Edward Marston - Instrument of Slaughter

It was all too much for Ruby. She simply couldn’t cope with the gravity of the news and its many implications for her fiance, and for her. While she liked Ablatt, she resented him for taking up so much of Leach’s time. All that resentment vanished now, drowned beneath a flood of sympathy. After biting her lip and emitting a laugh of disbelief, she swayed to and fro before fainting into his arms.

When the factory hooter sounded, she never even heard it.

‘Are you Horace Waldron?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘But I was told that you were.’

‘Then you was told lies — my name is Horrie.’

‘It’s only a diminutive of Horace.’

‘What the fuck is that?’

‘Never mind, sir.’

‘And who are you calling “sir”? What’s your game?’

‘I need to speak to you.’

‘Not when I got work to do.’

‘This is important.’

‘So is earning my bleeding beer money.’

Joe Keedy could see that he was in for a difficult interview. When he tracked Waldron down in the cemetery, the man was standing in a grave that was three feet deep. Surly and uncooperative, Waldron chewed on a pipe but there was no tobacco in it. He resumed his digging. Squatting down, Keedy put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

‘Let go of me,’ snarled Waldron.

‘I have to ask you some questions, sir.’

‘Bugger off!’

‘Or perhaps you’d rather answer them in the nearest police station?’

‘That explains the stink round here — you’re a copper.’

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Keedy from Scotland Yard and I’m involved in a murder inquiry.’

‘Then why not leave me alone and get on with it.’

‘I am getting on with it, sir.’

As the gravedigger tried to carry on with his work, Keedy grabbed the spade and wrenched it from his grasp, throwing it down on the grass. Waldron bunched his fists and issued a string of expletives. After threatening to hit Keedy, he thought better of it. Assaulting a detective had serious consequences. Besides, the sergeant was much younger and looked muscular. Waldron folded his arms and scowled.

‘What’s this about a murder, then?’

Keedy stood up. ‘A man named Cyril Ablatt was brutally killed last night.’

‘Really?’ asked Waldron, before releasing a guffaw and slapping his knee in celebration. ‘Are you telling me that snivelling little coward is dead? That goes to prove it — there is a God, after all.’

‘I believe that you knew Mr Ablatt.’

‘Yes — I knew the cocky bastard and I despised him.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Cyril always knew best. No matter what the argument was about, he had to have the last bleeding word. Oh, he was clever, I’ll give him that. He read lots of books and suchlike. But he looked down on me, Sergeant Whatever-Your-Name-Is.’

‘It’s Keedy — Sergeant Keedy.’

‘Nobody does that to Horrie Waldron. I got my standards, see?’ Hauling himself out of the grave, he retrieved his spade and used it as a prop. After looking Keedy up and down, he shifted the pipe to the other side of his mouth. ‘Why have you come bothering me, then?’

‘Where were you yesterday evening?’

‘Where else would I be but in the pub?’

‘Would that be the Weavers Arms?’

‘Yes — they serve a good pint.’

‘Are there witnesses who’d confirm that you were there?’

Waldron eyed him warily. ‘Ask the landlord. He’ll tell you. Mind you,’ he went on, ‘I did slip out for an hour or two.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘That’s my business,’ said Waldron, belligerently.

‘It happens to be my business as well.’

‘It’s private.’

‘There’s no such thing as privacy in a murder investigation.’

Waldron was indignant. ‘I got nothing to do with that.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Keedy, meeting his gaze without flinching. ‘Let me remind you that withholding evidence is a crime. We can also add the charge that you’re impeding a police officer in the execution of his duties. If you don’t answer my questions properly, we can have this conversation through the bars of a cell in which you’ll be locked. Understood?’ The gravedigger glowered at him. ‘That’s better. Now then, let’s go back to what I asked. Where did you go last night?’

‘I went to see a friend — nothing wrong with that, is there?’

Keedy took out his notebook. ‘What’s the name of this friend?’

‘I’m not saying.’

‘In short, there was no friend. You invented him.’

‘That’s not true!’ howled Waldron.

‘Then why won’t you give me his name?’

‘It wasn’t a man, Sergeant — it was a woman.’

‘In that case, give me her name.’

‘I can’t. I got to protect her, haven’t I? It’s what I promised, see? Nobody else knows about her and me. Nobody else is going to know.’

‘And you were with this woman for an hour or two, is that it?’

‘Could be longer — I don’t have a watch.’

‘What did you do afterwards?’

‘I went back to the pub — ask, Stan. He’s the landlord.’

‘I’m more interested in the time when you have nobody who can account for your movements.’

Waldron cackled. ‘Oh, she accounted for my movements, I can tell you that!’

As his cackle became a full-throated laugh, he opened his mouth to expose three blackened teeth in the middle of a gaping void. Even from a few yards away, Keedy could smell his foul breath. After his years as a detective, he could usually sense if someone was lying to him but Waldron was difficult to fathom. The woman friend might or might not exist. Looking at the gravedigger, Keedy thought it unlikely because of the man’s repulsive appearance, but then, he reminded himself, he’d seen even more hideous faces excite the love and devotion of a woman. Waldron might have hidden charms. His claim had a coarse plausibility.

‘You’re not helping yourself, sir,’ said Keedy.

‘What do you mean?’

‘If what you say is true, there’s someone who can clear your name. Until she does that, you’re bound to be viewed as a suspect.’

‘I didn’t kill Ablatt,’ protested the other. ‘I didn’t even know he was dead.’

‘But you’re obviously glad that he is.’

Waldron sniggered. ‘Best news I’ve heard in years!’

‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?’

‘I can think of lots of people. I’m one of them.’

Keedy lifted his pencil. ‘Can you give me some names?’

‘You’re the detective — find them.’

‘Stop being so obstructive.’

‘Ablatt was a conchie,’ said Waldron, derisively. ‘He was the lowest of the low in my book. Lots of people think the same. The little sod deserved to die. None of us would have actually murdered him, maybe, but we’d all like to shake the hand of the man who did.’

Keedy had had enough of his prevarication. ‘Put your spade away, sir,’ he ordered. ‘You’re coming with me.’

‘I don’t finish work until this afternoon.’

‘You’re leaving right now.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘Would you rather that I arrested you first? I’ll be happy to do so.’

‘Look,’ said Waldron, seeing that Keedy was in earnest and trying to sound more reasonable. ‘I swear to God that I had nothing to do with any murder. I was in the Weavers most of the night.’

‘Mr Ablatt’s body was found less than forty yards away.’

‘That doesn’t mean that I put it there.’

Keedy fixed him with a stare. ‘You had the chance to do so during the hour or two you were away from the pub.’

‘I told you — I was with someone.’