For a man with crimes to solve and administrative problems to tax him, Claude Chatfield had a strangely contented air that morning. Harvey Marmion soon learnt why. Spread out on the superintendent’s desk was an array of national newspapers. Priority on the front pages had been given to the latest developments in the war but there was extensive coverage elsewhere of the murderous attack on the Reverend James Howells. To a man, reporters painted a more favourable picture of the activities of Scotland Yard with regard to the two investigations. Marmion was given credit for the tireless dedication he’d so far shown and the superintendent was also praised. As soon as the inspector walked into his office, Chatfield thrust the newspapers at him. Marmion was pleased to see that, after the censure in the Evening News on the previous day, he’d been largely exonerated. He was also amused that the superintendent was commended for putting him in charge of the investigation when Chatfield had, in reality, opposed the appointment.
‘What do you think of that?’ asked Chatfield, complacently.
‘Praise is better than condemnation, sir,’ replied Marmion, ‘but the fact remains that we haven’t actually solved either of the crimes. Only when that’s done should we receive any plaudits.’
‘It’s a question of appearance. This makes us look good.’
‘Looking good is not necessarily the same as being good.’
‘Don’t quibble, man.’
‘I don’t feel that we deserve these plaudits yet, sir.’
‘We’re in the public eye, Inspector. This kind of window dressing is always to our advantage. With a depleted force having to police a city the size of London, we need all the help we can get from the press.’ He took the papers back and put them on his desk. ‘When and if you ever rise to the level of superintendent,’ he went on, loftily, ‘you’ll come to appreciate that.’
Marmion ignored the jibe. ‘I’m sure you’re right, sir.’
‘What are your plans for today?’
‘I want to start with another visit to the hospital,’ said Marmion. ‘Father Howells’s parents were in too fragile a state to be interviewed yesterday. I’d like to ask them how much they knew about their son’s private life. It might yield some clues for us to pursue. After that, I hope, you’ll have secured that search warrant for us.’
‘It will be ready and waiting, Inspector.’
‘Then Sergeant Keedy and I will visit Waldron’s house.’
‘Let me know if you discover anything of significance.’
After explaining how he intended to spend the rest of the day, Marmion went off to his own office where he found Joe Keedy waiting. The sergeant was studying the map of London that lay on the desk.
‘One thing about this job,’ he said. ‘It certainly gives you plenty of geography lessons. I think I could find my way around Shoreditch blindfold.’
‘I’m waiting for the moment when we take the blindfolds off, Joe, because I feel that there’s something we’re simply not seeing as yet.’
‘Have you talked to Chat yet?’
‘Yes,’ said Marmion. ‘I left him basking in the praise he’s received in the morning papers. He got a pat on the back for assigning us to the case.’
‘But we were never his first choice.’
‘That doesn’t matter. He’s probably busy with the scissors right now, cutting out the articles for his scrapbook. He’s a walking paradox — a man who hates the press yet who hangs on every kind word they say about him.’
‘Well, he won’t get any kind words from me,’ said Keedy, forcefully. ‘I’ll never forgive him for getting promotion ahead of you. You’re twice the detective he is.’
‘That’s water under the bridge.’
‘I’m not as forgiving as you, Harv.’
As Keedy folded up the map again, he noticed a slip of paper that had been hidden beneath it. He reached out to pick it up.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I forgot there was a message for you.’
Marmion took it from him. ‘Thank you,’ he said, reading the two short lines. ‘This could be important.’
‘Is it from the hospital?’
‘No, Joe, it’s from Mrs Skene. She rang from Lambeth police station half an hour ago. If she’s that keen to speak to me, it must be urgent.’
‘Do you want to go straight there?’
‘The hospital and the search come first,’ decided Marmion. ‘Mrs Skene will have to wait her turn in the queue. Let’s go.’
They left the office and walked side by side down the corridor.
‘I bet Ellen was pleased to see you home a bit earlier last night,’ said Keedy.
‘Yes, I got a warm welcome.’
‘How is she?’
‘I suppose that “long-suffering” is the best way to describe her. But that’s true of all police wives. She had one piece of good news for me — a letter from Paul. We hadn’t heard from him in ages and Ellen was starting to worry.’
He told Keedy about the contents of the letter and how it could be read in different ways. While his wife had been heartened by its apparently positive tone, Marmion had noticed the hints of despair between the lines. In his judgement, their son was bored, depressed and angered by the futility of war. Of the friends with whom he’d joined up so enthusiastically at the outbreak of hostilities, over half were either dead or wounded. It was a sobering statistic.
‘Luckily,’ said Marmion, ‘Ellen was simply happy that he’s alive and well. She was thrilled to hear that Paul was in line for a promotion. Like any other mother, she clings to good news like a limpet.’
Keedy was cynical. ‘Is there any good news about the war?’
‘That’s a fair point.’
‘Look how many policemen who joined up have been killed in action. What must their families think of the efforts we’re putting in on behalf of a conchie?’
‘You know the answer to that,’ said Marmion, not wishing to rehearse a familiar argument once more. ‘Oh, there was something else that Ellen had been saving up to tell me.’
‘What was that?’
‘She thinks that Alice has a new chap in her life.’
‘Is that surprising? She’s an attractive young woman.’
‘Yes, but she’s always confided in her mother in the past. When she was asked directly about it, Alice denied there was anyone this time.’
‘Then perhaps your wife is wrong,’ said Keedy.
He already knew about Ellen’s suspicions because Alice had told him about the exchange with her mother. Keedy was anxious to guide Marmion away from the subject because he found the subterfuge difficult. Besides, he still considered himself no more than a good friend of Alice Marmion. Though he’d recently seen her twice in succession, their meetings were too infrequent for anything more serious to develop. That, at least, was what he told himself.
‘When it comes to men,’ said Marmion with a grin, ‘Ellen is never wrong.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘She married me, didn’t she?’
Maud Crowther was a creature of habit. Having run the Weavers Arms with her husband for so many years, she was accustomed to working long hours in the public gaze. She took pride in her appearance and would never venture outside the house until she’d curled her hair, applied her make-up and put on smart clothing. As she examined herself in the mirror that morning, she could hear the cat crying to be let in but she made him wait until she was satisfied with the way she looked. When she did finally open the front door, the animal darted in through her legs and scurried off to the kitchen to eat the food she’d put in his bowl. Maud, meanwhile, was transfixed. On the doorstep in front of her was a large bunch of flowers. She had no idea who’d left them there or why. Scooping them up, she inhaled their fragrance and smiled. When she took them into the house to put in a vase, she realised that there was a card tucked in among the blooms. On it, in a rough scrawl, was a single word.
Sorry.
‘Horrie Waldron!’ she said to herself. ‘You old rogue.’
News at the hospital was better than expected. The Reverend James Howells had shown the first signs of regaining consciousness. His eyelids had flickered and his lips had started to move as if he was trying to say something. It was still too early for the detectives to talk to him but they were pleased with the improvement in his condition. Marmion asked the doctor in charge of the case to contact Scotland Yard the moment that the patient was able to speak. Though no interlopers had so far been spotted, the policeman was kept on duty outside the room. Marmion always put safety first.