Johnny Swanson (25 page)

‘But surely you know who holds this box? No doubt they come in here to collect their mail?’

‘I dare say they do. And I dare say I know the name. But I have to tell you that his, or her, identity is a matter between that person and the Post Office.’

‘But this is a serious allegation.’

‘That’s as may be. And if it is serious enough, no doubt you can persuade a judge to issue you with a warrant permitting you to acquire the information you seek. But until then, I’m afraid my duty is to protect it.’

The policeman was beginning to get cross. ‘But, Mr Hutchinson, you are already co-operating with us over Dr Langford’s mail. You’ve let me and my colleagues examine that every morning.’

‘May I remind you, Officer, that Dr Langford was murdered? Now, that
is
a serious matter. And of course, Dr Langford is dead. His relationship with the Post Office is now profoundly altered.’

‘But be reasonable, man. The chances are that we’ll get to the bottom of this fiddle, if fiddle it be, in the end anyway. We’ll just find out sooner if we don’t have to go through the rigmarole of getting the courts involved. Come on, Mr Hutchinson. It’s PO Box number nine. Now, you know whose box it is, don’t you?’

Hutch tried not to let his face show a thing.

The policeman tried again. ‘Is it somebody local, or someone passing through?’

Again, Hutch stood silent.

‘Am I going to have to take this higher?’

‘It seems so. Officer, if you had paid for me to protect your privacy, I expect you would want me to keep my word?’

The policeman was exasperated now. He turned to go. ‘I will be consulting my superiors. I’d rather you didn’t leave the premises, Mr Hutchinson. I may be back before too long.’

‘Certainly, Officer,’ said Hutch. ‘I was not planning to go out anyway, and that is why I will be here. I think that if you ask your superiors you will find that you have no more right to restrict my movements than you have to demand the information you desire. We will talk again when you have satisfied yourself as to the legal position.’

The policeman left, muttering under his breath. He was fed up with Hutch and his pomposity. What right had he to be so proud, when he’d taken in that kid – the son of a killer?

‘What do you mean, a complication?’ shouted Mr Bennett.

Mrs Langford tried to explain. ‘There’s a boy,’ she said calmly. ‘He’s come here from Stambleton. He’s Winnie Swanson’s son. He’s been looking for me.’

‘What! How on earth did he find you?’

‘I don’t know. But he’s coming to this room at any moment, and we’re ready for him.’

Johnny could imagine her motioning towards the deadly drug waiting on the desk.

‘Look, I don’t need to be part of anything like that,’ said Bennett. ‘You deal with the boy. Give me the next batch of vaccine and you can have your share of the money for the last lot. Get a move on. I don’t want to hang around.’

‘Here’s the box,’ said Howell.

There were two thuds on the desk. Bennett had thrown down a couple of packets of money. ‘There you are. Not a bad piece of work, eh? The whole
batch gone. You were right, Marie. We can hook in customers every way. We can play on them as rebels who want something illegal; or as social climbers after something no one else has got; or as anxious parents worried that their babies might get sick. I tell you, by the time I’ve finished with them, they’re scared
not
to buy it. I could do with those leaflets you promised me, though. I need to make the medical details more convincing. Some people prefer things in black and white.’

‘Here they are,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘It’s word-for-word what they say in France. She declaimed the first sentence grandly: ‘
Faites préserver vos enfants contre la tuberculose par le vaccin BCG
 … Save your children from TB with the BCG vaccine. I’ve copied out the whole thing – except for this bit here, of course.’

Bennett read out a sentence in a schoolboy French accent. ‘
Délivré gratuitement par l’institut Pasteur sur demande du médecin ou de la sage-femme.
’

Mrs Langford translated it for him: ‘Delivered for free by the Pasteur Institute at the request of a doctor or midwife.’

Bennett laughed, but Howell was serious.

‘It should be free,’ he said. ‘I never wanted to charge for it.’ Bennett groaned as Howell continued, ‘This doesn’t feel right. I only helped Dr Langford
because he wanted to save lives, and now we’re exploiting people.’

Johnny was beginning to work out what was going on. Perhaps he’d been wrong about Howell. Maybe he had never meant to get involved. It was
Bennett
who was at the heart of the sales scheme, and Bennett was so clever that he was even giving Howell and Mrs Langford some of the takings so they would share his guilt.

