Authors: Barry Maitland
‘Could you swear now that it was him?’
‘Oh no!’ She looked up at them with terrified eyes. ‘I don’t know, you see, I don’t know.’ She gave a few more sobs and looked at Brock. ‘I wonder sometimes if I’ve imagined everything . . . like the other night.’ She screwed up her eyes and shuddered.
‘What was that?’
‘In the middle of the night again. I woke up suddenly and . . . I thought . . . I thought there was someone standing at the end of my bed.’
She was trembling now and Kathy moved to her and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘I think we should get the doctor back,’ she said quietly to Brock.
‘No, dear, don’t worry. I’m all right,’ Peg whispered, and took a deep breath.
‘You didn’t report this before, did you, Mrs Blythe?’ Brock asked.
She shook her head. ‘It was only the night before last. And I wasn’t sure. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again there was nothing. Do you think it could have been . . .
him
, Inspector?’
‘I don’t know, Mrs Blythe. But perhaps you might feel more comfortable, once you’re fit enough to get up, if we found you a nice hotel room for a few days, rather than staying here. Would you like us to arrange that?’
‘Oh yes, yes. I think I would like that, Inspector. How kind of you to think of that. I just haven’t known what to do.’ She beamed relief at them like a fearful child rescued by a grown-up.
‘There are a couple of things more we need to ask you just now, if you’re strong enough.’
‘Yes, Inspector.’
‘Has anyone from the company that’s rebuilding Jerusalem Lane had any contact with you or Eleanor recently?’
‘After Meredith died, a young man did come to see us. He offered us ten thousand pounds each if we would agree to move away and sign a document. He was quite pleasant, although we refused straight away. He told us what was going to happen in the Lane, when the other side of the street would be knocked down, and when they would start building the tower monstrosities they’re planning.’
‘Would you remember the young man’s name by any chance?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure. Something from Walter Scott, I think . . .’
‘
Quentin Durward
?’ Kathy suggested at last.
‘That’s right! Quentin.’
‘Quentin Gilroy.’ Brock nodded.
‘Didn’t you ever think that perhaps it would be better to move away from the Lane when everyone else did?’ Kathy asked.
‘Oh no, dear,’ Peg said with surprising firmness. ‘Eleanor and I have never been afraid to go our own way, to believe what we understand to be right, and to act upon it.’
‘Another thing, Mrs Blythe. Has anyone approached you to buy books or papers that you might have?’
‘Well now,’ she said slowly, thinking, ‘that does ring a bell. I do believe that Eleanor said that someone had contacted her about something like that, about Christmas time I think it was, wanting to buy her books or something. She was quite annoyed about it. She’s very attached to her library.’
‘So she didn’t agree to sell anything?’
‘Not as far as I know. No. I’m sure she wouldn’t have.’
‘Were some of the books signed by Karl Marx?’
‘Yes. How clever you are to know that, Inspector! They were Eleanor’s treasures. She was so proud of them.’
‘Do you know where they are now?’
‘Well, in her bookcase, I suppose.’ She saw Brock shake his head. ‘Well . . . I have no idea . . . You mean they may have been stolen by the murderer?’ She clutched her bag more firmly to her chest.
‘It’s possible. But are you certain that Eleanor still had them during the last six months?’
‘The last six months? Since Meredith . . .?’ Peg was looking confused. ‘I don’t really know . . . She had so many books . . .’
‘But original editions of books signed by Karl Marx would have been very valuable, wouldn’t they, Mrs Blythe? Eleanor must have known that? And you too, surely?’
Peg stared up at his face, uncomprehending. ‘Valuable? They meant a great deal to Eleanor, certainly. But in money terms, I have no idea, Inspector.’
Brock straightened up. ‘Well, we’ll leave it at that for
today. If you think of anything else that might help us, here is our telephone number.’
‘Oh . . .’ Peg looked suddenly anxious again, and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Are you going to leave me alone in the house . . . with him?’
‘We have to speak to him now. We’ll wait until Mrs Winter returns. Will that be all right? Then we’ll send a policewoman down with a car this afternoon to take you back to a hotel, somewhere near Jerusalem Lane.’
Her face brightened, and some of the former colour returned to her cheeks as she settled herself back into the pillows.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You are so kind.’
‘Oh, one last thing.’ Brock paused at the door. ‘After the crime prevention officer came to see you, did you get the locks to your flats changed?’
‘No. He said they were good locks, although they were quite old.’
