Death in Cold Print Read online

  Doris couldn’t make up her mind what to do, but was rapidly coming to the conclusion that it would have to be all or nothing. She couldn’t keep sneaking off on Wednesdays and Saturdays, spend the evening with Jack, and get home just before Charlie arrived. Charlie knew she had been out, of course; she had gone out on his ‘pub’ nights ever since they had been married, spending the evening with a friend. May, the friend, knew where she went these days, and didn’t approve, but she would be loyal. If there were any questions asked she would say that Doris had been with her. On the Wednesday evening as Doris waved to Charlie when he went out, she felt her heart beating wildly fast. She would have to bring things to a climax, whether Jack liked it or not. It had been one thing to lose her head as she had done those first few nights, but May was absolutely right, it couldn’t go on.

  She would have to deliver a kind of ultimatum to Jack; either he must promise to marry her if she could get a divorce, or they must give up the association. She would hate that, but not as much as she hated deceiving the man she had married.

  She went back to the little yard at the back, took her bicycle from the shed, and pedalled off. She would visit May for ten minutes, as she always did – that way, she wouldn’t have to tell any actual lie. It was a nice evening, the stars were out, and but for the turmoil of her mind she would have enjoyed the ride away from her section of the little town towards May’s place. Luckily, May’s cottage was near the works, only five minutes’ cycle ride away.

  May’s husband was a merchant sailor, and May spent most of her time in her cottage alone with her three children; one kid every Christmas leave, May would say jokingly. She did not see her husband more than three times a year, yet she lived for him.

  The children were in bed.

  ‘Come on in, dear, and have a cup of tea,’ May greeted, and the warmth in her voice did Doris good. Doris took the woollen scarf off her head and loosened her tweed coat. ‘Isn’t it warm for the time of the year, not often we get this kind of weather in March,’ May went on. She was a little thing, quite pretty, always bustling. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about you today, Doris, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not up to me to preach or tell you what to do. It’s your own life and you’ve got to live it your own way. The only thing I ask is, try not to hurt old Charlie too much.’

  Try not to hurt old Charlie …

  When she left the cottage Doris found that phrase echoing in her mind. She went over everything in her married life and tried to be quite honest with herself about it. She was more than ever sure that Charlie was fond of her, but that he didn’t really regard her as his wife – not in the sense that he had his first wife. He would lose a housekeeper, but she didn’t think that it would hurt him, whatever happened. Curiously, now that May had taken this new attitude, she herself felt more strongly than ever that she could not go on deceiving Charlie. It was one thing to walk out on him; another to share his bed, let him support her, and come out twice a week to see Jack.

  She cycled away from May’s cottage half an hour early, eager to get her burden off her mind. She could see the works as a dark mass against the sky, the roofs just above the high fence. She would not have been able to see that but for the main-gate lamp, because the lights of Corby lay over on the right. The only sound was the purring of her tyres on the smooth road, and a little click-click of the pump, which was rather loose.

  There was no doubt she would have to have it out with Jack, tonight. But—

  Supposing he refused to marry her? She made herself face that possibility. If he did, what would she do? It was simple to say that she would just give him up, but how easy would it be?

  As the doubts assailed her, she heard a sound behind her, and then became aware of headlights swaying up and down. Very few cars came along here, and usually it was someone who had lost their way – unless Mr Richardson was making a night visit. He did sometimes, to check that all was well, and she dared not be seen by any of them. She pulled into the side of the road, her heart thumping. They might slow down to see who it was, and even if they didn’t they would wonder who was going along this way tonight.

  The lights swept upon her, casting her long, black shadow ahead; then the car passed, its engine very loud, tyres making a hissing noise. She saw two men in it, and one of them was looking at her, but she could not see his face properly. She was sure that it wasn’t one of the bosses, and this was a small car, too.

  Its red lights glowed.

  It would soon come to the dead end, and then it would swing back this way, or it might turn down the road past Soley’s Farm, and go back to Corby that way. She saw it swing round towards the farm, and disappear, but the headlights still showed against the sky. There was nothing for her to worry about, anyhow. Then the lights went out.

  Doris frowned into the dark night, which seemed black after that blaze of light in the sky, and pedalled more slowly. She couldn’t understand why a car’s lights should go out in the country like that – it wasn’t as if there had been a man and a girl in the car, it would be easy enough to understand then. She watched the road which led to Soley’s Farm, but saw no sign of movement. Her legs moved more and more slowly on the pedals so that the front wheel began to wobble.

  She was only a hundred yards from the farm turning, and two hundred yards from the main gates of the works, when she saw the two men leave the car, shadowy figures in the light from the works gates.

  She was frightened, but at that time only because she was afraid of being recognised. She stopped, and got off the bicycle. The two men moved across the road and disappeared towards the gates. Possibly they were going to see Jack, and he expected them; it was also possible that they were works employees, engineers doing some maintenance work. Goodness! Charlie was the engineer-shop foreman! But he would have told her if he was going back to the works. She reminded herself again that the important thing was to avoid being recognised. If she turned back she would have no chance of seeing Jack tonight, so she must wait until the couple went off. So anxious was she to keep out of sight that she was prepared to stay this distance away, but then she remembered the footpath from the road to Soley’s Farm. She could wheel her bicycle along there, and see the main gates and the works from behind the hedge. She crossed the road. Now that she was accustomed to the night, and was nearer the gates, she would see everything she needed to: the hedge, the works wall beyond it, the works chimneys, and, in the other direction, the lights at the windows of Soley’s Farm. She began to wonder if she could have made a mistake, and if the car had gone to Soley’s, and past the silo, but suddenly she saw it parked near the field – the gate light shining faintly on the high gloss of the roof.

