‘Have you spoken to the milkman?’
‘We have, ma’am. Most of his ilk are sharp-witted fellows who soon smell a rat if milk is left on a doorstep, especially if the householder is elderly and lives alone. This chap seems to have been an exception. He’s also an auxiliary. The regular deliveryman happens to have been down with flu during the period under advisement. This chap says he noticed that two bottles hadn’t been taken in, and that there was a CLOSED notice on the shop door, but he didn’t know what to do. He left the third bottle, but had wit enough to report at the depot. They told him not to leave any more, but, the next time he called, all the bottles had disappeared. However, he obeyed orders and did not leave any more milk, figuring that the customer, with three bottles in hand, was hardly short of milk and would contact him when he wanted more. All the householder had to do was what most of us do, just stick a note in an empty bottle, but Bosey doesn’t seem to have done this.’
‘Apparently not, Superintendent. I spoke to the man myself on one occasion.’
‘The milkman? Really, ma’am? How was that, then.’
‘Mrs Gavin and I had visited the shop and she had made a purchase. In the back of the shop I had seen a picture which, I thought, had magical connections and I wanted to persuade the proprietor to sell it to me, but the shop was closed. Although there was no milk on the step, I noticed that the man did not leave any.’
‘Well, the bottles do pose a problem, Dame Beatrice. Now, ma’am, the doctors (we had two of them, our own and an outsider) agree that the corpse was at least three days old when they examined it, so who but the murderer took in the milk?’
‘These are indeed deep matters, Superintendent.’
‘What we and our colleagues in the other parts of the country where Minnie and this man are known to have lived are doing next is to check up on the parents of the missing schoolgirls. One of them – one of the fathers or boyfriends, presumably – may have got to know something of these Satanists’ nasty little activities and trailed them down here and exacted a private vengeance, and if what we think happens to be true – molestation of virgin girls after kidnap and followed by the ritual death of the victims – well, speaking ex-officio, I damned well don’t blame him. Still, my job is my job, and, if I can find him, it’s my job to bring him to book.’
‘Were there fingerprints on the milk bottles?’
‘Yes, but nobody’s that we could check up on. That’s the worst of murder. Unless there’s direct evidence and provided the man or woman only does it once and has never been in our records for any other crime, fingerprints don’t mean a thing.’
‘What about the weapon?’
‘It was sticking into him. It was a broad-bladed kitchen knife and as sharp as a razor. He was sitting at his desk, we think, and the murderer sneaked in – probably from the shop if it was open – and caught him napping. Then either he fell or was tumbled on to the floor the way you found him. Well, he deserved what he got. He was a swine all right, if we read the papers in his desk and filing-cabinet correctly. They were in code, of course, but our experts soon broke it down and the details, although given in what we believe is a very low key, were horrifying enough, in all conscience. If somebody did take the law into his own hands and kill a monster, well, as I said, I’m only too sorry it’s my job to catch the fellow, that’s all.’
‘It is a pity the shop is comparatively isolated,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘You might have obtained useful information from the neighbours.’
‘He was too fly a bird to want neighbours, ma’am, with the kind of doings we reckon went on in the top-floor rooms of that shop. A well-meaning party in the next street, Number Twelve, contacted us but wasn’t helpful.’
‘I take it that the question of suicide is not ruled out? People do stab themselves, and a nice mess some of them make of it,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Suicide? But I’m sure we’ve been very careful not to ring any alarm bells. No, my view is that some father with a real grievance had been brooding over things until he couldn’t live with himself until the deed was done. My God! If one of those schoolkids had been my daughter, I’d have finished him off myself and be damned to my career and everything else!’
‘A man of blood and iron,’ said Laura, when they had left the Superintendent.
‘A man whose professional training has not warped his social conscience. Well, there are various steps which you and I can take. First I want another talk with that milkman.’
‘If he’s as moronic as the Superintendent thinks, he won’t be much help. In any case, I expect the regular milkman is back on the round by now. Influenza doesn’t last all that long unless you die of it.’
‘There speaks the heartless healthy.’
‘Nonsense! I have every sympathy with illness. Well, if you’re going to seek out the milkman, what do you want me to do?’
‘Do nothing at all, and in your own masterly fashion, just for the present. Later on I shall be requiring signal service from you. You will have to conduct an interview which in your hands may bear fruit, but from which I myself should most probably obtain nothing at all.’
‘If you still suspect Niobe Nutley of murdering the Minnie woman, who killed the shopkeeper? Niobe would have had no motive for that.’
‘Who knows? – although I think you may be right. Besides, I no longer suspect Niobe any more than others I could mention. Since we discovered the antique shop and its varied contents, including the dead body of the proprietor, my range of suspects has been considerably widened.’
‘You don’t really think the police believe Bosey performed human sacrifices, do you? It seems utterly incredible to me.’
‘It is not incredible at all. As we have reason to know, there are monsters among us. I am afraid that the Superintendent’s observations on the matter are of the utmost importance and it is more than possible that whoever killed Bosey (unless he committed suicide) may have scotched the snake, not killed it. Oh, I am quite certain that the Superintendent’s remarks were far more than lurid hints. I think the police were closing in on these so-called Panconscious People and I think the death of Miss Minnie is proof of that. Well, now, if you will stay in the hotel tomorrow and await my return, I may come back with news. There may be telephone calls while I am out, so it will be as well if somebody is available to answer them.’
George drove her into the town next morning and parked the car outside the house nearest to the shop, the number twelve mentioned by the Superintendent. Dame Beatrice rang the bell and asked whether the milkman had called that morning, adding, with specious truth, that she had not seen him that day. The housewife, a kindly body with a strong local accent, stated that the milkman had left her herself a pint bottle, as usual, and that it was ‘the right man on the round again, and not that silly boy who was always making mistakes.’
Had the woman any idea of the time of day?
‘When he called? No, not to half an hour or so, I haven’t, but he was in the road when I went out shopping at ten, and my milk was on the step when I came back about eleven.’
‘Oh, thank you so much. I am sorry to have troubled you. No doubt they will be able to supply me with milk at the supermarket.’
‘Anyway, you’re welcome to come in and have a cup of tea, my dear. You must be desperate for one.’
Dame Beatrice went in and, over very strong tea and a home-baked scone, she and her hostess were soon deep in conversation. Dame Beatrice admitted to being a newcomer to the neighbourhood and, to avoid any reference to her present address, stated that she had spent a short time at Weston Pipers.
‘You probably know it,’ she said. ‘It is a very large house in the next village and has been converted into flats.’