murder in oils 22 first cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 22

 

“Who is it?” asked the sergeant.

“You know, at a guess, it’s our missing chemist, Gloria Wandsworth,” said Alexander, shaken. He fell to his knees. “That means I killed her, by wedging the panel...”

“No, sir,” said Davis. “If a wicked woman set explosives as a trap and didn’t go out the way she went in, or checking her bolt hole, she’s ‘the Engineer hoist with his own petard’ which might not be the Good Book, but Shakespeare knew a thing or two, and in the letter to the Galations, Paul says, ‘Do not be deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.’ You are not culpable, sir.”

“Thanks, Davis; I’m not sure I feel it,” said Alexander, shakily. “But it explains why I haven’t heard anything from the bobbies watching her boyfriend’s place. She meant to run out on us, leaving the place to burn down, and her lab destroyed, but it backfired on her... fairly literally.”

“That is uncanny, seein’ her hangin’ on that ladder as if in desperation,” said Hawtin.

“Cadaveric spasm,” said Alexander. “Sudden death and death by burning can make the hands seem to grasp like that.  Often happens with suicide, that the death weapon is grasped in what is also called the ‘death grip.’ And it is Gloria, I recognise that ring on her middle finger. From Jonathon, I suspect, it’s flashy enough.  Well, there’s a hacksaw in the shed; we’ll have to cut her out on the ladder for the forensic boys. Then we can get down there and take some photos... if there’s any down there to get to.”

He remembered that David had built bunkers for the prime minister for Chequers; and he wondered whether David had also considered the many and superfluous rooms underground to be a suitable shelter, in case of another war, and more efficient zeppelins and planes.

In which case, there would be damage, but the room might be substantially intact. He took his turn on the hack saw, and the section of ladder gripped tightly in the grotesquely claw-like blackened hands. He shuddered. It had to have been quick, at least; a moment’s panic, and then brief agony from the flashover, and oblivion.

As ye sow, so shall ye reap indeed. Gloria had wanted David and his house for the ongoing use of the laboratory; and now she had it forever. He had an almost insane desire to laugh. He suppressed it; it would not be good for the morale of his men.

“Here, Davis, you take Mr. Armitage down to the pub for a medicinal brandy, he’s as white as a sheet,” said the sergeant. “I’ll take his gas mask and go down for a butcher’s.  Reckon he’s relivin’ some time from the war.”

“No, I’m fine,” said Alexander.

“There ain’t a lot more you can do, sir,” said Davis. “A matter of bagging any evidence, photos, that sort of thing; Sergeant Barnes knows his job, and I know a man who has ringing in his ears and is about to pass out.”

“I don’t like killing people,” said Alexander.

“’Course you don’t, sir, no sane person does,” said Davis. “But it’ll be logged accidental death in the engagement of a felony, Come on, now.”

Alexander permitted Davis to lead him away.

“We’ll need to call for an ambulance to take it... her... to the morgue,” said Alexander. “I can make myself useful doing that.”

“Yes, sir,” said Davis.

 

In the inn, Alexander did permit himself to be persuaded to take a small brandy, and rang the Chief Constable after ordering an ambulance for a corpse.

“Ah, Armitage, back so soon? I had a wire, they’ve nicked Keller, and your sergeant will have a tale to tell when he gets back,” said Poulter.

“The lads watching for Wandsworth can be called off; we found her,” said Alexander. “She didn’t leave her lab; she planned to come out of the access panel, only I’d jammed them to stop anyone coming in to kill people,” he added. “It’s all my fault....”

“Stop that!” said Poulton, sharply.  “You weren’t to know. She set it to explode; she died. Saves the cost of a trial and a rope to hang her. A brutal way to look at it, perhaps, but then, a woman like that is clever enough to get into the dock and swear blind she was being used, throw Grantham to the wolves, swear that she loved Henderson to distraction and hesitated about trying to save Mrs. Henderson when she tripped, and that if Basil had Hemlock, being a classics scholar, he must have got it for himself, to suicide over the death of the woman he loved.  She could raise enough doubts that of twelve good men and true, she’d have enough of them lusting after her to let her off.  And then, she’d be free to start up over again. Men like Jonathon Grantham, rich enough but never really rich enough, dissatisfied, bored, clever but lacking industry, these men are ten a penny. She’d find another.”

“I... I hadn’t thought of it like that,” said Alexander. “One of the constables quoted the Bible for me, which helped some, but....”

“But nothing. Write it all up in your report, there will have to be an inquest, but you did not regulate her movements, and your actions were to protect your host, who was under grief over his wife’s death.”

