Questions came from all sides and they were asked with a degree of respect.
‘Is it true that Father Howells is under police guard?’
‘It is,’ said Marmion. ‘His attacker has unfinished business. I can’t rule out the possibility that he might strike again.’
‘Have any suspects been identified?’
‘We have certain people in mind but I’m afraid that I’m unable to release names at this stage. We continue to seek the assistance of the public, however, and ask you to appeal for any information relating to the crimes.’
‘What has the hospital said about Father Howells’s condition?’
‘The patient remains in a coma,’ said Marmion. ‘The latest bulletin describes his condition as stable. It appears that he’s now out of danger. Naturally, I must bow to medical advice. When he recovers, I’ll only be allowed to question him if the doctor deems it sensible.’
On the questions went for the best part of half an hour before Marmion called an end to the conference. The reporters rushed off to file their stories, each of them clutching a photograph of James Howells for publication. Marmion was left alone with Chatfield and Keedy.
‘That was masterly, Inspector,’ said Keedy.
‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ returned Marmion.
‘You were like the Pied Piper and they danced to your tune.’
Marmion laughed. ‘If you don’t mind, Sergeant, I’d rather not be the Pied Piper. If I remember the poem accurately, they refused to pay him.’
‘Well done,’ said Chatfield, reluctantly.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘It was a study in the conjuror’s art. You gave them the impression they’d seen something when it wasn’t actually there. I can’t do that, alas. I’m too fundamentally honest.’
‘The inspector was not dishonest, sir,’ said Keedy, loyally.
‘Maybe not, but he flitted around the edges of it.’
‘I’m glad that the reporter from the Evening News was rapped over the knuckles. What he wrote in the early edition was both unkind and untrue.’
‘We can’t control what they write, unfortunately,’ said Chatfield. ‘When it comes to war reporting, of course, there’s strict censorship and some radical papers have been closed down altogether. The Tribunal is one of them — a dreadful rag that campaigned against conscription. It’s important that the government monitors any information relating to the war so that the public is not misled. I’d like us to have similar powers when it comes to reporting crime.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘I just hate press exaggeration, that’s all. Newspapers should be reassuring the public, not frightening the living daylights out of them by turning these two cases into a sensation. Instead of vilification, we need their support. I think I rammed that point home.’
Chatfield was officious. ‘Forget the press for a while,’ he said. ‘Let’s turn to practicalities. Is your request for a search warrant an urgent one?’
‘We’ll need it in the morning, please,’ said Marmion. ‘The best time to go there is when Waldron is at work in the cemetery.’
‘I do hope you find enough to justify an arrest.’
‘So do we, Superintendent.’
‘What of this other suspect?’
‘Eric Fussell can be left alone for the moment,’ decided Marmion, ‘but he must remain under suspicion. While I may have pointed up the differences between the two victims, there are certain links between Ablatt and Howells. One of them is the librarian. We need to find out why.’
When he and his wife got back to their house in Lambeth that evening, Fussell went straight upstairs to the bedroom he used as an office. It was like a small replica of the one at the library, well ordered and stacked with books and magazines. He didn’t come downstairs until the meal was on the dinner table. He and his wife sat in a cold silence intermittently broken by an observation about their day at the library. She didn’t dare to ask about the visit from the detectives. It was a subject he refused to discuss. When the meal was over, he left her to clear everything away.
‘I’m going out,’ he said, taking his overcoat from its peg.
She was hurt. ‘You’re going out again, Eric?’
‘Yes — and I can’t say when I’ll be back.’
Gerald Ablatt was pleased when he had an unheralded visitor. Since he’d got back from the shop, all that he’d done was to sit in the kitchen and read the Evening News. The report of the latest crime had depressed him. His spirits rose slightly when Caroline Skene called. Inviting her in, he took her into the living room and they sat side by side.
‘I didn’t expect to see you again,’ he said.
‘I came earlier but you weren’t here. One of your neighbours told me that you’d opened the shop. I couldn’t believe it.’
‘It’s true. I had to get out, Caroline. I just couldn’t stay here and brood. It was too painful. I needed to work, and, if I’m truthful,’ he confided, ‘I needed to get away from Nancy for a while.’
‘Then you did the right thing, Gerald.’
‘I’m sorry you had a wasted journey.’
‘But I didn’t,’ she said, brightly. ‘Since I was in Shoreditch, I thought I’d go and call on Nancy instead. I spent the afternoon there with Mrs Fry.’
He was puzzled. ‘Elaine Fry — what was she doing there?’
‘She’d come to sit with Nancy to offer consolation. Apparently, it was Jack’s idea. He asked if she could go over there.’
‘How did she seem?’
‘Frankly, she looked ill. The woman is quite haggard.’
‘I know,’ said Ablatt, deeply sympathetic. ‘The last time I saw her was at Nora’s wedding last year and she was almost at death’s door then. Well, you were there. You must remember how she had to keep sitting down.’
‘What I recall is that her husband was very attentive.’
‘He needs to be. Percy Fry is a good man. He carries his troubles lightly.’
‘Does he?’
‘It’s not just the sick wife, Caroline. They lost their only child as well.’
She was taken aback. ‘When was this?’
‘Oh, it was years ago,’ he explained. ‘The boy was no more than nine or ten at the time. He died of rickets. He just wasted away as his mother seems to be doing. She blamed herself, of course.’
‘Most mothers would. They’d think it was because of a deficiency in them.’
‘I don’t know the full details. According to Jack, they don’t like to talk about it and I can understand that. But it makes it all the more remarkable that a woman who nurses a lasting sorrow could find time to comfort my sister.’
‘You know her better than I do, Gerald.’
‘I knew them both when they lived nearby,’ he said. ‘Elaine was a customer of mine. I used to sole and heel her shoes but Percy always repaired his boots himself. He’s that kind of man — very independent. He’s a bit like your husband.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’
‘Wilf always liked to do things for himself.’
‘That wasn’t because he was independent. It was simple, old-fashioned meanness. He gets it from his mother. Wilf would never part with a penny unless he has to,’ she said, lips pursed. ‘He’d always rather do things himself, whether it’s mending shoes or cleaning windows or sweeping the chimney. The trouble is he can’t do any of them properly. Still,’ she continued, lowering her voice, ‘while we have a moment alone, there’s something we need to discuss.’
‘What’s that, Caroline?’
‘It’s the funeral — have you had any thoughts about it?’
‘No,’ he replied, a little flustered by the question. ‘The body hasn’t been released to us yet.’
‘What about Nancy?’
‘She’s in no state to make any decisions.’
‘Then you’ll have to choose the hymns and the order of service.’ Ablatt looked bewildered. ‘Unless you’d like some help, that is? I didn’t know Cyril that well,’ she said, softly, ‘but I was very fond of him and I’ll do anything I can to help with the arrangements.’