Strike for Death Page 15

  “What was he doing here?” asked Roger.

  “He’d brought some colour orders from the main office,” Grannett said. “Wanted to know if I approved of him coming back. I told him he’d been a silly young fool, and that if he ever chucked oranges at a Rolls-Bentley again I’d personally recommend his dismissal. Wasn’t too hard on him, he’s badly cut up about Roy.”

  Bitterness crept into Grannett’s voice.

  “Did you see which way he went from here?”

  “I left him at the desk, I was wanted at the other end of the shop. That was the last I saw of him.”

  “Was Lanky on duty?”

  “No, it was his afternoon break. He has it early.”

  “Who was on duty?”

  “One of the charge-hands,” said Grannett, “but if you want to know the truth, the charge-hand was probably outside having a draw. You get ’em like that every now and again. Lanky is as reliable as a retriever, but some chaps—” Grannett broke off, and made himself grin. “Now tell me that I’m talking the same language as they do in the board room!”

  Roger said: “I’d like to see this charge-hand. Did Woods come here often?”

  “Three or four times a day, with colour orders,” Grannett said. “Between you and me he was a nuisance. Sneaked out on the tunnel observation platform whenever he could, always wasting time. Something about the heat tunnel fascinated him.”

  Roger said, slowly: “Could he have gone to that platform today?”

  “Almost certainly did.”

  “Could he have been pushed into the heat tunnel?”

  Sheppard caught his breath, and Grannett raised his hands and stared as if in horror at the steps which led to the platform. Then he raced to it, yards ahead of Roger or Sheppard.

  Lanky stood aside, puzzled, perhaps annoyed.

  They crowded on to the tiny platform. Car bodies were passing in their endless stream, sleek and shiny from the new paint. Inside, the fierce temperature was hardening the cellulose so that it would withstand all extremes of weather.

  Grannett pressed his face against the observation window, looking right and left and immediately beneath the door, which should be opened only when the tunnel was cool.

  Then he said: “Oh, God.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Face to Face

  When the conveyor was stopped and the tunnel cooled off enough to get Ricky Woods’ body out it was obvious that the youth had been there for hours. Certainly he had died within a minute or two of entering the tunnel. He had known the control switches, and it was conceivable that he had committed suicide, but much more likely that someone else had pressed the switches, and then pushed him.

  Grannett had a dozen witnesses to prove that he hadn’t been there when Woods had first gone to the platform. Lanky had been nearby, according to other witnesses, and the unreliable charge-hand had also been near. Both he and Lanky were taken into Elling for questioning.

  “Now we want all of Ricky Woods’ friends, all the people who saw him today, here and at his home,” Roger said. “He saw Coombs get that hammer, we can be reasonably sure that he knew whose it was. He was a weak type, the type who would crack under questioning.” Roger spoke in a cold, aloof voice on the telephone to Knightley, about six o’clock that evening. “I’m trying to find out everyone who was near the Paint Shop entrance which I used. It’s only a side door, and if Lanky and the charge-hand were gossiping or smoking round the corner, someone could have got in without being seen. It’s not likely, but I’m checking.”

  “Right,” Knightley approved. “Got either of the suspects in the attack on Malcolm Munro yet?”

  “I’m going to see them myself.”

  “How’s the strike position?”

  “So-so. Grannett won’t give way, and he seems to know that his real obstacle is Sir Ian,” Roger said. “I’m told that the directors are going to have dinner together tonight, and Grannett and Harrison are going to the house afterwards. A get-together like that might yield something. I’m having men back and front of that house.”

  “Keep it up,” Knightley encouraged.

  “I’ll keep it up,” growled Roger. “There’s an angle we haven’t paid much attention to yet,” he went on, “and I don’t suppose we can do a lot about it today, now. Who might want to bring the value of Munro stock down, and then cash in?”

  “We chaps here think of some things, occasionally,” Knightley said. “We’ve gone into the shareholding position, but I don’t know that we’ve got anything to help. The family or directors own most of the shares, but more and more are being sold. They’re quoted lower today than yesterday. There could be a slump, with someone waiting to buy cheap.”

