An Air That Kills (36 page)

Gloria sat down behind the desk and waved them to chairs. ‘Now what can I do for you?'

Thornhill was sure that she knew why they had come. She was too clever to seem wary, but her lack of surprise gave her away.

Kirby leant forward, holding out his cigarette packet. ‘Smoke?'

‘I don't mind if I do.'

Kirby took one as well. He lit both cigarettes before continuing: ‘Nothing to worry about, Gloria – we're interested in one of your customers.'

She blew out smoke through her nostrils. ‘Oh, yes?'

‘Chap called Charlie Meague.'

Gloria frowned. ‘I'm not sure I know who you mean.'

‘Don't give me that,' Kirby said sharply. ‘He's been in here the last couple of nights. I saw him myself. But maybe we should ask your husband. Perhaps he can tell us more.'

Thornhill glanced at Kirby and realised with distaste that the sergeant was enjoying himself.

‘There's no need to disturb Harold,' Gloria said. ‘You mean Charlie, don't you? I always think of him just as Charlie. That's why when you said Meague it didn't register straightaway.'

‘Funny, that,' Kirby said, drawing deeply on his cigarette. ‘I understand you remembered his surname on Friday afternoon, and where he lived. Because you went to visit him, didn't you?'

Gloria's face twisted. ‘Ma Halleran. That cow.'

‘Now, now, Gloria,' Kirby murmured. ‘We understand that you and Charlie had one of those boy-and-girl romances. Long ago, when the world was young.'

She shrugged. ‘That's one way of putting it.'

‘Tell us about it.'

‘There's not much to say, is there? I knew him when we were kids. I hadn't seen him for years until a couple of days ago. There was this bloke asking for him. Little chap with a beard.'

‘And did he find Charlie?' Thornhill put in, knowing the answer but wanting to test Gloria's attachment to truth.

She nodded. Her eyes darted from Thornhill to Kirby and then to the cigarette in her hand. ‘Listen, what's all this about?'

‘When did you last see Charlie?'

‘He was in last night. So were you, Mr Kirby.'

‘Have you seen him today? Or maybe your husband has?'

‘I told you, there's no call to bring Harold into this. Charlie came round this morning just before opening time.'

‘What did he want?'

She stabbed the remains of the cigarette into the ashtray. ‘This needn't go further, need it?'

‘Put it this way, Gloria,' Kirby smiled at her. ‘If we're not satisfied with your answers, we're going to have to talk to Harold. Is that what you want?'

Gloria stared across the desk, not at Kirby but at Thornhill. ‘He wanted to borrow Harold's car. He looked awful, Mr Thornhill – like he'd been sleeping rough.'

‘And did you let him have it?' Thornhill asked.

‘Of course I didn't. Harold would bloody murder me.' Her eyes flickered. ‘Anyway – Charlie frightened me. He flashed all this money at me – at least a hundred quid. He wanted me to run off with him. Then and there. God, he was acting like we were kids again.' She hesitated. ‘And there was blood on his hand.'

Chapter Nineteen

Through the thin November air came the sound of St John's clock striking the first quarter. Charlie thought it must be either a quarter past one or a quarter past two. It didn't bloody matter.

He sat in the little yard with his back against a wall and the whisky bottle between his legs. At this time of day, when the sunshine reached the court, it was warmer outside than in one of the tall, ruined buildings. Long ago, when they were young, he and Gloria would meet in this yard. Here she had let him make love to her for the one and only time: she had her back against the wall; both of them had been alert for approaching footsteps; and afterwards she had been furious because of the mess and the discomfort.

Charlie had not made a conscious decision to take refuge in Templefields. He had not needed to think. Once there, he realised that he had nowhere else to go – or not until nightfall. He guessed that the police would be watching the roads and the railway by now. He wouldn't have a chance of getting away. After dark, however, it might be different. Stealing a car offered him his best chance.

