Max Collins - The London Blitz Murders

The small bedroom off the kitchen-with its easy access to the fire escape-was Cadet Cummins’s, or so she assumed. The reason for her deduction provided one more small irony: on the bureau were two stacks of popular inexpensive editions of her novels.

That much, at least, had been true: Gordon Cummins was a fan, a dedicated reader of hers.

She did not even have to open the drawers of the bureau to find what she’d been looking for: near one stack of her books, beside multiple sideways displays of her own name, were the apparent souvenirs of slaughter: a cheap comb missing teeth; a fountain pen; and a woman’s wristwatch.

Though it would take measurements and the forensics skills of Sir Bernard to confirm so, Agatha’s eyes told her these items mirrored the shapes she’d discovered in the dust at the Jouannet murder flat.

Leaning closer, narrowing her eyes, she thought she could make out something odd about that watch: it had something on the back of it….

She lifted the cheap watch and turned it over and saw the oddly cut piece of elastic tape, fitted there for the original (late) wearer’s comfort, again seeming to mirror the shape of the portion cut from the roll of sticking plaster Ted Greeno had found in a drawer of that dust-covered dresser in the Jouannet place.

Finally, an inexpensive silver-plated cigarette case, bearing the initials N.W., seemed to indicate the ghost of actress Nita Ward. A pack rat, this killer was; not a good thing to be, in that line of interest.

“ What a pleasant surprise ….”

Startled, she turned to see the owner, or at least the possessor, of these ghoulish keepsakes: the boyishly handsome RAF cadet, Gordon Cummins, standing with cap in hand, his smile sideways, his eyes a greenish unblinking blue.

And in a flash she recognized him, finally: the Gunman.

The smiling blue-eyed Gunman of her childhood nightmares, who had come back to haunt… and perhaps warn… her in recent nights.

How like Archie he was.

“Oh, do forgive me,” Agatha said, turning her back to the bureau and beaming at her host. “I was driving home from the hospital, and I simply couldn’t sleep, and thought I’d run over and leave this here, to surprise you….”

She held out the copy of Evil Under the Sun for him to see, then placed it on the bureau top behind her.

“I still need to sign it, I’m afraid, but I wanted to thank you properly. I thought you were spending the night with Mrs. Cummins.”

He shut the door. The cadet remained near the door, but the bedroom was so small, so claustrophobic, that they still stood relatively close to one another.

“I thought when you got back,” she said, “that you would find the book in your bedroom and just be… pleasantly surprised. But then, you said you were pleasantly surprised, just now, didn’t you? And I hope that’s true.”

He said nothing. Still smiling. Twisting the hat around in his hands.

“Well… perhaps I should go,” she said. “I’m afraid I was misguided… invading your sanctum sanctorum, as I have.”

“No,” he said. “I’m pleased to see you…. The party broke up early. Everyone was too concerned about you, and the explosion at the theater, for the merriment to continue.”

“Ah.”

“Janet was upset, and suggested I go on back to my billet. No night for celebrating, really…. Do you suspect me?”

The bluntness of that struck her like a blow, but she did her best not to show it, saying quickly, “No. But I’m afraid the police do.”

He sat on the side of the bed, which hugged the wall lengthwise, opposite the bureau; his unblinking eyes stared into nothing. “But I’m innocent. I hope you believe me.”

“Oh, I do, Gordon. You’re my savior, after all. My knight.”

His eyes met hers and his smile turned into a crinkly thing, as if unsure whether or not to become a frown. “If they caught him… this Ripper… he wouldn’t be as famous as the other one, would he?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Well, the first one… Jack… they never caught him. He was too smart for them, they’ll say. But the truth is, he didn’t have Sir Bernard Spilsbury and these modern detectives up against him, did he? Fingerprints and things.”

“No. He didn’t. It was all quite crude then.”

“But if the new Jack were to kill someone famous, that would be different.”

“I’m afraid… afraid I don’t follow you, Gordon.”

He shrugged, the smile boyish as ever, charming. “Well, imagine if the Ripper killed you, Mrs. Mallowan. Mrs. Christie. What headlines that would make-the fiend who killed the mistress of murder. That would make history.”

“I suppose so. If you were guilty. But I don’t believe that you are.”

His eyes tightened and, finally, he blinked. “You don’t?”

She sat next to him on the bed and patted his hand reassuringly. “Certainly not. You’re a smart boy, Gordon. Would a smart boy like you leave such obvious clues just scattered about? These things on your bureau… worthless items, a toothless comb, a fountain pen, a cheap watch.”

He was frowning in thought. “Then you see it, don’t you? That I’ve been framed for this.”

She smiled and clasped her hands in a single clap. “Exactly. And I know who did and how it was done.”

Still frowning, nodding, he said, eagerly, “Do tell.”

“They’ve found a gas respirator, you know, the police have. With a service number that will likely lead to you, Gordon. I don’t see your mask anywhere here in your room, or on your person.”

“No. It was stolen several days ago.”

“I knew it!” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “These clues were planted, Gordon. And who was responsible?”

“Who?”

“I’ll tell you, though it pains me, it grieves me to my core.” She sighed heavily, lowered her head. “My ‘friend,’ your ‘benefactor’… Stephen Glanville. Who better, with his Air Ministry connections, to help himself to your personal items, to enter inconspicuously and plant these obvious clues?”

“Why Glanville?”

“He is a notorious ladies’ man, our Stephen. Though he denied knowing her, Stephen undoubtedly had an affair with Nita Ward. And he may… I hate to tell you this, as it may cause you pain, Gordon… he may have set his sights on your lovely wife.”

The cadet’s eyes flared. “Janet!”

“I’m afraid so. He has loitered around rehearsals, and his eyes have fallen upon her…. I don’t believe she has given him any cause for the unforgivable thoughts he’s clearly having regarding her, so I do beg you not to blame or reprove her. But with you out of the way…”

“He would have a clear field,” Cummins said, squinting in anger.

“Seeing your lovely wife,” Agatha said, “told me everything I needed to know about you, Gordon. With such a lovely, desirable creature in your life, you would have no need for the soiled flowers of the West End.”

“I love her. Janet is wonderful. I would never hurt her.”

She gripped his hand again. “Then you must cling to your innocence. And I will help you, Gordon. I will plead your case. Together, we will shatter this frightful frame, and restore your good name.”

He looked at her almost lovingly. “You’re wonderful, Mrs. Mallowan. You’re like… something from one of your own books.”

“As are you, Gordon. As are you.”

The door burst open and Inspector Greeno stood there with revolver in hand-such weapons were checked out only when an officer felt a vital need, and Greeno clearly felt it. His eyes widened at the sight of Agatha, then turned hard, as he leveled the weapon at the cadet, and behind him were two more plainclothes detectives, equally well armed.