The Lately Deceased (16 page)

Pearl seemed in two minds whether to pursue the subject or whether to let it drop. Then she smiled at him and sank down onto the settee, patting the place alongside her for Gordon to join her.

‘Sorry, darling! Things have been a bit too much for me these past few days. Give me a cigarette.'

Then, expertly, almost without him being aware of it, she proceeded to extract from him all the information about the will that she wanted to know. She sat tight-lipped, looking into the fire, until he had finished.

‘So you're worse off now than before she died?'

‘That's about the size of it – for fifteen years, at any rate.'

‘Don't you get a thing now?'

‘Yes, I get five thousand a year and the house at Oxford.'

‘How much have you got of your own?' Her eyes were hard and calculating, and Gordon looked at her warily.

‘Hey, what is this?' he demanded, half seriously, half in fun. ‘Why all this financial grilling? Do you want me to buy you a yacht?'

With a sudden change of mood Pearl short-circuited his questions by holding up her lips to be kissed. Then she reached to the end of the settee, picked up his hat and placed it on his head.

‘Out, darling! That policeman will be here soon. We don't want him to get the wrong idea, do we? I'm supposed to be the sorrowing widow today; remember?'

As he got up to go, Gordon looked at her curiously. ‘When were you at the Hampstead place last?' he asked.

‘The morning that Margaret died, getting together some things to go to Paris. Colin wasn't there then. Why do you ask?'

‘I just wondered when he did his suicide act, that's all.'

As he left the room, he asked her.

‘What are you going to do? You can't live here for ever.'

‘I'll get a flat as soon as I can.'

‘Have you decided to marry me, or don't you think my financial position is sound enough?' His bantering tone was not without its sharp edge.

‘I'll think about it. But only after the decent interval has passed, darling,' she mocked him.

‘Well, don't leave it too long; I might change my mind!'

As Walker crossed the foyer downstairs, Meredith emerged from the cloakroom. Walker had his back to the superintendent and didn't see him; Meredith watched his retreating figure with interest.

‘Pretty quick off the mark!' he said to himself. ‘I wonder how long he's been up there?'

He went to the desk and asked for Mrs Moore. In a few moments, Pearl came down to the lounge, looking superb in a slim grey dress, her concession to mourning, though the glitter of the smile she gave to a passing acquaintance gave little impression of sorrow. Meredith pointed to a pair of easy chairs out of earshot of any other guests and Pearl sat down gracefully. He offered her a cigarette and apologised for troubling her at this sad time.

‘My grief isn't exactly weighing me down. Superintendent,' she smiled. ‘There was little love lost between Colin and me. Of course I'm sorry that it should have come to this, because you can't live with someone for a long time and not miss them when they are suddenly taken from you, but please don't think of me as the heart-broken widow.'

Meredith thought he heard a trace of the studio dramatics in this and passed to the first of his questions: ‘Did your husband ever mention taking his own life? Did he ever give you any reason to suspect that he might be that way inclined?'

“What, have suicidal ideas ? God, no ! I'm amazed that he brought himself to do it. He was a physical coward, you know. Superintendent. That was one of the things I came to hate about him. How he screwed up the nerve to kill himself. I'll never understand.”

Meredith looked gravely at her, wondering if her hard shell would be proof against the next item of news that he had for her. “As I told you over the 'phone, Mrs. Moore, your husband left a note indicating that he had gassed him­self because he had killed Mrs Walker by accident. It was a very bitter letter, very bitter towards you.”

‘I see.' Her voice was small and apprehensive. ‘Will it have to come out?'

‘Be read in court, do you mean? That will depend on the coroner, but I don't think he will consider it necessary.'

‘Please persuade him, if you can.'

‘You may rely on me,' he said quietly. ‘I am afraid it will disturb you, though, when I tell you that the purpose of the note was to explain Mrs Walker's murder.'

‘Explain her murder? But, how?'

‘Your husband, Mrs Moore, killed Mrs Walker believing her to be you.'

