Lawrence Block - The Best American Mystery Stories 1999

Fingers jerked upright. “Hang on a minute. There’s no need for anything drastic like that. I’m just having my little bit of fun, that’s all. You wouldn’t deny a fellow his little bit of fun, would you?”

“Heaven forbid,” I muttered. “So now you’ve had your fun, Fin— er... Michael, perhaps we can get back to business?”

“Right... well... theatrically speaking, of course, I might have been in Aston Place on the night you’re talking about.”

Theatrically? Let it go, Frank. “Last Wednesday, during the air-raid?”

“Right. Well I might have been, just, you know, being a concerned citizen and all, going round checking up all the women and kids was in the shelters, like.”

“And the old people. Don’t forget the old people.”

“Especially the old people. Anyway, like I said, I just might have been passing down Aston Place during the air-raid, seeing that everyone was all right, like, and I might just have seen someone coming out of Mad Maggie’s house.”

“Did you?”

“Well, it was dark, and that bloody smoke from the power station doesn’t make things any better. Like a real pea-souper, that is. Anyway, I might just have seen this figure, like, a quick glimpse.”

“I understand. Any idea who it was?”

“Not at first I hadn’t, but now I’ve an idea. I just hadn’t seen him for a long time.”

“Where were you?”

“Coming out of— Can’t have been more than two or three houses away. When I saw him he gave me a real fright, so I pressed myself back in the doorway, like, so he couldn’t see me.”

“But you got a look at him?”

“Not a good one. First thing I noticed, though, is he was wearing a uniform.”

“What kind of uniform?”

“I don’t know, do I? Soldier’s, I suppose.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, he moved off sort of sideways, like.”

“Crabwise?”

“Come again?”

“Like a crab?”

“If you say so, Constable Bascombe.”

Something about all this was beginning to make sense, but I wasn’t sure I liked the sense it made. “Did you notice anything else?”

“I saw him go into a house across the street.”

“Which one?” I asked, half of me not wanting to know the answer.

“The milkman’s,” he said.

I didn’t want to, but I had to see this through. Tommy Fletcher . My own godson. All afternoon I thought about it, and I could see no way out of confronting Harry and Tommy. No matter how much thinking I did, I couldn’t come up with an explanation, and if Tommy had murdered Rose Faversham, I wanted to know why. He had certainly been acting oddly since he came back from the army hospital, but I had acted rather strangely myself after they released me from the hospital in Manchester in 1918. I knew better than to judge a man by the way he reacts to war.

I consoled myself with the fact that Tommy might not have killed Rose, that she was already dead when he went to see her, but I knew in my heart that didn’t make sense. Nobody just dropped in on Mad Maggie to see how she was doing, and the idea of two people going to see her in one night was absurd. No, I knew that the person Fingers had seen coming out of Rose’s house had to be her killer, and he swore that person was Tommy Fletcher.

Fingers could have been lying, but that didn’t make sense either. For a start, he wasn’t that clever. He must also know that I would confront Tommy and that, one way or another, I’d find out the truth. No, if Fingers had killed Mad Maggie and wanted to escape blame, all he had to do was deny that he had been anywhere near her house and let the Gypsy take the fall.

I steeled myself with a quick brandy, then I went around to Harry’s house just after eight o’clock. They were all listening to a variety program on the Home Service, and someone was torturing “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.” As usual, Tommy was wearing his army uniform, even though he was on extended leave. He still looked ill, pale and thin. His mother, Polly, a stout, silent woman I had known ever since she was a little girl, offered to make tea and disappeared into the kitchen.

“What brings you out at this time of night, then?” Harry asked. “Want some company down at the Prince Albert?”

I shook my head. “Actually, it’s your Tommy I came to see.”

A shadow of fear crossed Harry’s face. “Tommy? Well, you’d better ask him yourself, then. Best of luck.”

Tommy hadn’t moved yet, but when I addressed him, he slowly turned to face me. There was a look of great disappointment in his eyes, as if he knew he had had something valuable in his grasp only to have it taken from him at the last minute. Harry turned off the radio.

“Tommy,” I said, speaking as gently as I could, “did you go to visit Mad Maggie last Wednesday night, the night of the air-raid?”

Harry was staring at me, disbelief written all over his face. “For God’s sake, Frank!” he began, but I waved him down.

“Did you, Tommy? Did you visit Mad Maggie?”

Slowly, Tommy nodded.

“You don’t have to say anymore,” Harry said, getting to his feet. He turned to me as if I were his betrayer. “I’ve considered you a good friend for many years, Frank, but you’re pushing me too far.”

Polly came back in with the teapot and took in the scene at a glance. “What’s up? What’s going on?”

“Sit down, Polly,” I said. “I’m asking your Tommy a few questions, that’s all.”

Polly sat. Harry remained standing, fists clenched at his sides, then Tommy’s voice broke the deadlock. “It’s all right, Mum,” he said to Polly, “I want to tell him. I want to get it off my chest.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, son,” she said.

Tommy pointed at Harry. “He does. He’s not as daft as he looks.”

I looked at Harry, who sat down again and shook his head.

Tommy turned back to me. “Did I go visit Mad Maggie? Yes, I did. Did I kill her? Yes, I did. I got in through the back window. It wasn’t locked. I picked up the posser and went through into the living room. She was sitting in the dark. Didn’t even have a wireless. She must have heard me, but she didn’t move. She looked at me just once before I hit her, and I could swear she knew why I was doing it. She understood and she knew it was right. It was just .”

As Tommy spoke, he became more animated and his eyes started to glow with life again, as if his prize were once more within his grasp.

“Why did you do it, Tommy?” I asked. “What did she ever do to harm you?”

He looked at Harry. “She killed my dad.”

“She what?”

“I told you. She killed my dad. My real dad.”

Polly flopped back in her armchair, tea forgotten, and put her hand to her heart. “Tommy, what are you saying?”

“He knew,” he said, looking at Harry again. “Or at least he suspected. I told him about the field, about the villagers, the madwoman.”

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t know,” he said. “You never told me it was her . All I knew was that you were upset, you were saying crazy things and acting strange. Especially when you came in from the raid that night. I was worried, that’s all. If I ever suspected you, that’s the only reason, son, I swear it. When I found her body, I thought if there was the remotest possibility... That’s why I went for Frank. I told him to lay off it, to let the gypos take the blame. But he wouldn’t.” Harry pointed his finger at me, red in the face. “If you want to blame anyone, blame him.”

“Calm down, Harry,” I told him. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

“It’s not a matter of blame,” Tommy said. “It’s about justice. And justice has been served.”