  “Anyone on the board likely?”

  “No. Torrance had a few shares. Biggest single shareholder outside the Board is Harrison – or rather, Harrison and his wife, jointly.”

  “They well off?”

  “I just said they were big Munro shareholders.”

  Roger grinned.

  “Sorry. All right – have they shown any sign of needing money or losing a lot? “

  “No,” said Knightley, “but we’ll keep probing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s really eating you?” Knightley demanded.

  “The fact that everything’s happened so fast,” Roger said. “First there’s a fracas and a bit of a shindy. Within half an hour or so Roy Grannett is dead. Before we can turn round there are two attacks on Munro. Charley makes a discovery, and is dead before we can say snap. Woods turns up at one o’clock, and is dead within an hour. The first affair couldn’t have been planned, but the killer was sitting ready to strike, must have been expecting something to break.”

  Knightley said: “I see what you mean. The killer moves so fast he seems to be in two places at once.”

  There was a pause. Then: “Say that again,” said Roger.

  “What?”

  “Say that again,” Roger urged, and it was as if a flash of light had shown up some of the dark corners of his own mind.

  “The killer moves so fast he seems to be in two places at once.”

  “I’ve only just seen one obvious thing,” Roger said very softly. “We want more than one killer. No single man would have the nerve to keep this up. Roy Grannett, Coombs, Woods, all in twenty-four hours, as well as the attacks on Munro. We want a group of men, with a leader. That’s an angle, a group of men, mostly workmen.”

  “Know who’s most likely to be able to get a group together?” Knightley demanded.

  “Yes, Torrance.”

  “Torrance is right,” Knightley said. “Handsome, keep cracking on this group inside the plant, if several men are involved, with a different one for each job, it would make sense. Turn Elling inside out for Winn and Pegnall. Check all of Woods’ friends, Roy Grannett’s, too.”

  “I will,” Roger said roughly.

  He rang off, put a call through to Division to step up the hunt for Winn and Pegnall, and then sat motionless at his desk. He felt no easing of the tension, until, for no apparent reason, he thought of his wife. From that moment on he wanted to talk to her, he liked nothing less than being brief with her. But he couldn’t see himself getting home tonight. He stubbed out a cigarette abruptly, and put in a call to the Bell Street house. Almost immediately the ringing sound started, he was answered: “Chelsea 01234.”

  “That’s you, Scoop,” Roger said, and the pleasant tone of his elder son’s voice had already cheered him. “How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine! I say, Dad!” Now there was excitement in the boy’s voice. “I had a wonderful day. You know we had the school sports this afternoon, don’t you? … You’d never believe how many times I came in first … Yes, first … Five, would you believe it? … Eh? Oh, the high jump, the 440-yard hurdles, the 440 yards, the 100 yards and throwing the cricket ball, and Richard got a first and two seconds, too. Jolly good, wasn’t it?”

  “Wonderful!” Roger felt immeasurably more
cheerful. “Decide how you’d like to celebrate, and the first Saturday or Sunday I can get off, we’ll do it.”

  “Jolly good,” said Scoopy. “As a matter of fact, I’ve already thought of something, but it’s a Wednesday, actually. That International match at Wembley.”

  “I’ll fix it,” Roger promised.

  “Oh, Dad, thanks a million! Richard! Richard!” Scoopy’s voice faded for a moment, obviously as he put his hand over the mouthpiece, and then he went on: “Dad says we can go to the big match, how about that?”

  Richard’s voice came faintly: “I said he would, didn’t I?”

  Roger chuckled. Richard, with a slightly higher-pitched voice, came on the line as innocently as a cherub.

  “Hallo, Dad, are you coming home before we go to bed tonight? … Oh, well, I expect you’ll see us tomorrow, then—Oo, yes, I was first in the three-legged race, and second in the relay, that is my team was, and in the 440 yards, old Scoop was miles ahead, though … Yes, thanks, wizard … Yes, I’ll call her.”