‘Oh no, Superintendent, that can't be true.'

The words carried just the right inflexion of appalled shock, but Meredith watching closely, was interested to note that the woman's tension of a moment before had gone. She had relaxed visibly, leaving him to wonder what news she could have been expecting that was worse than knowing that she had been her husband's intended victim.

‘Really, Mr Meredith, it's too fantastic!' Pearl said. ‘Colin was jealous of me and often worked himself up into a state about me, but never to the extent of wanting to kill me. I just can't believe it.'

Meredith shook his head. ‘I'm sorry, Mrs Moore, but the facts indicate otherwise,' he said. ‘Fortunately for you, I don't think that this circumstance is strictly relevant to the death and I'm sure the coroner will use his usual discretion in confining himself to the actual facts of the deaths.'

Pearl studied his face as he was speaking. Detachedly, she thought him quite handsome, though rather sombre. She forced herself to listen again to what he was saying.

‘We'll check on the note, of course, but I've not much doubt at the moment as to its outcome.'

‘But I can't believe it; I just can't! I know Colin, Superintendent. He could never kill anyone, let alone me, and certainly not himself.'

Old Nick shrugged his shoulders.

‘Then what other explanation can you give for the note and for his suicide?' he asked. She looked at him mutely and shook her head. For the first time, the affair seemed to be having some emotional effect on her – or was she acting again, he wondered?

‘If he didn't do it, who did and why, Mrs Moore?' he went on. ‘It all fits. I came to see you in order to tell you the contents of your husband's last note. It was better that you should hear it from me than from the coroner, should he consider that it must be produced as evidence.'

Pearl murmured her thanks.

‘There is just one other point, madam, that I would like to raise with you.' Meredith went on. ‘It concerns Mr Leo Prince. I think he was known to you in the past. Can you tell me of your relationship with him and any knowledge you may have regarding his affairs?'

Pearl's eyes opened wide; she seemed genuinely surprised at this turn in the interview.

‘Leo? Why, yes. I've known him for four or five years; since before I was married. What has he got to do with this?'

‘We don't know, possibly nothing. Our principal interest in him lies in the fact that he's apparently gone to earth, in spite of being told to hold himself ready for further questioning. We know that he has a rather unsavoury past, and that he is now using an assumed name.'

Pearl took a long draw on her cigarette and let the smoke stream lazily through her nostrils before answering:

‘Well, it doesn't surprise me, really,' she said. ‘I was quite attracted to him; perhaps because I was quite a lot younger then,' she added, as if by way of explanation.

‘When I first knew him he was a very smooth type, with plenty of money and a smart car. Quite a catch, really, for a young girl at the bottom of the ladder. I know now that he was a nasty bit of work. He got badly beaten up twice when I knew him. I never knew what he did to get his money; it's only since I've been married that he's had this theatrical business.'

Meredith nodded. ‘Did you know that Prince wasn't his real name?'

‘No, it's the one he's always used since I've known him. Mind you, I've seen very little of him for the past couple of years, though I must admit it hasn't been for want of trying on his side. I'm afraid I've been pretty rude to him about it on more than one occasion.'

‘How did he come to be at this party?' asked Meredith.

‘Gordon and he had business connections,' she replied.

‘Did Mr Walker know that you and Prince had been friends in the past?'

‘He knew that we had known each other, because I introduced them to each other. But Gordon wasn't aware just how close we had been at one time. At any rate, he's never mentioned it.'

Meredith accepted that with some reservation and carried on with his next question: ‘Did you know any of Prince's earlier associates?‘

‘Not by name, but there were a couple of tough-looking hoodlums who used to come to a flat he had in Goodge Street. The last time I saw them they dragged Leo out of the flat and when I saw him next day he had two black eyes and a limp.'

‘That was the last time you saw them?'

‘Yes, I came to the conclusion that Leo wasn't the ideal boyfriend, so I began to move in more civilised circles after that.'

Meredith thanked Pearl for her help.