“And the destruction of a painting of her by that woman,” said Alexander, grimly. “I put him to bed with sleeping pills.”

“Then I think nobody can fault you for making sure all means of illicit entrance were secured,” said Poulton. “Think of it as locking windows and doors at night. A fire raiser who means to escape from a window but does not have the means to unlock it, if it takes a pole, say, which is not there, is locked in by their own fault. She could have gone and disabled her infernal devices and left by the door.”

“Yes, of course; thank you, sir,” said Alexander, who was feeling somewhat better. “I appreciate you taking time to help me come to terms with this.”

“Well, now, I’d rather see a young officer who can be shaken by sudden death than one who is hardened,” said Poulton. “But you need to know that you have my backing, over an unfortunate incident. And I suggest that you call these hatchways ‘fire doors’ so that the inquest does not need any serious explanation. You know how tedious some people can be, and if Mr. Henderson rebuilds and uses the same idea, we don’t want Fred Burglar using them, along with his kid brother, and... and...” he paused.

“His sisters and his cousins and his aunts?” suggested Alexander.

“Ha, yes, can’t beat Gilbert and Sullivan for a good quote, and shows you’ve cheered up, my boy,” said Poulton.

“There’s an amateur dramatics group in the village, sir,” said Alexander. “The station-master is choirmaster and bass.”

“Well, well, I shall have to look them up some time,” said Poulton. “Now, will you be able to avoid brooding?”

“Yes, sir, thank you,” said Alexander.

 

Sergeant Barnes brought his constables down to the pub with some evidence bags and plenty of photos.

“As far as I can see, sir, she planned a controlled, timed explosion, probably to go off as the fire was burning down, but she made a mistake and it looks like there was burning of chemicals, cutting off her way to the door,” said the sergeant. “Now, any sensible body would have disabled their explosives, and tried to put out the flames. But seems she decided to just let it go early, and go out by what she thought of as the quick way.”

“Well, it was a quick way, I suppose,” said Alexander, dryly.

 

 

Alexander stood by his word and treated the tired constables to a fish supper and a pint, taking over the snug for the purpose. Constable Davis could be relied upon, apparently, to sing ‘Enery the Eight’ if pushed; and hearing his voice, Chaffinch wandered into the snug.

“Here’s the chap to sing about policing,” said Alexander, who was glad of a rowdy sing-song to help him put aside the memory of the ghastly thing that had been Gloria.

“Ohho! ‘A policeman’s lot is not a happy one?’” asked Chaffinch.

“Even so,” said Alexander. “We’ll be your chorus.”

Chaffinch stuck his thumbs in his braces and marched forward with a policeman’s walk just exaggerated enough to be funny, and not so exaggerated as to be offensive.

“When a felon’s not engaged in his employment”

“His employment” sang the chorus

“Or maturing his felonious little plans....”

He finished up with a ‘happy one’ dropped an octave, and one of the constables, who was competent with the piano, and had picked up playing along, played the closing music to the number.

They then managed ‘With cat-like tread’ more or less accurately, Chaffinch treated them to ‘Pirate King’ by which time his wife had come looking for him, and was induced to join him in ‘Poor wandering one,’ which took her to the limits of her voice which was closer, Alexander thought, to mezzo-soprano than alto. Mrs. Chaffinch took her husband home, because dinner would spoil otherwise, and somehow the smutty version of Abdul Abulbul Ameer seemed appropriate to those constables who had bought more than the sanctioned pint provided by Alexander.

Alexander left them still singing whilst Sergeant Barnes, Davis, and one of the others went to catch the train they were supposed to catch. Far be it for him to spoil their fun. They would have to catch the milk train home with their hangovers.

 

oOoOo

 

Harris fell in the door as the landlord was locking up, and, hearing his voice, Alexander emerged.

“Gawdstrewf, wot are you doin’ ‘ere, boss?” asked Harris.

“Didn’t anyone tell you? Gloria burned down Foursquares,” said Alexander.

“No, really?  Well you got out; didja get the rest out?”

“Yes,” said Alexander. “Well, except Gloria; I wedged those damn access panels, and she was in her laboratory and... well, she was burned beyond recognition save for the ring on her hand,” said Alexander with distaste.

“Sure it was her, not some poor body distractin’ your mind?” said Harris.

“It doesn’t seem likely. David threw a grand tantrum at her, she cut up his picture of Helen, she sabotaged my brakes, then she set fire to the house and went down to blow up her drug shop. She was in a hurry, made a mess of things, set a fire accidentally and went to leave by the door I’d jammed.”

