Barry Maitland - The Marx Sisters

‘So you see him as a villain?’ Brock smiled.

‘Damn right.’

‘And her too? I owe you a drink by the way. Not at all the scarlet woman.’

‘No. I think she’d protect him, but she wouldn’t murder. I think he returns in a state. He tells her that when he went to see his mother he found her lying dead on her bed with a plastic bag over her head. He thinks she killed herself. He says he took the bag off and put it in the kitchen bin, but then worried that he shouldn’t have. He panicked and left. He’s in a state of shock. He begs her not to contact anyone until he’s had time to think it through. He delays until he hears from his wife that his mother’s been found and the police are on the scene. Now he tells his girlfriend that he can’t admit that he was there, and anyway there’d be no point. She agrees to cover for him.’

Brock nodded. ‘Plausible.’

The pathologist’s report arrived shortly afterwards. Analyses of blood and vital organs had revealed no poisons. The moisture on the inside of the plastic bag was confirmed as Meredith Winterbottom’s saliva, and the hairs were also hers. Dr Mehta’s conclusion was as he had indicated on the phone the previous day-cause of death unable to be determined by anatomical or toxicological analysis, but evidence compatible with asphyxia of some form. The coroner had now agreed to release the body to the family for cremation on the following day.

‘Fair enough.’ Brock got to his feet. ‘Well, I’ve had my fill of life’s tangled web for one day. I think I might go back to the Yard and play with my computer for a while. All right with you?’

‘Of course, sir. I thought we might go down to the seaside tomorrow, to visit somebody else who was in Jerusalem Lane on Sunday afternoon-Adam Kowalski, former professor of Cracow, now resident of Eastbourne.’

As on the previous evening, Kathy went by Jerusalem Lane on her way home. This time she saw it not as the temporarily emptied setting for the Dore etching, but rather as a piece of nineteenth-century London in the final moments of its life. Suddenly its presence appeared incredibly robust and indelible, every angle and texture an essential part of the reality of the neighbourhood, like the presence of an old and characterful relative whose imminent passing seems inconceivable.

She walked to the south end of the Lane, where number 22 stood close to the junction with Marquis Street. She had thought of checking on the two sisters, but when she saw the light on in Mrs Rosenfeldt’s deli, she went there instead.

The skeletal figure of Mrs Rosenfeldt responded to the bell. She recognized Kathy and acknowledged her with a tight smile.

‘How are you, Mrs Rosenfeldt?’

‘Well enough.’

‘How about Peg and Eleanor upstairs? Have you seen them today?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve been up a couple of times. So have Mrs Stwosz and Miss Pemberton. I think they’ve had enough visitors. They’ll be better after the funeral tomorrow.’

‘Yes, well, they’re lucky to have plenty of good friends.’

‘Ah…’ Mrs Rosenfeldt clucked her tongue. ‘And what about

…’ She nodded her head up the street.

‘Sorry?’

‘Witz and Kowalski-those people in the Croatia Club. I told your Inspector about them.’

‘Yes, we’re checking on that. There are a number of things we’re looking into. When was the last time you saw Mr Kowalski?’

She shook her head. ‘Couple of weeks, I don’t know.’

‘Well,’ Kathy said, let me know if you hear of anything else we should know.’

She turned to leave, and as she pulled the door open she noticed a point of light, like a candle flame, flicker briefly in the dark corner of the synagogue, where its back butted up to the end of the terrace on the other side of Jerusalem Lane.

‘That’s funny. I thought I saw a light in the synagogue yard.’

‘That’ll be Sam,’ Mrs Rosenfeldt said. ‘Lives in a cardboard box in the corner there.’

‘We never saw him when we were going round the block talking to people.’

‘He’s not usually there during the day. He doesn’t like to be disturbed. He’s been around for six months or more. I think it’s shocking that people should have to live like that-in a cardboard box!’ She snorted. ‘More and more of them now. It’s like the thirties again. Meredith used to talk to him. And Eleanor, too. Not since Sunday, of course. They would sometimes take him food. He liked the Balaton’s goulash, poor old soul. Like the thirties again.’

Kathy bought a take-away portion of goulash at the Balaton and walked quietly back to the synagogue. She could dimly make out the pile of cardboard in the corner of the yard, behind the railings. She went through the open gates and over to the boxes, opening the lid of the goulash tub so that the smell filled the night air.

‘Sam,’ she called.

There was a snuffling sound, and then a voice.

‘Meredith? El’nor?’

‘I’m Kathy, a friend of Eleanor’s.’

Sam crawled out of his box. The flame of a gas lighter briefly illuminated his face. He looked old. A battered hat was pulled low on his forehead and a dirty white beard filled much of the rest of his face. Kathy made out a sore on the end of his nose.

‘I’ve brought you this.’

He nodded and took the container from her. Untroubled by its heat, he pushed the food quickly into his mouth with a plastic fork. Kathy let him finish, and then as he turned to crouch back into his box, she said, ‘Sam, Meredith died on Sunday.’

He stopped and turned to her. ‘Died?’

‘Yes. In the afternoon. Were you around here then? Did you see anyone visit her on Sunday afternoon?’

He crouched, lost in thought for some time. Then he spoke. ‘Bow tie.’

‘What?’

‘Man with a bow tie. Rang Mer’dith’s bell on Sunday afternoon. Went inside.’

‘Have you any idea what time it was?’

Again he pondered. ‘Sun was shining on the front of Mer’dith’s house. When he came out it wasn’t any more.’

‘You’re sure it was Sunday?’

He snorted. ‘The bells of St James was ringing.’

He turned and crawled into the box.

On her way back, Kathy checked with both Mrs Rosenfeldt and the people in the Balaton Cafe, but no one knew of anyone who wore a bow tie.

Kathy ran to the front door, reaching it before the chime of the bell had faded in the small space of her hallway. He grinned at her and threw a bouquet of flowers behind her onto the hall table. He took her in his arms.

Before or after the door is closed? she thought.

‘Happy birthday, darling, for yesterday.’

She kissed him.

‘Am I forgiven, then? Good. Let’s go to bed.’

He felt her body stiffen with sudden annoyance.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. Yes, come on.’

After they made love, she lay curled against his side, smelling his expensive after-shave. Not the one I gave him, she thought to herself.

Aloud she said, ‘Are you beginning to find it a chore, coming here?’

‘Oh, come on, Kath. I explained what happened last night.’

‘Not about last night. It’s been just over six months’-she meant to say it lightly, matter of fact, but she could hear it coming out petulant-‘and I thought you must know me so well now that the excitement might have gone for you.’

‘Has it for you?’

‘No. For me it’s just as exciting as it was the first time. It always has been.’

‘Well, then.’

Trust a lawyer never to answer the question. ‘Have you had a bad day at work? You seem tense.’ He stroked her cheek.

‘Not bad, really. A bit frustrating in some ways, and I’ve found it difficult trying to lead a case with a Detective Chief Inspector from Scotland Yard breathing down my neck. I wanted to tell you about it last night.’