The Key to the Case Read online

  ‘It’s because—’

  She didn’t break off, but poured out the words. ‘...I know you won’t let go. Not for anything. Not even for me.’

  I had thought we’d cleared that point, but I detected in her voice a hint of yearning. ‘For you, my love—’

  But she wasn’t going to let me finish anything. ‘And I wouldn’t ask it of you. No, Richard, it’s here and it’s with us. Better to get it over and done with, I’ve decided. Don’t you think that’s the best way?’

  It had all been reeled off, as though she’d rehearsed it, in a flat and almost toneless voice. So she must have given it a lot of painful thought. Only at the end had there been a lift towards a brighter expectation. Didn’t I think? Oh yes, better to get it over with, both my own problem and her emotional involvement. But I’d been convinced that I would be doing Ken no favours at all by pursuing the problem to its conclusion. The decision, in the end, had to be his.

  ‘I’d better get it all said,’ I agreed. ‘I don’t want to have you remembering.’

  ‘Get it said,’ she agreed shortly. ‘I’ve done my remembering. But this is here and now, and I hate it, but say it, Richard.’

  I sighed. ‘Very well. In more detail, then. There were three rapes, a little over two years ago. The girls were fifteen, seventeen and eighteen. The man—person—who did those was Milo Dettinger’s son. There’s no argument about that. He did them, and admitted it. He got six years, and served only two. That’s the run of it, these days, but the general public doesn’t go by that. He wasn’t welcomed back into society with open arms. But less than a month after he got out, there was another one. This time it was more serious.’

  ‘Can it be...’ But this time it was only a murmured protest.

  ‘It was rape and murder, and a particularly vicious murder. To a policeman, that would look like panic. A known rapist wouldn’t dare to risk identification, and would kill his victim if he had to.’ This was where it would hurt Amelia, and I hurried past it before she could take a breath. ‘But of course, he was suspect number one, as far as the public was concerned, and Ken seemed sure of his case. It was only a matter of wrapping it up—the forensic evidence was all it needed. But it didn’t get that far. There’d been threats, naturally, and Milo had to spend each night at his club. So he fixed a complicated system of security for his son, the house being locked and bolted up before he left. Double-glazing, too, because it’s not easy to break. Right. So now we get to young Bryan’s death.’

  ‘Poor lad,’ she whispered, even in the face of the details.

  I glanced at her. If she was going to produce exactly opposite reactions to my expectations, what was I going to do?

  ‘Poor?’ I demanded, raising the pitch of my voice. ‘From you, love?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I’m being silly. But go on.’

  When you’re driving, you can’t expend too much time staring at your passenger, which was why she wanted to discuss it at this time. As we had, the night before. But I caught a glimpse of bright, moist eyes. I returned my attention to the road.

  ‘You know the opinion the police have of rapists,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got good reason to know.’ For a moment her right hand tightened on my knee. ‘If it hadn’t been for you...’ She left it there, the hand and the subject.

  ‘So you can’t expect me to criticize Ken if he holds the same views.’

  ‘I’d be surprised if he doesn’t. What’re you getting at, Richard?’

  So I explained the set-up at Milo’s house, the sealed windows and doors, in spite of which Milo still insisted that it had been murder. I explained, too, how the only possible suspects had to be Milo himself, or his wife, Francine.

  ‘Oh—no!’ she protested. ‘You said that before, but I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘Yes. If it wasn’t for the back door, they would be the only ones. And that back door, Ken says, was locked and bolted when he checked through the house. Now...Ken’s got an inspector, Les Durrell, who is not simply anti-rapist, but violently so. He called Bryan a filthy little swine, or something like that. And Durrell was there at the house, with a sergeant, even before Ken got there. Now suppose...just suppose that Durrell, knowing very well how many people there were in the district who would’ve been overjoyed at the chance of killing Bryan, had seen that back door before anybody else. He’d have had the opportunity. And suppose he found it unlocked and unbolted. Milo told me he locked it, but he didn’t say he bolted it. But if Durrell found it in effect open to all and sundry, or even locked but not bolted, the possibility would be there that it could have been murder. And Durrell is not the sort of person who would wish such a murderer to face trial.’

