An Act of Evil (10 page)

“
It’s an obvious gossip mine,” she said. “Since the publicity in the papers and on television everybody will be talking about Powell. You stay here and I’ll go and have a chat.”

“
And what makes you think they’ll talk to a complete stranger?” he asked.

“
They’ll talk to anybody. Particularly someone who talks broad Yorksheer. Rest thissen here lad, and I’ll see what’s oop.” She stepped out of the car.

Maltravers
watched her disappear into the shop, its tinny bell sounding outside in the street, and admiringly noticed that her long-legged walk gave the indefinable impression of being a Yorkshirewoman; good acting always starts with the feet. While he waited, he looked through all the morning papers they had bought on the motorway during the journey, following the irresistible urge to read again and again in print what they knew so well. The tabloid front pages contained little else but Powell’s face, combining journalistic high drama and the desired effect of making it familiar to millions of readers. They also had pictures of Diana — showing some sense of restraint by not using the nude one — and had all reached for their most spectacular typefaces and emotive language. “Is this Diana’s butcher?” screamed one headline, with cavalier disregard for possible libel actions should Powell unexpectedly turn out to be innocent, and all included excitable prose padded out with such strange irrelevances as the Vercaster District Council motto — “Serve God and people” — and the date of the Chapter House, variously given between eleventh and thirteenth centuries. Maltravers read them all, his occasional twitches of distaste counterbalanced by the awareness that they should hasten the discovery and arrest of Arthur Powell and, hopefully, the rescue of Diana; he clung, limpet-like, to the belief that she was still alive.

Tess
returned after about twenty minutes carrying chocolate and crisps.

“
I had to buy something,” she said as she got back into the car. “And the only problem was stopping her talking. Powell bought his papers there and she’s the sort who would make a Trappist monk speak. Most of it was just chit-chat but she’s obviously been searching her memory since the police called. I had the feeling that she wasn’t very happy about telling them too much. Apparently he always called in on Friday to pay his bill and last week said he was going on holiday. We know that, of course, but old Mrs Whatever-her-name-is asked him where he was going and he said he was off to spend a couple of days in London and then to the mountains.”

“
Just the mountains?”

“
Unfortunately yes. Wales?”

Maltravers
frowned. “Or the Lake District. Or Scotland. Or even abroad. Jackson told us they couldn’t find his passport. Still it rules out some places like Devon and Cornwall which is something. I’ll tell Jackson when we get back. Come on, let’s try the supermarket.”

They
decided the only thing they could do was admit they were friends of Diana and hope for the best. As it turned out the new manager, eager and trying to hide his youth behind an immature moustache, was quite unconcerned that their inquiries were not official and took them straight through to his office, hauling assorted boxes off chairs so they could sit down.

“
We still can’t believe it,” he said. “Nobody was really a friend of Arthur but nobody disliked him. He’s the sort who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Nobody here can ever remember him even losing his temper.”

“
Do you know anything about him? He seems indefinable.”

Their
conversation was interrupted by the manager being called to sort out a dispute on a check-out. When he returned he was accompanied by a stout, jolly woman whom he introduced as one of his supervisors. He explained the reason for Maltravers and Tess’s visit.

“
How would you describe Arthur, Mildred?” he asked her.

“
Very close. Always polite, mind, but never used two words where one were enough. Never gave change in conversation. Mind, you could say nowt against him. Only thing that sticks in my mind is he were faddy with his food.”

“
Faddy? What do you mean?”

“
One of them vegetarians. I told ‘im there were nowt worth eatin’ in rabbit fodder but he were very particular. Wouldn’t even eat a boiled egg sandwich and where’s the harm in that?”

“
Did you ever see him with a Commando knife?” asked Maltravers. Sudden recollection broke over Mildred’s face.

“
Ay, I’d forgotten that. One of them big things in a leather sheath. Now that were his pride and joy. Always had it with him and had one of those stone things for sharpening it on. He used to cut up the boxes in the storeroom with it.” She frowned as she thought back. “Now I think about it, he seemed…I don’t know…happy somehow when he were doing that.”

