Chapter 24 #2
“By which time the question had changed.”
“Yes, but I simply couldn’t think how to tell her by phone or telegram that the man was no longer a thorn in our flesh.
That we could marry, I mean, while leaving Nancy Enderby in happy ignorance.
I mean, if I’d rung up, or wired something like ‘Enderby dead name the date,’ some meddlesome operator somewhere might have thought it was mighty fishy and reported to the police.
I wrote a letter to the same effect, and she got it by the midday post today.
This,” he waved the telegram, “is the result.”
“Can’t you get a death certificate, a copy, without Nancy knowing?”
“I’ve no idea, but simply going about finding out will probably give the game away. To the police, at the very least, hence my confession.”
Alec stood up. “Well,” he said, “you’ve wasted a lot of our time, Baskin.
We’ll have to check your story, of course, but if it’s all right, I may be able to do something about the death certificate.
I’m making no promises, mind. I doubt Dr. Wedderburn will object, so it’ll depend on the coroner, I imagine. We’ll hope for the second Mrs.
Enderby’s sake that he’s sympathetic. And right now, you’d better come down to the parish hall and give us the address of the first Mrs. Enderby and the family friend, and a few other details.”
“Right now, darling,” said Daisy, “you go and kiss Bel good night before you disappear again. You promised.” She turned to Baskin as Alec obediently departed.
“Your Elizabeth sounds like a sweetheart. I can’t see many women in her situation being concerned about Nancy’s humiliation if her fake marriage became known. ”
“She’s one in a million,” Baskin said fervently.
“I wish you both very happy. I’d like to meet her sometime, if she wouldn’t be embarrassed by my knowing the story. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going up. I’m utterly exhausted!”
Alec walked back to the parish hall with Baskin. They talked on the way, and Alec came to the conclusion he’d have to cross another suspect off his list.
Coleman still refused to utter anything but obscenity and blasphemy, not a word about either the assault charge or his movements on Sunday afternoon.
In the morning he would be provided with a lawyer, who might or might not get something out of him.
But meanwhile, his daughter had been found.
The Newton Abbot police were going to pick Olive up, when the Alexandra Cinema let out at eleven, and bring her to Westcombe.
All Alec’s hopes were banked on Olive Coleman being able to tell him whom she had seen on the cliff-top. Suppose she had seen no one? What would he do next? He needed a contingency plan in place, so as not to waste time.
He fell into an abstracted silence and, when they reached the hall, turned Baskin over to DS Horrocks.
Little though he wished to, Alec had to consult Mallow, or the man would be justifiably miffed. As it was, he was obsequiously flattering about Alec’s forethought, but he did provide one or two ideas which might prove useful in the event that the plan was needed.
Half past ten. Baskin was long gone. The Schooner’s bars closed and the hall filled with weary officers looking longingly at their stacked bedding. Alec tried to imagine interrogating a young and probably frightened girl in these surroundings, and failed.
“You fellows can turn in,” he said. “I’ll see Miss Coleman up at the police station.”
He, Mallow, Horrocks and Puckle walked up the hill together. As they entered the station house, Puckle yawned enormously. Alec sent him to bed, then caught Inspector Mallow trying to suppress a yawn. “You’d better go too.”
“I’m not tired, sir. Yawns are catching.”
“Undeniable, but it’s been a long day and I want you fresh in the morning. Off you go.”
He was glad of an excuse to get rid of the man.
There was no knowing what effect one of Mallow’s “bombs” might have on Olive.
They didn’t want to be accused of bullying a sixteen-year-old female witness.
In fact, he ought to have arranged for a woman to be present.
The thought of bringing her mother over from the farm had occurred earlier, only to be dismissed, and then he had forgotten in the press of other business.
Mrs. Hammett? Heaven forbid! Daisy? If she had not been expecting a baby, Alec would have been tempted, but she needed her rest. Maybe the Newton Abbot people would think of sending a woman with her, perhaps even the friend she was staying with. If not, Mrs. Puckle would have to be roused.
Eleven o’clock. “The picture-palace will be closing now,” said Horrocks. “Mr. Mallow arranged that they’d ring up when they picked her up, before setting out.”
Quarter past eleven. No telephone call. “I hope to heaven they haven’t missed her,” said Alec, “or discovered we’re after the wrong girl.”
“They’d’ve rung up for sure, sir, if it turned out not to be Olive Coleman.”
Half past eleven. “Do you think she ran for it, sir?” asked Horrocks.
“I hope not, Sergeant. I hope not.”
Quarter to twelve. “I suppose they forgot to telephone. They should be here soon.”
The call came at five minutes before midnight.
Horrocks picked up the receiver, handling it awkwardly with his bandaged hand.
“Westcombe Police Station—DS Horrocks here.” Horrocks fell silent.
All Alec could hear was a sort of quacking noise coming over the wire.
Then the sergeant said, “Oh lor’! You’d better speak to the DCI. ”
“No, no!” came through clearly. “You tell him. We’ll be in touch in the morning.”
“He’s rung off.” Horrocks hung up and turned to Alec.
“Well, we could’ve gone to bed an hour ago, sir.
They’ve botched it good and proper. When they tapped the girl on the shoulder, she fell into a fit of hysterics and they had to call in a doctor.
She’s under sedation and won’t be fit to question till tomorrow. ”
“Damn!” said Alec. “Did they at least find out whether it’s Olive?”
“Yes, sir, from the friend, Mrs. Dabb. It’s her, right enough.”
“That’s something. But damn, I’d hoped we could get this business sorted out tonight and wound up first thing in the morning.
I’ll be very surprised if they get her to us before noon, and in the meantime we’ll have to go on digging elsewhere, just in case she hasn’t got the answer …
No, I’ll tell you what, Horrocks, we’ll leave the digging to Mr. Mallow and you and I will go to Newton Abbot to talk to her at her friend’s house.
Surely she’s less likely to throw a fit there than at a police station! ”
“’Spect so. Unless … Sir, d’you think she went all to pieces because she done it?”
“It’s possible. Or because she thought her father had caught up with her.”
“Or the murderer, if so be it weren’t her pa.”
“We can’t rule anything out. Did they put a watch on the house?”
“Dunno, sir. He didn’t mention it.”
“Then ring back and tell them I want a man on the front door and another on the back. Whatever Olive Coleman’s running from, we can’t afford to let her run any farther.”