Edward Marston - Instrument of Slaughter

‘I can imagine why,’ said Marmion. ‘It’s to do with food rationing.’

‘It’s to do with a criminal act,’ insisted Chatfield.

‘The inspector is correct,’ resumed Keedy. ‘Waldron was clever enough to kill and steal over a dozen rabbits but he had no means of selling them. That’s where Stan Crowther came in. He knew which of his customers would be ready to pay up for a rabbit and ask no questions. Waldron got a share of the spoils.’

‘Why didn’t he tell you all this when you arrested him?’

‘He’s afraid of repercussions, sir. Stan Crowther terrifies him.’

Chatfield banged his desk. ‘Well, it’s about time we terrified the landlord of the Weavers Arms. I’m not having anyone running a black market during severe food restrictions.’

‘The matter is in hand, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘As soon as the sergeant told me what was afoot, I rang the police station in Shoreditch. Mr Crowther will soon be arrested and I fancy that we’ll discover he had far more than rabbits on offer.’ He indicated to Keedy. ‘I think that the sergeant should be congratulated on getting Waldron to spill the beans.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Chatfield, grudgingly. ‘Well done, Sergeant. It’s a pity you didn’t work your wonders on the librarian.’

‘Mr Fussell will be more difficult to crack, sir,’ said Keedy.

‘That’s a pity, a real pity. Well, I suppose we’ve had a success of sorts, but stopping the illegal sale of rabbits is small beer compared to a murder and an attempted murder.’

‘We’re closer to solving both crimes than you think,’ said Marmion.

‘I feel that, too,’ added Keedy. ‘We’re getting warm.’

Chatfield sniffed. ‘The trail looks pretty cold to me.’

‘We’ve made some advances, sir. Now that we know that Mr Fussell actually went to see Father Howells, we can connect him even more closely to both of the crimes we’re investigating.’

‘We also caught him out lying,’ said Marmion. ‘He clearly has a lot to hide.’

‘Then find out what it is!’ snapped Chatfield. ‘I want progress. I need an arrest.’ The phone rang on his desk. He snatched it up with obvious irritation. ‘Superintendent Chatfield here.’ His brow furrowed as he listened to the message. After nodding a few times, he replaced the receiver. The whisper of a smile touched his lips. ‘It’s the hospital again,’ he said. ‘Father Howells wants to speak to Inspector Marmion.’

She knew that he was out there somewhere. When she peeped through the curtains in the front bedroom, Caroline Skene could see nobody in the street outside yet she was convinced that the house was being watched. Her stomach was knotted with fear and she could find no relief. Lacking the courage to go outside and investigate, she was also unable to ask her husband to do so. He knew nothing of her life beyond the marriage and she was certain that the surveillance was somehow connected with it. She was therefore compelled to suffer in silence. During the morning and afternoon, there’d been no problem. She’d been out shopping and been able to move about freely without any sense of being menaced. Now, however, he was back. What made her writhe in terror was that she had no idea of what he wanted.

Covering her trepidation as best she could, she went downstairs to the living room, ready to engage in conversation with her husband. There was, however, no call for her to do so. Wilf Skene was asleep in an armchair with a newspaper across his lap. Having worked the early morning shift at the factory, he’d come home tired. He managed to stay awake long enough to eat an evening meal with her then dozed off in the chair. Caroline looked at him with an affection shadowed by discontent. He’d been a good, loyal, hard-working husband but he was an increasingly dull companion. An industrial accident had left him with a limp and he was now having a problem with his hearing. He was starting to look like an old man. The couple hadn’t had sexual relations for years. Distressed about it at first, she’d come to see it as a blessing. It gave her a sense of freedom and allowed her to give her thoughts full rein. Only because of what she felt was a sham marriage was she able to respond to the interest shown in her by Cyril Ablatt. He’d been her redemption.

While he was still alive — and their romance had blossomed — Caroline had been happier than at any other time in her life. When they were alone, the age difference vanished. They complemented each other. He’d educated her and she, in turn, had taught him about sensual pleasure. The rare nights they’d spent together had given her a satisfaction she’d never known before. It pained her to deceive her husband and, by extension, Gerald Ablatt, but she couldn’t help herself. She was swept along on a torrent of love seasoned with a lust she’d never realised she had. It left her at once ashamed and exhilarated, guilty at what she was doing yet thrilled that she’d got away with it. She knew that the situation would soon change. Her young lover’s refusal to accept conscription would land him in prison and keep him there for some time. Caroline had promised to stand by him. No matter how long he was incarcerated, she would be waiting for him on his release.

The one possibility she’d never even considered was his murder. It had ruined her life, leaving her bereft and vulnerable. Gone was the excitement of a young lover. All that was left behind was the awful predictability of an existence with a tedious husband. At least he would never know about her adultery. She’d managed to establish that all the letters she’d written to Cyril had gone from his bedroom and she knew that the telltale photograph of her had been taken away by Inspector Marmion. She relied heavily on his discretion and understanding and wished that she could seek help from him at that very moment. But it would entail a walk to the police station to use the telephone and she was too frightened to venture outside. He was still lurking out there somewhere. If she was foolish enough to present a target, there was no telling what he might do.

It would all be different in the morning. Her husband would have gone to work and it would be safe for her to leave the house. Caroline wouldn’t just tell Marmion about the latest incident. She’d plead for protection. She couldn’t spend another evening in such a state. It was unendurable. The police had to rescue her from torment by catching the man who was stalking her. If they didn’t do so, he might tire of simply watching and move in for the kill.

It was different this time. Father Howells had actually asked to speak to Marmion. During their first conversation at the hospital, the curate had been both weary and befuddled. Marmion felt that he might also have been evasive. As he and Keedy drove to the hospital again, they allowed themselves a guarded optimism.

‘He’s had time to think things over,’ said Marmion. ‘With luck, he’s going to be more honest this time.’

Keedy smiled. ‘Are you accusing a priest of telling lies?’

‘No, he didn’t do that, Joe. He just refrained from telling the truth.’

‘Isn’t that the same thing?’

‘It depends how you look at it.’

There was another difference. When they went up to the room where Father Howells was being kept, Marmion learnt that the patient had asked to see him on his own. No nurse or doctor would be in attendance. It was promising. Marmion went into the room alone and was met with an immediate setback. The curate was asleep and there was clearly no pretence involved. Not daring to wake him, all that he could do was to watch and wait. His patience was eventually rewarded. Father Howells stirred, rolled onto his side and half-opened his eyes.