Instrument of Slaughter

CHAPTER TWENTY

She knew that he was out there somewhere. When she peeped through the curtains in the front bedroom, Caroline Skene could see nobody in the street outside yet she was convinced that the house was being watched. Her stomach was knotted with fear and she could find no relief. Lacking the courage to go outside and investigate, she was also unable to ask her husband to do so. He knew nothing of her life beyond the marriage and she was certain that the surveillance was somehow connected with it. She was therefore compelled to suffer in silence. During the morning and afternoon, there’d been no problem. She’d been out shopping and been able to move about freely without any sense of being menaced. Now, however, he was back. What made her writhe in terror was that she had no idea of what he wanted.

Covering her trepidation as best she could, she went downstairs to the living room, ready to engage in conversation with her husband. There was, however, no call for her to do so. Wilf Skene was asleep in an armchair with a newspaper across his lap. Having worked the early morning shift at the factory, he’d come home tired. He managed to stay awake long enough to eat an evening meal with her then dozed off in the chair. Caroline looked at him with an affection shadowed by discontent. He’d been a good, loyal, hard-working husband but he was an increasingly dull companion. An industrial accident had left him with a limp and he was now having a problem with his hearing. He was starting to look like an old man. The couple hadn’t had sexual relations for years. Distressed about it at first, she’d come to see it as a blessing. It gave her a sense of freedom and allowed her to give her thoughts full rein. Only because of what she felt was a sham marriage was she able to respond to the interest shown in her by Cyril Ablatt. He’d been her redemption.

While he was still alive — and their romance had blossomed — Caroline had been happier than at any other time in her life. When they were alone, the age difference vanished. They complemented each other. He’d educated her and she, in turn, had taught him about sensual pleasure. The rare nights they’d spent together had given her a satisfaction she’d never known before. It pained her to deceive her husband and, by extension, Gerald Ablatt, but she couldn’t help herself. She was swept along on a torrent of love seasoned with a lust she’d never realised she had. It left her at once ashamed and exhilarated, guilty at what she was doing yet thrilled that she’d got away with it. She knew that the situation would soon change. Her young lover’s refusal to accept conscription would land him in prison and keep him there for some time. Caroline had promised to stand by him. No matter how long he was incarcerated, she would be waiting for him on his release.

The one possibility she’d never even considered was his murder. It had ruined her life, leaving her bereft and vulnerable. Gone was the excitement of a young lover. All that was left behind was the awful predictability of an existence with a tedious husband. At least he would never know about her adultery. She’d managed to establish that all the letters she’d written to Cyril had gone from his bedroom and she knew that the telltale photograph of her had been taken away by Inspector Marmion. She relied heavily on his discretion and understanding and wished that she could seek help from him at that very moment. But it would entail a walk to the police station to use the telephone and she was too frightened to venture outside. He was still lurking out there somewhere. If she was foolish enough to present a target, there was no telling what he might do.

It would all be different in the morning. Her husband would have gone to work and it would be safe for her to leave the house. Caroline wouldn’t just tell Marmion about the latest incident. She’d plead for protection. She couldn’t spend another evening in such a state. It was unendurable. The police had to rescue her from torment by catching the man who was stalking her. If they didn’t do so, he might tire of simply watching and move in for the kill.

It was different this time. Father Howells had actually asked to speak to Marmion. During their first conversation at the hospital, the curate had been both weary and befuddled. Marmion felt that he might also have been evasive. As he and Keedy drove to the hospital again, they allowed themselves a guarded optimism.

‘He’s had time to think things over,’ said Marmion. ‘With luck, he’s going to be more honest this time.’

Keedy smiled. ‘Are you accusing a priest of telling lies?’

‘No, he didn’t do that, Joe. He just refrained from telling the truth.’

‘Isn’t that the same thing?’

‘It depends how you look at it.’

There was another difference. When they went up to the room where Father Howells was being kept, Marmion learnt that the patient had asked to see him on his own. No nurse or doctor would be in attendance. It was promising. Marmion went into the room alone and was met with an immediate setback. The curate was asleep and there was clearly no pretence involved. Not daring to wake him, all that he could do was to watch and wait. His patience was eventually rewarded. Father Howells stirred, rolled onto his side and half-opened his eyes.

‘Who’s there?’ he asked, hoarsely. ‘Is it the inspector?’

‘Yes,’ said Marmion. ‘How are you?’

‘My head still hurts.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Could you …?’

He lifted a hand to indicate the glass of water on the bedside table. Marmion helped him to sit up, then held the glass while he took several sips from it. When he spoke again, the curate sounded a little clearer.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘My throat is very dry.’

Marmion sat beside the bed. ‘Why did you want to see me alone?’