  Perhaps my voice had hardened, because Amelia said, ‘And this from you!’

  ‘I did not tamper with the evidence.’

  ‘My recall is that you tossed around and manoeuvred a lot of words.’ The fingers tightened on my knee. ‘You don’t have to tidy any for me.’

  ‘I had no such intention,’ I told her with grave dignity.

  ‘I can see what you’re getting at,’ she claimed. She’d brightened up considerably. It had now become, for her, an exercise in logic and theory. ‘You’re saying that Ken’s got the same niggling suspicion. He suspects that Durrell...Inspector Durrell, give him his title...secured that back door in order to eliminate any wandering doubt about its being suicide.’

  ‘Something like that.’ I was crossing the new by-pass bridge at Bridgnorth, not yet used to it and uncertain which was our turn-off.

  ‘Something like it?’ she asked.

  I recognized the corner and turned left. Here I had to use full beam.

  ‘We’ve been talking about the means of getting out. A supposed murderer would have to get out, and he couldn’t have left the door locked and bolted. But he’d have to get in first. Milo had a coded buzz on his front door bell, to alert his son. But who else might Bryan have let in? His mother, yes. But I hate that idea, though I can’t eliminate it until I’ve met her.’

  ‘You’re going—’

  ‘Yes. I’ll have to. What I’ve got in mind is something that Ken would hate to have to tackle. But I think it’s what’s worrying him. Who else, beside those two, would Bryan open the door to? Who but to a policeman? Ring the bell. Who is it? Police, sir, open up. Let me see your warrant card, then. Hold it up to a window. All right, come on in. That is just possible, especially if the caller was wearing uniform and had borrowed a patrol car, and left it parked in clear sight of the front door, perhaps even with the blue lamp winking. It wouldn’t be too much of a risk. A neighbour might even expect it. And once in...’

  ‘For pity’s sake, Richard! What are you suggesting?’

  ‘That Les Durrell could have killed young Dettinger? No...I’m suggesting that Ken is suspecting that—and it’s tearing him apart. No doubt, except for this almost psychotic hatred of rapists, Durrell is a first-class inspector. And Ken daren’t look it squarely in the face.’

  I turned into our drive and turned off lights and engine. ‘But maybe I can,’ I said into the sudden blackness. ‘I’ve got to. You can see that.’

  We sat silently in the car. She stirred uneasily. At last: ‘And what if you’re satisfied it’s only a fantastic theory, Richard?’

  ‘I’d have to slip it to Ken, sort of casually—as a joke, perhaps—that there’s nothing in it.’

  ‘And if it sounds true?’

  I hadn’t yet sorted that out. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’d hand Mr Durrell over,’ she asked, ‘with all your proof wrapped round him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Or perhaps you’d feel the need to manoeuvre a few more words?’

  I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m not in love with Les Durrell.’ But I still didn’t know what I would do.

  Mary Pinson took one look at our faces and put on the kettle. The stress must have shown. Certainly, I saw in the light, Amelia was registering mor
e distress than I’d detected in her voice. Sheba went to her at once. Dogs are very perceptive, one of their endearing characteristics.

  Mary is not a housekeeper, or in any way expected to work for us. She has a legal inherited right to live in part of the house, which would have made things very awkward if she and Amelia had not become close friends. I knew that very soon Mary would be in possession of every last fact and detail of the situation. Tactfully, I withdrew, on the excuse of changing into something more comfortable. I took my time. My own thoughts needed a great deal of sorting out.

  When I got down, they were at the kitchen table with their heads close together. Amelia glanced at me. ‘There’s tea made, Richard.’ I recognized this as a hint and took my cup into the living-room to drink mine. But it was cold when I eventually remembered it.

  They found me there, walking in on me like two prongs of an invasion. A decision had been made, and was about to be put to me. Judging by their expressions of determination, it was not one I would be pleased with, and furthermore it was one I would have no chance to reject. I sat back. Sheba put her face on my knee.