He had gone through the contents of the sack and the kitbag concealed in the chimney. All that effort for next to nothing – the pathetically inadequate haul of items he had stolen from Masterman's the jeweller's, the King's Head and Chandos Lodge. He was cold and hungry. The only thing that had any real value to him now was the bottle of whisky from Ma Halleran.

He had known it would be stupid to have a drink. But he was so cold that his teeth rattled on the neck of the bottle. The whisky stung his swollen lips and warmed him down to his belly. He drank more of it. The more he drank, the more he needed to drink. It seemed to him that if only he could get enough whisky inside him, everything might be all right again. Jimmy Carn might stand up again, the back of his head as good as new. Gloria would smile and touch his hand. His mother would be back in the house in Minching Lane.

He could not believe that he had killed Carn. Charlie thought of himself as an ordinary man. How then could he have killed someone? The very idea made him feel ill and unreal. He remembered Ma Halleran's face when she had seen Carn's body: how her mouth opened and nothing came out, not even a scream.

He didn't want to think about killing. He counted the money instead. You knew where you were with money. The first time he made the total a hundred and fifty-eight pounds. The second time it was a hundred and sixty-three pounds. The third time he gave up after he reached a hundred. He put the notes down on the flagstone beside him.

The wind made the notes twitch like dead leaves. One of them half slid, half floated across the yard. Charlie drank more of the whisky. By now he had almost finished the bottle.

Jesus, I'm getting as bad as old Harcutt
. But it didn't matter. He thought of poor ugly Tony and how she used to follow him around in the garden at Chandos Lodge; and he wondered why she'd been so stupid as to come home. You couldn't go back. Charlie realised that now. He'd been a fool to let Gloria get under his skin again.

The sky was bright blue, and floating overhead was a convoy of small, sunlit clouds. But the shadows were lengthening, crawling further and further along the flagstones. Charlie shifted his bottom along the cold stones to keep himself in the diminishing patch of sunlight.

Soon the sunshine dwindled until it filled only one corner of the yard. He watched the banknotes skittering to and fro in the wind. He noticed with resignation that he'd finished the whisky. The church clock chimed again.

Charlie heard footsteps coming down the alley from the direction of Minching Lane. He did not move. His eyes drifted in and out of focus. He shut them because he felt tired.

When he opened his eyes there were four men standing in the archway which led from the yard to the alleyway. He blinked and the four men became two. The two policemen moved cautiously towards him.

The older man – Thornhill? – said something which Charlie heard but did not understand. Charlie's head fell forward on to his chest. He knew that Gloria must have told them where to find him.

Chapter Twenty

Williamson directed a hostile stare at Thornhill. The superintendent was standing by the window with his hands in his pockets. He was dressed for relaxation in a yellow tweed jacket over a bright green jersey; grey trousers and brown shoes added touches of sobriety to his off-duty plumage. There was a poppy in his lapel.

‘Where the hell were you?' he said to Thornhill. ‘I wanted to see you as soon as I got here. Didn't you get my message?'

‘Yes, sir.' Thornhill shut the door of Williamson's office behind him. ‘But we were just on our way out. We've made an arrest.'

‘Have you, indeed? I'd prefer to have been consulted. Charlie Meague?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘I just hope you haven't jumped the gun. It's a pity that Halleran woman didn't actually see him do it. Murder charges can be tricky.'

‘We can take our time on that. We can hold him for burglary.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘When we found Meague, we also found things taken from the King's Head, Masterman's and Chandos Lodge.'

Williamson sniffed in a way that implied disapproval, an odd reaction to what should have been good news. His eyes were bloodshot – perhaps he was still feeling the effects of the Masonic dinner at the Bull. Thornhill also remembered how sure the superintendent had been that Charlie Meague was not the type to take to burglary.

‘Is he talking?' Williamson asked.

‘He's sleeping. He's drunk as a lord. Threw up in the patrol car, I'm afraid, mainly over Sergeant Kirby's trousers. I don't think we'll get much out of him until he's sobered up. Dr Bayswater's having a look at him now.'

‘Has anyone remembered to tell Meague's mother?'

