Strike for Death Page 14

  “Right.”

  Roger went to the corner, where the chassis lay on its side. The two detective officers and Green of the Division were there, taking measurements, doing all the routine work.

  Green seemed involved, and not ready to talk: probably he was badly upset, too. All who had known Charley Coombs had liked him.

  Outside, the workers were standing about in small groups, idle, aimless; as they would be if the strike came. A larger group, farther away, was gathered about a man standing on a box and shouting: “I tell you we’re being made fools of by the management. We ought to be out now, we never ought to have agreed to wait. Ten per cent is little enough, and if we workers stand together we’ll get our rights.”

  Suddenly it became clear that Grannett knew exactly what he was talking about.

  Then the experts arrived from the Yard, and within half an hour gave permission for all but Number 3 conveyor to be started up. Groups of men and women who had been standing about idly, many outside the shop, drifted into work again.

  Roger had the heap of scrap metal, mostly bright and glistening, cordoned off, but dozens of people regularly put pieces on or took pieces off it; he wasn’t likely to find out much from that – except that a killer had put the hammer there, and had seen Charley Coombs retrieve it.

  Within another hour, Knightley telephoned from the Yard. The hairs on the hammer were identical with hairs taken from Roy Grannett’s head, and the blood was of the same group; so that hammer had been used to kill the boy.

  “All but a smear or so of prints were wiped off,” Knightley said. “Not much hope of results from that. I’m sending the hammer back, for you to try to trace the owner. I’m also sending another three men, you’ll probably need them. And listen, Handsome – start treating Munro’s rough. I’ve just come from the A.C. and he agrees. If Sir Ian Munro starts to throw his weight about, tell him where he gets off. Same with the others. We’ll back you to the hilt.”

  “That’s fine.” Roger felt a quick warmth of appreciation. “I won’t rub any one up the wrong way for the sake of it. I certainly need those men, and could use a dozen more.”

  “What are you after in particular?”

  “Anyone who saw Charley Coombs find that hammer and go to the telephone,” Roger said. “He must have found it as the party was approaching the Chassis Shop, so any one of them might have seen it. Charley telephoned from a booth just near the spot where he died.”

  “Keep at it,” urged Knightley. “Any luck with the men who attacked Malcolm M. last night?”

  “There are a couple of possibles. I was sending Sheppard to see them when the new thing happened. I won’t go to sleep on it.”

  “It’s about half past three,” Knightley said, with a chuckle. “I think I’ll telephone your wife and say that you’ll be late tonight.”

  “I’ll telephone her, because I won’t be going home at all,” Roger said. “I want to be on the spot. Amory lives only five miles away, Sir Ian and Malcolm much nearer. I may spend the evening checking them one by one.”

  “I’ll send you a few tablets of benzedrine,” Knightley said.

  Roger rang off. Old Popham was filling out cards, and thoroughly immersed in his job, nothing ever nagged him. Sheppard and the others were out. There was no news of the two suspects for the previous night’s attack, nothing specific to do until the hammer was returned, except try to find the explanation of the speed with which Coombs had been killed.

  Identifying the owner and the usual place where that hammer was kept was high on the list of urgent jobs, and he was making notes hurriedly when there was a tap at the door.

  He called, “Come in,” and the door was opened by Tessa Lee.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Bright Idea

  Roger had an odd thought as the girl came in and closed the door behind her: that he would like to see her smile. He hadn’t, yet. She was almost too beautiful when her face was set, as he always saw it. He could see the evidence of strain at her eyes and the tension in her body, and wondered whether she had come without anyone else knowing because of his questions last night, or whether she was simply a messenger. He seemed to see her more clearly. Perhaps that was a trick of the light. Her severe white blouse and black skirt were just right in the circumstances. The blouse was full at the breast, and did nothing to emphasise her figure, even if nothing could conceal it.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.

  “Glad to see you,” Roger said. “Come and sit down.” He felt glad that he was able to relax. The girl was so wholesome to look at, and at least she hadn’t pressed that button. But she might have brought an urgent message to the killer; and she might have passed it on to Munro.

  Roger had the impression that she would make any sacrifice for the man she loved; then he rejected that as sentimental nonsense. Watch her, watch everyone, and remember that self-interest was the strongest factor in most people.

  “Mr Malcolm asked me to come and see you,” she said, and answered one question. “He hopes you’ll keep what I have to say to yourself.”

  Half a loaf?

  “I will,” Roger promised, and took out a packet of cigarettes. “Smoke?”

  She looked at a cigarette as if longingly, and then said: “No, thank you, I never smoke during the day. But don’t let me stop you.”

  Roger lit up, as she sat with her back to Popham, who would make shorthand notes of everything she said. “Mr West, is it true that Roy Grannett was murdered while in our hospital?”

  “The evidence suggests that he was injured more badly while there,” Roger answered.

  “So it’s no longer true that he died as a result of the incident yesterday lunchtime?”

  “It’s less certain than it was.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive my questions, but I do want to try to be sure in my mind,” Tessa went on hurriedly. “Do you—do you think that ex-Inspector Coombs was murdered, too?”

