Edward Marston - Instrument of Slaughter

‘Isn’t there a shed at the back?’ he asked.

‘I believe that there is.’

‘Let’s go and see it.’

‘Why should he be hiding out there?’

Marmion had thought to bring a torch. When they went outside, he had to use it to guide them towards the large shed at the bottom of a garden that was clearly untended. The door of the shed was slightly ajar and the wind was making it tap against the jamb like a woodpecker. Opening the door wide, Marmion shone the torch inside and the beam illumined the body of Michael Goodrich, hanging from a rafter. They cut him down at once and tried to resuscitate him but he was already dead. In his pocket was a letter addressed to the Reverend James Howells. Marmion opened it and read the neat calligraphy.

Dear James,

If you can find it in your heart, please forgive me. I’m so sorry for what I did. I came to the hospital to apologise but there was a policeman outside your door. This is the only way I can make amends. Goodbye, dear friend.

Michael.

They looked down at the lifeless body. Goodrich was a short, slim young man with an almost boyish face twisted into an expression of agony, eyes bulging and tongue sticking out. Marmion and Keedy felt a surge of compassion. The case had been solved but they were sorry that it had involved a gruesome suicide.

‘Are you going to show Father Howells that letter?’ asked Keedy.

‘I’ll wait until he recovers first,’ said Marmion. ‘And I certainly won’t release details of it to the press. Some things should remain private. Besides, there’s a war on. They’ve got plenty to write about.’

As the night wore on, it got windier and colder. Alice was glad that she’d brought a scarf and gloves as well. Having established that Keedy wasn’t in the house, she waited beside a nearby tree. It gave her some protection against the wind and kept her hidden from the gaze of those passing by on the other side of the street. As another fruitless hour slipped by, it suddenly occurred to her that Keedy might, after all, have gone to her digs once more. It would be maddening if they were each waiting for the other one to put in an appearance. Alice couldn’t stay there for ever. She decided that another half an hour was all she could spare.

In the event, it was just long enough. At a point when she was just about to give up, she saw a figure coming out of the gloom and recognised his familiar gait. Running towards him, she was overjoyed that he’d come at last and hugged him tight. Keedy was as delighted as he was amazed.

‘I never expected this kind of welcome,’ he said, laughing.

‘I had to see you, Joe.’

He kissed her on the forehead. ‘Am I complaining?’

‘Something happened today.’

‘Tell me about it on the way back to your place,’ he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘You shouldn’t be out alone this late, Alice.’

By the time they reached the bus stop, she’d told him about the worrying encounter with Hannah Billington and how it had made her review the situation she was in. Alice felt that it couldn’t go on. The secrecy which gave their friendship an extra edge had now begun to pall. Guilt was gnawing away at her.

‘I needed you, Joe,’ she explained. ‘When Hannah asked me if I was courting, I should have been able to say that, in fact, I was. It would have prevented a lot of embarrassment at her house.’

‘I can see that.’

‘It’s made me think long and hard about us.’

‘And what conclusion did you reach?’

‘We have to make a decision together,’ she said, before blurting out the sentence she’d rehearsed. ‘Either we’re serious enough about each other to tell everyone what’s going on or …we go our separate ways.’

He grinned. ‘Does that mean you’d run off with Hannah Billington?’

‘This is not funny, Joe,’ she scolded, punching him in the chest.

‘I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. It’s time to make up our minds.’

‘I’m just not sure I can go on like this.’

‘How disappointing — I love these trysts in the dark.’ Keedy pulled her close and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you giving me an ultimatum?’

‘I just want to know where I stand.’

‘That’s the very question I was going to put to you. I still don’t know if I’m a pleasant diversion for you or … something more important.’

‘Then I can answer that straight away,’ she said with passion. ‘Outside of my family, you’re the most important person in my whole life. I thought you’d realised that by now. I’ve got all this happiness bubbling away inside me yet I have to keep it bottled up. It’s unnatural.’

‘But we had no choice at first, Alice. You agreed.’

‘That was then — this is now.’

‘I feel as if you’re putting a gun to my head,’ he said.

She was hurt. ‘In that case,’ she conceded, ‘there’s no point in going on with this. It’s time to make a complete break.’

‘It wasn’t a criticism, Alice. I’m grateful to feel a weapon against my temple. It helps me to think more clearly. You should have used the gun earlier.’

She pulled away. ‘You’ve got me completely confused now.’

‘That’s strange,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ve got rid of my confusion.’

Alice was nonplussed. ‘What are you saying, Joe?’

‘Let me spell it out. I want you, I need you and …’ he kissed her full on the lips, ‘I love you. Is that clear enough?’

Tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, Alice buried her head in his chest. His declaration was more than she dared to hope for. All her anxieties faded away. When the bus finally arrived, she and Keedy jumped happily on to it.

Though he gave the superintendent a fuller version of events, Marmion was very economical with regard to the press. Chatfield approved of his wish to release only a minimum of information. All that appeared in the later editions of the morning papers next day was a paragraph to the effect that the police had solved the mystery of who had attacked Father Howells and that they were not looking for anyone else in connection with the case. Not wanting the press to turn the story into a sensation, Marmion suggested that the suicide of Michael Goodrich could, in due course, be presented as the desperate act of a failed Anglican priest who’d tried to kill someone out of envy at his success. Chatfield was quick to agree that they should suppress all mention of any homosexual strands in the case. The notion of intercourse between two men was anathema to him. Professional jealousy was a more acceptable motive to bring before the public and not without an element of truth.

After going through the newspapers with his superior, Marmion adjourned to his office and found a pile of messages awaiting his attention. Some were letters from putative witnesses, claiming that they had reliable information about the attack on the curate and that they were ready to part with it for a substantial reward. Now that the case was solved, Marmion was able to ignore them. The most important message had come from Caroline Skene who’d rung from Lambeth police station. Marmion didn’t keep her waiting this time. Her cry for help was given priority. Within minutes, he was being driven to her house.

When she let him in, Caroline was almost gibbering. He took her into the living room and made her sit down before asking her why she’d summoned him again. Her face was drawn and there were dark bags under her eyes. Her voice had the note of hysteria he’d heard before. She told him what had happened the previous evening and of her feeling that she was in jeopardy. Marmion was at first doubtful.

‘So you never actually saw this person,’ he said.