Maltravers
and Tess exchanged disturbed glances. After a few more minutes’ conversation it became clear that neither Mildred nor the manager would recall anything else; Powell had kept himself to his secret self very carefully, even among the people with whom he worked.

As
they were about to drive out of the car park, they heard a shout and saw the manager running towards them carrying something.

“
I just remembered,” he said as Maltravers wound down the car window. “Arthur always changed into these when he came to work. He kept them in the storeroom.”

He
held up a pair of cheap plastic sandals, cracked and worn with use.

“
I suddenly thought, perhaps the police ought to have them.” He looked at Maltravers, illogically seeking his approval.

“
I expect it would be best,” he replied. “Although I don’t see how they can help. They’ve been through his flat. I suggest you give them a call. Thanks again for your help.”

He
pulled away and turned towards the town centre.

“
Is there anywhere else we can try?” asked Tess.

“
Not that I can think of. Oh, Christ, what a bloody waste of time! What on earth did we come for?”

“
Because you needed to,” said Tess quietly. “It has occupied your mind. Come on, let’s find somewhere for lunch.”

They
found a town centre pub which served food and, while Tess was ordering at the bar, Maltravers rang Melissa.

“
Augustus! Thank God you’ve called! How soon can you be back? Diana’s other hand has been sent to the Dean through the post.”

Chapter Nine

As THEY RETURNED south, they heard the news on the car radio. Melissa, her face drawn with shock, told them the details when they reached Punt Yard.

“
It arrived in the second post,” she said. “Just a small brown cardboard box addressed to the Dean.”

“
Was there any message?” Maltravers asked.

“
No. It was just the hand. Apparently it was posted somewhere in London yesterday but the postmark is so smudged it’s impossible to tell where. The police have got it now of course.” Melissa suddenly threw her arms around her brother. “Oh, Augustus, this is so awful!” She began to weep. “The Dean’s wife came round. She was so kind and you know what she’s usually like. They want you to go and see them as soon as you can. The phone’s never stopped with people saying all the right things and…and Michael’s been on. And the Bishop. And the bloody Press. Augustus, they’ve got to find this dreadful man!”

Maltravers
clung tightly to his strong, calm, capable, level-headed sister, broken and battered by the terror that had invaded her orderly and certain world.

“
Come on,” he said. “We’re back now. I’ll take any more phone calls. Why don’t you go down to Sussex?”

Melissa
shook her head through her sobs. “No. It’s better now you’re both back and there’s still the festival. I’m still being British however much it hurts. Stupid isn’t it?”

“
Yes,” he said. “It’s stupid. But the alternatives are stupider.” He paused and frowned. “Stupider? Is there such a word? You know what I mean.”

*

With excessive fastidiousness, Madden lifted the cardboard box with his fingertips, even though it had already been examined for prints. One end bore the remains of a label showing that it had originally been used for packing bars of chocolates. Inside there was a dark-brown stain where blood had seeped into it. The gummed label bearing the Dean’s name and address was typed.

“
Sort of thing they have in supermarket stockrooms,” he observed.

“
Yes, sir,” said Jackson. “Although they’re not difficult for anyone to get hold of.”

“
And five sets of fingerprints.”

“
Yes. We’ve eliminated the Dean, of course, and Higson is at the Vercaster sorting office collecting prints from the postman and sorting clerks. The trouble is that it’s impossible to say which office it went through in London at the moment. The lab’s doing its best with the postmark but it looks fairly hopeless. What is certain is that we can’t find Powell’s prints on it. The best bet will be the saliva tests on the stamp and the label.”

“
Do we have saliva records of Powell?”

“
No. But when we get him we’ll be able to prove if he sent it.” Madden raised an eyebrow. “If? Do we have any real alternatives?”

“
There is this man Sinclair we now know about. We’re still waiting to hear from Los Angeles.”

“
Long shot, sergeant. Very long.” Madden was not to be diverted into investigating remote possibilities when Powell was fitting so exactly into the sort of pattern he liked best. “Any news about Powell?”