  There was a pause. Then: “Hallo, darling,” Janet said. “Did Richard get it right, you’ll be home late?”

  “Nearly right. I don’t think I can make it at all, sweet.” He knew that Janet hated him being out at night when involved in a murder case, and the cheerful mood, born out of the children’s excitements, could easily be spoiled. Instead, it became even better, for Janet said: “What a shame! But I did wonder if it was wise to come right the way across London if you have to be at the factory again early in the morning. You will get a bed for the night, though, won’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, that’s a promise!”

  “And be careful.”

  “Never more so.”

  “And I shall let the boys stay up until ten o’clock or so, as a special treat. The rest of the evening won’t seem so long, then,” Janet said.

  Two minutes later Roger rang off, smiling with the contentment of a happy family man. It would take a lot to shake him out of this mood. He turned back to the reports, all of them written out in Popham’s careful, precise but rather small handwriting, and was half way through when the telephone bell rang. He glanced up as Popham answered: “Chief Inspector West’s office.”

  He paused.

  “Division, sir, Mr Green,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Roger lifted his extension. “Hallo, Green, how are things with you?” ‘

  “We’ve cornered that pair of suspects, Winn and Pegnall, the couple we think had a hand in the attack on young Munro,” commenced Green simply.

  Roger’s mind flared to a question: cornered?

  “Got on to them through that night commissionaire you put us on to,” Green went on. “He’s been at the same pub twice today, and we had a crack at him before he came on duty. He says they paid him a quid to disappear, and swears he didn’t know why. Just to clinch it, one of them’s the owner of the ballpoint pen we found, the other owned the handkerchief with his monogram on it. Girl friend gave it to him, that’s where love can land you. They’ve gone to earth in a little cafe in Elling North, and bolted the doors on us. It’s a lock-up place, only a couple of rooms. We’re going to winkle them out now – I thought you’d like to have a chance to be there.”

  “Thanks. What’s the name of the café?”

  “Ma’s,” answered Green. “Any of my chaps will be able to guide you straight over, everyone knows Ma’s. Like us to wait until you arrive, or shall we get after ’em?”

  “Get ’em if you can,” said Roger. “Any risk that they’re armed?”

  “Oh, they’re armed, but only with knives and knuckledusters, as far as I can find out,” Green said. “I’ve got the place surrounded, no fear that they’ll escape.”

  “If you get ’em before I arrive, take ’em straight to the station, and I’ll join you there,” Roger said. “But don’t take any chances, we want them alive. After what’s happened here, I’m prepared for anything.”

  With a local detective officer at his side, Roger reached Ma’s Café in twenty minutes. As he turned the corner of the street, he saw a crowd, police cars, uniformed police pushing the crowd back, and an ambulance. He had a momentary fear that the worst had happened, but then he saw two men, each handcuffed, being led from a dreary-looking, lighted café, to a waiting police car. On the pavement was a uniformed policeman, with a nasty cut on his forehead. Roger didn’t try to take his car through, but jumped out and hurried to the café, where Green was standing by the injured policeman, and watching the ambulance men put him on to a stretcher.

  “How’d it happen?” Roger asked.

  “The swine threw knives,” Green said. He looked pale and tired in the poor light. “They were a pretty dangerous pair to have round the Munro plant. Took six of us to overpower them, they didn’t mean to be taken if they could avoid it.”

  “Well, you got ’em,” Roger said softly. “Now all we’ve got to do is make them talk.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Home Ground

  Roger did not get a close-up of the two men until they were at the Elling Police Station, being charged. Arthur Winn had big shoulders and a bull neck, and was a picture of a Dickens brute, even to broken teeth and a cauliflower ear. His right eye was swollen, and there was a small cut at his lips, on the left-hand side. He wore old jeans and a khaki sweater with a roll collar. One of the Division’s biggest men was handcuffed to him, and a second plain-clothes man stood on his other side. Any moment, he might start fighting again. He didn’t answer a single question, not even to confirm his name.