  ‘The tea was cold,’ I claimed, throwing in a diversion.

  ‘Not when you poured it, it wasn’t.’ Amelia nodded, indicating she’d had her eye on me. ‘We’ve come to a decision, Richard.’

  They took seats, side by side on the settee. I eyed them with suspicion. ‘Say on.’

  ‘We’re quite sure you’re not going to drop this.’

  ‘Good. I can’t, can I?’

  ‘Not with Ken involved, of course not. But you’ll have to see a lot of people. Oh yes, you will. I know you, you won’t be satisfied until you’ve picked the last bit of meat from the bone.’

  Sheba pricked up her ears.

  ‘I’d planned to see quite a few,’ I admitted. ‘Four or so, anyway, for now.’ And I was getting a number of very divergent addresses.

  ‘And all at different places in different directions?’ She was reading my mind.

  ‘Possibly.’ It was too early to admit much. What was she getting at? ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t come along, love. As you usually do. I don’t suppose I’ll have to bang too many heads against walls.’

  ‘I’m serious now. Please don’t make fun of me.’

  ‘I wasn’t—’

  ‘Or make light of it.’ She nodded. Deny that. ‘Who did you have in mind?’

  As this was exactly the issue on which I’d been pondering, I was able to reply. ‘In what order do you want it?’

  ‘In the order I’ve no doubt you’ve planned to see them.’

  ‘All right. I think first of all I’d better try to see a certain Major Farrington. I don’t know his address, but he’ll be on my old patch, because it’s Ken’s team that dealt with it.’

  ‘With what, Richard? Please remember we’ve not heard it all. Not every detail.’

  It was a complex mental effort to work out what she didn’t know. ‘Ronnie Cope, my tame burglar, whom you met at Milo’s club, is accused of a burglary involving violence. He swears he didn’t do it. If he’s found guilty he’ll go away for a long while, because of his past record. This Major Farrington identified Ronnie, but I’d like to go into it a bit deeper. Then I’ll know where I am when I see Ronnie.’

  Their eyes were locked on me. I was getting no encouragement at all.

  ‘This Ronnie Cope,’ I went on, ‘used to live on my patch, in a cottage out at Darnley. He now lives in Willenhall. I’ll try to catch him at home. Willenhall’s a few miles the other side of Wolverhampton.’

  ‘Yes?’ Amelia prompted, when I paused.

  ‘After that, Milo’s wife, I thought. She lives at a place called Beaudesert Park, which is somewhere beyond Cannock, which is also the other side of Wolverhampton but not, I’d guess, anywhere near Willenhall. I’ll have to get the exact location from Milo.’

  Now it wasn’t simply a lack of encouragement, it verged on distaste.

  ‘You can’t worry the poor woman,’ said Amelia severely. ‘She left her husband, and now her son’s dead, apparently committed suicide. You can’t, Richard.’

  ‘If Milo’s anywhere near correct, she’s not a poor woman, either financially or emotionally, and she could well have killed her son.’

  ‘I’ll not let you go alone, then.’

  ‘I might need protection,’ I agreed, but she didn’t even smile.

  ‘And who else is there?’

  ‘Oh...I don’t know. It depends on what I hear from the others. Possibly Detective Inspector Les Durrell. But that’d be tricky, maybe best done over a pint in a pub. Perhaps Sergeant Rawston, too.’

  She made a deprecating noise in her throat. ‘And?’

  ‘Heavens, I can’t scour the whole country. Who else would there be?’

  ‘The really important ones, that’s who. You’ve missed them out.’

  ‘I’ve missed something?’

  ‘As you would, of course. Always the guilty or the police, that’s your interest. Never the victims. The three girls who were originally raped, of course.’

  ‘What on earth could they tell me?’

  ‘The really basic facts. Oh, Richard, how could you miss that?’

  ‘Miss what?’ I couldn’t understand what she was getting at.

  ‘Discovering what he was like, this Bryan Dettinger. The sort of person he was. And if you say he was a rapist, I’ll kill you. We know he was. But what was he like? I mean, was he the sort of rapist who would kill? You’ll surely need to know that.’

