Stone Cold Dead Read online

  ‘Oh...eight months or so. Perhaps a little more.’

  ‘Well then. Even if you’d now been presented with the opportunity—’

  He raised a hand, halting me. ‘But I was. I saw her. From the bedroom window, I saw her. She was near one of the footbridges. Standing there…’

  ‘You saw her? Recognized her?’

  ‘She was in the light from my amber parking lamp. I knew it was Clare Martin.’

  ‘All right. So the opportunity was presented.’

  He stared at me.

  ‘You didn’t ask yourself why she was there?’ I asked.

  ‘Well...no. If anything, I sort of linked her with Ray. It did cross my mind that she’d come to tell him he was wanted...his job...you know.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that.’

  ‘No. Stupid of me. But that’s what I thought. In any event, she was his friend, his partner, so she might well have come along to congratulate him. On his engagement. Something like that’s occurred to me.’

  ‘Yes. Something like that,’ I agreed, taking my pipe from my pocket, putting it back. ‘But all the same, you knew she was there...here. And you feel you ought to tell this to Inspector Slater?’

  ‘If he asks. Of course. I am, after all, an officer of the court. I would have to tell the truth, Richard. You must see that.’

  I laughed. He stared at me blankly. I explained.

  ‘If you felt you had to tell the truth, why are you speaking to me now? Wasn’t it your intention to discover from me how far you dared to wander away from the truth?’

  ‘It was not.’

  ‘Then what?’ I demanded.

  ‘I wondered if I’d have to tell him about my motive. If he doesn’t already know all about it, of course. They probably laughed their heads off at the police station when that case was reported.’

  ‘I think he’ll know,’ I told him quietly.

  I was quite certain that Ray would find an opportunity to bring it to the attention of Inspector Slater, but I didn’t think I ought to say that.

  ‘And if he knows?’ He shook his head. ‘Mr Patton...Richard...I have a reputation in this district, one I wish to retain. I wouldn’t want it spread around that—’

  ‘That what?’ I was rapidly losing my sympathy for him. ‘That you have a motive? Nonsense. People don’t think in that way. They don’t whisper to each other: “Oh, but he had a good motive, that Mr Fulton. That court case, you know.” Rubbish. The public wouldn’t get interested unless you were arrested. Or...at least...taken in for questioning.’

  ‘Arrest?’ His fist thumped down on the arm of his chair. ‘They can’t...’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! I said: unless. Unless that happens. And people don’t get taken in for questioning unless there’s a damn good case to answer.’

  He shook his head. ‘There is,’ he said miserably.

  ‘There’s a paltry motive.’ I had difficulty in not shouting at him. ‘You might well have disliked her, but you had no reason to see her as a threat, at this specific time. Naturally, you’ll be asked questions. But here. Possibly in this very room.’

  ‘Questions?’ He looked startled.

  I almost laughed out loud. ‘Damn it, man, you’re a solicitor. You’ve asked your own questions in your time. You simply answer them, and that’s that.’

  ‘What questions? What?’

  ‘Are you asking me to put to you the questions that I’d do if I happened to be in charge of the case?’

  He looked offended, then was abruptly eager to try it. ‘Yes. You do that.’

  ‘So that you’ll have your answers ready?’ A little sarcasm had crept in there.

  ‘If you don’t want to—’

  ‘For pity’s sake, Gerald, this isn’t a quiz game! It’s real. It’s serious.’

  ‘I am quite aware’, he said severely, ‘that it’s serious. I’m in a difficult situation. I was here—on the spot—and I had a motive for killing that young woman. Please do what I’m asking, Richard.’

  I could tell him that Ray had a motive a damned sight better than his silly court episode, if Ray had really thought she intended to disrupt the engagement party in some way, and that his thumb marks would be on her neck. But murderers don’t think: my motive isn’t as good as so-and-so’s, so I’ll leave it to him. Their own motive is overpowering. I sighed. How to start?

