Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

The question was, what would he say? And I thought I knew. He would claim that I had invited him to the flat-lured him there-in some foolish, desperate attempt to clear Michael's name. Everyone knew how hard I'd fought for Michael. And he could swear Simon was a part of the plot.

His head came up and his eyes met mine. I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. I saw the slight smile, as if he'd already won.

We were into the third hour now, and suddenly the outer doors opened and Inspector Herbert walked in, followed by two other men. He nodded to the desk sergeant, glanced at Jack Melton, then turned to me.

"Miss Crawford," he said.

I realized that he looked very tired. There were circles under his eyes, and lines about his mouth that hadn't been there before.

I got to my feet. "Inspector."

Turning to the sergeant, he said, "Is there a room where I could speak to Miss Crawford in private?"

"Just there, sir, second door. Inspector Knoles's office."

Inspector Herbert nodded, then waited for me to join him. Simon, who had been sitting next to Mrs. Hennessey, moved to follow us, but Inspector Herbert shook his head.

After the briefest hesitation, Simon sat down again. But I could tell he didn't like it.

I followed Inspector Herbert to the door of the office, and he held it for me, then shut it behind me.

"You've been busy," he said. "And stubborn."

"I had to be sure you were hanging the right man."

His smile was a grimace. "Why are you here with Jack Melton? It appears that he and Sergeant-Major Brandon have bruises on their faces and hands. Tell me why."

I explained what had happened. "I sent for you," I ended, "because you knew what it was I feared, and why. Otherwise what happened tonight seems inexplicable. But Jack Melton was in my flat, and he was armed, and I was there alone. I could have been badly hurt, like Helen Calder, or killed, like Marjorie Evanson. Tell me why this man was in my flat? I can't think of any reason except the fact that I knew too much about what he'd done. I didn't invite him there-Mrs. Hennessey can tell you I was in my nightgown when she came out of her flat to find Simon Brandon trying to stop Jack Melton from escaping."

He had listened patiently, his eyes on my face.

"I was out concluding a case when you came to Scotland Yard tonight. I returned to find your message. I went to Little Sefton, to have a look at that revolver while I could. When did you see Miss Garrison?"

I explained about my visit yesterday-was it yesterday?-and speaking to the Harts before going to see Victoria. I touched on her threat.

"And you tell me she was alive and well when you left her?"

"Yes, of course. Sergeant-Major Brandon can confirm that. And the Harts, indirectly." I felt the first surge of unease. "Why?"

"When I arrived in Little Sefton, I found the local constable, a man named Tilmer, in Miss Garrison's house. The sound of a shot had been reported to him, and he was investigating it when he discovered her lying on the floor of her sitting room. There was a revolver by her hand, and on the desk, a sheet of paper and an uncapped pen. It appeared she was preparing to write a note, then stopped."

"Victoria-Miss Garrison-is dead?" I hadn't liked her. She'd been destructive and cold and willing to inflict hurt. But her death shocked me. "But I don't understand-" I couldn't imagine her taking her own life. There was too much hate in her. People killed themselves for all sorts of reasons, but not for hate.

"A Mrs. Whiting reported that a motorcar stopped in front of her house. Her dog barked, and she looked out. The car stayed there for half an hour, then left. She didn't know the motorcar, she didn't know where the driver went. But the shot was heard before the motorcar drove away. Any thoughts on that?"

"I don't believe I've met Mrs. Whiting, but I must have heard her dog bark when I was walking by in the mist. There aren't that many motorcars in Little Sefton. She'd know most of them."

"Do you think that Miss Garrison was killed by Melton?"

"It's possible. I think he was afraid her anger would lead her to say things she shouldn't. He wants Michael to hang, you see. And the case closed."

"But there's nothing to indicate it wasn't suicide."

I shook my head. "She wouldn't. I just know-"

"Hardly evidence to present in a courtroom."

"I don't know how Jack Melton got to my flat. There must be a motorcar somewhere."

He looked at me and then excused himself, leaving me there in the cluttered little office. And then he was back, asking me again to go over what had happened in the flat. I told my story a second time.

Inspector Herbert thanked me, accompanied me to the reception area, and then asked for Mrs. Hennessey. For a moment she looked a little confused and frightened, then her back straightened and she marched ahead of him like a Christian on her way to meet the lions.

I didn't look at or speak to Simon. After ten minutes, Mrs. Hennessey came back, chatting comfortably with Inspector Herbert about "her girls," and he thanked her for her assistance.

Simon was the last to be taken away, and he was gone for a very long time. Jack Melton, restless and impatient, his hands no longer tied, took out his watch three times. And then Simon was back, his face inscrutable.

Finally it was Jack Melton's turn.

I watched dawn creeping in the station windows, the lamps paling before the sun's growing brightness. The dingy paint and the wooden benches seemed shabbier than before, the floorboards scuffed and worn. There was no money, no paint, no men to wield brushes, and all of us had realized slowly but surely that the cost of war was reflected in many small ways no one had ever imagined in the autumn of 1914 when it had all begun.

Inspector Herbert returned, nodded to Simon and Mrs. Hennessey, and then said to me, "Mr. Melton is for the moment helping us with our inquiries. I see no reason for you to stay any longer. You must be very tired."

"I'd like to know," I said, choosing my words carefully, "what's to come of this matter. Whether Mr. Melton will be released-whether I will be in danger again."

He said wearily, "It's been a long night, Miss Crawford. But I think it is safe to say that you have little to fear from Mr. Melton in the future."

"You'll compare that knife with the wounds Mrs. Evanson and Mrs. Calder suffered?"

"I think I know how to handle this inquiry."

"Do you-did he kill Victoria? I'm leaving for France-please, won't you tell me?"

"I can't discuss an ongoing investigation," he said. "My advice to you is to go home and go to bed, and leave this matter in our hands."

I stood there, trying to find the words to ask him if this would have any bearing on Michael Hart's case.

But he turned away, shook hands with Simon, thanked Mrs. Hennessey again, and walked back to the door of the small room where he'd interviewed us, shutting it firmly behind him. Was Jack still there, waiting? Or had they taken him away, out another door, where we couldn't see?

I looked at Simon, but he shook his head, and I followed Mrs. Hennessey out the door toward Simon's motorcar.

We drove in silence back to the house, and then Mrs. Hennessey said, "I don't know when I've been so tired. Bess, dear, do you think you could make a cup of tea for all of us? It would help me rest."

I wanted nothing more than my own bed, but we went into her small flat and I made tea while Simon found bread, sliced and buttered it, and added a small bottle of preserves to the tray. Mrs. Hennessey, her face lined with weariness, sat and watched us. I wondered if she was afraid, just now, to be alone, in spite of the daylight sifting through her lace curtains.

Pretending to eat, I managed to swallow a little of the bread with a bit of marmalade preserve perched on one corner, and I drank my tea. Surprisingly, it did make me feel much better.