‘I want to know if I can trust you, Inspector.’

‘Trust me to do what, sir?’

‘My parents must never know the full details,’ said the other, solemnly. ‘They would never understand and I don’t want them to be hurt unnecessarily.’

‘I give you my word that I’ll be as discreet as possible.’

‘That’s good enough for me.’

‘Go on, sir.’

There was a considered pause. ‘It’s … not what you may think.’

‘I have no preconceptions about the attack, I assure you.’

‘There have been threats against me.’

‘Do you know who made them?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the curate, sadly. ‘I know only too well. I didn’t take them seriously at first. In fact, I destroyed the letters.’

‘Who sent them?’

‘It was someone who was once a close friend. We studied together at theological college. He was always rather intense even then. I completed the course but he dropped out for some reason. But we always kept in touch. That’s to say,’ he added, ‘he always kept in touch with me.’

‘What you’re saying is that the friendship was rather one-sided,’ observed Marmion. ‘Is that a fair description?’

‘With regard to the last few weeks, I suppose that it is.’

‘It sounds as if he’s possessive.’

‘He’s very possessive and prone to jealousy.’

‘What’s his name, sir?’

‘Be gentle with him, Inspector,’ urged Father Howells. ‘Strange as it may seem, I bear him no ill will. Michael misread the situation. When he saw me talking to a new friend, he thought that he was being replaced in my affections. But that’s not true at all. I never entertained the kind of feelings for Michael that he had for me.’ He looked at Marmion. ‘Do I need to be more explicit?’

‘No, sir — and you don’t need to tell me who this new friend was.’

‘He, too, saw something that isn’t there, Inspector. I don’t know why I inspire such strong feelings in other men. It’s always worried me. I’ve learnt to tolerate it. In Michael’s case, I tolerated it far too much and almost died as a result.’

‘What’s his other name, sir?’

‘Michael Goodrich. By rights, it should be the Reverend Michael Goodrich because he’s a very gifted man. And if he had a parish to look after, he wouldn’t have had time for any intense friendship. He’d have been kept as busy as I am. That’s the irony of it,’ said the patient. ‘I’m not interested in another man … in that way. What made me drift apart from Michael was the sheer volume of work I have as a curate. In the course of that, curiously enough, I deal with far more women than men. Pastoral care is very time-consuming.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Marmion, taking out his notebook. ‘I appreciate the effort it must have cost for you to confide this information.’ He raised his pencil. ‘Could you please give me Mr Goodrich’s address?’

It was no use. After a third attempt at writing a letter, Alice Marmion tore it up and threw it into the wastepaper basket. In her mind, she knew exactly what she wanted to say but the right words would simply not drop onto the page. She now realised why. What she had to tell him needed to be said to his face and not written down. It was too important to be consigned to a letter that might be misinterpreted. The only fair and proper way was to confront him. Joe Keedy would certainly not turn up outside the house for a third time so Alice had to go to him. Though he lived on the other side of London and she’d have to get there in the dark, she didn’t hesitate for a second. Reaching for her coat and hat, she put them on and let herself out of the room.

Michael Goodrich lived alone in the cottage that he’d inherited from his parents. Since it was close to Epping Forest, it was a long drive for the detectives. Keedy was fascinated to hear the information that had been divulged.

‘I can see why he doesn’t want his parents to know everything,’ he said. ‘They didn’t strike me as a worldly couple.’

‘I agree, Joe. They wouldn’t understand how another man could actually fall in love with their son. It would distress them beyond measure, even though Father Howells didn’t have the same feelings for his friend — or for any other man, as it happens. He’s simply not of that persuasion.’

‘But we now know who is, Harv.’

‘Yes,’ said Marmion. ‘It’s our librarian once again. Eric Fussell was the reason that the curate was attacked in a fit of jealousy. He’d befriended Father Howells and had hidden motives for doing so. Goodrich wrongly identified Fussell as the lover who’d usurped him.’

Keedy grimaced. ‘I just can’t imagine Fussell as a lover somehow.’

‘Neither could Father Howells. As soon as he realised what was going on, he tried to distance himself from the librarian but he wasn’t easily shaken off.’

‘Are we sure that this so-called friend tried to kill Father Howells?’

‘I think so.’

‘What if it was the other way round?’ asked Keedy, thoughtfully. ‘Eric Fussell could have been provoked into that savage attack because he was jealous of Goodrich. If he saw him and the curate together, he’d feel that something was going on.’

‘Let’s deal with Goodrich first,’ said Marmion. ‘He’s the more likely suspect and the one named by Father Howells himself. We’ll keep Fussell in reserve for the moment.’ An idea struck him. ‘The fact that he prefers the company of men gives us a new slant on Ablatt’s murder, of course. We know that he was a handsome young chap. Caroline Skene emphasized that. Was his boss’s hatred of him fuelled by the fact that Ablatt had once rejected his advances?’

