Peter Lovesey - Wobble to Death

‘So there couldn’t have been any pre-race agreements about pace and so on. It’s not unusual in foot-racing, I believe.’

‘I think not, although I can’t be certain. The trainers may have arranged something, of course.’

‘And your husband would run to Monk’s orders?’

‘Well no. Sam generally left Charles to manage his own running, but I suppose he might have told him to run to a certain pace this time. He was more of an assistant and masseur than an adviser. He was a friend too. I think Charles liked to have his support.’

‘You and your husband made many friends through his running?’

‘Yes.’

‘Some would visit this house socially?’

‘Some of them, yes.’ A note of caution entered her voice. ‘Some came when your husband was away training at Hackney, didn’t they?’

Her head automatically jerked towards the door that Taylor had closed.

‘Friends of both of you, of course,’ Cribb added. He was working hard to keep her confidence buoyant.

‘Yes. A few times.’

‘Foot-racing people-runners, trainers and so on?’

‘Yes.’

Time for a difficult question. He got up and added a piece of coal to the sinking fire. When he turned to face her, his voice was soft, but his eyes lynx-like.

‘I’m interested in last Monday evening. You’ll tell me who came then, won’t you, Ma’am?’

The response was instantaneous.

‘I was out on Monday evening.’

‘Oh yes. Visiting the Hall?’

‘No. I dined out-with friends.’

‘You won’t mind me asking,’ said Cribb, in a way that he had of assuming co-operation. ‘I have to cover this time carefully. Who were these friends?’

This time she did hesitate before answering.

‘The Darbys.’

‘People you’ve just left. See them often, do you?’

‘They are old friends.’

‘Highbury, you said, Mrs Darrell?’

‘Holly House, in Gittins Lane.’

Cribb glanced towards Thackeray. The information was already being noted. The constable’s writing was accurate, but laborious, and it was understood between them that he would record only essential information.

‘What time did you get back from Highbury, Ma’am?’

‘About twelve, I think. No, it must have been earlier. I was home before Taylor, and she gets in by midnight.’

‘And then, Ma’am?’

Her mouth tightened.

‘What do you mean?’

‘After you got home, Mrs Darrell. You might not see the importance of this, but we have to cover everyone’s move-ments. Did you go to bed?’

‘Not at once. I sat in this room.’

There was a difficult pause, while Cribb waited for her to continue. She said no more. At length he broke the silence. ‘I didn’t want to put my next question, Ma’am. It’s now necessary. But I’ll save you some embarrassment by answer-ing it myself. You had a visitor after you got back.’

She did not respond, but looked through Cribb, visually obliterating him.

‘I shouldn’t press you if this wasn’t deuced important,’ he explained. ‘We’re professional men, Mrs Darrell. We are trained to be discreet. I’ve information that you had a caller after midnight-early Tuesday morning, in fact. Who was that, please?’

Quite suddenly Cora’s poise collapsed.

‘This isn’t fair!’

She bowed, weeping into the handkerchief, her shoulders convulsing with each sob. Her voice rose and fell hysterically.

‘How can you keep tormenting me like this? You come here telling me that Charles is dead, and probably mur-dered, and then you suggest that I entertained a man here on the night before he died. Who are you to make these accusations? I want my father here when you question me. It isn’t fair! Why should I tolerate this?’

Cribb waited until the sobbing became more controlled. He spoke in a low voice, quite slowly.

‘You deny that a man came here that night?’

She jerked her face free of her hands. Her eyes, reddened by the outburst, flashed fury.

‘I have nothing to answer to this impertinent question. I think that you had better leave this house.’ She reached for the bell-rope.

‘We shall then, Ma’am,’ said Cribb, quite calmly. ‘But do consider this. Your husband died on Tuesday. His trainer was murdered yesterday. You could be in danger too. If you’re keeping information from us it may prevent us stop-ping this. I’ll ask you no more questions, Ma’am. I apologise for upsetting you. If you should think again-or if you need help-you can contact the police office at the Hall. They’ll find me at once. Good evening to you.’

Outside, the fog had thickened. By midnight it would be as dense as Sunday’s. After trying for a hansom for twenty minutes, they decided to take a bus. Cribb was determined to return to the Hall before signing off for the night.

‘I counted nine of the poor perishers still on their feet,’ explained the sergeant. ‘I want to check that if any have dropped out it’s not with a knife between the shoulders.’

An empty twenty-six seater halted at the stop. The horses then pulled away at startling speed through the gathering mist.

‘She was lying, wasn’t she, Sarge?’ said Thackeray, when they had staggered to a front seat.

‘You think so? That’s something you’ll be checking for me tomorrow. Get to Highbury real early. I want you to see these Darby people before she does. Put the question carefully. Ask when they last saw her before today. They’re probably close friends, so don’t let ’em think it’s to her disadvantage.’

‘Right. I really meant, Sarge, that she was lying about not having a night visitor.’

Cribb clicked his tongue impatiently.

‘Won’t do, Constable. A bobby needs a better ear than that. You were listening?’

‘Why, yes.’

‘Should have noticed she didn’t deny it. Simply refused to answer the point.’

Thackeray nodded sheepishly.

‘No matter,’ said Cribb brightly, seeing that his criticism had been taken hard. ‘You think she had a visitor. That’s the main thing.’

Thackeray reacted at once.

‘Yes, and I fancy I know who it was.’

‘How’s that then?’

Cribb liked to affect ignorance with Thackeray. It brought out the constable’s best qualities, and often encour-aged a point worth taking up.

‘By deduction, Sarge.’

The back of Thackeray’s left hand, large and shaggy, appeared a foot in front of Cribb’s nose. Deduction meant points to Thackeray, and points required fingers.

‘Number one: the visitor comes at night between one and two and leaves two hours later. That looks heavy odds on someone from the race. Someone who had to leave when the runners took to bed and be back before they was off again.’

‘Good.’

‘Two: that don’t sound like a runner to me. Poor coves were too beat even on that first day to spend their rest hours visiting women. So it wouldn’t have been Darrell himself. Three: it must have been a trainer or a timekeeper. Everyone else could have taken other times off. Four: the timekeepers are too old for that kind of caper.’

‘You’re doing famously,’ admitted Cribb. ‘But you’ve only one finger left.’

‘Five: the one trainer connected with Cora was Monk. He showed her the tent that afternoon, and likely fixed the meeting then.’ He withdrew the fist triumphantly.

‘First-class,’ declared Cribb. ‘But tell me this. If Cora was sweet on Sam Monk why did she plan to sue? Long time since I saw a woman so roused against a man.’

Thackeray beamed in a superior fashion. Then he tapped his forehead.

‘The mind, Sarge. I fancy I knows a bit about the work-ings of a woman’s thoughts. Cora gets bored while Darrell trains, and looks about a bit. Probably takes a lover or two to while away the six weeks. Agrees to let Monk have his way on Monday night. Next day, Darrell drops dead. What’s a woman going to feel like? Feelings of guilt, I reckon, Sarge. That’s why she turned on Monk.’