The Summons

MGB.”

“She didn’t.”

“So she was without wheels. Did you ever give her lifts in your old Vauxhall?”

“A couple of times to the station.”

“Did you ever meet her train to drive her home?”

“No.”

“Ever buy her flowers?”

“Buy them? No.”

“You picked them from the garden.”

“Why not?” said Billington. “She was living in my house. People can be civil to each other without ulterior motives.”

The way this pat little speech came out told Diamond it was well rehearsed. The civilized behavior card. He was tempted to trump it with a blunt mention of the bum-shot clippings Julie had found. But as the ward sister was likely to bring this interview to a premature end any time, he moved on fast to a topic of more urgency. “There was another man Britt was seeing shortly before she was killed. Quite a celebrity in his own way, wasn’t he? That show jumper, Marcus Martin. Did he visit the house?”

Billington perked up, the adrenaline flowing now that someone else might be under suspicion. “He was calling right up to the time we went on holiday.”

“You met him, then? When did he first appear?”

“Only a week or so before we left for Tenerife. He was an arrogant bastard. Treated us like servants.”

“In what way?”

He proceeded to tell the story. “Once I remember he had a dog with him. Big, spotted thing. I don’t know what breed it was or what it was called. He hooked the lead over our hall stand and told me to keep an eye on it, without so much as a ‘please.’ We had a polished wooden floor and I could hear the claws scratching it, ruining the surface, while Mr. Martin, cool as you like, started up the stairs to Britt’s rooms. I asked him politely to leave the dog outside the front door. Apart from anything else, we keep a cat. But Lord Muck took not the blindest notice. So presently I took the dog outside myself and tied it to the railings.” The incident must have made a deep impression, more than four years on, for Billington to have recalled it. And his concussion had miraculously lifted to do justice to the outrage he obviously felt.

“What happened when he found the dog had been moved?”

“He came downstairs because it started howling, making a God-awful racket. The next thing, this bumptious fathead marched into our private flat with the dog and said I had no right. Cheek. He got more than he bargained for when Snowy started on him.”

“Snowy?”

“The cat. She felt cornered, you see. The dog came in and hurled itself toward her. Snowy clawed its nose. She’s fearless. You never heard such yelping. That was the last time he brought the dog into our place, I can tell you.”

“Did Britt have anything to say?”

“She had the good sense to keep out of it.”

A thought occurred to Diamond. “What happens to your cat when you go on holiday?”

“It goes next door. That’s always been open house for Snowy. They’ve got an old tabby who clears off upstairs and leaves the food trough to Snowy.”

The cat’s welfare ceased to be of interest. “Britt’s friendship with this man started only a few weeks before she died, am I right?”

“As far as I know.”

“They were still seeing each other at the time you went on holiday?”

“I believe so.”

“Did Martin bring flowers for Britt?”

He shook his head. “That one was far too mean.”

“Did anyone? Did bouquets ever get delivered to your door?”

“I can’t remember any.”

“Did Martin ever stay the night?”

“No one did. We made that very clear to Britt and she respected it.”

“Did you respect ber?”

Billington frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Her privacy. Did you ever go into her flat when she was out?”

“Only for maintenance.”

“What maintenance is that?”

“Checking the radiators for leaks, changing light bulbs, inspecting the fabric-the usual things, you know.”

“I can guess,” said Diamond, and he could.

“She had nothing to complain of.”

“That night you found her dead. What time was it you went into her flat-about one A.M., wasn’t it? Was that maintenance, or what?”

“That isn’t funny.”

“But I want an answer.”

Billington’s gaze shifted to the ceiling as he recollected that evening. He was still talking lucidly. “It had been so quiet. Usually we could hear her moving about. She always took a shower before going to bed, and we’d hear the water going through the system. We’d hear her footsteps across the floor. That night, nothing.”

“But there must have been times when she spent the night in other places. She had lovers. What made this night so special that you decided to check?”

“It was coming back after being away. You’re more aware of things, sounds and that. Of course we noticed the milk hadn’t been taken in. We assumed she was away, but it wasn’t like her to go off without telling the milkman. She was such a well-organized person. Violet started worrying about her, and couldn’t get off to sleep. In the end she nagged me into checking.”

Knowing Violet Billington, Diamond thought it likely that the worry wasn’t so much over Britt Strand’s welfare as the possibility that she had done a flit without paying her rent. “Tell me what you found.”

“I’ve told you before. I’ve told it in court. I’ve told it dozens of times.”

“Refresh my memory.”

He screwed his face into a resentful look and turned his eyes toward the end of the ward where the sister had gone. “Well,” he said after a time, seeing no one coming to his aid, “I let myself into the flat and spoke her name. I had a sense that the place was empty and yet not empty. It was a strange sensation. As far as I can remember I went straight to the bedroom. The door was open. I didn’t switch on the light at first. I could just about see that the bed was occupied, but there was a smell that wasn’t healthy. I asked if she was all right. There wasn’t even a movement from the bed. So I stepped out into the passage and put that light on, which gave me enough to see what had happened. It was the worst moment of my life. I still get nightmares.”

“What did you do?”

“Went downstairs and told Violet. She came up to have a look. Then we phoned the emergency number. That’s all.”

“Tell me about Britt’s appearance.”

He gave a shrug. “What do you mean-appearance? She was dead.”

“Describe the scene.”

“You saw it. You were one of the first.”

“I need to hear it from you.”

He closed his eyes and started to speak like a medium in trance. “The curtains are drawn. Her clothes are lying on a chair by the dressing table, folded. Shoes together on the floor, neat-like. She’s lying face up on top of the bed, not in it, in a white dressing gown and pajamas. Blue pajamas. The dressing gown is made of towel stuff. It’s open at the front. The pajamas are stained with blood, pretty bad, but dry and more brown than red, and so is the quilt she’s lying on. One arm-the right-is stretched out across the bed. The other is bent across her stomach. She’s turned a sallow color and her mouth is horrible. Deep red. Filled with dead roses.” He opened his eyes. “If Mountjoy didn’t do this, you’ve got to get the brute who did.”

“Your time’s up, Inspector, more than up,” a voice broke in. The redoubtable sister had reappeared.

“I hope not,” said Diamond.

“What?”

He gave her a smile. “I’ve still got things to do. But I’m leaving.”