“
We’ve had reports back from sightings in Borrowdale and the Peak District but they’re negative. And there’s still no trace of him having left the country.”

“
And still no reports of Miss Porter being treated for her injuries?” Jackson shook his head and a spasm of dissatisfaction tweaked across Madden’s face; what was otherwise emerging as a very satisfactory investigation was hourly becoming closer to murder but still could not be neatly classified as such. He found that an annoying shortcoming as he contemplated the fugitive Powell trapped in a closing police net.

“
And how’s our Mr Maltravers?” he inquired mildly.

The
unexpected polite and irrelevant question sounded instant alarm bells in Jackson’s mind. Madden had dismissed his initial suspicions of Maltravers once Powell had appeared in the case and it was totally out of character for Madden to take any interest in him now.

“
I haven’t seen him today,” he answered cautiously.

“
Really? Where’s he been?” There was the slightest suggestion of a cutting edge beneath the question this time and Jackson suddenly knew he was being led into dangerous ground.

“
He told me he was spending the day in London, sir.”

“
And did he?”

“
I presume so.”

“
You presume so. I see.” Madden picked up the cardboard box and handed it back to Jackson. “If the lab have finished with that, have it labelled and filed. Thank you, sergeant.” Jackson, aware he was caught in the coils of something he was ignorant about, but unable to make any comment, picked it up and turned to go as Madden started to read some of the papers on his desk.

“
And I want Mr Maltravers — and Miss Davy — in this office within the next half hour,” Madden added without looking up. Jackson turned back to ask a question but thought better of it.

He
returned the box to the incident room and phoned Punt Yard from an empty office where he could not be overheard.

“
What the hell have you been up to?” he demanded.

“
Up to? What do you mean?”

“
Madden wants to see you and Miss Davy immediately and he’s playing games with me. He knows something I don’t. Were you in London today?”

“
Oh, that’s what it is. Sorry. We went to Belsthwaite.”

“
You went to Belsthwaite.” Jackson’s voice was full of disappointment and resignation. “Do me one favour will you? Both of you come over here. Now. I’ve been giving you all the consideration I can and I’d like you to get me out of this.”

They
arrived at the police station within ten minutes and Jackson, without a word, took them through to Madden who was pedantically correct.

“
I received a phone call at,” he consulted his notepad, “fourteen seventeen hours today from the police authorities in Belsthwaite. They allege that two people fitting your descriptions and giving your names were making inquiries within their area of authority. These inquiries were in connection with a Mr Arthur Powell who, as you are fully aware, is the subject of an official police investigation in connection with the disappearance of Miss Diana Porter. Were these persons yourselves?”

“
Yes,” said Maltravers.

Madden
nodded as if to himself. “I see. You are aware I take it that interference with the police in the course of their duties is an offence?”

“
We weren’t interfering. We thought it might possibly help.”

“
We thought it might possibly help.” Madden wrote the remark down as he slowly repeated it. “I see. Do you have any comment to make Miss Davy?” Tess shook her head and Madden leaned back in his chair and regarded them thoughtfully.

“
Despite the impression given by sensational fiction, the investigation of serious crime — of all crime — is a matter for the police,” he said. “We do not seek, we do not require and we do not approve of interference — and that is what this is — by unqualified amateurs. Arthur Powell will be caught by the police and if your meddling today turns out to have caused any delay in this operation it will be noted in the official report on the matter. If it is repeated, the consequences for yourselves will be very serious indeed. That is all.” Having delivered his lecture, Madden sat in silence waiting for them to leave. Jackson, acutely uncomfortable throughout, stiffly saluted Madden and turned to go but Maltravers remained in his chair.

