‘There is a pattern here, Mrs Skene,’ he observed. ‘The incidents all took place either during the evening or on a Sunday. If someone is shadowing you, he can only do it outside working hours.’
‘The trouble is that I can’t be certain, Inspector. Did I actually think that something fishy was going on at the time or am I inventing it?’
‘Only you can tell me that.’
‘I sensed someone might have been there without actually seeing him.’
‘Instinct is usually reliable,’ he told her. ‘It is in the case of my wife, anyway. When she gets the feeling that something is in the air, she rarely makes mistakes.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘I suggest that you stay indoors of an evening for a while. You’re safe enough moving around during the day. If you do need to venture out one evening, keep your eyes peeled. Note the time and place where you get the idea that you may be under observation.’
‘I’ll be too afraid to leave the house at all now.’
‘That’s up to you, Mrs Skene.’
‘Do you think I’m in danger?’
‘I think that you should exercise caution,’ he said, choosing his words with care, ‘though I don’t believe there’s any immediate physical danger. If this person has designs on you, he had the opportunity to strike yesterday evening.’
She was reassured. ‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘There’s always the possibility that he may just be an admirer.’
‘Then it’s a strange way to show his admiration,’ she yelled, with a sudden flash of temper that she regretted instantly. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I didn’t mean to shout like that. It’s rather got on my nerves, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s not surprising. Answer me this,’ said Marmion. ‘When the two of you were out together, was there ever a time when one of you recognised anyone that you knew?’
‘I never saw anyone I knew but Cyril did.’
‘Oh — when was this?’
‘It was just before Christmas. Since it was very cold, we had hats, scarves and gloves on. In fact, I had a scarf across my mouth so nobody could possibly have recognised me. But Cyril was afraid that someone might spot him,’ she said. ‘At one point, he pulled me into a shop doorway and ducked his head. There was someone he knew, walking on the opposite pavement.’
‘Did he say who it was?’
‘Oh, yes. It was his boss.’
‘Eric Fussell?’
‘That was the name. Cyril was so anxious not to be seen by him.’
Keedy was soon regretting the fact that he took the prisoner back to Scotland Yard. Hearing that a suspect had been arrested, Chatfield insisted on being present during the interrogation, wrongly believing that his rank would intimidate Waldron. It did nothing of the kind. The gravedigger simply clammed up and refused to answer any questions. While he sat on one side of a table, the detectives sat on the other. Left alone with him, Keedy felt that he could get him talking. But as long as the superintendent was there, threatening impotently, there was no chance.
‘You’re not helping yourself, Mr Waldron,’ said Chatfield. ‘Silence is no means of defence. You’re our prime suspect. We know that you had reason to hate Cyril Ablatt. We know that you’re given to violent behaviour. And we’ve now found bloodstains on the trousers you wore that night. It appears that you tried in vain to get rid of them.’
Chatfield would like to have confronted him with the trousers but Marmion had promised to bring them back in the car and had not yet returned. Arms folded and eyes on the ceiling, Waldron continued to ignore everything that was said. The superintendent could simply not get through to him. Relief at last came. There was an urgent message from the commissioner and Chatfield had to make a reluctant exit. Keedy had his chance to chisel away at Waldron. It took him five minutes before he got the first few words out of him.
‘Do you admit that it was blood on those trousers?’
‘It might be.’
‘Either it is or it isn’t.’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘You remembered spilling tomato sauce on them earlier.’
‘Yes, it does look a bit like blood.’
‘We didn’t find any tomato sauce in your larder, Horrie.’
Waldron stirred. ‘Don’t you poke around in there!’ he demanded.
‘There was hardly any food at all,’ said Keedy. ‘You live on beer, don’t you? That’s where you get your meals — at the Weavers Arms.’
‘Want to go home.’
‘You’re not going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this.’
‘It wasn’t me what bashed his head in.’
‘Then who was it?’
‘Who cares?’
‘Everything points to you, Horrie.’
Retreating back into silence, Waldron folded his arms and closed his eyes. Keedy had to fight back the impulse to hit him. Instead, he delivered a verbal blow that had far more effect.
‘Maud Crowther is going to be disappointed in you, isn’t she?’
‘What you on about?’ growled Waldron.
‘Imagine what she’ll think when she hears that you’ve been arrested,’ said Keedy. ‘You won’t be her blue-eyed boy anymore, will you?’
‘Shut your trap!’
Having found his weak spot, Keedy exploited it mercilessly.
‘You’d rather forgotten about her, hadn’t you? So had we until we went into that skunk’s den where you live. We opened your wardrobe and we made an astounding discovery.’
‘Keep away from my things, you bastard!’
‘We learnt that there are two Horrie Waldrons,’ said Keedy. ‘One is that drunken gravedigger who can’t always be bothered to shave in the morning and who’s too quick to throw his weight about. The other one is a man who actually washes and takes pains to look nice for his lady friend, even to the extent of wearing a suit. Is that what you did on the night that Cyril Ablatt died? You went off to see Mrs Crowther in your Sunday best, then you put on your old clothes and committed murder.’
‘That’s a lie!’ howled Waldron, smacking the table.
‘How did the bloodstains get on your trousers?’
‘I told you to shut up.’
‘Perhaps we should ask Stan Crowther. He might have an idea.’ Keedy prodded him even harder. ‘I daresay he’d be interested to hear that his mother has a secret admirer. What are your chances of getting served in his pub when he knows the truth about the pair of you?’
‘I’ll kill you!’ roared Waldron, diving over the table.
Keedy was knocked to the floor by the force of the impact but he recovered quickly and grappled with his attacker. The sound of commotion brought two uniformed constables to the room. When they came in, they saw that Keedy was now astride his attacker, subduing him with a relay of punches. Turning him over, he snapped the handcuffs back on his wrists then signalled to the newcomers. They hoisted Waldron to his feet and dumped him back in his chair, standing either side of him with a restraining hand on his shoulder. Keedy got up calmly, straightened his coat, picked up his overturned chair and set it down before sitting in it.
He then gave the prisoner his most radiant smile.
‘Now that I’ve loosened your tongue,’ he said, ‘we’ll start again.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As he delivered bread on his daily round, Gordon Leach contemplated a grim future. Any decision that he made involved substantial loss. There was no escape from it. If he sided with Ruby Cosgrove, he would lose his two closest friends and for ever be despised by them. Yet if he stood shoulder to shoulder with Mansel Price and Fred Hambridge, he risked losing his fiancee. There would also be a loss of liberty. The government’s position was unequivocal. Those who defied the call to arms would be sent to prison. It was conceivable that Hambridge’s long association with the Quakers might be accepted as a legitimate excuse but it wasn’t one that Leach could offer. He would be incarcerated in a military detention centre such as Wandsworth and be subjected to a punitive regime. It was a bleak prospect.