Death of a Beauty Queen (24 page)

‘Leslie's there... dead... on the floor... there's a bullet through his head... he's been shot.'

Mitchell listened gravely. He appeared to hesitate for a moment, and then again laid his hand on Paul's shoulder.

‘I think you knew that, didn't you?' he asked softly.

Paul made some sort of gesture that might have meant anything, and then sank again so deep into his own thoughts as to appear once more completely oblivious of his surroundings.

‘Better leave him alone for the present,' Mitchell said. ‘The shock's been a bit too much for him. Owen, you stay here with him for the present. Don't try to make him talk. Of course, if he says anything – but I don't think he will.' He added: ‘You say young Irwin has been shot?'

‘Yes, through the head – the back of the head,' Bobby answered, shuddering slightly as there presented itself again to his mind the picture he had seen on opening the door of that room at the head of the stairs.

‘Did you see any weapon?' Mitchell asked. ‘Was he holding anything?'

‘I didn't go into the room,' Bobby answered. ‘The light's burning, and I stood in the doorway. I looked, but I couldn't see any weapon of any kind.'

Mitchell and his two companions went into the hall, closing the study door behind them so that Bobby was left alone with Paul Irwin, who seemed still quite indifferent to, or unaware of, his surroundings. In the hall, Mitchell gave brisk orders. Penfold was directed to search the house and make sure there was no other inmate, and as soon as he had examined them to lock the doors of all rooms of which he could find the keys. Over the phone Mitchell gave more orders, and summoned the help he needed, and then he and Ferris ascended the stairs to the room where Leslie's body lay.

Help soon arrived – a doctor, photographers, finger-print experts, and so on – and all the routine of such an investigation was soon in full progress, and still Bobby sat silently by the side of the equally silent Paul Irwin, still lost, as it seemed, in the immensity of his own thoughts. Then at last Mitchell and Ferris came back into the study, both of them looking pale and tired.

‘A bad business,' Mitchell said to Bobby. ‘There's no sign of any firearm of any kind up there. The doctor says the muzzle must have been touching the head, just behind the ear. There was only one shot fired. It was enough. The doctor found the bullet. Point twenty-two.'

‘That means murder,' commented Ferris. ‘When there's no weapon found, what can you think but that it's murder?'

Paul, who had remained till now so silent, aloof, and still, it might well have been that his spirit had fled and only his body remained, inert and dull, turned with a sudden start, half lifting himself in his chair as he spoke.

‘Murder,' he said. ‘Yes, that's the only word... I made him think God's forgiveness was hard to get... he thought his father's would be the same... as if I should have changed to him whatever he had done.'

‘Mr Irwin,' Mitchell said. ‘When did you find out what had happened?'

But Paul, sinking once again in the strange and dark abstraction of his thoughts, had no word of answer.

‘Mr Irwin,' Mitchell tried once more. ‘The doctor thinks death occurred about three hours ago. Is that right?'

Paul roused himself for just one passing moment.

‘I have nothing to say,' he cried, loudly and clearly, and then, as if the effort had been too much for him, he suddenly collapsed into unconsciousness.

Mitchell was just in time to catch him and support him gently to the ground as he toppled forward from his chair. The doctor who had been sent for was still in the house, and Mitchell told Bobby to fetch him. Ferris, helping Mitchell, was aware of something hard in Paul's pocket. He felt in it, and brought out a small automatic pistol, point twenty-two calibre.

‘One cartridge fired,' he said, examining it. ‘Looks like it was murder all right, and the old man did it... he believed the boy was guilty and shot him himself rather than see him hanged.'

‘The boy was almost certainly innocent – innocent of murder, that is,' Mitchell said.

‘Looks like his father didn't think so,' Ferris repeated. ‘It's just what you've been saying all along, sir,' he added to Mitchell. ‘People whose religion is two-thirds vanity, thinking how good they are themselves, and how bad every one else, are ready to believe the worst of everyone, just as Mr Irwin was of his son, till he got to think shooting was better than hanging – thought it was a sacrifice probably, like Abraham and Isaac.'