“
First of all, I wish to make it clear that neither Sergeant Jackson nor anyone in your force knew of our intention,” he said. “In fact I deliberately lied to Sergeant Jackson this morning. Secondly, I can see no way in which what we did could be construed as interference. You obviously learned about this after the supermarket manager took a pair of Powell’s sandals to the police in Belsthwaite, which was something I advised him to do. Had we learned anything of value that too would have been reported to your officers. Unless you can prove interference, then we have broken no law.” His eyes, which had remained fixed on Madden’s face, hardened. “So don’t treat us like two bloody schoolkids who’ve been caught in the orchard with pockets full of apples! Your official investigation happens to concern the horrendous injuries and possible death by now of a very dear friend of ours and if there is anything I can do that I think might just possibly help to find her I am going to do it and you can stuff your regulations. And until and unless I break the law I am not going to be browbeaten by you or anybody else. Now you can make a note of that and add it to the godammed file you’ve probably opened on me!”

Jackson
’s eyes were closed as though in prayer. Tess sat very upright and calm, her hands clasping her bag. Madden remained impassive. The silence gathered and froze about them.

“
That will be all,” Madden repeated stonily and this time Maltravers stood abruptly then stepped back to let Tess precede him out of the room with Jackson, who silently ushered them into an interview room.

“
All I ask is one favour,” he said. “Don’t do that to me again. I deserve better.”

“
Madden started it, I finished it,” snapped Maltravers.

“
I’m not talking about just now. You lied to me and left me in an impossible position with a man who is my superior and with whom I have to work, whatever you think of him. Being as detached as I can in the circumstances, you were actually right in there. You haven’t broken any law and you almost certainly haven’t interfered with what we’re doing. But I need a professional, working relationship with that man in the interests of solving crime. If you’d told me you were going to Belsthwaite, I’d have understood and I wouldn’t have tried to stop you even if I could. But at least I’d have known and could have acted accordingly.”

“
You’d have told Madden.”

“
Let’s just say I’d have covered myself. All you have achieved today is to make life difficult for me within weeks of joining this force. I don’t care if you and Madden hate each other’s guts but I have my career to think about.” Jackson was biting with anger.

“
Oh, I am his Highness’s dog at Kew,” Maltravers said savagely. “Pray tell me, Sir, whose dog are you?”

“
If you two don’t stop this instant, I am going to start screaming the place down.” Tess’s face was stiff with tension as they instinctively turned to her. Her voice began to break as she continued. “You do realise, don’t you, that while you’re both showing how macho you are, Diana is out there somewhere dying in agony? Christ, you make me sick.” She started to cry angrily.

Her
bitter accusation made them both wince uncomfortably and it was Jackson who began to retrieve the situation. He went over to Tess and took her hand.

“
I’m sorry,” he said. “We’re both sorry. Murder — and whatever we say officially that’s how we’re all reacting to this is like any form of violent death, like losing a wife or husband in a car crash. Until you face it, you cannot know what it’s like. It stretches emotions beyond anything else that people have to face and if it happens you just have to hack it as best you can. And nobody goes through it without going out of control at some point.”

“
But you’re not emotional,” said Tess. “You’re a policeman. It’s just part of your job.”

Jackson
smiled sadly. “That’s right. I’m a copper. Collecting clues, following procedures, enforcing the law. I’m not paid to be emotional.” He paused for a moment then continued very quietly. “When I was sixteen years old my kid sister was raped and strangled. There’s another thing about violent death. The scars never go away.”

Tess
swiftly wiped away fresh springing tears with her hand. “Oh, God, you’re a lovely man,” she said. Jackson squeezed her hand and stood up.

“
That’s another thing about detective stories,” he said. “Have you ever noticed that hardly anybody cries? In real life, it’s not just solving murders, it’s people breaking up. Anyway, as you’ve been playing at detectives, did you find anything out?”

Maltravers
shook his head. “No, we didn’t. Oh, the sandals turned up.” He briefly explained what had happened. “But I can’t see they’re going to help you. Look, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you we were going but if we do do anything else — and I meant what I said to Madden — then I promise I’ll let you know. And I’m sorry I got mad at you.”

“
That’s all right. I think we understand each other a little better. Have you been to see the Dean? When I went there this morning I know he was very anxious to talk to you.”

“
We’re going with Melissa after dinner,” said Maltravers.

“
Is she all right?”

“
Coping.” Maltravers pulled a wry face. “Like the rest of us.”