‘It’s not impossible, I suppose.’

‘There could be wheels within wheels.’

When they reached the cottage, they saw that it was small, thatched and fairly isolated. The curtains were drawn but there was a light on in the front room. There was no response to Marmion’s knock. He tried again, knocking even harder. When nobody came to the door, he and Keedy went around to the rear of the premises. They peered into the kitchen but it was empty. Marmion banged on the window with his knuckles. It was all to no avail. After one last attempt to rouse someone inside the cottage, he nodded to Keedy who used a gloved hand to punch a hole in the kitchen window. Lifting the latch, he opened the window and clambered through before letting Marmion in by means of the back door. They switched on the light and went through to the living room. Marmion crossed to the staircase and looked up.

‘Is anyone here?’ he yelled.

There was dead silence. ‘I’ll take a look,’ said Keedy.

He bounded up the stairs and switched on the lights in each of the bedrooms. When he came back down again, he shook his head. They looked around the living room with its low ceiling and shabby furniture. It reminded them of Cyril Ablatt’s bedroom. Filled with books and magazines pertaining to the Anglican church, it also contained some anthologies of poetry. A Bible stood on the table beside a half-written article about the significance of Easter. The cottage felt lived in yet there was no sign of its owner. Keedy remembered something.

‘Isn’t there a shed at the back?’ he asked.

‘I believe that there is.’

‘Let’s go and see it.’

‘Why should he be hiding out there?’

Marmion had thought to bring a torch. When they went outside, he had to use it to guide them towards the large shed at the bottom of a garden that was clearly untended. The door of the shed was slightly ajar and the wind was making it tap against the jamb like a woodpecker. Opening the door wide, Marmion shone the torch inside and the beam illumined the body of Michael Goodrich, hanging from a rafter. They cut him down at once and tried to resuscitate him but he was already dead. In his pocket was a letter addressed to the Reverend James Howells. Marmion opened it and read the neat calligraphy.

Dear James,

If you can find it in your heart, please forgive me. I’m so sorry for what I did. I came to the hospital to apologise but there was a policeman outside your door. This is the only way I can make amends. Goodbye, dear friend.

Michael.

They looked down at the lifeless body. Goodrich was a short, slim young man with an almost boyish face twisted into an expression of agony, eyes bulging and tongue sticking out. Marmion and Keedy felt a surge of compassion. The case had been solved but they were sorry that it had involved a gruesome suicide.

‘Are you going to show Father Howells that letter?’ asked Keedy.

‘I’ll wait until he recovers first,’ said Marmion. ‘And I certainly won’t release details of it to the press. Some things should remain private. Besides, there’s a war on. They’ve got plenty to write about.’

As the night wore on, it got windier and colder. Alice was glad that she’d brought a scarf and gloves as well. Having established that Keedy wasn’t in the house, she waited beside a nearby tree. It gave her some protection against the wind and kept her hidden from the gaze of those passing by on the other side of the street. As another fruitless hour slipped by, it suddenly occurred to her that Keedy might, after all, have gone to her digs once more. It would be maddening if they were each waiting for the other one to put in an appearance. Alice couldn’t stay there for ever. She decided that another half an hour was all she could spare.

In the event, it was just long enough. At a point when she was just about to give up, she saw a figure coming out of the gloom and recognised his familiar gait. Running towards him, she was overjoyed that he’d come at last and hugged him tight. Keedy was as delighted as he was amazed.

‘I never expected this kind of welcome,’ he said, laughing.

‘I had to see you, Joe.’

He kissed her on the forehead. ‘Am I complaining?’

‘Something happened today.’

‘Tell me about it on the way back to your place,’ he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘You shouldn’t be out alone this late, Alice.’

By the time they reached the bus stop, she’d told him about the worrying encounter with Hannah Billington and how it had made her review the situation she was in. Alice felt that it couldn’t go on. The secrecy which gave their friendship an extra edge had now begun to pall. Guilt was gnawing away at her.

‘I needed you, Joe,’ she explained. ‘When Hannah asked me if I was courting, I should have been able to say that, in fact, I was. It would have prevented a lot of embarrassment at her house.’

‘I can see that.’

‘It’s made me think long and hard about us.’

‘And what conclusion did you reach?’

‘We have to make a decision together,’ she said, before blurting out the sentence she’d rehearsed. ‘Either we’re serious enough about each other to tell everyone what’s going on or …we go our separate ways.’

He grinned. ‘Does that mean you’d run off with Hannah Billington?’

‘This is not funny, Joe,’ she scolded, punching him in the chest.