‘And who has keys?’
‘Mrs Rosenfeldt has a set. That’s all.’ She thought a moment and then her face dropped. ‘Oh . . . and
he
does, of course. He has his mother’s set.’
Winter was sitting forward on the edge of the sofa when they returned to the living room, giving the impression of someone who didn’t really belong there. Kathy suspected that he probably wouldn’t have known where things were to make them a cup of coffee, even if he had wanted to.
‘Well?’ he scowled at them.
‘She’s quite upset, Mr Winter, as you said. She feels she should be nearer her home in Jerusalem Lane, and I’ve said we’ll arrange a hotel room for her. Someone will call for her this afternoon. We’ll make sure someone keeps an eye on her for a few days.’
Winter stared at him in surprise, and it took him a few
seconds to respond. He started to frame some objection, but Brock abruptly cut in.
‘What were your movements on Tuesday night, then, Mr Winter? Here with your wife?’
Winter looked away. ‘No, no. If you must know, Caroline and I have split up. I only stayed here last night because of Aunt Peg.’ His eyes strayed over to the blankets in the corner.
‘Ah. With Ms McArthur, then?’
Winter hesitated. His thinking processes seemed to have slowed down, and the cockiness they’d experienced six months before had gone. He raised his chin slowly, in some gesture of defiance perhaps.
‘I have my own place s’matter of fact.’
‘Really? You’ve broken off with Ms McArthur, have you?’
Winter’s jaw had locked, and he was speaking through his teeth. ‘No. We’re still good friends. We’re just reassessing the situation, that’s all.’
‘So, where were you on Tuesday night then, from, say,9.30 p.m. through till the following morning around 7.30?’
‘I was at my flat, 3d Rye Gardens, Peckham, next to Peckham Rye Common, all that time.’
‘Alone?’
‘No. I had a friend with me.’
‘Name?’
There was the sound of a key in the front door and Winter’s speech suddenly speeded up. ‘Shirley Piggott . . . No. Two “g”s and two “t”s . . . She works in my Peckham salon. You can reach her there.’
Kathy got up and went out to meet Caroline Winter and head her off to the kitchen while Brock continued with her husband. ‘I want to talk to you about these disturbances that have been going on around 22 Jerusalem Lane for the past five months or so.’
Winter avoided Brock’s impassive stare. ‘Yeah, sure,’ he muttered, and developed a sudden interest in wiping some carpet fluff from the heel of his shoe.
From his inside jacket pocket Brock pulled out a copy of the print-out Gurney had provided and unfolded it slowly. ‘What’s your theory about these, Mr Winter?’
Winter shook his head. He finished with the shoe and his right hand began to play with the gold rings and Rolex watch that he wore on his left.
‘Kids, maybe. Vandals.’
‘Kids or vandals, you think?’ Brock slowly took his half-lens glasses out of their case and perched them on his nose. He read from the list. ‘“Night of October 12th: water stopcock in yard broken off. Water Board took two days to find the fault and restore water supply. Night of October 16th: dog dirt pushed through letter box. Night of November 2nd: lighted fireworks pushed through letter box . . .” Pretty sick kids, wouldn’t you say, and unusually persistent? Sounds more like a calculated campaign of intimidation to me. Look at this. Christmas Eve: three abusive phone calls saying this was the last Christmas the old ladies would ever see, plus broken glass left all over the front door step. You must have been pretty worried, weren’t you, sir?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I was. I told the police they weren’t doing enough.’ Winter fumbled in the pocket of his silk shirt for a packet of cigarettes, then stopped and pushed it abruptly back.
‘And after the New Year we start to get personal appearances: the face at the window in the middle of the night. When was it you set up on your own in Peckham, Mr Winter?’
Winter shot Brock a startled look. Then his eyes darted away and he made a show of thinking.
‘January, I guess. Why? You mind if I smoke?’
‘Not at all. It’s your house.’
Winter got up and started roaming round the room looking for an ashtray. Eventually he returned to the sofa empty-handed.
‘That’s an unfortunate coincidence, you see, Mr Winter, you being an obvious suspect.’
‘What?!’ he protested, half rising off the sofa again. ‘Well, of course. You must have known that. You have the obvious motive, don’t you? To get your aunts to leave Jerusalem Lane so that you could sell the place to the developers. You must have spoken to them about that, didn’t you, tried to persuade them to leave?’
‘Yes, but in their own interests, I . . .’
