The Scene of the Crime Read online

  Chapter Two

  Family

  The next evening, there was a drizzle of rain, making the light shimmer on wet roads. Alice was a little late. Even two or three minutes seemed a long time to Payne while he stood in the doorway near another cinema, this time at Hammersmith; they seldom met in the same place twice in succession. Traffic swished by. A bell rang with urgent warning, and a white ambulance passed; Payne saw it swing off towards Chiswick. He was clenching his teeth hard. They had been due to meet at half past six, and now it was twenty five minutes to seven. Two buses passed, and he stared at the platforms, hoping that Alice was on one of them, but she was not.

  A police car went by very swiftly, carrying the same air of urgency as the ambulance; and a big black Humber, with four or five big men inside it, swung along behind the police car. Payne had a feeling that they were from Scotland Yard, and blamed his edginess for the thought. He watched the Humber as it swung round the corner towards Chiswick, and the light of another car showed the men inside clearly; big, hulking shapes.

  “Hallo, darling,” Alice said.

  Payne swung round, and startled her because his expression was so tense.

  “John, what—” She began.

  He took her forearm and drew her into the shop doorway. His heart was thumping, and he could see that he had alarmed her. For a moment he could not get words out, and she asked again, anxiously: “John, what is it? Are you all right?”

  “I—I thought something had happened to you,” he managed to say.

  “Of course it hasn’t,” replied Alice. “Everything went off perfectly. I—I had a little difficulty getting away from Julian again, that’s all, he followed me to the bus stop!”

  Payne said: “Oh. Oh, I see. I was afraid—” He broke off, found his voice more easily, and went on with a savage note: “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, don’t you understand?”

  “Yes,” Alice said, very quietly. “I understand because it’s exactly what I feel about you, darling. But I’m not very late.”

  “Hardly at all, really, but—” Payne broke off. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’re sure there was no trouble?”

  “When I got to Mr. Anderson’s room this morning, he was having a bath,” Alice said. “I was able to put the key back on the chain with ten minutes to spare. Darling, I always knew how easy it would be!” She was a little choky with excitement. “But I wish—”

  “What?”

  “I wish my part weren’t over,” she said. “I wish I could help you when it comes to—to taking what we want.”

  Could anyone be more naive?

  “You don’t want to be anywhere near when that happens,” Payne said, firmly. “That’s essential. You’ve got to have an alibi, and—anyhow, no one will ever suspect you.”

  They would, of course. When they discovered that the safes and strongroom had been opened by a duplicate master key, she would be the first person to be questioned, and she would not be able to stand up to the police. That was another reason why it was essential that she should die; and why it should be over soon.

  Tonight.

  He was smiling, hiding his edginess.

  “That’s why we’re waiting a few weeks before breaking in,” he said. “The old man’s bronchitis will have been forgotten by then.”

  “I hope so,” Alice said, and startled him by laughing. Every now and again something unexpected amused her, and her laugh could be most attractive. “Oh, I’m not worried at all, darling. I trust you absolutely, and—it’s rather funny really, isn’t it?”

  Funny!

  “What is?”

  “Everything,” said Alice. “There was a time when the very thought of having anything to do with this would have horrified me, and now I wish that I could do more! I hope I don’t become a hardened criminal.”

  “Keep your voice low,” Payne said urgently, although there was no need to caution her, he simply needed a moment’s respite. “We—we’ll never have to do anything like this again. We’ll get enough to last us for the rest of our lives, and—sweetheart, everything is going to be just as we planned.”

  “I’ve never doubted it,” Alice said, and turned her face upwards, to his. He hadn’t kissed her, he had been so worked up. He kissed her now, rather gently, the obvious reason being that this doorway was shallow, and more people could see them. He let her go.

  “Must you go home now?” Alice asked. She wasn’t really demanding more, just speaking wistfully.

  “I hate it,” Payne said, “but I mustn’t risk my wife asking a lot of questions, must I?”

  “No,” Alice agreed. “She—” She hesitated for a moment, and then asked in a rather louder voice than usual: “Are you sure she’ll give you the divorce?”

  Payne said, very softly: “There isn’t a shadow of doubt. I’ve told you that time and time again, but there mustn’t be any upset just now. Until everything’s over, I need to be as normal as possible. She mustn’t have the slightest reason to suspect there’s anything wrong.”

  “Of course not,” Alice said. “I do understand, darling.”

  Payne said: “If I had my way, I would spend every minute of the night and day with you.” He managed to speak as if with passionate feeling, and drew her to him, kissing her as if he could not hold back his desire. Then he stood her to one side, almost roughly. “I’ve got to go! I don’t trust myself. I’ll see you on Monday, at Sloane Square.”

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Three whole days,” Payne said, as if he hated the thought. “Three—” He broke off, and then thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out the slim box of chocolates. “Alice, I really don’t trust myself. I’ve got to leave you. See you Monday.” He thrust the chocolates into her hand, squeezed her arms, and turned and strode off. For a few seconds, he could hardly see where he was going, he was so disturbed and distressed. For some ridiculous reason, he hated lying to her. If she hadn’t told him how utterly she trusted him he would not have felt so badly, but here he was, planning her murder, knowing exactly how he was going to kill her that very night; and those clear, trusting, beautiful eyes seemed to damn him, and her whispering voice seemed to mock.

