Читать книгу Murder Gone Mad - Philip MacDonald - Страница 15

Three rooms in the Holmdale Company’s Offices had been placed at the disposal of the police. In the largest of these, at three o’clock in the afternoon of his first day there, Pike sat in talk with the Chief Constable of the County and County Inspectors Davis and Farrow. There was, to begin with, constraint. The Chief Constable had overruled his subordinates and asked the aid of Scotland Yard. But his subordinates were not, as perhaps was natural, pleased with the decision. They were, officially, ready both to help and to take their orders from Scotland Yard. Unofficially, they were anxious to show that left alone, as in their own opinions they ought to have been, they could probably have done the job more quickly, more neatly and with greater efficiency.

The Chief Constable, burly, red-faced and even at this time genial, sat at the head of the table. Upon his left, side by side, each as stiffly erect as his fellow, both in plain clothes, sat Inspectors Davis and Farrow. Davis was tall and lean, with a Sergeant-Major’s blue eye and waxed moustache. His face was hard and wooden and always, if he had any feelings, a mask for those feelings. Farrow was tall and thick, with the shoulders and round head of a pugilist. His face, unlike Davis’s, was a battleground for his inner emotions. At the moment he frankly scowled. His hot, reddish-brown eye regarded the trimly lounging figure of Superintendent Pike, who faced him across the table, with belligerent disfavour.

Pike had been in similar situations not once but a hundred times. He had his own methods. He was not truculent. He was not oleaginous. He was very pleasant. His brown, lantern-shaped face smiled unpartially at the other three. Not a permanent smile, but a smile, when answered, both friendly and, at the same time, individual.

They were talking of what had happened and of what might happen, and of what steps should be taken to prevent such happenings. They dealt, with Davis as spokesman, with the Colby murder and came to the conclusion that everything up to this stage which could have been done had been done. They dealt, then, with the truculent Farrow as spokesman, with the murder of Pamela Richards, and came to the same conclusion. They dealt, now with the Chief Constable as main spokesman, and both Inspectors as chorus, with the murder of Amy Adams, the waitress at the Holmdale Theatre chocolate counter. And here Pike found more to say after the others had finished.

‘This girl Adams …’ said Pike. ‘There’s one or two points about her case. You’re sure to have noticed, gentlemen, that this case is different from the other two at almost every point. First, while the others are killed by a wound in the stomach, which is ripped up—all untidy as you might say—Amy Adams is killed by a single thrust through the stomach which isn’t anything but tidy. Second, third and fourth, while Lionel Colby and Pamela Richards are killed at night and in the dark and in the open, this Adams girl is killed in the evening, and in a well-lighted public place and under a roof. Fifth, that while the first two had no … well, trademark of the murderer’s on ’em when they were found, Amy Adams did. Sixth, that while Lionel Colby and Pamela Richards had parents at least in comfortable enough circumstances, the Adamses are really poor folk living in a small cottage with the father actually out of work and on the dole.’

Pike sat back in his chair and looked, with his brown, bright eyes, at the Chief Constable.

The Chief Constable pondered, stabbing at the blotting-pad before him with a tortured pen nib. He raised his eyes at last to look at his two henchmen. ‘Thought of that?’ he said.

Davis nodded. ‘Of course, sir,’ he said, ‘we’ve seen all that.’ His voice was, as usual, a flat monotone, but there was in it also a rasping of bitter and elephantine irony. ‘We couldn’t help ourselves but see all that. It was us, you see, who did all the work and found out these facts.’

‘What I asked,’ said the Chief Constable mildly, ‘was whether you’d thought about it?’ He looked now at Farrow.

Farrow could not, as had the more controlled Davis, keep his eyes off Pike as he answered.

‘Thought about it!’ Farrow exploded. ‘Thought about it!’—And then, with sudden realisation of his company—‘Beg your pardon, sir, I’m sure. But if we haven’t been thinking, and thinking hard, about the whole bl——about the whole business for these past seventy-two hours and more, I’d like to know what we have been doing.’

‘Yes. Yes.’ The Chief Constable was soothing. ‘Yes. Quite; quite!’ He turned to Pike and said: ‘And what was your thought, Superintendent, when you put this “difference” point to us?’

Pike shook his head. A faint smile twisted his wide mouth. He said:

‘Nothing … I’ll have to explain myself a bit, sir. It’s always been my way not to think at the beginning of a job. I’ve found it pays me very well. I just turn myself—or try to turn myself—into a machine for recording facts without theorising. I don’t worry about whys and hows and whats and ifs. I just try to collect facts whether they appear to have any bearing on the case or not. Then, suddenly, when I’ve been digging round long enough and hard enough, I maybe dig up something which seems to click in my mind and become a good starting-off place for a think … I hope you follow what I mean, sir.’

‘Chacun,’ said the Chief Constable with a most un-Gallic accent, ‘à son gout.’ Kindly he translated: ‘Each man his own way … I gather then, Superintendent, that you had no particular reason for drawing our attention to the differences which exist between the circumstances of Colby’s and Pamela Richards’s murders and Amy Adams’s murder?’

