John Creasey - Inspector West At Home

Then he turned and left her. Janet was already at the door and Mark in the other room. Janet closed the door firmly as Tennant asked :

“Lois darling, what is it all about?”

“That’s exactly what I want to know,” said Mark, eagerly. “What is it all about, old man ?”

Roger told him, glad of the opportunity of going over it again. He could see how carefully it had been built up, how the weight of Lois’s conscience had worsened her plight in every way and encouraged her to play into Malone’s hands. He had deliberately made comparatively light of it, believing that she had suffered enough already. He did not think she would hesitate to make a full confession now, but when he finished, Mark put into words one of the thoughts which weighed heaviest on his mind.

“Malone knows what she can do and won’t let her stay free for long without making a big effort to get her.”

“That’s the risk,” admitted Roger.

Janet said : “The best place for her is in a police-station. I won’t be happy until she’s in one.”

“I told Tennant so this afternoon, and I think she’ll be amenable,” Roger said. “When she’s had it all out with him, she’ll be a different girl. I don’t think he’ll let her or us down.” After a pause, he went on : “At least, we’re making some progress. I missed something at New Street, Battersea — I didn’t discover that Benny Cox was one of Malone’s gang, which was bad.”

“Do you think that’s the only reason they tried to frame you ?” Mark sounded incredulous.

“It’s probably one of them,” Roger said. “Friday the 13th. Pickerell sounded annoyed with superstition. I thought, when I first heard that record, that it meant he himself was superstitious, but I’m beginning to wonder if someone else didn’t give him his instructions, someone who was influenced by the 13th. The thing is, if I had seen a connection between Cox and Malone I would have been after Malone very quickly. We’ve always assumed that Cox killed his wife for her money, but supposing she had discovered what he was doing, supposing New Street was used for storing stolen goods and Mrs Cox threatened to tell the police?” Roger frowned. “Cox was a miserable little brute. I can’t imagine him going through the trial and letting himself be hanged, if by squealing on Malone he could perhaps have saved his life.”

“I see what you mean,” said Mark.

“On the other hand, he may have killed her and, knowing that he couldn’t save himself no matter what he did, he just let things go,” Roger said. “He acted dumb all the time. I once thought that the defence might try to prove insanity, Oliphant hinted at it once or twice, but Oliphant’s a good enough lawyer to know whether the plea would have a chance of success. Cox hardly said a word once he was caught, it seemed as if the shock was too much for him. Dull- witted,” he added, “ very dull-witted.” His voice rose. “ Too dull-witted ?”

“What the deuce are you getting at?” demanded Mark. Roger said, softly : “I’m wondering if Cox was drugged before we caught him, and whether that made him seem so dull?”

CHAPTER 19

Lois ’ s Whole Story

MARK SAID dubiously that it was a possibility, but wasn’t Roger allowing his imagination to run away with him? Roger went into the other room and took out the Cox-case files. He turned up the medical reports and scanned them. Three doctors had examined the man, one for the police, two for the defence. They were unanimous in saying that Cox had been a person of low mentality, very nearly subnormal. The police doctor said that there was no doubt at all that he knew what he was doing and he was fully responsible for his actions. Obviously medical opinion for the defence had not really thought it possible to prove otherwise, and so the defence, in the hands of Oliphant, had not tried to sway the jury on the grounds of insanity.

‘Reflexes, dull,’ Roger read, ‘pulse below normal, pupils enlarged . . .’ ‘A man who had been given one of the depressant drugs might be in that state for months after his last dose.’

“Well?” asked Mark, after nearly half an hour’s silence. “Have you found anything?”

Roger seemed to be thinking of something else.

“Er — no,” he said. “That is — no, it can ’ t be !”

“How brightly he goes on,” drawled Mark.

“Do be quiet,” said Janet.

Roger thought again of Friday the 13th.

The sordid little house, the floorboards, the nauseating smell, the ‘straightforward’ murder and the dull-witted Cox. He remembered him at the police-station awaiting the second hearing at the police court; he had been remanded for eight days at the first.

“I just can’t credit it!” he exclaimed, standing up and pushing his chair back.

Mark shrugged his shoulders and said in sepulchral tones :

The great policeman is slowly going insane.”

Janet said :

“Can we help, Roger?”

“No,” said Roger. “No. That is — I was at New Street collecting all the paraphernalia of evidence. The camerawork was done, and the fingerprints. I’d found the hammer which Cox used. There were bloodstains on the wood. He hadn’t cleaned it properly, and it certainly caused the wounds in his wife’s head. In short, all the evidence was there. I was going off, feeling fully satisfied although it was a nasty case—”

He paused.

Mark no longer acted the fool, but eyed him intently. The voices came from the other room in a steady ripple.

“A taxi drew up outside,” Roger said. “Oliphant came out. Oliphant,” he repeated, softly. “He said that he had been asked to act for Benny Cox.” He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. He saw the portly solicitor, Mortimer Oliphant, a well-known lawyer who frequently acted for poorer criminals. He was ambitious and took on difficult jobs which a less forceful solicitor would have refused. He worked for the Poor Person ’ s Legal Society and was one of its brighter members.

Mortimer Oliphant had a man at the court regularly, and if a case appeared particularly tricky, or whenever there seemed to be the slightest chance of pulling off an odds- against case, he would volunteer to take it. He briefed young barristers who usually did well. His reputation was excellent and he often managed to win a case which the police thought was a foregone conclusion. A man of middle-age, he had a large private income. He always claimed that he specialised in criminal cases because he liked the excitement of matching his wits against the police.

Roger remembered the smile on Oliphant’s face when he had squeezed along the narrow passage and seen Roger in Cox’s kitchen. He had pulled a wry face and said that he hoped it wasn’t necessary to stay in that atmosphere for long. Roger had not thought twice about his appearance, for he had guessed why he had come.

“I’m going to look after Benny Cox,” Oliphant had said.

Roger remembered smiling. “You’ve backed a loser this time!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Oliphant had said. “I always enjoy a few rounds with you. You don’t mind if I look round?”

Roger remembered admiring his thoroughness. Few solicitors would have taken the trouble to come to the scene of the crime. He had thought nothing of it even when he had read through his report for the day — “ Oliphant saw me at New Street and said that he was going to handle Cox ’ s defence .” He had not troubled to go over it again. It was the kind of thing that Oliphant did. True, he came to the Yard more often and asked for information. Being a likeable man one somehow always gave him what he wanted. Roger vaguely remembered another thing; that Oliphant had been called to the telephone one day at the Yard.