‘There's one thing to remember,' Mitchell said. ‘Leslie Irwin was probably innocent of murder, but equally probably guilty of forgery. And most likely his father knew it.'

Bobby came back, accompanied by the doctor. He applied some simple remedies, saying he thought it was no more than a faint. Soon Paul began to show signs of recovering.

‘He'll be better soon,' the doctor said. ‘It's just the result of shock and strain. But I don't think he ought to be left alone to-night.'

‘We'll get him to come along with us,' Mitchell said. ‘We'll make him as comfortable as we can.'

‘Meaning you are going to arrest him?' the doctor asked. ‘You know, that poor boy upstairs... with that wound he could easily have done it himself.'

‘We've just found a small automatic in Mr Irwin's pocket,' Mitchell explained. ‘One cartridge has been fired. I think, for his own sake even, we must keep him under observation for the present. But we'll do our best to make him comfortable.'

Paul himself raised no difficulty. He was still weak and dazed, and quite passive in their hands. The doctor, who seemed a little anxious in spite of his reassuring words, undertook to go with him and to make him up a soothing draught.

‘He wants a good sleep,' the doctor explained. ‘Sleep and rest, they'll make all the difference.'

They went off together, in the care of one of the Scotland Yard men, who had private instructions on no account to let Mr Irwin out of his sight, and when they had gone Mitchell turned again to a close examination of the pistol found in Paul's pocket.

‘I wonder where he got it from,' Mitchell mused. ‘Where's Penfold? Oh, there you are. Penfold, do you know if either of the Irwins held a firearms licence, or had ever applied for one?'

Penfold thought not, but went to the phone to make inquiries. He came back to say that no licence had ever been issued to either of the Irwins, or, so far as was known at the moment, had any application been made. He added that while he was at the phone the report had come through that Mr Greggs had just been brought in by Sergeant Jones, that he had already acknowledged that his correct name was Quin, that he seemed in a frightened and communicative mood, and was he to be detained for examination?

‘He is,' said Mitchell emphatically. ‘All happening at once now, isn't it? Tell them I'll be along as soon as I possibly can.' He was still examining the pistol, now with the help of a strong magnifying glass. ‘There are some scratches here,' he said. ‘Look to me like initials. Looks to me like “C.M.”.'

‘“C.M.”,' repeated Ferris. ‘“C.M.” But that's–'

‘Have a look yourself. See what you make of it,' Mitchell said. ‘Claude Maddox's initials,' he remarked.

‘Can it be his? Perhaps Mr Irwin got hold of it from him,' Ferris suggested. ‘“C.M.” is what it looks like all right.'

‘We shall have to see if he identifies it,' Mitchell observed. ‘If it belongs to him, though, how does it come in? How does he come in for that matter?'

‘Can it be Claude Maddox did the shooting?' Ferris asked. ‘Mr Irwin knew his son was dead, and yet he had been out of the house and was coming back when we saw him. Do you think he knew Maddox did it, and had been out looking for him?'

‘Anyhow, only one cartridge of that clip has been fired,' observed Mitchell. ‘All the same, we'll go round to Maddox and see what he has to say. But, first, you had better ring him and make sure nothing more has happened there, since so much seems to be happening to-night. Don't let them know it's a police inquiry. Just ask if Mr Claude Maddox is at home, and if there's any truth in a rumour he met with an accident to-night.'

Ferris went off on this errand, and then Bobby appeared. He had been otherwise occupied, and had only just heard of the discovery of a pistol marked with what were believed to be the initials of Claude Maddox. Thereon, remembering his meeting on Sunday night with Leslie Irwin, and how he had seen him leaving the Maddox residence, he came to tell his story to Mitchell, repeating it now with an emphasis on some details that he had not at the time thought necessary for his report.

‘It strikes me as possible now, sir,' he explained, ‘that Leslie Irwin knew Maddox possessed an automatic, and had been to his house in an attempt to get hold of it – and had succeeded.'

‘If that's so,' observed Mitchell, ‘that makes it look like suicide again.'