‘The doctor says she died last night. Meague had only just heard the news. Maybe that's what drove him over the edge.'

Williamson grunted. ‘Then the odds are he won't hang. Pity.' He rummaged through the change in his trouser pocket. ‘Well – it could be worse,' he went on. ‘There's a murder, but at least the victim's a man from London, and we've got the killer. And we've also wrapped up the burglary case.' He stared blankly at the window. ‘Straightforward police work always gets results,' he murmured. ‘Essentially it's a team job – a matter of firm leadership, method and organisation. I must ring the chief constable.'

Williamson paused. Thornhill guessed he was trying out phrases in his mind, phrases for the chief constable, phrases for the gentlemen of the press.

‘You seem to have – ah – kept on your toes, Thornhill. Good work. Of course, I'll need to have a report on my desk as soon as possible.' Williamson pulled out a pipe and toyed with it. ‘But that reminds me, I'm sorry to say that I had a complaint about you last night. It's always painful to have to pass on something of this nature. I imagine you know what I'm referring to.'

‘Mr George?'

‘Exactly. I emphasised to him that you're new to the job, and I hope we can deal with this on an informal basis. I don't think you quite appreciate Mr George's position in this town. There's a distinct possibility that he may fill the next vacancy on the Standing Joint Committee. And then, of course, there's the real point at issue: we have a responsibility to protect our citizens from the unwanted attentions of stray drunks. Don't you agree?'

‘I got the impression that Mr George wasn't exactly sober himself.'

Williamson jabbed his pipe stem towards Thornhill. ‘Don't get clever with me.'

‘Do you know who the other man was, sir?'

‘Of course I don't.'

‘His name's Oliver Yateley. He's a Labour Member of Parliament.' Thornhill watched Williamson's face.

‘Yateley? Yes, now I come to think of it, I have heard the name.'

‘I understand he's on the wireless a good deal. We talked for some time, afterwards. Interesting man.'

Williamson glanced almost furtively at Thornhill. He sat down and began to fill his pipe. ‘Well, I always say there are times when the man on the ground has to make the decisions,' he said with the air of a man making a concession. ‘Every officer must be able to act independently if need be.'

‘Yes, sir,' Thornhill said.

‘I'll have a word with Mr George. I am sure he'll understand. Circumstances alter cases.' The superintendent put his hand on the phone and nodded a dismissal. ‘Well, sort out that report, and let me know when Meague's fit for questioning. I'll want to be there.'

‘There's something else I'd like to mention.'

‘Can't it wait?'

‘I think not. It's Major Harcutt.'

‘Tragic accident,' Williamson said, speaking in newspaper headlines. ‘Respected war hero from old Lydmouth family.'

‘But was it an accident?'

‘I imagine that's what the inquest will come up with. I know suicide's a possibility, but I understand it's no more than that.'

‘There are still one or two points to clear up.'

‘Later. We're in the middle of a murder enquiry. I want you to concentrate on the Carn business.'

Thornhill began to speak, but Williamson held up a large, square hand.

‘Get that report done,' he said, ‘talk to the witnesses. No ifs, no buts. Give Meague a damn good grilling. What I'd really like is to prove premeditation. Then there wouldn't be any nonsense about a reprieve and Charlie Meague would get what he deserves. There's only one way to deal with a killer in my view. Hang him.'

Chapter Twenty-one

The telephone rang as Edith was doing the washing-up and the children were squabbling over a board game called ‘Journey Through Fairyland'.

Wiping her hands on a tea towel, she went to answer it. The house smelled of roast beef. She felt a little too full and pleasantly sleepy. She would have liked to go to bed for an hour or so.

‘Darling, it's me,' Richard said. ‘I'm sorry, I'm not going to be able to get back this afternoon.'

‘Well, if you can't, you can't.' Edith thought of his lunch drying up in the oven. The afternoon shut in with David and Elizabeth stretched uninvitingly before her. ‘I might take the children out,' she said. ‘Up to the park perhaps, or down to the river.'

‘I wish this could have happened on any other day.'