Murder in oils 2

 

Chapter 2

 

Alexander was fortunate to be well off on his own account, not having to rely on the frugal salary and expense account of an inspector, on the promotion ladder, but by no means near the top. It meant that his superiors were happier about him playing a hunch if he paid the train fare or drove himself. 

He took Ida’s story to Superintendant Barrett.

“And your ‘nose’ tells you there’s something in it?” said Barrett.

“Yes, sir,” said Alexander.

“You’re going to ask for leave to ponce off on your own if I don’t give you orders, aren’t you?” said Barrett.

“I prefer not to mention that I haven’t taken any leave for three years and have done overtime to help when needed,” said Alexander.

“I hope it’s productive,” said Barrett. “Lashbrook village; that’s in Poshfordshire. You should fit right in.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Alexander, ignoring his superior’s disapproving misnomer of Oxfordshire. Alexander had a degree in law from Oxford, and had a vague feeling that he may have known David Henderson as well as Basil.  He had a further vague recollection that he might have debagged the said David Henderson over a matter of unjust accusation of one of the scouts of stealing.

Oh well.

“I’d like Sergeant Harris,” he said.

“Oh, you would, would you?” said Barrett, glaring. “And why should I let you have a good detective sergeant?”

“Because when a war hero is murdered – and I knew Basil Henderson and I concur that he would never commit suicide – a good DS is needed,” said Alexander, with some heat.

Barrett sniffed.

“If you didn’t get results, I’d have run you off the force long ago,” he said. “But I have to admit, your policeman’s ‘nose’ is top notch.”

“And I do know how to sooth the uppity,” said Alexander.

“And you don’t push your social position down my throat,” added Barrett, grudgingly.”Take Harris. If you run across a group of drug dealers at the same time, I want to know.”

“Oh, I might have a lead on that,” said Alexander. “But I’ll see where that takes me. Basil’s murder is my priority... uh, and his sister-in-law.”

“Quite so,” said Barrett. “Though the sister-in-law’s death would be the reason for killing your friend.”

“Well, yes, but I might have written off the girl as over-excitable had not someone tried to make Basil look like a suicide. I’ll need an exhumation order for both, just in case.”

“I’ll wire them to you.”

 

oOoOo

 

Ida jogged the mile and a half from New Scotland Yard to Harrods, skirting Buckingham Palace, it being faster than finding public transport. Her looks were against her, but she was accustomed to walking in the country, though the fog caught at her throat. It took her twenty minutes, which meant she had been missing about an hour.

She discovered Miss Truckle having hysterics, with floor staff standing by uncertainly, not sure what to do, and a policeman in attendance.

“Goodness, Miss Truckle, have you been arrested for walking out of the store after forgetting to change back to your own hat?” asked Ida.

“Of course I haven’t, you ridiculous child... Ida! Where have you been?”

“I fancied a cup of tea and a scone, so I had one from Lyon’s,” said Ida, which was not even a lie. “You were taking such a long time, and I had chosen what I wanted.”

“But... but you were in the changing room,” said Miss Truckle.

“You must have followed the wrong girl,” said Ida. “I left all my parcels over there.” She pointed to where she had left purchases when she was out of Miss Truckle’s sight for a moment. “I saw you heading for the changing room, so I thought I’d go and get some refreshments. You take such a long time getting changed, I think it’s because you will wear that old-fashioned corset.”

“Ida! Speaking of... of underwear in public!” shriek-whispered Miss Truckle.

“What? It’s not like mentioning your long frilly drawers,” said Ida. “I don’t see why you can’t be fashionable, you haven’t got the overblown figure they liked in the olden days, and you are still young enough to catch a live one if you try. I burned all my navy blue knickers when I left school to get tap pants and brassieres.” Sometimes it was fun to play to Miss Truckle’s belief that she was very young. The floor staff were openly grinning, and Ida winked.

“We are returning home now!” said Miss Truckle, scarlet with embarrassment.

“I hoped you’d feel that way,” said Ida. “As soon as we have paid.”

