Maurice Procter - Murder Somewhere in This City

“How is it?” she asked.

The roast beef was tender. “Not bad at all,” he said.

“It was lovely at dinnertime.”

He grunted something which might have been agreement, or sarcastic comment.

“It serves you right,” she said.

“You sitting there with nowt to do but natter, that serves me right too,” he replied.

To hell with her. She could clear out of it for all he cared, and damn the promotion.

Still Julia did not perceive what was in his mind. “It’s always a mistake to argue with inebriated people,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

After supper he played the piano until she knocked on the bedroom floor.

The next day, when people had read their morning papers, the telephone operators at Police Headquarters became very busy. There was a great increase in the number of citizens who thought they had seen Don Starling. The police knew that nearly all of them would be mistaken, but they patiently investigated each report. That was work for subordinates, and Martineau left it to them. He phoned Vanbrugh at the County office.

“Anything new from the hinterland?” he wanted to know.

“A little,” the County inspector replied. “We found a shepherd who saw a dark-blue car at about half past ten on Saturday morning. It was standing in that little dead end which comes out at the Moorcock.”

“Near the lane leading to the quarry?”

“Yes, quite near. He thinks it was a taxi, but he has no idea of the number or the make. He’s not even sure if it had a Hackney Carriage plate.”

“Not a very satisfactory witness, but his time is right, if he’s sure of it. That was their second getaway car, my boy. But where do you suppose they went from there?”

“I’ve been working on that. The check points were set, both on the Lancashire and Yorkshire sides, before they could have got away from the quarry. If Don Starling was with them, as we surmise, they could never have got through a check point. But there’s one way they could have missed all the checks, if one of them knew his way.”

“That other little road from the Moorcock?”

“Yes. I told you it went through to the main Granchester-Huddersfield road, which was checked. Well, it turns out that it crosses a road which passes through a place called Scammonden. From there they could have sneaked right out of the checking area.”

“And gone where?”

“Joined the traffic on the Wakefield and Doncaster road.” The races again, thought Martineau. Always the races. The heavy traffic going to the St. Leger.

“You think they went a-racing?” he asked.

“They could have. They would have, if they had any sense. Nobody would notice ’em in race traffic, once they got in the thick of it. There’d be hundreds if not thousands of cars and taxis filled with ugly mugs. And if they did happen to be caught with the money on the way back, well, they’d won it at the races.”

“That seems to be a good assumption.”

“Good enough to work on till it’s disproved. We can try and find out if anybody saw Don Starling at Doncaster. And who he was with.”

“The gang would separate, surely.”

“They might, and they might not. They’d probably think they were safe once they got on the course.”

“H’m, possibly,” Martineau assented. “Thanks a lot. I’ll keep you up-to-date with what we get.”

“I’m hoping you will,” said Vanbrugh. “I’m hoping we catch the lot of ’em, with enough evidence to swing ’em.”

After that, Martineau put out the word for all officers in contact with informers to find out if Don Starling had been seen at the St. Leger meeting, and in what company. Then he turned his attention to the call book.

“Anything good here?” he asked.

The clerk grinned. “Starling’s been seen all over the place,” he said. “And sometimes in two places at once. Take your pick, there’s plenty to do.”

Martineau’s glance followed his finger down the pages. The name “Mrs. Lusk” caught his eye. He read the item which concerned her. Some woman peeping through a window alleged that she had seen Don Starling walk to Mrs. Lusk’s door and try it, and hurry away. Apparently he did not knock, he just tried the door. That was early on Saturday evening. Lucky Lusk would be working behind the bar at the Lacy Arms at that time.

“So what was the idea?” Martineau pondered. “One would expect the door to be locked.”

No police officer had put his initials in the margin beside the item. Martineau wrote “Attention H.M.D.-Insp.” and said: “I’ll have a word with the lady.”

He looked at his watch. It was too early for Lucky to have gone to work, and he thought he might find her at home. Devery was out on an inquiry. All the men were busy. He decided to go alone.

He stopped the police car at Lucky’s door. When he knocked, she appeared at a bedroom window. She was wearing a bright silk dressing gown, and she had a comb in her hand.

She opened the window. “Hello,” she said. “Wait a minute, I’ll come down.”

She was still wearing the dressing gown when she admitted him. “You’ve come too late,” she said as he followed her into the house. “Ten minutes sooner, and you’d have caught me in the bath. Woohoo! What a thrill!”

He was admiring the rear view of her, and the way she walked. “A thrill? For whom?” he asked, for the sake of saying something.

“For me, sonny boy. And for you, if you’re human. I’m worth seeing, let me tell you.”

“Now you’re making me sorry I was late.”

They were in the living room. She turned and faced him. “No!” she said, wide-eyed in mock wonderment. “I don’t believe it! You are human!”

She was vitally attractive: full of life. The dressing gown, which was rather long and full, suggested intimacy and vulnerable femininity. Martineau was stirred by a quite strong feeling of concupiscence. It was years since he had lusted after a woman other than Julia; and a long time since he had wanted Julia.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it. “I came to ask you a few questions,” he said.

“Oh-h-h-h!” she exclaimed in disgust, and flopped into an armchair. He sat down facing her, and gave her a cigarette. The thought of her was still worrying him a little.

“I came in a police car,” he said. “We can’t use those for errands of private amusement.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Why not?” she queried. “That makes it official. If you come sneaking around with your hat over your eyes the neighbors’ll know you’re up to no good.”

He grinned at her. Lucky was a good woman-so far as he knew-but her sporty brand of humor would get her into trouble some day. “Give over,” he said. “You’d be frightened to death if I made a pass at you.”

“Try it and see,” she challenged, but she was still sprawling quite unguarded in the chair, smoking her cigarette.

He was tempted, but he laughed, thinking of her sudden alarm if he took her at her word.

“Business first,” he said. “I thought Don Starling and all his friends were on your list of things which mustn’t be mentioned at mealtimes.”

She sat up. “Don Starling! What about him?”

“Have you seen him during the last few days?”

“No,” she said.

He thought he had detected a slight hesitation before the answer. “Are you sure?” he persisted.

“I haven’t set eyes on him,” she replied deliberately.

He frowned, watching her keenly. “Can you think of any reason why he would want to see you?” he asked.

She appeared to meditate. “No,” she said. “I can’t. I’m not the sort of person he’d come to for money, or-or for anything else. We were barely on nodding terms when he was sent to prison. I don’t have anything to do with such as him.”