Pike smiled at the Chief Constable. ‘That’s right, sir. No particular reason except that, as the cleverest man I know is always saying, in this sort of job, if one collects eddities one sometimes—very often, in fact—gets somewhere.’

Inspector Davis coughed, breaking the little silence which had followed Pike’s speech.

‘It seems to me, sir,’ said Davis, ‘that we might get down, as it were, to brass tacks; might get down, that is, to deciding what steps we’re going to take to prevent any more of these murders …’

Farrow grunted assent. ‘Ah, that’s right! That’s right, sir! And I’d like to add, what steps ’re we going to take to ensure that we watch this blasted lunatic.’ He turned to his colleague. ‘There’s only one way, Davis, to make sure of stopping these murders and that’s to catch the man that’s doing ’em.’

‘What,’ put in Pike mildly, ‘are the arrangements so far?’

The faces of Davis and Farrow, which had been turned each towards the other, turned now, outwards, towards the interloper. The interloper remained unmoved. He was not smiling any longer, but his lantern face was placid like a child’s. The Chief Constable—a man, perhaps, of more sensibility than sense—felt strain in the air. He hurried in with his stubby oar. He said quickly:

‘What are we doing? I’ll tell you, Superintendent.’ He fumbled among the papers stacked to one side of the blotting-pad before him and produced at last some pinned together foolscap sheets. ‘Here’s a copy of the present arrangements. I’ll just go through them in brief for you and then let you have the papers.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Pike’s tone was diplomatically grateful.

The Chief Constable cleared his throat. ‘First,’ he said, ‘as from four o’clock this afternoon, every main thoroughfare and every secondary thoroughfare in this place will be patrolled by regular police drafted in from other areas of the county. The patrols will be in pairs and will be on throughout the night, coming off duty an hour after dawn. These patrols will be supplemented in regard to the secondary thoroughfares by volunteer patrols, composed of special constables, under the control of Colonel Grayling, who acts under my directions, and other volunteers under the control of the Holmdale Company, who also hold themselves at my directions. Further volunteers will be posted to cover the various cul-de-sacs, squares, keeps and other non-thoroughfare ways. Further, as from five o’clock this afternoon, specially authorised guards (they will all be enrolled tomorrow as special constables to give them further powers) will be posted at all the entrances and exits of Holmdale. These men are being supplied, Superintendent, by the courtesy of Lord Bayford. An elaborate code of signals, in the case of any discoveries being made or any assistance being required, has been evolved. You will find full details of the whole scheme in the papers. Further, a reward of five hundred pounds has been offered by the Holmdale Company for information leading to the arrest of the murderer … What’s that, Superintendent?’

Pike shook his head. ‘Nothing, sir, nothing. I was only thinking what trouble you’re going to have. I’m not sure that I believe in these advertised rewards.’

‘We couldn’t,’ said the Chief Constable, ‘stop the Holmdale Company from offering the reward or the Holmdale Clarion from publishing the offer. And also, Superintendent, I’m not sure that the course isn’t justified.

Pike shrugged. ‘Very likely you’re right, sir!’

‘It seems to me,’ said the Chief Constable, folding up the foolscap sheets and handing them across the table to Pike, ‘that this lunatic who calls himself The Butcher will be hard put to it to try another of his games without getting caught. Eh? What? Don’t you agree?’

Once more Pike’s wide mouth twisted into a little smile; a smile doubting, but by no means offensive. ‘Couldn’t say, sir,’ said Pike. ‘I’m afraid I must stick to my own way. And that, as I’ve told you, is not to let myself form opinions in the early stages. I’m sure I hope you’re right though. The arrangements seem fairly complete. The danger is, of course, that they’ll frighten this Butcher into stopping his games. And then what’ll happen?’

The Chief Constable stared. ‘Well? … I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you.’

‘What’ll happen,’ said Pike, ‘is that nothing will happen and then, when after a month or six months, or a year or six years, when all supervision is removed—when all your arrangements that is, are, so to speak, cancelled—well, then, this butcher gentleman will just start his games all over again.’

The Chief Constable frowned. ‘Something in that, I suppose.’ He looked hard at Pike. ‘Meaning, Superintendent, that that’s what you think is going to happen.’

Pike shook his head. ‘I’m not thinking as I told you, sir … There’s no doubt that it’s what may happen. All we can hope is that it won’t.’

Inspector Davis muttered beneath his breath.

The Chief Constable turned upon him irritably. ‘What is it, Davis? What is it? Speak up, man!’

Davis flushed. ‘I was going to say, sir, that in my opinion, we didn’t ought to be talking about hoping. We ought to be talking about doing.’

The Chief Constable glared. He opened his mouth to speak, but Pike was before him.

Superintendent Pike smiled at Inspector Davis. ‘I’m not at all sure,’ said Pike, ‘that Inspector Davis isn’t right.’ He turned his head to look once more at the Chief Constable. ‘These arrangements of yours, sir,’ he said, ‘they seem to me to be very good and there’s nothing more that I’d like to suggest—at the moment … After all, you gentlemen know this place and what can be done with it. I’ve only just got here and want to look round before I say anything … About the question of quarters for me, sir? …’

The meeting broke up in a spirit almost of amity.