  The world would know by this evening.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what Malcolm said,” the girl declared, and closed her eyes, as if she was very tired. Then she opened them with an obvious effort. “I told Mal—Mr Munro what I am going to tell you, Mr West, and he agreed that I should. I have been with the party touring the factory most of the day. As usual, I went ahead to each place they were going to visit, to make sure that the Shop Managers were ready. The management like to make things go very smoothly whenever there is such a tour, especially if Sir Ian is going to be with the party.”

  Roger nodded. She really had something to say, about what had happened today: and Charley Coombs’ murder had happened.

  “I went outside again, and they went in. As they passed, Mr Coombs was bending down over a heap of scrap metal. I saw him wrap something in some newspaper, there was a pile waiting nearby to be collected,” Tessa said. “He put it under his coat. Did you find anything? “

  Was this the real purpose of the visit? Was she, was Malcolm Munro, desperately anxious to find out whether the hammer had been discovered?

  “Obviously I can’t be sure whether we found anything that Mr Coombs took away until we know what it was like,” Roger said. “Can you describe it?”

  “I can’t be very precise,” Tessa said, “but I’m pretty sure it had a handle. He took it from the bottom of the heap, rather gingerly, and wrapped it up quickly, but I believe it was a hammer.” She paused, but when Roger didn’t interrupt, went on: “I hope that will be useful.”

  If it were true, it certainly would be; now they had to search for anyone seen to put anything beneath that heap of metal, and for the owner of the hammer.

  “All information is useful, Miss Lee. Did you see anyone else near Mr Coombs at the time?”

  “No—not really near.”

  “Near enough to see what he was doing?”

  “There were several people,” Tessa said, “but I doubt if they noticed anything. I think they were between me and Mr Coombs, and comin
g away from him. The only person who might have noticed it was Ricky Woods.”

  “Ricky—” began Roger, and the significance of the name Woods struck home. “The boy who threw the oranges?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know he was back already.”

  “Mr Munro reinstated him,” Tessa said, “and he clocked in about one o’clock. He’s a learner-fitter, and acts mostly as a messenger, going from shop to shop. I don’t know for sure that he noticed what Mr Coombs took, but he was near enough to.”

  “Where am I likely to find him now?”

  “His headquarters are here, in the Assembly Shop.”

  “I’ll go and see him, right away,” Roger said. “Is there anything else, Miss Lee? What message did you take to Mr Munro at the Assembly Shop just before Coombs was killed, for instance?”

  “I had a message for Mr Amory.”

  “What?”

  “That the Minister of Labour would like to speak to him about the dispute,” Tessa answered, and it was hardly likely that she would lie about that.

  “Thank you. Do you, and does Mr Malcolm Munro, think that Mr Torrance is responsible for any of the attacks?” asked Roger, without warning.

  Tessa caught her breath.

  Roger stood up, and went to her side. She didn’t move, but was very pale.

  “Well, do you?”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “Did you think it last night?” She didn’t answer.

  “Did you think Mr Torrance was behind it last night?” Roger demanded sharply.

  She said: “No, not really. I couldn’t believe it, but—” She was breathing very hard. “But he has many friends in the factory. They hero-worship him. The idea came into my head, and I couldn’t get it out.”

  “What put it in?”

  “Nothing in particular.”

  “Miss Lee, the only thing to help either Mr Torrance or Mr Munro is the truth,” Roger said sharply. “Lies, half truths, silences will only make things worse. You recognised one of the men who attacked Mr Munro last night as a friend of Mr Torrance, didn’t you?”

  She wanted to deny it, but she did not speak at all.

  Roger made the final thrust which might make her break down.

  “Was it the man I caught and whom Mr Munro helped to escape?”

  She nodded; and then told him the man’s name. It was Arthur Winn, a night-shift worker already on the suspect list.

  When she had gone, Roger made sure that Woods wasn’t in the Assembly Shop, then put a general call out, through the Yard, for young Woods, Arthur Winn, and Pegnall, the other night-shift worker.

  “Now we want every part of the plant searched,” Roger said to Sheppard. “It’s got to be a quick, thorough job, and never mind the management.”

  Tessa Lee went back to her office feeling flat and useless. She hadn’t helped Malcolm, and might have made the situation worse. When she thought of the way West had sprung Hugh Torrance’s name on her she felt as if she’d tried to hold back the tide.

  Did the police suspect Malcolm of Roy Grannett’s murder? Did the factory men know for sure? Was that why they had set upon him, taking the law into their own hands?

  Or had Hugh Torrance’s jealousy and bitter disappointment turned his mind? A murderer had struck twice, and could strike again.

  She reached her office at a little after half past four, and was not surprised to see Malcolm’s door open at once. He came straight across, slid his arm round her waist, and kissed her.

  “I love you, remember? And I don’t like that frown. After all, the world knows that you love me, too!”

  “Malcolm, we can’t talk about this now.”

  “Oh, yes, we can!” The gleam in his eyes suggested that he was no longer worried either for himself or by what had happened. “I’ve just been talking to my revered father. A real heart-to-heart. Apart from the fact that he wants me to vote for him on the pay issue, he is showing an unsuspected, very mellow side. Apparently you were heard to declare your love when I was knocked out, sweetheart, and papa was told. We have his qualified approval.”