‘I'm sorry that we have to meet in such miserable circumstances each time, Mrs Moore. It's been a pretty nasty weekend for all concerned. If you think of anything else about Leo Prince, please let me know. I'm always at the end of a telephone.'

Pearl promised to do so and walked with him to the hotel entrance.

‘When will the inquest be held on Colin?' she asked.

‘On Wednesday at ten thirty. It will only be formal evidence of identification, followed by an adjournment. The inquest on Mrs Walker takes place tomorrow, but you won't be required for that, of course. Have you someone looking after your husband's funeral arrangements for you?'

‘His brother in Croydon. I telephoned him this afternoon; he said he would see to everything. I must admit I'm very glad. The brother disapproves of me strongly, I'm afraid.'

Meredith left the hotel, wondering at the casual way in which some people treated their marital affairs. This highly attractive young woman had just received the news of her husband's avowed intention of murdering her with almost complete indifference.

It was not until he had gone that Pearl realised that Meredith had never told her the precise words of her husband's last note. She thought about this for some minutes and suddenly decided she was glad, as she did not want to know.

While Meredith had been talking to Pearl, Masters had telephoned London and Gatwick airports with a description of Leo. Within the hour London Airport police rang back to say that they had picked up the swarthy Prince when he presented himself for embarkation on a flight to Milan.

He had been most indignant when his attempted departure was halted. He had tried to bluff it out, but the officer in charge, taking a chance on the legality of his action, had confronted him with an accusation of being a material witness to a felony and probably an accessory after the fact. Prince's indignation had subsided like a pricked balloon.

Masters relayed this news to Clerkenwell, who promised to search in the warehouse as soon as a warrant could be obtained. For the first time, the CID team in Comber Street felt satisfied about the Great Beachy Street case. Only the formalities of the inquests now remained before the case was finally closed, and Meredith, his worries over, left for home to watch Maigret perform wonders of detection on the television.

On the following morning, Meredith and Stammers arrived at the coroner's court for the formal opening of the inquest on Margaret Walker. The high-vaulted old court was full of people, some waiting for the cases that were to follow, others drawn by the interest in the murder which had had such publicity.

Stammers sat with his colleagues on an old varnished bench at the side of the court which was reserved for police. In front of him, in the well of the court, was a large table around which black-coated solicitors and counsel jostled their briefcases and umbrellas in a dignified fight for the few chairs that were available. At a smaller table, a crowd of reporters squeezed together, trying to find enough room to rest their notebooks. Normally this table held only a pimply youth in canvas jeans and a crewcut, who daily came to collect the pathetic stories of suicides and traffic deaths for the local newspaper.

Today, however, a crowd of hardbitten men from Fleet Street had turned up from the agencies and big ‘dailies'. All were prepared to make the most of the meagre facts that were likely to emerge when the case was opened.

Wally Morris, now wearing police uniform, was marshalling his witnesses and keeping an eye on the door at the far end of the court, which led to the coroner's room. This door led directly off a slightly raised platform with a dark oak partition running along its front. Behind the centre of this dais were a desk and carved chair for the coroner, placed directly below a garish coat of arms made from plaster, fixed on the dingy wall. The rest of the hall was taken up by rows of varnished pews, looking like a bankrupt Welsh chapel, in which the witnesses and spectators sat. The jury box, on the opposite side of the court from the police, was empty, as the first few cases were ‘openings' and suicides, not requiring a jury.

Morris's watchful eye caught sight of the door opening onto the bench and he at once called for order, his voice stilling the babble in the courtroom.

‘Stand for Her Majesty's Coroner!' he boomed, as the erect military figure of Dr Eustace Hope stepped on to the platform.

As the coroner took his seat, Wally repeated the medieval ritual that always opened the proceedings;

‘Oh yea, oh yea, all manner of persons who have anything to do at this court before the Queen's Coroner for this county, touching the death of Margaret Elizabeth Walker, draw near, and give your attendance.'