass,’ said Fry.
‘Not for a long while. If he’d been killed in the war, everyone would have showered us with sympathy for a day or two. This is different. Cyril is a murder victim. That makes him a sort of freak. People won’t forget that,’ said Dalley, sourly. ‘As long as the hunt for the killer goes on, the event stays fresh in the mind.’
‘They’ll catch the bastard eventually.’
‘London’s got millions of inhabitants. Where do the police start looking?’
‘That’s up to them, Jack. Let them get on with it, I say. The only thing you need to worry about is Nancy. She’s the one who needs help.’
‘Too true — she was awake for most of the night again.’
‘Might not be so bad when the funeral is over and done with,’ said Fry.
‘I’m not looking forward to that,’ confessed Dalley. ‘It’ll be harrowing. Nancy and her brother are bad enough now. They both look ten years older. What are they going to be like when they actually bury Cyril?’
From the time that she got there, Caroline Skene had endeavoured to be useful. She made tea, passed round biscuits and offered what solace she could. Her presence was so comforting to Gerald Ablatt and his sister that Dalley had felt able to leave them and return to work. Caroline was in charge. She was tirelessly helpful and full of compassion. When they wept, so did she. Neither of them realised that she had as much cause for anguish as they did.
‘It was good of you to come, Caroline,’ said Ablatt.
‘I felt I might be needed.’
‘You are — and we’re grateful.’
‘Yes,’ said Nancy with a woeful smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘How is Wilf?’ asked Ablatt.
‘He’s fine,’ replied Caroline. ‘He sends his love.’
‘Is he still having that back trouble?’
‘Oh, let’s not talk about him, Gerald. What are a few back pains compared to what you have to suffer? You can forget Wilf. Think of yourself for once.’
‘He can’t do that,’ said Nancy. ‘Gerald always puts other people first. His son has been killed yet he still worries about his customers.’
‘I hate to let anyone down,’ said Ablatt.
‘Do you know what he did last night?’
He was embarrassed. ‘There’s no need to mention that, Nancy.’