‘I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. It’s time to make up our minds.’

‘I’m just not sure I can go on like this.’

‘How disappointing — I love these trysts in the dark.’ Keedy pulled her close and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you giving me an ultimatum?’

‘I just want to know where I stand.’

‘That’s the very question I was going to put to you. I still don’t know if I’m a pleasant diversion for you or … something more important.’

‘Then I can answer that straight away,’ she said with passion. ‘Outside of my family, you’re the most important person in my whole life. I thought you’d realised that by now. I’ve got all this happiness bubbling away inside me yet I have to keep it bottled up. It’s unnatural.’

‘But we had no choice at first, Alice. You agreed.’

‘That was then — this is now.’

‘I feel as if you’re putting a gun to my head,’ he said.

She was hurt. ‘In that case,’ she conceded, ‘there’s no point in going on with this. It’s time to make a complete break.’

‘It wasn’t a criticism, Alice. I’m grateful to feel a weapon against my temple. It helps me to think more clearly. You should have used the gun earlier.’

She pulled away. ‘You’ve got me completely confused now.’

‘That’s strange,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ve got rid of my confusion.’

Alice was nonplussed. ‘What are you saying, Joe?’

‘Let me spell it out. I want you, I need you and …’ he kissed her full on the lips, ‘I love you. Is that clear enough?’

Tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, Alice buried her head in his chest. His declaration was more than she dared to hope for. All her anxieties faded away. When the bus finally arrived, she and Keedy jumped happily on to it.

Though he gave the superintendent a fuller version of events, Marmion was very economical with regard to the press. Chatfield approved of his wish to release only a minimum of information. All that appeared in the later editions of the morning papers next day was a paragraph to the effect that the police had solved the mystery of who had attacked Father Howells and that they were not looking for anyone else in connection with the case. Not wanting the press to turn the story into a sensation, Marmion suggested that the suicide of Michael Goodrich could, in due course, be presented as the desperate act of a failed Anglican priest who’d tried to kill someone out of envy at his success. Chatfield was quick to agree that they should suppress all mention of any homosexual strands in the case. The notion of intercourse between two men was anathema to him. Professional jealousy was a more acceptable motive to bring before the public and not without an element of truth.

After going through the newspapers with his superior, Marmion adjourned to his office and found a pile of messages awaiting his attention. Some were letters from putative witnesses, claiming that they had reliable information about the attack on the curate and that they were ready to part with it for a substantial reward. Now that the case was solved, Marmion was able to ignore them. The most important message had come from Caroline Skene who’d rung from Lambeth police station. Marmion didn’t keep her waiting this time. Her cry for help was given priority. Within minutes, he was being driven to her house.

When she let him in, Caroline was almost gibbering. He took her into the living room and made her sit down before asking her why she’d summoned him again. Her face was drawn and there were dark bags under her eyes. Her voice had the note of hysteria he’d heard before. She told him what had happened the previous evening and of her feeling that she was in jeopardy. Marmion was at first doubtful.

‘So you never actually saw this person,’ he said.

‘It was too dark, Inspector. I just know he was there.’

‘But you have no real proof.’

She was wounded. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘Yes, of course, Mrs Skene. But it would have been so much more helpful to me if you’d actually caught sight of the man and could tell me at least something about him. How old was he, for instance? Was he tall or short? What was he wearing? Any detail would have been useful.’

‘He’s an evil man,’ she said, ‘and he’s stalking me.’ She reached for a piece of paper on the table and consulted it. ‘After you left the last time, I remembered a few other times when something odd happened. I’ve made a list of them in sequence. You were right about a pattern, Inspector.’ She handed the paper over. ‘It’s quite clear.’

Marmion glanced at the list. ‘I’m not sure that I can see it.’

‘Four of those occasions are on club night.’

‘Do you mean that you went out to a club once a week?’

‘I don’t,’ she replied, ‘but my husband does. If he’s not working the evening shift, he never misses a night at the social club. That man knows it. Because he’s been watching the house, he knows that I’m here on my own on a particular night. That’s when he comes and … stays out there. Yesterday he turned up even though my husband was here. I was horrified. It’s the reason I begged you to call again, Inspector. Tonight is Wilf’s club night. That man will be back again.’

‘You can’t be certain about that, Mrs Skene.’

‘Yes, I can,’ she affirmed, hands trembling. ‘Do you ever lie awake at night when you have something troubling you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he admitted. ‘It happens whenever I’m involved in a difficult case. I stay awake in the dark, wondering how on earth we can solve it.’

‘It was like that for me last night. Something kept going round and round in my mind. It just wouldn’t let me sleep. Eventually,’ she said, sitting forward in her chair, ‘I realised what it was. I’d forgotten the most important evidence of all.’