  He did not look back.

  He went home, arriving a little after seven o’clock – his normal time on a Friday. As he opened the front door, he heard the loud voice of someone on the television, and hesitated for a moment before closing the front door. Then he heard Maurice laughing. Hilda said something, and Payne gathered that they were in one of their really friendly moods; they often were, although Hilda was two years older, at eighteen, and Maurice sometimes showed a sixteen-year-old’s crudeness and unthinking unkindness. They were wonderful kids. Wonderful. Payne took off his hat and coat as the door of the living room opened, and Gwen appeared, outlined against the light.

  “Hallo, darling,” she greeted in her rather deep voice; the voice which was always on the point of breaking into laughter. “I thought I felt a draught!” She came along towards him, tall, big for a woman, with a magnificent figure. She had a swaying walk which she could do nothing about, and was inclined to wear her clothes too tightly, as well as to have her neckline too daring; but that was Gwen. She drew up. “All right, dear?”

  “Yes,” said Payne. “Yes, of course it is, why shouldn’t it be?” Quite suddenly, he felt afraid, and that put extra vigour into the way he took her arms and held her to him; extra feeling into his evening kiss. He wanted to stay alone with her, did not want to go into the room with the children, for she was a great source of strength. In the few seconds which passed he told himself that he would alarm her or give her reason to think there was something serious the matter if he went on like this, so he let her go and said heartily: “Whatever’s cooking smells good.”

  He could hardly smell a thing.

  “Forgotte
n that your wife is a good cook?” Gwen asked lightly. So she had noticed nothing, and turned away from him. He thrust his arms round her, and pressed her back against him for a moment; that was normal, and that was how he felt about her, too. She laughed, put her hands on his for a moment and said: “We don’t want the children to see, they learn too fast as it is.”

  “Children,” he echoed, and let her go. “They’ll be teaching us before long.” He went along with her, suddenly happier, the tension gone, the fear lifted. Gwen opened the door wide, and Maurice looked round from the television set, then jumped up. That must have been quite an effort, for a Western serial was on; his grande passion.

  “Hallo, Dad!”

  “Hallo, old chap. How’s Deadshot Dick?”

  “Doing fine,” said Maurice. He was tall for his age, rather thin, almost an ugly duckling, but he had a twinkle in his eyes.

  Hilda was putting down some frilly things she had been mending. She was a natural blonde, with a fair skin which had hardly a blemish, quite beautiful blue eyes, and those incredibly vital statistics; when they were forgotten she was the most natural girl in the world.

  “Hallo, Dad!”

  “Hi, Topsy,” said Payne, and kissed her lightly, but on the instant he seemed to see Alice in her place. He waited until the moment passed; it did not last long. He clapped his hands together heartily, and went on: “First food and then slippers and the fireside with my dutiful family,” he boomed. He was overdoing the heartiness, but could not prevent himself. Gwen, her hair still flaxen, was going into the kitchen, and Hilda began to lay the table.

  “You didn’t forget the chocolates, Dad, did you?” she asked.

  “On a Friday? Certainly not,” said Payne. Again he felt a twinge as of compunction, but it soon passed. “They’re on the hall stand.” He went out to get a pound box, every Friday night’s treat for fifteen years. He was glad of a few moments’ respite, and when he went back the table was laid and a sizzling sausage toad was in front of his place. “My!” he exclaimed, “that’s about the record, isn’t it?”

  His appetite was nearly as good as Maurice’s, and Gwen did not yet need to check hers.

  Payne brought the chocolates out about a quarter to ten, and wondered how many Alice had eaten from her smaller box. He was quite composed, and the tendency to be too loud had gone; he was in complete control of himself, as he believed he would be until it was all over.

  He selected his own chocolates carefully, as he always had; it was a family joke that he should have first choice. He chose those without even a slight blemish on the top, for the blemish marked the ones which contained a sleeping draught. It had been quite a job, getting the capsules, taking out the contents, making it into a paste, inserting it in the chocolates with an icing syringe. Only if someone examined the chocolates carefully could anyone find out that they had been tampered with.

  He wanted the family to sleep soundly tonight, while he was out.

  Just as Alice, whose chocolates had been treated in exactly the same way, would sleep soundly – with the gas hissing from the fire in her room. He had once thought of poisoning Alice with chocolates, but although sleeping powder was fairly easy to come by, deadly poison was difficult, and might be traced back to him.

  At half past ten, Gwen said: “I don’t know what’s the matter with me, I must have eaten too much. I think I’ll go up early, Jack.” There was the inevitable glint of laughter in her eyes. “You may stay down and read.”

  “I’ll see about that,” he said, ominously.

  Hilda was already upstairs, getting ready for bed, and Maurice would be in bed within a few minutes.

  Alice …?

