Chapter 20 #2
Alec had found, in Mrs. Walker’s untidy boudoir to one side of the bedroom, a small writing desk, not locked.
In it, amidst a jumble of bills, paid and unpaid, and dunning letters, was a letter from a cousin in Northamptonshire.
The tone of the letter suggested an infrequent correspondence and a distance of sympathies as well as of miles. There was a letter
from her mother in Ireland, rambling about farm matters. The only other personal paper was a brief note from Jennifer Crouch, expressing her delight that dear Gwen would come to tea on Wednesday. It was dated several weeks ago.
No letters from Raymond Talmadge. If Gwen Walker had received any, she must have destroyed them, or hidden them rather more cleverly than one might expect of such an untidy person.
Ernie Piper had had still less luck on the personal side.
All the meticulously filed letters in the major’s neat desk were concerned with business, including his copies of those he had written himself.
His address book contained only obviously business entries except for local people whose names Alec recognized.
The latter were those with whom the Walkers exchanged hospitality, mostly bridge players.
His bank book, Piper reported, showed a healthy balance. His income appeared to be sufficient for comfort if not for wild extravagance. Everything went to his wife on his death.
Mackinnon had gone over Walker’s dressing room, on the other side of the bedroom from his wife’s boudoir. He had found nothing of interest. However, he was left with a puzzled feeling that something was missing which ought to be there. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“Tom, you take a look and see if you can pin it down,” Alec said. “But first, any luck with Mrs. Bates?”
“She’s sure the back door was bolted, Chief, and the catch was down on the front-door lock, so that it couldn’t be opened from outside even with a key. Nor no one leaving
that way couldn’t have set the catch behind ’em. There’s no sign of breaking and entering anywhere, either. I checked.”
“What about the gas taps?”
“She absolutely can’t remember turning them off. I’d say that don’t mean much, but—”
“Sir!” Constable Jenkins burst into the den. “Mrs. Walker’s awake. I didn’t hear nothing in the room but the housekeeper came up and said she’d rung.”
“Damn!” Alec exclaimed. “Did Mrs. Bates go in?”
“Yes, sir. You didn’t say to stop her,” Jenkins said reproachfully.
“Losh, man, you’re supposed to use your noddle!” cried Mackinnon, exasperated.
“No use crying over spilt milk,” said Alec, making for the door, “and she may not have told her her husband’s dead. She’s not the most forthcoming of women.”
He wanted to be there when Gwen Walker was told she was a widow, in hopes of discerning whether the news came as a surprise to her—or not.
He met Mrs. Bates on the stairs. “Did you tell Mrs. Walker about her husband?”
“Of course. And that you police want to talk to her.” Of course. Why should an unsentimental woman who rather disliked her mistress hesitate to give her bad news?
“How did she take it?”
Mrs. Bates shrugged. “How would you expect her to take it? She said to tell you she’ll be down in half an hour.”
Alec gave up.
Half an hour later, when Gwen Walker came down, he was ready for her. Mackinnon had orders to search the bedroom as soon as she left it. Ernie Piper sat in an inconspicuous
corner of the sitting room, ready with his notebook and his usual selection of ever-sharp pencils. Tom Tring stood by with his fingerprint kit.
Alec rose as Mrs. Walker came in. Her face was solemn, but not sorrowful.
If tears had been shed, immaculate make-up hid the signs.
She wore a navy costume with a white silk blouse and a single strand of pearls.
Whatever her carelessness about her surroundings, Gwen Walker’s person was as always beyond criticism.
She paused in the doorway and Alec moved to meet her. “Allow me to express my condolences,” he said, the formal phrase once more proving its usefulness.
Her lower lip quivered, almost imperceptibly, but she spoke with outward composure. “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.”
“I’m very sorry to trouble you at this time, but there are questions that must be asked. In view of our prior acquaintance, it’s perfectly understandable if you prefer to speak to another officer. Also, you’re entitled to have your solicitor with you, if you feel the need.”
“No need, and I’d rather answer your questions than a stranger’s,” she said with a faint smile.
Alec bowed slightly and gestured towards a chair which would place her with the light from the window on her face, her back towards Piper. “I’m afraid I’ll have to have Detective Sergeant Tring take your fingerprints, for elimination purposes.”
Dismay was followed by resignation as Tom stepped forward. “All right.”
“It will only take a moment, ma’am,” Tom rumbled comfortably, “and I have a cloth here to wipe your fingers afterwards.”
He was soon done, and departed with his prize. Alec sat down. “Would you like to tell me what happened last night?” he invited.
Again the faint smile. “No, but I will. We dined out—with the Robinsons, actually. I understand you and Mrs. Fletcher were invited but were unable to attend.”
“Daisy would have dealt with that,” Alec said hastily.
“Yes, of course. I didn’t want to go, but Francis insisted. He … he was always very conscious of what the neighbours would say, and in this case, he chose not to let them say behind our backs that we were afraid to appear.”
“Afraid to appear?”
“Come now, Mr. Fletcher, give us both credit for realizing that you couldn’t be hounding everyone who ever sat next to Ray—to Raymond Talmadge at dinner.
It was sufficiently obvious for poor Francis to be unable to go on pretending he didn’t know about us.
He had a genius for not seeing what he didn’t want to see, you know. ”
“So you dined out. What time did you get home?”
“We left early. The circling vultures were too much for Francis, though when it came to it, I could have faced them down forever. I suppose we reached home about ten-thirty. Needless to say, Francis was spoiling for a row, so we had one. The right was all on his side, of course. I hadn’t a word to say in my own defence, except that it was all over, which he could hardly deny. ”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. How did your ‘row’ end?”
Gwen Walker’s lips tightened momentarily. “With Francis weeping into his Ovaltine. I said I’d—” She stopped and turned at the sound of the door opening.
Tom Tring looked in. He knew better than to interrupt
an interrogation for anything unimportant, so Alec excused himself and went to the door.
“Her dabs are on the oven gas tap,” Tom said in a low voice.
“Also on the handle of the pan and one of the mugs in the sink. And …” He beckoned Alec out to the hall, where Mackinnon was gingerly holding a Mauser by the barrel.
“And DS Mackinnon found this in the drawer of the bedside table between their beds. It has Mrs. Walker’s fingerprints on it too. ”