‘And what was that?’

‘It was the day when Cyril was killed. I wasn’t expecting him to call but he knew that my husband wasn’t here so he took the risk of coming. It was wonderful to see him so excited about that meeting. I shared in his joy. That was my mistake,’ she went on, sorrowfully. ‘I should have kept my eyes open. Because it was dark outside, I thought it was safe to walk with Cyril to the end of the street. He’d only have a hundred yards or so to get to the bus stop. He gave me a kiss and left.’ There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘That was the last time I saw him alive.’

‘You said something about keeping your eyes open.’

‘He was there, Inspector. I half-noticed him at the time but I was too happy at having seen Cyril to look properly at anyone else. I went straight back to the house and thought about the unexpected treat I’d just had. It was only in the middle of the night that it finally came back to me,’ she recalled. ‘That man was there. He could have followed Cyril and murdered him.’

‘He could have, Mrs Skene, but we don’t know that he did.’

‘I know,’ she said with conviction. ‘I know he was there that day and I’m equally sure that he was outside this house yesterday even though it wasn’t Wilf’s club night. I’m not simply a nervous woman given to flights of fancy, Inspector. This man is real and he’s a killer.’

Marmion looked down at the list again. The pattern was inescapable. On four separate occasions in the past month, Caroline had been convinced that the house was being watched. Each time coincided with her husband’s absence at the social club. Since she’d been left alone, her instincts had been heightened. The stalker did exist, Marmion accepted that. What he could not decide was what the man was after. On first hearing that she’d been followed, it had occurred to him that Eric Fussell might be involved, but the revelation about his sexuality eliminated him from any list of possible suspects. There was a secondary reason to omit the librarian. When she was out with Cyril Ablatt one time, Fussell had passed by on the other side of the street and Caroline had been pulled into a doorway. She’d actually seen the librarian. He was not the man she’d glimpsed following her on her way home.

She might be fearful and highly strung but Caroline was patently in need of his help. Club night had come to hold an eerie significance for her.

‘What time does your husband leave this evening?’ asked Marmion.

‘Seven o’clock on the dot.’

‘I’ll be here some time after that, Mrs Skene. That’s a promise.’

Gordon Leach was putting loaves of bread into the back of the cart when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned round to see Ruby Cosgrove standing there. He wasn’t sure whether he should be delighted or disturbed.

‘Why aren’t you at work, Ruby?’

‘I can be late for once. This is more important.’

‘What is?’

She put her hands on her hips. ‘Did you send Fred Hambridge round to me?’

Leach was stunned. ‘Would you say that again?’

‘He came to speak up for you,’ said Ruby.

‘Well, he had no right to do that,’ he said, fuming. ‘I’d never send anyone to speak on my behalf — least of all Fred. He’s hopeless when it comes to talking to women. That’s why he’s never had a girlfriend. What did the idiot say?’

‘He was only doing his best.’

‘I’ll give him a flea in his ear when I see him.’

‘Don’t be cross, Gordon,’ she said. ‘What he said made sense. I didn’t think so at the time because I was mad at him — and mad at you as well. I should have known that you wouldn’t trust Fred with a job like that.’

‘Are you still mad at me?’

‘No — I’m just annoyed at myself for flying off the handle. Fred meant well. He showed me an article that Cyril had written. It was full of big words I didn’t understand but I remember one phrase — “instrument of slaughter”. The article said each man was a dangerous weapon. Put him in uniform and he becomes a killer.’ She grasped his arm. ‘I don’t want you to be a killer, Gordon.’

‘There’s no chance of it ever happening.’

‘And I don’t want you to do anything that’s … wrong for you.’

‘I’m so pleased to hear you say that,’ he said, grinning with relief. ‘Joining a non-combatant corps would sicken me, Ruby. I just couldn’t do it.’

‘Then you don’t have to.’

‘But I thought …’

She beamed at him. ‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’

‘Does that mean we’re friends again?’

‘I never stopped being friends with you,’ she said, before correcting herself. ‘Well, I did for a while when I thought that you’d sent Fred Hambridge to see me. But it soon passed. And that article did make a difference so he did help.’

‘He’ll still get an earful from me,’ warned Leach.

She glanced at the cart. ‘Your round takes you near the factory, doesn’t it?’

‘I’ll drive you straight there.’

‘Then I might even arrive on time, after all.’ She giggled. ‘Well? Don’t just stand there goggling at me. Do something, Gordon.’ He grabbed her impulsively and planted a kiss on her cheek. She pulled back and saw the white marks on her coat. ‘You’ve got flour all over me!’