  ‘We don’t know exactly what time she went into that pound,’ I reminded him. ‘The police might get a more exact time of death. But...for now...we’ll assume sometime in the last hour before dinner. Right?’

  He nodded.

  But it was not right. I had been thinking sloppily, not concentrating on facts. If that was Clare’s car, the one I’d found abandoned with the engine warm, then it had been left there at 5.00 to 5.15 pm. If she’d walked down to the house—lodge, as Colin called it—she could have been at the locks at around 5.10 to 5.30. Gerald had been in the bar, shaking hands with me, at around 5.40.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘we can be more exact than the last hour before dinner. Let’s concentrate on the time between 5.10 and 5.30. I’ve reasons for believing that. So—you saw her. When?’

  ‘I was in my bedroom. Getting ready. I told you that.’

  ‘Your bedroom? Not “ours”?’

  ‘I do not share a bedroom with my wife, Richard. Please leave it at that.’

  I was only too pleased to do so. I doubted that Slater would be.

  ‘All right. Your bedroom. Getting dressed?’

  ‘Yes. For that hour or so you mentioned.’

  ‘An hour to get dressed?’

  ‘Yes. Well...laying out my evening suit.’

  ‘That took a whole hour?’

  ‘One way or another, yes. Getting dressed in my suit for when you arrived. Laying out the evening suit, as I said.’

  ‘And your window...’

  ‘Overlooks the locks. As does yours, Richard. I thought you’d ask that.’

  ‘So that you could have seen her down there, irrespective of the fact that only your orange light was on at the time?’

  ‘If I’d looked.’

  ‘But you didn’t look?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because you didn’t need to, having arranged a meeting...’

  ‘No! That’s not true.’

  I held up my hand, halting him. ‘There you are, you see. You’ve just had a practical demonstration of what happens when you tell lies.’

  ‘I haven’t—’

  ‘A little while ago you told me that you’d noticed her. Now—because you lied about it, you’ve got yourself all tied up in excuses and denials. We’ll go back a bit. You’ve said your window overlooks the locks. So you could have seen her down there. Did you see her, Gerald? Remember, I’m pretending to be Inspector Slater. So...did you see her?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Let’s get on with it.’

  ‘Now you’re allowing yourself to become agitated. Take it steadily. Just the truth. It’s quite simple. Get angry, and you start making mistakes. Tell lies, and that’s the worst mistake you can make. Or does a solicitor, working mainly as a defence lawyer in criminal cases, get to the stage where truth is only what your client dares to admit? It’s not like that in a murder case, I can assure you. Shall we go on? You’re now talking to Inspector Slater. All right?’

  He nodded reluctantly.

  ‘So…I’m Slater now...so you saw her standing below, near the locks?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you could recognize her?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘In dark clothes in orange light—looking down at an angle?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘As a woman?’

  ‘Of course as a woman.’

  ‘They wear slacks these days.’

  ‘She wore a skirt. The woman I saw...she had on a skirt.’

  ‘All the same, it could’ve been any woman, in dark clothes.’

  ‘She was wearing one of those caps with a checkered band round it.’
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  ‘So...having recognized her...you had time to go down there and confront her—’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Didn’t what? Go down, or have time?’

  ‘Both, damn it. I didn’t go down. If I’d wanted to, I didn’t have the time.’

  ‘How is that?’

  ‘I just didn’t have the time,’ he repeated.

  ‘You said you were in your room, for a whole hour. More, perhaps. And what took all that time? You were laying out a suit, and the rest, and your dinner jacket, fancy shirt...and whatnot. An hour! And you would need no more than two minutes—all right, five at the most—to get down there and push her in—’

  ‘I didn’t do that!’ He seemed frantic, holding up his hand to stop me.

  ‘But you did have enough time,’ I pressed him.

  ‘No!’

  ‘You could have run down. The side stairs, out at the side of the house. One push—’

  ‘That is not so.’

  ‘Where are the shoes you were wearing?’

  ‘What? Shoes?’

  ‘What were you wearing?’ I was deliberately impatient, in my persona as Slater.