  The other prisoner was slighter, and looked much less tough. He was clean-shaven, and wore a suit and a collar and tie. In the fight he had split his right ear, and badly hurt his left hand, which was bound up with a handkerchief.

  He admitted to the name of Robert Pegnall.

  “Now let’s have it, Pegnall,” Green said, “who put you up to attacking Munro? You’d no personal reason.”

  “My hands hurt awful,” Pegnall said, in a whining voice, “I want to see a doctor.”

  “You’ll see a doctor, and you’ll be lucky if you don’t see an undertaker before this is over,” Green rasped. “Let’s have the truth. Who paid you to attack Munro?”

  “If I don’t see a doctor, I’ll complain to the court,” whined Pegnall. “You’ve no right to keep a wounded man standing here while you ask him questions, it’s not lawful.”

  “Here’s a man who knows all about the law,” Roger put in mildly. “It’s not lawful to join with others in an attack on another man. It’s not lawful to smash a man’s skull in with a hammer.” He waited to let that sink in, and saw Winn’s eyes open wide, and Pegnall’s lips tighten. “It’s not lawful to release a chassis and crush a man to death, and it’s not lawful to push a man into the heat tunnel so that he fries. But it’s all been done.”

  Winn said in a strained voice: “We never did it!”

  “You keep your trap shut,” Pegnall said, the whine quite gone. “They can talk their heads off, they haven’t got anything on us.”

  “Please yourself,” said Roger. “You’ve got ten years apiece coming to you for the two jobs we know you did, and you’ll be lucky if you don’t hang for the others. But if you talk you might make it easier for yourselves.”

  “I tell you we never touched no one else!” Winn’s voice, now high-pitched, made him sound almost like an imbecile.

  “Perhaps you didn’t, but it wasn’t made to look that way,” Roger said roughly. “Three murders make quite a count, and as things stand we’ll get you on one of them. But if you’d rather wait in the cooler, please yourselves. Talk a bit now, and we’ll find you a comfortable chair and a cigarette or two.” He turned to Green. “Take ’em down to the cells, and have a look at the small one’s hand. If he needs a doctor you’d better arrange it.”

  “I’d rather fetch a vet,” Green said, moving towards the door.

  “Listen, West,” Winn said, in the same high-pitched voice. “We didn’t croak anyone,
we only—”

  “Shut your trap!” Pegnall rasped.

  “We only beat up Munro, that’s all we did, no one never told me it was a murder rap. We never killed no one—anyway I didn’t.”

  “Who paid you?” Roger asked sharply.

  Pegnall exclaimed: “I paid him, that’s all you want to know.”

  “You crazy?” Winn asked, and looked at him as if he thought he was mad. “If this is a murder rap I’m talking. It was Mike Grannett who paid us, Mr West. He give us a hundred nicker apiece in advance, and promised another hundred if we made a real mess of Munro!”

  “That’s wonderful,” breathed Green. “That’s all we wanted to know.”

  He looked on top of the world.

  “If it’s the truth we’ll soon find out,” Roger said, and felt oddly heavy-hearted, because it wasn’t the answer he wanted. “Find ’em chairs and cigarettes, and feed them if they need it, will you?”

  “It’s against my principles, but I will,” Green said, and passed on the orders to a sergeant. Then he followed Roger to the door. “That’s got Grannett as tight as we’ll ever get him. Going to pick him up right away?”

  “I’m going to have a talk to him,” said Roger. “You coming, or shall I take Sheppard?”

  “I’ve got too much Divisional stuff to do, but thanks for offering.”

  “Pity. I’ll have Sheppard later,” Roger said. “I’d better go back to the factory and see how things are there.”

  He didn’t go to the factory, but drove towards Elling Hill, the residential part of the suburb, where Sir Ian lived in the big old house. It took twenty minutes to find the house called Munro, for Roger was confused by streets and wide drive entrances. Harrison’s big, elderly Daimler was outside, and in front of it stood a motorcycle.

  That would be Grannett’s.

  Roger wondered what was happening now that Sir Ian and Grannett were face to face.

  One thing was certain: Grannett could have organised it all, no one was in a better position for that.