But Johnny shuddered when Mrs Langford’s voice broke in, with a sarcastic ring. ‘Forgive me, Doctor, but I don’t see you turning down your share of the proceeds. And why are you so high-minded about human life all of a sudden?’ Johnny heard her pick up a glass jar from the desk. ‘Look at this, Bennett,’ she hissed. ‘When you came in, our saintly friend, the doctor, was preparing to kill somebody!’

‘I told you. I don’t want to know about that,’ said Bennett. ‘I’m off.’

Johnny heard Howell step aside, blocking Bennett’s path to the door.

‘Don’t go yet,’ said Howell. ‘I want to know what to do about the boy.’

‘I’ve told you what to do,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘We haven’t any choice.’

‘But won’t someone come looking for him?’ said Howell. ‘Maybe he told someone he was coming here.’

‘Will you stop worrying!’ said Mrs Langford. ‘He’s alone, I’m sure of it. And better still, he’s told me that the police won’t listen to him. Even the boy himself is convinced that I was in France at the time of the murder. That letter you made me write seems to have done a good job, Bennett.’

Johnny was trembling in his hiding place, sure now that he and his mother were both doomed. He was still trying to make sense of what Mrs Langford was saying.

Dr Howell was bemused too. ‘What letter?’ he said. ‘What have you two been up to behind my back?’

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ sneered Bennett. ‘We haven’t been keeping anything from you. We had to do something to fill in a few gaps. It was our own fault. We didn’t think things through properly at the beginning, when you made the Langfords come here in such a rush …’

‘I had to,’ said Howell. ‘The culture wasn’t growing properly. I needed Dr Langford’s help, or we’d never have got the vaccine going.’ He sounded close to tears. ‘But neither of us wanted to sell it. It was just you two!’

‘But you’re in on it now, Howell,’ said Bennett. ‘You’ve already supplied the stuff, and now you’ve given me more.’ He tapped his parcel. ‘How will you explain this to the police?’

‘They’re not going to worry about that when I tell them how Dr Langford died!’

‘You—’

Johnny heard the sound of a punch, a groan and a scuffle as the two men fought.

‘Let me go!’ screamed Howell, whose arm had been bent behind his back by Bennett.

Mrs Langford leaped up from her chair. ‘You’re not going to tell anyone anything, Howell!’ she cried. There was a demonic chuckle behind the menace in her voice as she asked Bennett, ‘What do you say, Frederick? Shall we do away with him too?’

Howell was struggling against Bennett’s grip. ‘No! Don’t! I’m not going to talk. Anyway, what could I say? I wasn’t even there, was I?’ His voice became muffled. Bennett had a hand over his mouth now. Johnny could hear Howell trying to shout. He was kicking too, trying to break away. Great blows from his feet thundered against the desk, and into Johnny’s backbone.

Johnny could see Mrs Langford’s feet pacing round
the desk. She tormented Howell as he squirmed against Bennett’s grip. ‘You know, you’ll be much more useful to us dead than you’ve ever been alive,’ she said. ‘It’s true, there’ll be no more vaccine, but we’ll be able to split the money we’ve already got two ways instead of three.’

Bennett picked up her drift. ‘You’re right, Marie. And if we’re ever caught, we could say it was Howell’s idea to sell the vaccine, and not yours at all.’

Johnny was stunned. So Mrs Langford was the mastermind. He had been completely taken in by her pretence of friendliness. He didn’t want to believe it, but somehow it made sense. He knew that the Langfords had been hard up. Mrs Langford had even sent off for
Make Your Money Go Further
. And then Johnny felt a new twist of panic. To his undercurrent of terror was added a sickening wallop of guilt and regret. He was having another clong. He remembered showing Mrs Langford the Umckaloabo advert. He recalled asking why Dr Langford couldn’t sell the BCG vaccine in the same way, and how the doctor had criticized Chas. H. Stevens, of Worple Road, Wimbledon, for making money by playing on the anxieties of the unwell. Had Johnny unwittingly given Mrs Langford the idea which had led to her
husband’s death and Winnie’s arrest? Could she have thought up the whole scheme, and chosen Bennett to be her salesman? After all, as she herself had told Johnny when they’d talked in the theatre, the best customers were rich people: people who would keep quiet because they had a lot to lose if they were discovered. Bennett moved in those circles, and Mrs Langford had known him since he was a child. And Johnny knew that Bennett needed cash too. He’d said as much when he’d joked with Inspector Griffin about the pile of bills on his desk. Johnny thought back to Remembrance Day, and Bennett’s earnest conversation with Mrs Langford at the service. Then there’d been the sudden news that Bennett was invited to the Langfords’ for supper. If the plot had been hatched that day, it would explain how unprepared they were when Howell had phoned during the meal to say that he needed Dr Langford’s help.