After her late night meeting, Alice Marmion nevertheless arrived at the depot full of vitality the next day. Vera Dowling was not the most perceptive of women but even she noticed the glow in her friend’s face and the sparkle in her eyes. Assuming that it had something to do with the visit to Hannah Billington’s house, she pressed for details. Alice described the house and the delicious tea with mingled awe and gratitude. What she didn’t even touch on was the invitation she’d been given in the main bedroom. The euphoria she felt in the wake of her conversation with Joe Keedy had expunged it from her mind. When Hannah came across to them, therefore, Alice was not in the least embarrassed.

‘I was just telling Vera what a wonderful time I had yesterday,’ she said. ‘Thank you once again.’

‘It was a pleasure to have you there,’ returned Hannah. ‘We spend so much of our time in these uniforms that it’s good to remind ourselves now and again that we’re still very feminine. Don’t you agree, Vera?’

‘Yes, yes, I do,’ replied Vera, nervously.

‘We mustn’t let this war turn us into honorary men. That will never do.’

She gave them a farewell nod and walked away. Alice was able to relax. It was all over. Whatever had happened between them at the house was forgotten. She wouldn’t be invited again and she was happy about that.

Alice banged the side of the lorry. ‘Come on, Vera,’ she said, making her friend jump in alarm. ‘We’ve got work to do. Let’s go.’

Caroline Skene was sorely tempted. When she saw her husband putting on his coat to go off to the social club, she had an urge to beg him to stay in for once so that she wouldn’t be left alone. It was an impulse she quickly mastered. To keep him there, she would have had to explain why and she couldn’t do that. Accordingly, she let him put on his cap, adjust it slightly in the mirror, then give her his usual peck on the cheek before he left the house. The moment the door closed behind him, the whole place felt cold, undefended and vulnerable. Marmion had promised to come but she sensed that he was not there yet. Caroline ran straight upstairs to the front bedroom and looked out through a chink in the curtains. She was able to watch her husband stroll along the pavement until he was swallowed by the darkness. The street looked completely empty but she was convinced that her stalker was there. Her heart pounded and a film of perspiration appeared on her brow. The man was out there and she was utterly alone.

For several minutes, she was paralysed. She stood there like a statue, unable to move or to think clearly. When she did regain some control over her limbs, she went to the cupboard where she kept a bottle of whisky hidden behind a pile of clothing. There was a small glass in there as well. Pouring herself a tot, she replaced the bottle and sat on the edge of the bed to sip the whisky. Sharp and reviving, it gave her a temporary courage. She told herself that she was not in danger. The front and back doors of the house were locked. If necessary, she could lock herself into the bedroom as well. Nobody could get in. The stalker would surely tire of standing out there in the cold before too long. She simply had to hold her nerve. A second sip of whisky gave her added strength. Caroline felt that she could, after all, cope with the situation.

A loud noise from downstairs shattered her confidence. What had she heard and was it any kind of threat to her? Could it be that her husband had returned? She went out onto the landing and called his name. There was no answer and the house still felt empty. Draining the glass, she left it on the dressing table and was emboldened enough to go downstairs. It was her home. She ought to feel safe. The living room was empty and there was nobody in the front room. Caroline then went into the kitchen and was startled to see that the door had been forced open. As she moved forward, someone who’d been flattened against the wall came up behind her and put an arm around her throat and a hand over her mouth.

‘Do as you’re told,’ warned a voice. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

Caroline almost fainted. He’d come for her at last.

Harvey Marmion asked the driver to pull up around the corner. He and Joe Keedy then got out and split up so that they could enter from either end of the street where the Skene house was located. Someone was loitering immediately opposite it. When Marmion got closer, he saw that a man had simply been waiting while his dog relieved itself against the wheel of a car. The two of them moved off. Having come into the street at the opposite end, Keedy beckoned the inspector over to look at a horse and cart that stood in the shadows. Marmion let his torch play on the painted board at the rear of the vehicle. He read out the bold lettering.

‘Jack Dalley. Blacksmith. Bethnal Green.’

They were in the main bedroom now. Caroline was too terrified either to speak or move. She sat perched on the edge of the bed and his eyes ran hungrily over her.

‘I first saw you at Nora’s wedding,’ he explained. ‘You hardly noticed me but I never let you out of my sight. I found out everything I could about you and I started to watch. I know you better than your husband does, Caroline,’ he said with a snigger. ‘I saw what you did when his back was turned. You let Cyril Ablatt in one night and I watched the light come on in this bedroom. Why him?’ he cried. ‘Why bother with a mere boy when you could have had me? Well, no matter. You’re mine at last now. I’ve lived with a corpse for too long. I need a real woman.’

As he touched her shoulder, she recoiled. ‘Leave me alone — please.’