 

oOoOo

 

 

With Sgt. Harris in charge of an OS map, Alexander happily climbed into the driving seat of his almost brand new Lancia Lambda. It was a definite upgrade on his previous 1912 Lancia Epsilon, which he had bought when he had finished his degree. Like the Epsilon, the car had a back seat, a useful addition when entertaining nieces and nephews, for whose comfort, Alexander had also had custom-made a folding roof to keep off sun or rain, which improved the comfort of a car journey no end. Some manufacturers were now making enclosed body cars, but Alexander thought them stuffy. He had considered the Hillman all-weather saloon, and decided that his tastes leaned towards the equivalent of his dashing ancestor, said to have raced the Prince Regent to Brighton in a curricle, and other such feats, rather than to the sensibly plebeian. Doubtless he would feel differently if he had a family of his own; but his nieces and nephews did not have to accept rides in a vehicle only one step from the race-track.

It might be said that, policeman or no, Alexander did not observe the antiquated speed limit of twenty mph on the open roads. It was more in the breach than the observance by any road user, and those adhering to it strictly were more likely to be cursed by other road users than congratulated for their law-abiding nature. Indeed, it was only used by the law if they wanted an excuse to stop a vehicle. The technology had outstripped the law; and his own Lancia, with its two-litre, V-4 engine was happy to tool along at just under seventy miles an hour, the top speed a little faster. Alexander was not taking it that fast; it was foggy, and the visibility was poor. Secure in the knowledge that he had four-wheel braking, an innovation he liked, he kept to around forty mph.

Harris hunkered down beside him, hoping not to need the map too much as it was harder to manoeuvre it with gloved hands, and Harris was wrapped up warmly.  He was resigned to being made to get out and climb signposts to see where they pointed at sundry crossroads, whilst Alexander nursed the engine. Finally, after a two-hour journey, they swept into Lashbrook, to see two female figures leaving the train station. Alexander pulled over.

“Give you ladies a lift?” he said.

“Oh! Yes please,” said Ida, for she was one of the ladies. “We’re headed for Foursquare.”

“I’m bound there myself; Basil Henderson being a friend of mine,” said Alexander, easily. She had picked the cue to treat him as a stranger if she so wished, and had picked it up.

“Oh, dear!” said Miss Truckle, as she got into the back seat of the car thankfully with a pile of parcels. “I fear you are too late; that poor man committed suicide.”

“Now that’s nonsense,” said Alexander. “If Basil is dead, it wasn’t suicide. Accident, maybe; I’d believe murder more readily, he being such a gadfly. But never suicide.”

“But the coroner...”

“What were the findings of the autopsy?” asked Alexander.

“Dr. Craiggie did not feel a need...” Miss Truckle tailed off.

“I feel a need,” said Alexander. “And I’ll damn well have him exhumed if I have to.”

“Oh, dear,” said Miss Truckle.

“Turn left here,” said Ida. “That square thing that looks like a sewerage pumping plant is Foursquares.  It’s not much better inside, but at least the plumbing is good and there’s always hot water for a bath when you want it. It may be open plan downstairs, but at least the bedrooms and bathrooms are private. I’d better go and warn David that you are about to give his pompous assumptions a good kicking.”

“You can tell your brother that I am an inspector from Scotland Yard, and that I was coming to see Basil because he wrote to me to let me know something disquieted him, and that he was concerned about his sister-in-law,” said Alexander.

“I will,” said Ida.

“Oh, dear,” said Miss Truckle.

 

oOoOo

 

 

“What the hell is this nonsense my sister is talking?” demanded David Henderson, pugnaciously. He was a big man, dark haired, with a thin moustache, and a passing resemblance to how Alexander remembered Basil.

“My name is Inspector Alexander Armitage,” said Alexander. “Basil was worried that your wife’s life was in danger; and now I hear that he is dead, and his death written off with suspicious haste as suicide, which is preposterous. Basil is not a man to commit suicide.  I first met him crawling across no-man’s-land and a man who does that does not take the precious life he has fought to keep.  Perhaps I can talk to one Helen Henderson as well as looking at Basil’s things?”

“No, you damn well cannot talk to Helen!” yelled David, balling his fists. “She’s dead! She fell downstairs, and Basil killed himself because he was in love with her!”

“You realise that to a policeman, you are talking yourself into being arrested for killing your wife and your brother for knowing of your guilt,” said Alexander.

“How dare you!” howled David, and swung at Alexander.

Alexander blocked the blow easily, and controlled David, with the bigger man’s arm up behind him.

