Maurice Procter - Murder Somewhere in This City

“What the devil-?” he began. Then he noticed a sheet of paper lying on the top of the otherwise shiny and immaculate console. He went forward and picked up the paper. It had a printed billhead, thus:

Hindle Clegg and Son

79 Castle Street 79

Radio TV Piano

Music Music Music

and underneath:

His own name and address followed. Naturally. “Send the bill to my husband. Chief Inspector Martineau, you know.” It was cool, very cool. Julia had nerve, all right. To flog a man’s piano and expect him to pay the balance on a blasted television set! To imagine that this thing was worth more than his piano!

He crumpled the bill in his hand, and threw it into the fireplace. He went to the foot of the stairs and bawled: “I’m going to change your mind for you. You’ll bring my piano back tomorrow, and I’ll let you know when we can afford television.”

She did not answer, so he continued to shout: “You never wanted television. It’s just a dirty trick. But it won’t work, see? You get my piano back tomorrow. Not me, you!”

She appeared at the head of the stairs in a handsome dark-blue dressing gown. There was no doubt of it, she was regally beautiful.

“Is it necessary to inform the neighbors of our affairs?” she demanded in a low, clear voice. “They’ll all know you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” he thundered, aware that he was certainly not sober. “And the neighbors can go and take a flying jump at themselves for all I care.”

“You are drunk, and you’ll care enough if somebody sends an anonymous letter to the Chief and tells him so.”

“He won’t believe it. I am not drunk. I’m just a frustrated husband. I’m a frustrated man.”

“You’re a drunken man,” she said with utter contempt.

“And you’re cold sober, always sober,” he retorted in a quieter voice as he glared up at her. “But what good are you? You’re neither a wife nor a mother.”

“Hello, we’re off again,” she said. “I’d look nice, having children to you. Then I could sit here all the time and wait for you to come home.”

“You wouldn’t have to. If we had some kids I’d be home a lot of the time. I’d come home to lunch as well.”

“That’s what you say. I know different.”

“It’d stop your gallivanting off to your bridge clubs and tea fights, an’ all. If you want to keep a pigeon at home, put a cock with it.”

“What’s that you said?”

“You heard.”

Julia shuddered. “How vulgar can a man get?” she asked the ceiling.

“A man can demand his rights as a husband,” Martineau rejoined. “Every man has a right to have children if his wife is able to bear ’em.”

“Well, you won’t get me bearing yours.”

“Oh, won’t I? You’re going to start bearing mine right after I’ve had my supper. There’s no time to waste. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“Ridiculous! You’re not only drunk, you’re insane.”

“You mean I’m just coming to my senses. Come to think of it, our marriage has never really been consummated. There’s never been a real meeting of the flesh.”

“There won’t be one tonight, either.”

“Oh yes there will. Tonight, I am going to consummate my marriage, and in the fullness of time you will have a baby. You’ll be a changed woman.”

“You’re crazy. I’ll lock the bedroom door.”

“And I’ll bust it open. You can’t keep me out of my own bed.”

“I won’t let you come near me.”

“You won’t be able to stop me.”

For the first time since she had known Harry Martineau, Julia was afraid of him. Would he do such a thing to her? Her knowledge of his domestic character-the man when he was at home-informed her that he would not be so brutal.

But there was another aspect of him which, recently, she had allowed herself to forget. He was a very determined man. She remembered some of the startling, audacious and ruthless deeds which had earned him his reputation and his promotion. Oh, dear!

He was strong-willed. Even this business of lingering in pubs was not weakness. He liked strong liquor, but normally he drank only a moderate amount of beer. He stayed out in spite of her upbraidings because he wanted to stay out. No amount of pressure from her had ever succeeded in bringing him home before he was ready to come.

He was a man who did what he wanted. And he had always wanted a child or children. That was a very real desire, she knew quite well. And now he was in this mood! Julia was afraid.

“You can’t,” she said. “It’s wrong. It’s like rape. You could be arrested. I could have you arrested.”

“You couldn’t,” he said. “A man cannot be convicted for raping his own wife unless they’re judicially separated.”

“I shall scream,” she said desperately.

“Scream all you like. The neighbors won’t interfere.”

She stared down at him. For once in her life she had nothing to say. It seemed to her that he was absolutely determined. He had always wanted children.

“Supper first,” he said. “I won’t be long. I’ll soon be right there with you.”

“You wouldn’t be such a beast,” she said. For the first time there was a pleading note in her voice. But she continued to look at him, thoughtfully, now.

“Ah, but I would!” he said. “It’s time I had a kid of my own.”

He turned away and got his supper from the kitchen. He took it into the living room and closed the door. She had gone upstairs.

As he ate, his temper cooled. He realized that he had done an unpardonable thing. He was still indignant when he thought of his piano… but really, he shouldn’t have talked like that to Julia. Threatening her. After all, she was his wife. A man didn’t threaten his own wife.

He supposed she would leave him now. There and then, that very night. It would be like Julia to make up her mind and do it straight away. He guessed that she would be packing a bag, quickly and neatly as usual.

Well, maybe he shouldn’t have talked to her like that, but he wasn’t going to crawl and ask her to stay. She could go. It wouldn’t be much of a life for her, he thought, living with her mother and her stepfather. He felt rather sorry for her. She was losing a good husband: himself, Harry Martineau. Well, a fairly good husband. He had his faults, he supposed. Julia had plenty of faults, too. Everybody had faults. If only they’d had a youngster or two, maybe there wouldn’t have been so many quarrels. They would have had to learn to tolerate each other’s shortcomings. Quarreling parents were bad for kids.

She seemed to be taking a long time to pack one bag. He had eaten his supper. She would only take one bag, he figured. She would come back for the rest of her stuff when he was out. She could take her damned television set too.

He got up and made some tea, and lit a cigarette. After this, he reflected, there would be a separation, and ultimately a divorce. He would have to pay maintenance, and later, alimony. The Chief wouldn’t like it: there would be no more promotion. Well, a chief inspector’s pay wasn’t so bad. The pension was all right too. Eventually he might meet some young woman who would want to marry him and have a baby or two: a proper home, a proper going on.

He threw away his cigarette. Julia would be ringing for a taxi anytime now, he thought. Good-byeee. I get along without you very well. Don’t smoke in bed.

He waited, but there was no sound made by movements overhead. Julia had gone to bed. She would leave in the morning, probably. There was nothing for him to do but go upstairs and get into his own bed.