‘That's my idea, sir,' Bobby said. ‘That night Leslie was in a very excited, hysterical sort of mood. I think one thing coming on top of another has been too much for him. There was the murder of the girl he was in love with just when he thought he had made sure of her, and then he knew he was suspected, and yet couldn't clear himself without confessing to the forgery by which he had got that £200. He felt that was bound to come out, and he couldn't face up to the idea of owning he had forged his father's name.'

Bobby paused, and said slowly, though more to himself than as continuing to urge his theory upon his superior:

‘He had no trust in his father's love; he did not believe he could be forgiven...'

They were both silent for a little, and then Mitchell said:

‘Your idea is that Leslie shot himself?'

‘Yes, sir. I think, too, it is just possible he in his turn suspected it was possible his father had killed Carrie Mears. I imagine that idea was in his mind. I think he knew there was not much his father wouldn't have done to stop him from marrying Miss Mears, and I believe that thought was in his mind all the time he was watching Mr Irwin's hair going white with every hour of the day. Most likely he got the automatic that night I saw him, and, when the strain got too much, he broke under it and took what he thought was the best way out. When Mr Irwin discovered to-night what had happened, he picked the pistol up and put it in his pocket. The shock would be so great he hardly knew, very likely, what he was doing. He wandered off out of the house, and then he saw us arrive and he came back, still in the same dazed condition.'

Mitchell was evidently thinking deeply.

‘It's very likely that's how it all happened to-night,' he agreed, but, if Leslie Irwin suspected his father was the murderer, I'm wondering if he was right. I'm wondering if that's what really happened, and if it is really Paul Irwin who killed Carrie Mears to save his son from marrying her.'

It was with a certain relief that – their work completed so far as was possible for the time; the body removed to the mortuary of the unfortunate Leslie, who so soon had followed to the grave the girl whom he had loved; a constable placed in charge of the house – they left behind the scene of this new tragedy.

Mitchell, indeed, paused and looked back as they came to where their car was waiting for them. For a moment or two he stood still, staring, as though he challenged it, as the dark indistinguishable shadow in the night to which now the house had shrunk.

‘More may be coming,' he muttered to himself, and to Bobby, too, it seemed that the building stood there, tall and straight and silent, like some sentinel of evil, bearing witness of ill to come. Even Ferris felt something of the same influence, as of threat or menace that its dark loneliness seemed to throw out.

‘Just as well we didn't leave the old man there,' he said. ‘Or most likely he would have done himself in before morning – enough to make anyone want to finish up.' As the car started, he added to Mitchell: ‘I phoned them your special instructions that Mr Irwin was to have every care and attention, but I couldn't quite say myself whether he was under arrest or detained for inquiry or what.'

‘Well, I suppose chiefly the last, so far,' answered Mitchell. ‘I don't see my way very clearly at present.'

‘No denying it looks bad,' Ferris went on, half to himself. ‘Finding that automatic in his pocket the same way we found his hat in the room where Carrie Mears was. That would weigh a lot with any jury.'

‘So far as this business to-night is concerned,' Mitchell said slowly, ‘I'm inclined to think it was suicide. There's Owen's evidence that he had been to Maddox's on Sunday, and it seems likely he got the pistol there. There is motive: the shock of the girl's death; his knowledge he was suspected and couldn't clear himself without confessing forging his father's name; his dread of his father mixed up with another fear that it was his father himself killed the girl to stop their marriage; the emotional effect of watching the old man's hair turning white and not being sure of the cause. I don't think it's much wonder he crashed in the end. It's all such a tangle of love of father and son, love of boy and girl, doubt, fear, suspicion, theft, murder, all together. But what I would like to know – what's worrying me is, was the boy on the right track if he really believed his father killed Carrie Mears?'

‘Miss Perry told us how afraid the old man was his boy would turn out like the grandfather,' Ferris remarked. ‘And once a man gets religion, especially when it's fear that drives him to it, well, anything may happen.'

‘You mean,' corrected Mitchell gently, ‘when he thinks he has got religion, and made his God from it, instead of his religion from his God.' After a time, he added: ‘After all, there's no real evidence except opportunity and a possible motive, plus a hat.'