Mrs Langford carried on taunting Dr Howell, whose shouts were still muffled by Bennett’s grip. ‘I really can’t think of any reason to keep you alive, you know,’ she said, with an air of exaggerated calm. ‘It must be worrying for you. What a pity you can’t move your arms. You could nibble those nails of yours even shorter. Maybe even make them bleed.’

‘Come on then, woman, let’s get it over with,’ said Bennett, as Howell squealed and grunted. ‘I can’t hold him for ever.’

Johnny pictured Mrs Langford advancing on Howell with the loaded syringe.

Suddenly Bennett swore. Howell had bitten his hand and twisted out of his grip. Johnny heard more bumps and thrashing as the two men jostled with each other, lashing out and cursing. Howell threw Mrs Langford across the room, and Johnny stifled a gasp as one of her high-heeled shoes rolled under the desk, only inches away from him. He heard her pulling herself up again, panting. Then she let out a bizarre shriek and Dr Howell gave a desperate cry of resistance that was strangled into an agonized gargle, a wheeze and a cough. His rigid body thumped against the desk and onto the floor next to Johnny. Everything was still.

In the theatre, twelve chimes rang out as Cinderella ran away from the ball.

J
ohnny could sense frozen panic in the room.

Bennett spoke first. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right,’ he repeated as if trying to reassure himself. Then his tone shifted from distraction to resolution. ‘I’m going,’ he said.

‘Take me with you,’ said Mrs Langford, with a breathy coolness. ‘Let’s leave now, while there’s no one around.’

‘No. Someone would come looking for you. I couldn’t risk having you in the car. The panto’s nearly over. We wouldn’t have time to get far before the body was discovered. We might even meet the police coming the other way.’

‘Then stay. Stay and help me talk my way out of this. I can say that Howell attacked me, and you fought him off. We could make it look like self-defence.’

‘No, I’m getting out of it. No one knows I’ve been here. There’s no reason for me to be mixed up in this at all.’

Mrs Langford barred the door. Her tone had turned from pleading to menace. ‘Unless I say something. After all, Howell’s not around now to keep an eye on me. There’s nothing to stop me telling everyone that you killed my husband.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Bennett sounded panicky.

Mrs Langford kept her spiteful calm. ‘Take it how you like. I’m simply being practical. We’re in this together, that’s all. Keep your head, and we can come up with a story that puts us both in the clear.’

‘How are you going to explain the poison? Isn’t it a bit fishy that it just happened to be to hand?’

‘I’ll say Howell brought it with him. To kill me. To shut me up because I knew he killed Giles.’

There was a pause. When Bennett spoke, it sounded as if he was happy to go along with the plan. ‘You should look a bit more roughed up,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to play the victim a bit. A sweet little lady in the power of a homicidal brute.’

‘Don’t worry. Being a quiet, kind old woman is my speciality.’

Exactly
, thought Johnny.
I was certainly taken in
.

Bennett and Mrs Langford stood in silence. Johnny was terrified that they would hear him breathing, and felt a rush of relief when the band in the theatre
started playing ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’ and all the children in the audience joined in, filling the room with song.

‘Maybe we should raise the alarm,’ said Bennett. ‘That’s what you’d do, isn’t it? If you’d really been attacked?’

‘Yes, I’ll call the police,’ said Mrs Langford, limping round the desk to reach the phone.

Johnny’s heart sank. If she got through to the operator, Mrs Langford might find out that the police were already on their way. She might panic. She might run. She might dive under the desk to find her shoe. She might see him. There might be some poison left in the jar, and Johnny knew now that she was not afraid to use it.

Mrs Langford lifted the receiver and dialled the operator. A second later, she had dropped the phone. It swung to and fro across the mouth of the footwell. Johnny could hear the woman through the earpiece, shouting out, ‘Hello … Hello … Hello?’

They were the same words used by one of two policemen who had just entered the room.