“Shishay la Kebab,” said Harris. “Rather than Shershay la Fem.”

“Not funny, Harris,” said Alexander. “It was rather ghastly.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Harris. “But it couldn’t ‘appen to a nicer person.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” said Alexander. “I may have been justified, but she died through my actions.”

“Strikes me,” said Harris, “If she couldn’t shift the ‘atch, she might of carried on climbing and got out upstairs, when she might of had a charnst.”

“You’re right,” said Alexander. “She... it would have gone to Miss Truckle’s bathroom, over the sitting room if she’d gone on up.  Maybe she thought she’d be caught if she woke Miss Truckle... oh, hell, who knows what she thought. She panicked. Perhaps for the first time in her life. But she did have a way out. That’s helped no end.”

“Good thing too,” said Harris. “Can’t have you brooding.”

“No, Harris. Now you tell me about your jaunt.”

“Jaunt ‘e say!” said Harris. “Well, I got dahn to Dover, well an’ good, an’ there ain’t nobody named Keller on the boat when it comes in, but there is someone wots been buyin’ perfume to clear customs, but that’s a dame named Elizabeth Martin.  Well! I finks to meself, ‘ang on, Joe ‘Arris, ain’t a shortening for Elizabeth ‘Betty’?  an’ so I finks ‘All my eye an’ Betty Martin’ meanin’ a flummery in my grandad’s time. So I looks close at this flapper, and Gawdstroof! It’s bloody Brian Keller, made up like.  I might of missed it if you ‘adn’t wired me. Wot gave you the clue?”

“The local amateur dramatic club where Keller sometimes sings the dame,” said Alexander. “So, he had a passport and all?”

“Yerse, photograph an’ all, and silk stockings, and even ladies’ unnecessaries, because once ‘e twigged I reckernised ‘im, ‘e picked up ‘is skirts and ran for it. Holed up in the ladies’ waiting room, the little... blighter,” said Harris. “No wonder France ‘as no record of ‘im.”

“How did you pry him out of the Ladies’?” asked Alexander, much amused.

“Give a large lady me whistle an’ tol’ her to go in an’ blow it, and say ‘Police!’ very lahd, whilst I nipped round the back and caught ‘im climbin’ aht o’ the winder. Fell right inter me ‘ands, ‘e did, like a ripe plum.”

“But not as sticky,” said Alexander.

“Damn near,” said Harris. “One of ‘is bottles of perfume ‘ad come adrift, and ‘e smelled of odour ooh-la-la expenseev, an’ raw opium. So, I ‘as a good, legitimate nab.”

“Well done,” said Alexander.  “All bagged, ready to profer  to a jury.”

“So, now we can go ‘ome until we’re wanted in court.”

“Pretty much, yes,” said Alexander. “When my car’s been fixed.”

“Well, I’ll take meself orf in the mornin’ then,” said Harris.

 

oOoOo

 

The landlord of The Clene Sheep had sent a message to what passed as the local garage, which was another surplus Nissan hut as an addition to the old forge house.  Here, Simon Smith performed his job as in days of yore for such horses as were still in use, which was enough to make a forge viable, and his son, Sid, dealt with steam vehicles, internal combustion engine tractors and the odd car which required fixing. There was one petrol pump and a junk yard with unwanted vehicles of various kinds, where Sid, in his leisure hours, cannibalised the junk to build such things as the steam lorry with crane for towing mounted on the back, and the steam heating system in the church. He had driven the steam lorry out to the pub.

Sid emerged from under Alexander’s car.

“Some blighter cut your front brakes, squire,” he said.

“Funnily enough, I noticed that,” said Alexander. “Can you replace them?”

“Not a problem, squire. Take me a couple of days.”

“No worries; I’m here for a while as yet,” said Alexander.

“It’s a real classy car,” opined Sid.  “An act o’ sheer evil to spoil a beauty like this. Djew want an oil change and a service while I’m at it?”

“Oh, go ahead,” said Alexander, well aware that the young man was itching to go over the Lancia with a fine tooth comb. “I was going to change the oil when this was over, anyway, and gap the plugs.”

“Ah, a driver who knows his own vehicle,” said Sid, with respect.

“Yes, but you’re the professional, and will doubtless do it better,” said Alexander.

This pleased Sid no end, and Alexander had no doubt that he would have excellent service.  His car was in good hands, and he might stop worrying about that, at least.

 

 

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