  ‘I was dressing...dressing...’

  ‘Dress shoes, then. Soft? Black?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which have been cleaned?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why clean them, if you didn’t go outside?’ I challenged.

  ‘I’d clean them anyway, if I’d worn them just to meet you, and to the dinner.’

  ‘An excuse. You ought to do better than that, sir.’

  ‘Sir?’ His eyebrows shot up.

  ‘I’d call you that, if this was a true interrogation. You had the time to do it. Admit it.’

  ‘I was dressing,’ he said wearily.

  ‘An hour? Nonsense.’

  ‘I had difficulty with my bow-tie.’

  ‘That was later, and you rushed it, anyway. It wasn’t tied correctly. One wing was larger than the other.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Oh yes. I noticed.’

  ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘And I’d say that in my statement, when I’m interrogated.’

  I sat back, allowing him to gobble, in what could have been anger or indignation.

  ‘Why are you saying all this?’ he whispered at last.

  ‘Because you wanted to know what you were going to say to Inspector Slater. Now you know.’

  ‘But I can’t...it’s not true...I didn’t.’

  I laughed. ‘You asked. You were worried about this paltry motive you’ve got. So I thought I’d show you. Means, opportunity, motive. That’s the formula. And I’ve shown you. You had the means—a push, and she’d be beyond recall. You had the opportunity...in all that time you used to titify yourself.’

  ‘Titify?’

  ‘It’s a version of tittivate. Let me say this. You had the means and you had the opportunity. But my dear friend, you haven’t got a motive worth considering. You and your silly motive! Rubbish.’

  ‘But when I’m asked?’

  ‘You answer questions, as you’ve been doing, Gerald. Everybody—and don’t forget that that includes people not resident here—had the means for the killing, and no doubt the opportunity. And I’ll bet, when Slater gets going, he’ll dig out no end of motives. So you’re way down on the list. Relax. Just tell the truth.’

  I levered myself to my feet. Why did I feel so stiff? ‘Now you can get along to your office.’

  He gave me a thin smile. ‘I don’t think I need to go now. Thank you, Richard.’

  But it wasn’t thanks I saw in his eyes, it was resentment. I had not told him what he’d wanted to hear, that he was clearly a person of respect and authority in his own sphere, and no one could seriously consider him as a suspect in a murder case.

  I had not said it, because it wasn’t true.

  I paused at the door, and turned. ‘And Gerald, you still haven’t told me all the truth.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘You said you saw her. Noticed, was the word you used. But I have reason to believe she must have been here, at the earliest, at about ten minutes past five. At the latest, five-twenty. The storm blew itself out at about five-twenty. So...how could you have seen her, let alone recognized her, when the storm was still blowing?’

  ‘I saw’, he said painfully, ‘a woman. Distinctly a woman. Who else could it have been?’

  I shrugged. Who else? A great number of possible people. Yet...she had been Clare Martin to Gerald.

  Chapter Six

  When I returned to the kitchen, I asked Amelia, ‘Feel like a walk, love?’

  She seemed surprised at the suggestion. ‘It’s too cold, Richard.’

  ‘Haven’t you looked outside? It’s a grand morning for walking.’

  There was that doubtful look in her eyes. ‘It seems fine, but outside the door I’ll bet it’s perishing cold. And anyway, where is there to walk?’

  ‘The tow-path. It’s sure to lead somewhere.’

  ‘Such as?’ She was considering me with her head tilted, a tiny smile on her lips. This expression was used whenever I suggested anything in which she saw no point.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I was thinking of trying to get a new hat. The one Colin lent me makes my head ache.’

  ‘Oh...surely you can manage until we get home. And where, around here, do you expect to buy anything? It’s nothing but hills and trees and grass.’

  ‘I can ask Colin.’

  ‘You do that, my pet.’ I half expected her to pat me on the head.

  ‘And if there is somewhere?’