“Henderson, am I going to have to arrest you?” he asked. “If your wife is dead, your brother’s concerns are shown to be true.”

“But he can’t have written to you,” said David. “If I had seen a letter in his hand addressed to the police on the outgoing tray, I would have removed it. He wasn’t well, he needed laudanum for pain, you did not want to know about his hallucinations.”

“You do realise that interfering with mail is a crime, don’t you?” said Alexander. “I can’t believe such arrogance!”

“I would not want him making a fool of himself,” said David. “But I would have stopped him writing....”

“Keeping the poor man prisoner in his own home?” said Alexander, coldly. “Here, Miss Henderson! Did you take your brother, Basil’s, letter to the post for him?”

“Yes, David censors all our mail,” said Ida. “That’s why I slip out to take all mail into the village to the post office before anyone is up.”

“I’ll lock you in your room!” howled David.

“I think you’ll find illegal detention is, well, illegal, old boy,” said Alexander. “And Basil was right that there is something seriously wrong. Well, obviously, I will order an immediate autopsy into your wife’s death as well.”

“You cannot! I do not agree to it!” cried David.

“You don’t have to agree... old boy,” said Alexander. “And you are talking yourself into position of chief suspect.”

“But I had no reason to kill my wife,” said David, suddenly bewildered, and seeming to shrink. “I love her... loved her... to distraction.  I was looking forward to her being fully well again, so we could go back to sharing a room, and... well, being husband and wife in all things.  And Helen! Even Ida acknowledges that Helen is... was... kind, and sweet, and Ida is incapable of proper feelings.”

“I suspect Miss Henderson represses her feelings because she finds that you anger her in treating her as a child,” said Alexander, dryly.

“She is a child! And wild, and in need of being kept....”

“Kept what? Imprisoned? Basil was impressed that she kicked an addiction some despicable little bastard got her into; I’m down here to look into drugs pushing and thought I’d look in on Basil’s little problem too. A young woman near her majority with the strength of mind to clear herself of drugs is not going to find it hard to quit your house when she is twenty-one, and live independently. And you will have lost a sister as well as a brother and a wife.”

“Gloria said she thought Ida was taking drugs on the sly,” said David, sulkily.

“Oh, come now; look at that clear skin, fine bright eyes without the artificial brightness, normal sized pupils; I’ve dealt with a sufficiency of drug fiends to know that Miss Henderson is not one,” said Alexander.

David brightened.

“You can assure me of that?”

“On my word as a very experienced policeman,” said Alexander.

“Thank God!  She’s such a funny little girl....”

“So would anyone be at the age of twenty with a governess who speaks to her as if she were ten years old, threatened with being locked in her room, and with no companions her own age,” retorted Alexander.

“We told Elinor Truckle that she had had... mental problems,” muttered David. “It’s not my fault that she chooses to interpret that as if Ida was... somehow wanting.”

“And morally indefensible not to correct that,” said Alexander.

“What, were we to tell an outsider that she had been a dope fiend?” snapped David.

“As she was duped, why not?” asked Alexander. “Hardly her fault.  Are you blaming her for being naive at the time?”

“She came to me and Helen was so upset, it caused her miscarriage,” said David.

“So, you blamed the child who needed love, support, and help, and gave her cold comfort, blame, and imprisonment,” said Alexander. “It’s a wonder she hasn’t run away before and even more impressive that she succeeded in escaping addiction.”

“Basil was there for me, always,” said Ida. “And I wasn’t there for him while he was d...dying.”

She burst into tears.

David fetched out a tin of thin cigars and lit one, belatedly offering the tin to Alexander.

“Thank you; no. I don’t smoke,” said Alexander.

“You’re going to make waves about Basil, aren’t you?” said David, bitterly.

“I am,” said Alexander. “And because of his death, I’m going to make waves about your wife’s death, too.”

“I... I can’t handle this,” said David, his hand with the lighter in it trembling. He turned and walked abruptly away.

“I’ll walk down to the village and put up in the inn,” said Harris. It was understood that this also meant keeping his ears open and asking pertinent and impertinent questions.

Alex reached in his pocket, and peeled a number of pound notes off a bundle which he handed to Harris. Harris accepted with a nod of thanks. Buying rounds did not go on an expense account.

“I believe I’ll stay in Basil’s room, for now,” said Alexander.