  Every other thought was driven out of Tessa’s mind.

  “You’re not just saying this, are you?”

  “He asks that we wait a year, and I can probably beat him down to six months,” said Malcolm, and kissed her forehead. “Three, if I were to vote with him, but I’m still with Amory. We’ve got to keep everything ticking over here. In spite of the excitement, today’s three VIPs ordered a total of three thousand Mark 9s, a cool three million pounds’ worth of export money, all in hard currency.”

  He was so easy in his manner that it was easy to forget the danger. He worked a kind of spell over her.

  “Wonderful!”

  “That’s better. Anyway, we simply can’t risk a strike, and I think that we can dissuade the old boy if we go the right way about it. Bob and I are going to have dinner with him tonight.”

  “Do you seriously think you can persuade him?”

  “If we can get it out of his head that what has happened is all part of a conspiracy to put up the backs of the workpeople, yes. That’s his obsession. Grannett’s the psychological obstacle, of course. Dad is convinced that Grannett wants to call the men out on strike, and even if we give them this increase they’ll be after another in a month or so. I’m going to spring a surprise on him,” Malcolm added, and his eyes positively glowed.

  “How?”

  “Grannett will be at home, after dinner. We’ll get ’em face to face, and see if they can’t sort things out between them.”

  Tessa said slowly: “Are you sure it will help?”

  “It can’t make anything worse,” Malcolm said dryly. “Both Harrison and Grannett are coming after dinner, there’s at least a chance that after this there’ll be real harmony.”

  “Whose idea was it to get Grannett and your father together?”

  “Sweetheart, I cannot tell a lie.” Malcolm put a hand at his heart dramatically. “It was my very own. Stop worrying, I’ve a feeling in my bones that Copper West will see us through. What did he have to say?”

  It didn’t take long to tell.

  “He keeps his eyes open and his wits about him,” Malcolm said reflectively. “So he was on to Hugh and you.”

  “Yes. Mal, do you—?”

  “No, I do not think Hugh Torrance would touch a thing like this.”

  “He’s always drinking, and he’s never himself these days,” Tessa found herself saying. “He’s done some odd things, darling.”

  “Not so odd as cracking Roy Grannett’s skull in the hospital,” Malcolm said. “Yes, that’s what happened. I’ve talked to the Sister and added it all up. There’s no reasonable doubt. Hugh might try to kill himself and take me with him, but he wouldn’t hire a gang of thugs to do the dirty work.”

  “I hope to goodness you’re right,” Tessa said vehemently. “Mal, did you let the man Winn escape last night?”

  “Does West know that?”

  “He guessed. So you did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must be afraid that Hugh is behind it,” Tessa said uneasily. “You know that Arthur Winn will do anything Hugh tells him.”

  “The fact that I was mad last night doesn’t stop me from becoming sane today,” said Malcolm, “and I’m sane. It wasn’t Hugh, that’s unthinkable. It’s Copper West’s job to find out who it was, too, so let’s leave it to him. You should have heard Dad trying to be parental over you! Believe it or not, he already has a soft spot for you, he actually said that if he were twenty years younger he would cut me out!”

  Malcolm laughed.

  Tessa found herself laughing, too.

  But deep down, she was still frightened. If it had not been Hugh Torrance, then who was the killer? How much did Malcolm really know?

  She was close to the window when she laughed, and Roger, passing at that moment and who had paused to look up at her, saw her. It gave vitality to her beauty, told him that h
e had been right to wonder what she was like when she smiled.

  Now he wondered what made her laugh.

  He went to the gatehouse, had a word with a Yard man on duty, and went by a roundabout tour to the Paint Shop. Every available detective was looking for Ricky Woods, who had not been seen leaving by any entrance, or climbing a fence. The gatekeeper had been quite sure that he hadn’t gone out this way.

  Roger passed the squat Powerhouse, which stood strangely silent, almost as if dead, and entered the Paint Shop by the door through which he had come out this morning. He paused to glance at the little summer-house which marked the original workshop, and remembered the passionate way in which Sir Ian had spoken. Perhaps Grannett didn’t realise that this business was almost flesh and blood to old Munro. Perhaps neither of them realised that each was working out of a deep conviction that he was doing the right thing. Someone ought to find a way of bringing them together.

  Roger entered the big shop.

  It had the same heavy, rather sickly smell of cellulose, every conveyor was working, including the one where there had been the trouble that morning. The same lanky, splay-footed man was on duty near the entrance to the heat tunnel, and the car bodies coming out at the other end were now black and very shiny.

  Grannett was at his stand-up desk, with Sheppard next to him.

  Grannett looked up without enthusiasm, but also without hostility.

  “Come to have another go?” he asked. “I still don’t know a thing about it, and I don’t know where young Woods is either. He was here just after two o’clock, but I haven’t seen him since.”

  “He hasn’t been seen anywhere since,” said Sheppard. There was suspicion in the sergeant’s voice, and he had pushed his hat to the back of his head, thus showing the whole of the Paint Shop his baldness. He looked hot, too; it was warm in here, as well as noisy.