‘Naturally. And you spoke to the developers again, didn’t you, to get their help to persuade the old ladies?’
‘I did it for them, tried to get extra money for them . . .’
‘Of course. But when all these things didn’t work, and they remained so stubborn, well, you can see the conclusions people could draw.’
Winter didn’t reply. He flicked a gold lighter and held its trembling flame to a cigarette. He took a deep lungful.
‘Forty per cent of murders are committed by someone within the family, Mr Winter, and another forty by people who know their victims.’
‘Oh Jesus! You’re not going to . . .’ Smoke came belching from his face as he jumped up again.
‘So it’s important that we clear up any doubts in that area as soon as possible. For your sake. You agree?’ Winter stared at Brock. ‘I want two things. First, I want you to agree to an officer searching your flat in Peckham. We can get a warrant, of course, but it will look better for you if you give your consent.’
Winter hesitated. ‘I’ll be back there this evening. If you want to send someone round then.’
‘No, I want to do it straight away. All right? They’ll be very careful not to break anything. You won’t even know they’ve been. I’ll get you to sign a note of agreement here, just so I don’t get into trouble.’ Brock chuckled and wrote a few lines on his notebook and passed it over for Winter to sign.
‘I don’t know.’ Winter looked worried.
‘Better if you do,’ Brock said reassuringly.
‘They won’t have a key.’ Winter protested again.
‘Not a problem, Mr Winter.’
He bowed his head, took another drag at his cigarette. ‘I didn’t kill her,’ he said.
‘I dare say not,’ Brock replied gently, as he gave Winter a pen.
But you’ve done something you don’t want to talk about
, he thought, as Winter scrawled his signature on the pad.
‘And the second thing is that I want you to sit down with this list of dates and prepare a statement of your whereabouts at each of these times. I’ll give you an address, and I want you to go there later today and make a statement to my Sergeant Gurney with that information. All right?’
Winter nodded. His ash fell on the carpet.
‘He’s smoking again, isn’t he?’ Caroline Winter spat out. ‘I warned him I wouldn’t have him smoking in here again. The place stinks for days afterwards.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Kathy nodded. ‘The new kitchen looks terrific, Mrs Winter.’
‘Oh yeah, do you like it? I thought I’d get it done right before I finally threw the bastard out.’
‘Yes, he mentioned you were having a trial separation.’
‘Trial nothing!’ she laughed. ‘This is it, baby. Finito. Kaput. The end. I put up with Mister Wonderful playing around with those tarts he employs for long enough. God, it used to make me physically ill going into one of his bloody salons with him, you know what I mean? The way he talked to them and teased them and touched them up. He thought he was God’s bloody gift he did. A heat-seeking dick. He thought he’d found fucking paradise, prancing around from one salon to the next. Well’—her eyes glittered with malice—‘now’s the time to pay, lover boy.’
‘He did seem rather chastened today, compared with when we saw him last.’
‘He doesn’t know the half of it, luv. I’ve ’ad a solicitor and an accountant working on this for months. I’d never have let him through the door today except for Peg. When he phoned, I told him he’d have to bring her here—he’d never be able to look after her in that pigsty he’s got in Peckham. But once she’s out of here, so’s he.’
‘We thought we might take care of that, Mrs Winter,’ Kathy said. ‘We’re going to look after her for a few days. Just to be on the safe side.
‘Has he stopped hitting you, then?’ Kathy added.
Caroline looked sharply at her.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Nobody told me. I thought I saw some marks on your face the last time we met. Is he a very violent man?’
Caroline took a deep breath and stared out of the window. A family of thrushes was splashing innocently in a birdbath on the terrace outside. She watched them for a minute, then said, ‘What’s “very”?
‘Anyway,’ she shrugged, ‘like a few other women in my situation, I’ve discovered the ultimate revenge. It’s called money.’
‘And he has been worried about money for some time, hasn’t he?’
‘Oh, I see what you’re getting at. Well, I’d like to help, believe me. Nothing would suit me better than to have him put away for twenty years—after I’ve stripped him clean, that is. But I’m not sure I can. He’s always been a chancer with money, you know, wanting it all, borrowing, leasing, gearing. Yeah, I suppose the last year has been worse for him, though. I think he was hoping to set up that bitch Geraldine whatsit in a nice little love nest at one point, and then when I told him he could clear off as soon as the kids had had their Christmas, he must have seen the writing on the wall.’