‘I’ve earned you,’ he said with a grin, ‘and you can’t refuse me, can you? If you do, I’ll tell your husband what you got up to with Ablatt. Then his father will know and so will everyone else in the family. Everyone will know what Caroline Skene does when she’s on heat like a bitch.’ Grabbing her by the hair, he stole a long, guzzled kiss. She turned away in disgust. ‘You’ll have to get used to that, my love. You’ll be seeing a lot of me on your husband’s club nights. I followed him there so I know where he goes and how long he’s away. That gives us plenty of time.’

He loomed over her and began to take off his coat. She was horrified.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she asked, quailing. ‘You killed Cyril.’

‘Yes, I did,’ he boasted. ‘I wasn’t having him touching you anymore. It was my turn. I saw you walk to the corner with him that night. You didn’t even know I was there, sitting on the cart, did you? I had my chance and I took it. I drove round to the bus stop where he was standing and pretended that I had to take the cart to Jack’s house in Shoreditch. Ablatt recognised me from the forge,’ he went on. ‘When I offered him a lift, he couldn’t get on the cart quick enough. All that I had to do was to drive into a dark corner and murder the little bastard.’ She let out a scream. ‘I hid the body under some sacking and took it to Shoreditch at night.’ As she shrank back in disgust, he tried to justify it. ‘I did it for you, Caroline,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t you understand? I did it for you and me.’

Before she could stop him, he pushed her back on the bed and climbed on top of her. She was pinned down helplessly and his hands were all over her. Because he was thrusting his tongue into her mouth, she couldn’t even cry for help. When he lifted her skirt up to her waist, she felt as if she was about to die.

Then came the knock on the door.

Marmion knew that she was in the house and wondered why she didn’t answer his knock. When he looked upwards, he saw the curtains in the front bedroom twitch. He knocked for the second time but he could still hear nobody coming. As he looked through the letter box, he was able to see into the kitchen. The sight of the open door galvanised him into action. After signalling to Keedy, he ran down the side entry of the house and reached the kitchen door, pausing only long enough to note that it had been forced open. Rushing into the house, he looked up the stairs.

‘Are you up there, Mrs Skene?’ he asked.

Though there was no reply, he knew that she was there. Keeping the torch in his hand to use as a weapon, he thundered up the stairs and went into the main bedroom. Caroline was spreadeagled on the bed with her clothes dishevelled. Before he could ask her what had happened, Marmion was hit from behind by a jemmy. He collapsed on to the carpet.

Joe Keedy was waiting by the cart. The front door of the house was flung open and a figure came hurtling out. When he saw someone standing beside the cart, Percy Fry tried to scare him away by brandishing the jemmy but the man held his ground. It was a different encounter this time. Unlike the inspector, Keedy was not distracted by a woman on a bed. Instead of having his back to Fry, he was facing him. He crouched down in readiness to fight. Fry got close enough to recognise him as one of the detectives who’d called at the forge. Keedy couldn’t be frightened away. It was Fry who began to wilt. They were only yards apart now. Keedy held out a hand as if to take the weapon. Fry flew into a panic. He hurled the jemmy at Keedy but the latter ducked and it whistled harmlessly over his head.

Fry tried to run away but it was a race he was never going to win. He managed the best part of thirty yards before his legs began to hurt and his lungs seemed on the point of bursting. Every inch of the way, Keedy was gaining on him. As his quarry started to slow down, he put in a spurt that brought him close enough to jump on the man’s back. Fry staggered on for a few more yards but the extra burden was too much for him. He crashed to the ground and grazed his forehead in the fall. But he was far from finished. Fry was a strong man. Rolling over, he managed to dislodge Keedy with a fearsome punch. The sergeant replied with punches of his own but they seemed to have little effect. Fry had been toughened by years of working in a forge. When he caught Keedy with a hook, it made his head ring.

Taking advantage of the momentary lull, Fry attempted to get up and run off again but Keedy recovered instantly. He stuck out a leg and tripped his adversary up, diving on top of him and using his weight to pin him face down on the pavement. When Fry continued to buck, squirm, kick and turn the air blue with expletives, Keedy brought the fight to an end, holding the man’s head in both hands and banging it on the hard stone until Fry’s body lost all resistance. Handcuffs were speedily fixed to the prisoner’s wrists, then Keedy stood up and turned him over. Percy Fry lay twitching on the ground.

Marmion was still groggy as he came up behind them. He’d wrapped a towel around his head to stem the flow of blood. In the dark, it looked like a turban.

‘Are you going to arrest him, Joe?’ he asked. ‘Or shall I?’