  She gave that a certain amount of thought, then shook her head. ‘No. I think I’d better stay here. It’s all right for you, with all your experience. Dead people, you take in your stride. Murdered ones you seem to take for granted. But it’s upset poor Ruby no end. And Mellie’s going around like somebody in a trance. No. I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind. But by all means go on your own, if you really feel you must.’

  I gave her my best grin. ‘Oh...I do.’

  What I really wanted was a valid excuse to take another look at that abandoned car. If it had been abandoned, that was. It quite naturally fitted a scenario in which Clare Martin had wished to reach Flight House without drawing attention to herself. If that happened to be her car, then she would probably have had direct and discreet access along the tow-path from the car to her place of death.

  But, in that event, why had she not locked the car and pocketed the keys? It would have been a natural, even instinctive action. That was what was troubling me.

  And behind all my reasonably logical intentions was the thought that I would like to avoid Ted Slater just at that time. I was painfully aware of that ring in my jacket pocket, and the fact that I was withholding evidence. The longer I kept it, the greater my culpability. So…a discreet walk was indicated.

  I searched out Colin, as a first move, and found him, as I’d expected, prowling around his locks. He was standing now beside the stark rack and pinion opposite the lock gates between the top and middle locks. He looked at me hopefully, as though I might be of use to him.

  ‘What d’you make of this?’ he asked, pointing to the rack and pinion. ‘Somebody’s pinched the handle.’

  ‘What handle?’

  He sighed at my ignorance. ‘Look—there’s a squared shaft on the pinion, and a ratchet. There’s a handle that keys on that square, a winding handle. It raises the smaller gate, way down below, to ease the water pressure against the main gates. Now it’s gone.’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘Oh...a steel shaft about eighteen inches long with the square hole in one end and at the other a two-fist sized handle sticking out.’

  ‘Heavy?’

  ‘Weighty. It’s got to be strong, you see.’

  ‘But Colin, there’re several of these rack and pinion things. I’ve noticed ’em myself. Perhaps it’s on one of the others.’

  ‘No it isn’t. D�
�you think I haven’t looked? Searched. It’s gone missing, and that’s that.’

  ‘But you must have a spare.’

  He sighed at my ignorance. ‘You don’t need a spare. One to do the lot. I’ve been using that one for years. And who’d want to pinch it, anyway? Any boats coming through—and there hasn’t been one for nearly a month, now—they’ve all got their own winding handles. I just don’t understand it.’

  I glanced sideways at him. He seemed genuinely concerned, but there was more than that revealed on his face. In one night it had become haggard. When he spoke, he emphasized every word with nervous gestures of his hands.

  ‘Colin,’ I said. ‘You’re forgetting. There’s been a fatal accident...’

  ‘Forgetting!’ He made a wild toss of his head. ‘I’m trying not to think about it...’ He allowed that to tail away.

  ‘We don’t know yet how she died,’ I told him easily, softly, to give the impression that this could not deeply concern us. ‘But there’s been mention of a blow to her head.’

  ‘Who’s said that?’ He was suspicious.

  ‘The police. They fished her out. All we know yet is that much. There’s a contusion. But just imagine that you wanted a weapon to use for that purpose...this handle you’ve been talking about—wouldn’t it be just the thing?’

  He choked. ‘I...I suppose. They’re weighty.’

  ‘And how best to dispose of it afterwards than by tossing it into the nearest lock? There’ll be a few feet of water down there…’

  ‘Five or six feet. Always. You can’t run ’em dry—you’d have to pump it out.’

  ‘There you are, then.’

  ‘Oh Lord! I’d better...better...’ He didn’t know what he had better do.

  ‘Order another,’ I suggested.

  ‘Yeah. I suppose. But they won’t like it.’

  ‘Who won’t like it?’

  ‘The people who own the canal.’

  ‘People? I thought these canals belonged to authorities. Shropshire and Union. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Can’t we go inside out of the cold?’ he asked.

  ‘Why not? It’s your place.’

  ‘It’s theirs, theirs!’

  I couldn’t see why he should be upset about that fact, but he certainly was not his usual placid self.