  ‘Now hold on!’

  ‘No. Let me say it. We need to know whether he was the kind of person to finish off a rape by smashing in the victim’s head. You see, I can say that without flinching. And yes, I can understand he could well have been scared he’d be identified. But in that case, he could simply have covered his face. Easily. We have to know whether he did—’

  ‘Now Amelia! Please. It’s not an issue here. That case isn’t relevant. It’s closed. Bryan’s death closed it. We don’t want to get mixed up in that. You don’t, certainly.’ My voice was a little harsh, and I knew it. But I was scared of her involvement, as she would demand details of anything I discovered, even if she allowed me to go alone. Which would be unlikely.

  ‘I don’t want to, certainly,’ she whispered, and I realized she was having difficulty controlling her voice. ‘But perhaps I need to. Perhaps I’ve got to. Oh...I know how understanding you’ve been. You never mention it. I can’t share it with you because I know you’re afraid of hurting me. I know you, Richard, through and through. But it isn’t getting any less, you know. Sometimes I believe it is, then it all floods over me and chokes me, when the memories come back. It’s like water building up against a dam. Leave it and leave it, and the pressure gets worse. It won’t go away, Richard...’ Her voice faltered to a halt.

  She now had Mary’s hand in hers, clasping it, clinging to it. Why wasn’t it my hand? ‘You know I’d help,’ I said gently.

  ‘If you could. Yes. But if I could reach out to the others—people who’ve also experienced...oh Richard, don’t you see, I’ve got to persuade myself I did right. It’s not something to be dismissed lightly—murder.’

  ‘You did right. You did.’

  ‘I know it. In my mind, I know it. But I can’t feel it. And if I knew...this is how I see it, anyway...if I knew what Bryan Dettinger was like, whether he deserved to die, then perhaps I can get a hold of my own...my own self-respect, confidence, pride—oh, heaven knows what. Mary understands. Mary does. Why can’t you, Richard?’

  It seemed to me rather like picking up a red-hot chunk of iron to prove to yourself you were right in dropping a previous one. But I did understand, only too well. The new red-hot iron could open the old wound.

  Mary nodded. It was completely logical to her. ‘I think it has to be faced, you know.’

  ‘All right.’ I slapped my knee, defeated. ‘If you think it would help, I’ll see the three young women, if they’re still traceable,
and find out what Bryan was like.’

  If there was anything I didn’t fancy, it was that, and it was in any event completely irrelevant to what I wished to pursue. But I would do it, and to the best of my ability.

  ‘You, Richard?’ Amelia gave what would have been a laugh, if emotion hadn’t already clogged her throat. ‘Not you, of course, you big idiot. Me.’

  ‘I’m not having you...’

  ‘Not having me! You can’t stop me. And without you. It’s a woman’s work.’

  I stared at their two set faces. As soon try to hold back an avalanche.

  ‘Certainly not alone,’ I said weakly, abandoning one row of my defences.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, sitting back and looking as though it hadn’t occurred to her. ‘As though I’d go alone! No...and I’m not asking Mary.’

  ‘But really, I’d be pleased—’

  ‘No, Mary. It won’t be pleasant, you can be sure of that.’ And Mary was a spinster, though she didn’t add that. ‘I’ll ask Poppy. She’d come. And bring a couple of her boxers, in case there are brothers or husbands to be dealt with.’

  Why not Sheba? I wondered. Or did she think she’d need two, and both of them large and male? I sighed. ‘I’ll have to give you Ken’s list.’

  And there it rested, unsatisfactorily as far as I was concerned. I had to recall that I’d expected to have to see these young women myself, and possibly the family of the murdered woman, but for a rather different reason from Amelia’s. Better not mention that to her, though. I had wanted to present to Milo sufficient evidence to persuade him that Bryan’s death had been suicide. Now the emphasis had slid sideways, somehow. Amelia wanted to find out what Bryan had been like, to discover whether he’d deserved to be killed.