They’d decided that the announcement had to be made when they were all together. It was therefore several days before their opportunity came. Marmion and Keedy, meanwhile, were praised in the press and Superintendent Chatfield got his share of reflected glory. Two heinous crimes had been solved in less than twenty-four hours. It was finally over. Events in the war returned to dominate the headlines. The inquest into the death of Cyril Ablatt came and went. The funeral took place, organised by Caroline Skene, whose name had been kept out of any of the reports of the case. Now in custody, Percy Fry would never admit that the murder arose out of his obsession for an attractive woman. All that he owned up to was killing someone he hated for being a conscientious objector. That was enough to satisfy the law.

It was over a meal at the Marmion house that Alice and Keedy finally had their chance. Ellen had spotted the signs in her daughter. Alice was vivacious, talkative and laughing too loud at the amiable banter. When there was a natural pause, she felt her mother’s hand on her arm.

‘I have the feeling that you have something to tell us,’ said Ellen.

Alice started. ‘Do you, Mummy?’

‘Is it that promotion you hinted at or have you decided to go abroad?’

‘I hope it’s not that job over there as a dispatch rider,’ said Marmion. ‘There’s plenty of valuable work to be done here, Alice.’

‘I won’t be going abroad, Daddy. I can guarantee that.’

‘That’s a load off my mind.’

‘No,’ Alice went on, ‘it’s nothing to do with the WEC — though that will be affected before too long. The thing is …’

As her daughter searched for words, Ellen stepped in excitedly.

‘I was right, wasn’t I?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Mummy, you were.’

‘So there is someone, after all.’

Alice nodded then glanced across at Keedy. Her parents gave a contrasting response. Ellen was so thrilled that she kissed Alice on the cheek and laughed approvingly. Marmion, on the other hand, turned to stare in dismay at Keedy. He’d been deceived by the person he valued as his closest friend. He realised now why Alice had been unable to spend New Year’s Eve with her parents. She’d been with Keedy instead. Fond as he was of the sergeant, Marmion knew only to well of his reputation as a ladies’ man. Over the years, he’d seen girlfriends come and go. It distressed him to think that his own daughter would follow in their footsteps.

‘How long has this been going on?’ he asked, curtly.

‘Sound a bit more pleased, Harvey,’ said his wife.

‘I want to know how long you’ve both pulled the wool over our eyes.’

‘It wasn’t like that, Daddy,’ argued Alice.

‘Then what was it like?’

Keedy spoke up. ‘The answer to your question is that it’s been going on long enough for Alice and me to make up our minds. I can’t blame you for thinking that this is just another case of Joe Keedy having fun with a new girlfriend. It’s not like that at all, Harv,’ he stressed. ‘That life is behind me now and I’m glad. We’re serious about this. Alice and I plan to get engaged.’ The news produced a whoop of joy from Ellen and a deepening frown from her husband. ‘You’re the first to know.’

‘It’s kind of you to let us in on the secret,’ said Marmion, dryly.

Ellen nudged him. ‘Don’t be like that.’

‘How am I supposed to be?’

‘I think you’re forgetting something,’ said Alice, smarting at his grumpiness. ‘You and Mummy used to meet in secret for the best part of a year before you dared to tell her parents. They didn’t like you at all at first.’

‘It’s true,’ said Ellen. ‘My father thought he was unworthy of me.’

‘There you are, Harv,’ said Keedy, brightly. ‘You must have felt the way that I’m feeling now. We shared the same uncomfortable experience.’

‘I never worked alongside Ellen’s father,’ said Marmion, pointedly. ‘I didn’t have to lie to him over a long period.’

‘I didn’t lie to you. I’m like Father Howells when you first met him. I just didn’t tell you the truth. And, yes, there is a distinction between the two.’

Ellen was exasperated. ‘This is supposed to be a happy occasion,’ she complained. ‘We’ve just heard that Joe is going to become one of the family. Isn’t that wonderful news, Harvey? He’s not threatening to run away with Alice. He wants to marry her.’ She nudged him harder. ‘Cheer up, will you? What sort of a father-in-law are you going to be?’

‘You’re right, love,’ said Marmion, contriving a half-smile. ‘In some ways, it is good news and I wish you both well. I warn you now, Joe, that I’ll be a terrible father-in-law.’ They all laughed. ‘As for what happens between us at work,’ he added, ‘well, that’s a different matter altogether.’

He leant across to kiss his daughter then shook Keedy’s hand warmly.

‘And there was me,’ said Ellen, ‘praying that Alice would never make the mistake of marrying a policeman.’

‘I’m going to do more than just marry one,’ declared Alice, who’d been saving up another surprise for her parents. ‘I’ve decided to leave the WEC in the near future. I’m going to join the Women’s Police Service.’ She saw the distress on her father’s face. ‘You’d better get used to the idea, Daddy. We’re going to be working together.’