  Payne went upstairs at half past eleven, and found all the family sound asleep. He crept downstairs, let himself out the back way, walked stealthily to the garage and took out Maurice’s bicycle. He wheeled this into the street when he was sure that no one was about, and cycled towards Alice’s rooms in Chelsea. He wore thin cotton gloves, and his hands were very cold when he reached the corner of Manville Street. Two men were walking briskly along on the other side of the road. They did not appear to take any notice of him. He heard a little gasp of sound, looked round, and saw a couple in a doorway. He wheeled the bicycle into a car park where several cars were standing, put the chain round the back wheel and locked it, then walked briskly towards the next corner. Just round it, Alice had a bed-sitting-room and kitchenette in a house which had been converted into a dozen small flats. The street door was always locked about midnight, but not bolted, and he had a key. He stepped inside, closed the door very softly, and stood listening. The sound of music came faintly, probably from a record player. He went up the linoleum-covered stairs towards Alice’s room on the third floor. The music was coming from a room near hers, and helped to cover any sound he made.

  He opened Alice’s door with a key, just a crack at first; there was only darkness beyond. His heart began to thump.

  He stepped inside softly, and the music sounded farther away. He closed the door hesitatingly, in case it made too much of a click; he hardly heard it close. He stood with his back to it, looking across at the divan bed against the door wall. He could just make out the white sheet, and Alice’s dark head on the pillow. The music was a long way off and he believed that he could hear Alice breathing. He stepped towards the fireplace. The room was familiar, although he had seldom been here; whenever he had, he had made sure that he studied the layout of the room, and the position of the furniture.

  There was an armchair by the fire, a small table next to it, and a box on the table. Used to the light, now, Payne saw that the box was open, and three parts empty. That labour had not been in vain! He felt in his pocket for his matches, and then thought: Fool! He wasn’t going to light the gas. He picked up the box of chocolates and put it into his pocket; the paper inside rustled loudly. He glanced round, and made sure that Alice hadn’t stirred. How could she? She would probably sleep until ten o’clock next morning.

  He winced, realising that his mind had almost rejected what he was going to do. She would sleep if left alone, but when the gas filled the room she would pass out of sleep into death.

  He bent down, and turned on the tap; there was a faint hiss, followed immediately by a smell of gas. He turned the tap on fuller.

  The fire was only two yards from the bed.

  He went across to the window, and began to push the top half up cautiously, closing it tightly; then he drew the curtains. He looked across the room, to make sure that the door leading to the little kitchen was closed. The main door fitted flush, and he had noticed how difficult it was to push open when he had first come in here; everything had worked out perfectly, as if this had been willed to happen without hindrance. The police might suspect murder, but there was no way they could prove it, certainly none in which they could trace it to him.

  The gas hissed; that and his breathing were the only sounds he could hear. He stood by the foot of the bed, looking down on Alice, and for the first time since he had entered he felt frightened. He gritted his teeth, moved swiftly, and stepped to the door. His hand was actually on the handle when he heard the movement at the bed, and as he turned his head, he saw the light go on.

  Alice’s arms was stretched out towards it, and Alice was hitching herself up in bed, staring at him.

  Chapter Three

  The Murder

  Payne saw her vividly, and knew that she had recognised him. She had that long, thin arm stretched out, still touching the lamp switch. Her eyes looked huge. Her lips were parted, as if she were about to scream for help; but when she realised who it was, they moved, and formed his name: “John.”

  She must have been awake a long time; time enough to see him moving about the room, and to realise what he was doing.

  “I—I just had to see you,” he said jerkily. “I just couldn’t keep away.”
He could not tell whether she would believe him, but had to keep her quiet until he was near enough to – to strangle her. He knew that was the only thing to do.

  He saw the puzzlement in her eyes as he drew nearer, and something in his expression must have warned her. Terror flared up in her, and she snatched her hand from the switch to strike at him. Then the room seemed to go round and round, and there were hard, confused noises; she had knocked the lamp off the bedside table. She brought her clenched fist down on the side of his head, but it made no difference to him, and at last his fingers closed about her slender throat. The lamp crashed. Strange shadows filled the room. Light and shade were upon her face, making her look like a gargoyle, as hideous as he must be. The only things he could see clearly were her enormous eyes, bright with terror, eyes close to him, eyes which began to close. He saw her lips twisting, writhing. He felt her beating at him, his head, his shoulders. He felt his fingers burying themselves in her flesh, and he squeezed and squeezed.

  Her eyes closed; it was as if a light had gone out.

  He kept squeezing, although his right shoulder was pressed awkwardly against the head of the bed; his left hand was quite free.

  He was sure that she had stopped breathing, but dared not take the slightest chance of being wrong. Now there was another fear, that someone below or next door had heard the lamp fall, and would come to find out if Alice was all right. He crouched there, sprawled across the bed, fingers still embedded in the soft throat, head turned so that he could see the door, gasping for breath and yet trying to keep silent, to be sure that no one was coming.

  All he could hear was a thudding in his own ears and his chest.

  He stared more fixedly at the door, the handle especially; it did not turn. He began to ease his position so that he could move more freely, but did not look away from the door. He must have been there for three or four minutes before he began to take his hands away, and the fingers seemed as if they were held tight by the flesh; he had to pluck them away.