‘I believe that you knew Mr Ablatt.’
‘Yes — I knew the cocky bastard and I despised him.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Cyril always knew best. No matter what the argument was about, he had to have the last bleeding word. Oh, he was clever, I’ll give him that. He read lots of books and suchlike. But he looked down on me, Sergeant Whatever-Your-Name-Is.’
‘It’s Keedy — Sergeant Keedy.’
‘Nobody does that to Horrie Waldron. I got my standards, see?’ Hauling himself out of the grave, he retrieved his spade and used it as a prop. After looking Keedy up and down, he shifted the pipe to the other side of his mouth. ‘Why have you come bothering me, then?’
‘Where were you yesterday evening?’
‘Where else would I be but in the pub?’
‘Would that be the Weavers Arms?’
‘Yes — they serve a good pint.’
‘Are there witnesses who’d confirm that you were there?’
Waldron eyed him warily. ‘Ask the landlord. He’ll tell you. Mind you,’ he went on, ‘I did slip out for an hour or two.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘That’s my business,’ said Waldron, belligerently.
‘It happens to be my business as well.’
‘It’s private.’
‘There’s no such thing as privacy in a murder investigation.’
Waldron was indignant. ‘I got nothing to do with that.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Keedy, meeting his gaze without flinching. ‘Let me remind you that withholding evidence is a crime. We can also add the charge that you’re impeding a police officer in the execution of his duties. If you don’t answer my questions properly, we can have this conversation through the bars of a cell in which you’ll be locked. Understood?’ The gravedigger glowered at him. ‘That’s better. Now then, let’s go back to what I asked. Where did you go last night?’
‘I went to see a friend — nothing wrong with that, is there?’
Keedy took out his notebook. ‘What’s the name of this friend?’
‘I’m not saying.’
‘In short, there was no friend. You invented him.’
‘That’s not true!’ howled Waldron.
‘Then why won’t you give me his name?’
‘It wasn’t a man, Sergeant — it was a woman.’
‘In that case, give me her name.’
‘I can’t. I got to protect her, haven’t I? It’s what I promised, see? Nobody else knows about her and me. Nobody else is going to know.’
‘And you were with this woman for an hour or two, is that it?’
‘Could be longer — I don’t have a watch.’
‘What did you do afterwards?’
‘I went back to the pub — ask, Stan. He’s the landlord.’
‘I’m more interested in the time when you have nobody who can account for your movements.’
Waldron cackled. ‘Oh, she accounted for my movements, I can tell you that!’
As his cackle became a full-throated laugh, he opened his mouth to expose three blackened teeth in the middle of a gaping void. Even from a few yards away, Keedy could smell his foul breath. After his years as a detective, he could usually sense if someone was lying to him but Waldron was difficult to fathom. The woman friend might or might not exist. Looking at the gravedigger, Keedy thought it unlikely because of the man’s repulsive appearance, but then, he reminded himself, he’d seen even more hideous faces excite the love and devotion of a woman. Waldron might have hidden charms. His claim had a coarse plausibility.
‘You’re not helping yourself, sir,’ said Keedy.
‘What do you mean?’
‘If what you say is true, there’s someone who can clear your name. Until she does that, you’re bound to be viewed as a suspect.’
‘I didn’t kill Ablatt,’ protested the other. ‘I didn’t even know he was dead.’
‘But you’re obviously glad that he is.’
Waldron sniggered. ‘Best news I’ve heard in years!’
‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?’
‘I can think of lots of people. I’m one of them.’
Keedy lifted his pencil. ‘Can you give me some names?’
‘You’re the detective — find them.’
‘Stop being so obstructive.’
‘Ablatt was a conchie,’ said Waldron, derisively. ‘He was the lowest of the low in my book. Lots of people think the same. The little sod deserved to die. None of us would have actually murdered him, maybe, but we’d all like to shake the hand of the man who did.’
Keedy had had enough of his prevarication. ‘Put your spade away, sir,’ he ordered. ‘You’re coming with me.’
‘I don’t finish work until this afternoon.’
‘You’re leaving right now.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘Would you rather that I arrested you first? I’ll be happy to do so.’
‘Look,’ said Waldron, seeing that Keedy was in earnest and trying to sound more reasonable. ‘I swear to God that I had nothing to do with any murder. I was in the Weavers most of the night.’
‘Mr Ablatt’s body was found less than forty yards away.’
‘That doesn’t mean that I put it there.’
Keedy fixed him with a stare. ‘You had the chance to do so during the hour or two you were away from the pub.’
‘I told you — I was with someone.’
‘Yet she doesn’t appear to have a name and address.’
‘We got an arrangement, see?’
‘Yes, you dredge her out of your imagination whenever you want an alibi.’
‘She’s real,’ insisted Waldron. ‘She’s flesh and blood. I should know.’
‘Then tell me who she is,’ pressed Keedy. ‘And explain why you’re so anxious to conceal her name. Is it because she’s a married woman?’
‘No, she’s a widow.’
‘Then there’s no reason to hide the relationship, is there?’
‘Yes, there is,’ said Waldron, sourly.
‘Why is that, sir?’
Keedy reinforced the question by taking a step nearer to him and looking deep into his eyes. Waldron quailed inwardly. He usually got the better of policemen who tried to question him. Even after he’d been arrested for being involved in a pub brawl, he’d often managed to worm his way out of trouble. There was no escape this time. To get the details he was after, Keedy was prepared to drag him off to the nearest police station and subject him to an interrogation. If he survived that, he’d have to face awkward questions from his boss who’d want to know why he was a suspect in the investigation. Waldron weighed up the situation and capitulated.
‘You win,’ he admitted, head slumping to his chest.
‘Why can’t you tell me the woman’s name?’
‘It’s because of Stan at the Weavers.’
‘Do you mean the landlord?’
‘Yes, Sergeant, and he’s got a real temper on him. The woman …’ He had to force the words out. ‘The woman … is his mother. If Stan ever found out, you’d have another bleeding murder on your hands.’
CHAPTER SIX
Alice Marmion had never regretted the decision to join the Women’s Emergency Corps and to move out of the family home. She was doing work that gave her great satisfaction and she enjoyed the challenge of having to fend for herself. Inevitably, there were drawbacks. While she was happy with the two small rooms she rented in a rambling Victorian house, they came with a landlady who imposed strict rules on her four tenants — all of them young and female — the main one being that no gentlemen were allowed into their respective rooms. Male visitors could only be entertained during specified hours in the drawing room, where they had to sit in one of the uncomfortable single chairs, the settee and the chaise longue having been carefully removed because they might encourage intimacy between couples seated together. It was also inconvenient to share the only bathroom with all the other people in the house, but Alice had circumvented that problem by getting up earlier than anyone else and being the first through the door.