Edward Marston - Instrument of Slaughter

‘I told Mummy about your idea,’ said Vera.

‘What idea?’

‘That plan of yours to go abroad.’

‘Hey, hold on a minute,’ said Alice. ‘Nothing’s been decided. It was only a possibility that I was considering.’

‘I mentioned it in my letter to Mummy. She’d die rather than let me do anything as adventurous as that. And, yes,’ she went on, anticipating her friend’s comment, ‘I know that I’m supposed to be old enough to make up my own mind, but I’d never defy my parents. What about you, Alice?’

‘If it meant that much to me, then I’d go — whatever the protests at home.’

‘You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?’

‘No, I haven’t, Vera. At the moment, there are too many things keeping me here. You’re one of them,’ said Alice, bringing a smile to her friend’s face. ‘And there are …other reasons why I’m not ready to charge off across the Channel just yet.’

Vera’s eyes sparkled with interest. ‘What are those other reasons?’

‘They’re private.’

‘Can’t you even give me a hint?’

‘No,’ said Alice, firmly, ‘because it would be in your next letter to your mother. That means it would get passed on to my mother, who’d be very upset that she had to hear things about me second hand.’

‘I never thought of it like that.’

‘Please bear it in mind.’ She clambered into the lorry and sat behind the driving wheel. Vera got in beside her. ‘I’ll ask you one more time,’ said Alice. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like afternoon tea in a mansion?’

‘No, no, no,’ replied her friend. ‘I’d be like a fish out of water.’

Marmion took him by surprise. Because Waldron was used to being interviewed in a room at a police station, the inspector chose to speak to him in the cell where he was being held. It was cramped, cold and austere. To show that he was not afraid of the prisoner, Marmion had the door locked behind him. He studied the gravedigger for some time before speaking.

‘I thought we’d have a little chat,’ he began.

‘I’ve said all I’m saying to those other two stupid fools.’

‘Superintendent Chatfield is not stupid, I can assure you, and neither is Sergeant Keedy. They’ve had years of experience of questioning suspects, and the kind of mindless abuse that comes out of your mouth just washes off them. For the record, they both believe that you’re a guilty man.’

‘I done nothing!’ wailed Waldron.

‘Making a run for it at the cemetery and trying to kill the sergeant — I wouldn’t call that nothing.’

‘The sergeant deserved it.’

‘Yet you came off worst,’ said Marmion, looking at the bruises on his face. ‘There’s not a scratch on him. You picked the wrong man to take on.’

‘I didn’t murder anybody ,’ insisted Waldron.

‘Then how did that blood get on your trousers?’

‘Who knows? I pick up all sorts of things in my job.’

‘You seemed very anxious to wash those stains off.’

‘They’re my working trousers.’

‘Then why didn’t you wear them to work today?’

Waldron refused to answer. Seated on the edge of the narrow bed, he turned his back on his visitor. Marmion took a step forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

‘What’s his name?’ he asked.

‘Who are you on about?’

‘You’re not clever enough to do this on your own, are you? Someone put you up to it. He probably paid you. Who is he, Mr Waldron?’

‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

‘So you were acting on you own? Is that it?’

Waldron spun round to face him. ‘Stop trying to put words into my mouth.’

‘Either you have an accomplice or you did it alone.’

‘I didn’t do anything!’

‘Keep your voice down.’

‘Then don’t accuse me.’

‘Where did that blood come from?’

Waldron was contemptuous. ‘I couldn’t care less.’

‘How much were you paid to kill Cyril Ablatt?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Why did you take your spade home with you that evening?’

Waldron recoiled as if from a blow. Marmion had finally asked a question that shook him. Unable to find an answer, the gravedigger settled for a hurt silence. The inspector changed his tack. His tone was less harsh.

‘I’m not sure that I agree with my colleagues,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think that you did kill Cyril Ablatt.’

‘Thank God somebody believes me!’

‘You may have been involved but you didn’t actually batter him. To tell you the truth, Mr Waldron, I don’t think you’d have the nerve to do that.’ Angered by the remark, Waldron was on his feet immediately, glowering at Marmion. ‘So what did you do, I wonder? Did you help to transport the body? Did you act as a lookout while someone else dumped it in that lane? Or did you simply tell your accomplice where and how he could find his victim that night?’

‘You’re making all this up!’ sneered Waldron.

‘I’m just trying to work out if there’s something you’re actually capable of, you see; something simple you could be paid to do. No matter how minor it might be, of course, it would make you an accessory and you know what the penalty would be.’

Waldron attempted bravado. ‘You don’t scare me, Inspector.’

‘I’ll leave it to the public executioner to do that.’

The gravedigger stumbled slightly as if he’d just been hit by something. His bluster vanished. He was in police custody and they were determined to make him face serious charges. There’d be no fine to pay this time, nor even a short sentence. The shadow of the noose had suddenly fallen upon him.

‘I want to be alone,’ he said, sitting down again.

‘Very well,’ said Marmion, ‘but I’ll be back.’

‘Don’t hurry. I got thinking to do.’

Maud Crowther went from one extreme to another. When she found the flowers on her doorstep, she was touched. The bouquet was both an apology and a romantic gesture. Having put them in a vase, she kept looking at them every time she came into the living room. She’d decided that she’d been too hard on Waldron. Perhaps he deserved a second chance, after all. Joe Keedy then arrived at the house. Invited in, he told her that the man who had tried to woo her with a bunch of flowers was now in police custody and was suspected of having some involvement in the murder of Cyril Ablatt. In the short term, he was being detained on lesser charges. If she was expecting to see him, she would be disappointed.

Her revived affection for Waldron changed in a flash to hatred. He’d promised her that he’d put his criminal past behind him. Thanks to her, he’d solemnly sworn, he’d turned over a new leaf. For a time, Maud had believed him but Keedy’s visit splintered her illusions. When she gazed at the flowers now, it was not with a fond smile. Seen in the cold light of reality, they looked as if they’d been stolen from a grave in the cemetery. They’d be much more appropriate there. Waldron had cheated her. His romantic gesture was nothing more than an act of theft. She grabbed the flowers, yanked them out of the vase and thrust them at Keedy.

‘Give these back to him,’ she said, tartly, ‘and tell him that I never want to lay eyes on that ugly face of his.’

‘I need to ask you about some bloodstains on his trousers, Mrs Crowther.’

One glance at her told Keedy that the question was redundant. Horrie Waldron was no longer part of her life and she refused to have anything more to do with him. It was pointless to stay. Keedy thought it unlikely that she’d know anything about the bloodstains. Waldron had been compelled to wear a suit whenever he called on her. She set standards. He lived up to them for a while. But it was all over. Maud Crowther didn’t wish to be linked with a criminal in any way. Their romance had crumbled into oblivion. How it had actually begun in the first place, Keedy could only guess. It still seemed bizarre to him. As he left the house, he took away more than a bunch of dripping flowers. He knew for certain that Horrie Waldron had no claim whatsoever on Maud now. It was something he could use to apply pressure on the prisoner.