  Doris left her bicycle against the hedge, and walked cautiously towards the car, because she could see the gates from there. She thought she heard voices, and wondered if Jack was talking to the men. She felt her heart palpitating, and wished she had never come tonight, almost wished that she had never become involved with this. What a night to come early!

  There was no sign of Jack or anyone at the gates, and she must have imagined the voices. The direct light from the gate took away something of the eeriness of being alone. She stood holding the handlebars, quite close to the car, wondering what was the wise thing to do. Then she saw the men, climbing over the iron-barred fence on the right. One moment they were clearly visible, the next they dropped down. She heard the thump of their footsteps, saw them steady themselves against the iron bars, and look round towards her. Although she knew that she could not be seen, she felt as if the men knew that she was there. One of them actually raised a hand, as if in a kind of mocking salute. Then they turned and walked together towards the office.

  ‘Jack!’ she gasped aloud. ‘Jack, they’re thieves!’ She wanted to shout, but knew that if she did, the men would hear. Other possibilities flashed blindingly through her mind. She could rush to a telephone, there was one not far from May’s cottage, and tell the police. Then she realised that she
would have to give her name, and would have to explain what she had been doing out here. Nonsense! she told herself desperately. I can telephone the police but needn’t say who I am. I can just tell them I saw two men climbing into the works. That’s bound to be enough, the police are sure to come!

  She gripped the bicycle tightly, and pushed it towards the road – and as she passed the car, and her foot went on to the pedal, she saw a man on the other side of the car.

  He leapt at her.

  Now for the first time she knew panic. There was the leaping man, his hands outstretched as if to clutch her throat, and she saw his face quite clearly, a small face, a small man, with dark hair and glittering eyes. She hardly knew what she was doing as she jumped away from the bicycle and pushed it towards him. It got in his way. She saw him try to fend it off, but he could not, and staggered back. The bicycle clattered noisily, and its bell went ting. She turned and ran, unable to think beyond escaping from the man who was chasing her. She heard the clattering again; the bell kept making that tinging sound, the man was scrambling to his feet. She reached the smooth road itself, where it was easier to run, and looked over her shoulder, gasping. She saw the man running after her, and catching up.

  ‘Jack!’ she screamed. ‘Jack, help me!’

  The cry faded away; there wasn’t a hope that Jack would hear it, and yet it was her only hope. ‘Jack, Jack, Jack!’ she kept sobbing.

  She caught her foot against a stone, and nearly pitched forward. She heard the thudding footsteps of the man behind her, and knew that he was getting nearer. She thought she could hear his breathing. The lights of Corby were so far off that they seemed to come from a different world, and there was no help for her. She looked over her shoulder. The man was only a few feet away, his hands were outstretched again. There was only one hope – to get to the works, to scream for Jack, to make him hear. She swung round, and the man was so surprised that he swung past her. She did not think to put out a leg and try to trip him up, she only gasped: ‘Jack, Jack!’ and ran wildly.

  Then a hand clutched the flying tails of her coat. She was jolted to a standstill, and jerked back. Suddenly, she was pressed against the man, and his hands were round her throat. She kicked backwards and kept flinging her arms about, but she couldn’t free herself, and the tightness at her throat became agonising.

  There was pain at her breast and greater pain at her throat; and strange lights – and darkness.

  Chapter Three

  Special Request

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ asked Janet West, on the Thursday morning of the last week in March. ‘I’ve got everything in, I don’t think you’ll need to buy a thing, and if you should run out of anything, Mrs Clark or Mrs Welling will let you have it.’

  ‘I expect to run out of whisky,’ announced Roger West.

  ‘The Clarks would even supply that,’ Janet said. She was inches shorter than her husband as they stood in the kitchen of their home in Bell Street, Chelsea, and she was looking up into his eyes, a little uneasily. ‘You don’t mind me going on ahead, do you?’

  Roger laughed, and slid his arms round her shoulders.

  ‘Don’t be a goop, of course I don’t, and I’ll be down with you on Saturday. Forget all about me until then. You’re as edgy as if you were leaving the boys for me to look after. That would really be cause for alarm.’

  ‘I half wish they weren’t coming with me, they’d keep an eye on you,’ Janet said. ‘I know it’s absurd, but I have a kind of feeling that something will go wrong.’

  ‘Such as the house burning down?’

  ‘Such as you having to go up north on a case when the boys and I are in Bedford,’ Janet said.

  ‘There are such things as telephones,’ Roger pointed out mildly, ‘and jobs in the North Country don’t come as often as that. Stop worrying, and concentrate on having a wow of a family reunion. It’s only about once every five years that your brother Ralph comes home from the States, and you ought to be jumping for joy because you’re going to spend a long weekend at home with him.’

  ‘I am. If only I could be sure that you—’

  ‘I’ll be there Saturday at the latest. What time are you leaving?’

  ‘The boys are meeting me at Euston for the one-ten,’ Janet answered. ‘We’ll be at Bedford soon after two. Roger, this might be your last chance to see Ralph – he’s only in England for a few days. Why don’t you come up now and drive back to London in the morning?’

  ‘Because I’d rather spend the evening clearing up all the odds and ends I can so as to have the whole weekend free without a lot of desk work piling up for Monday morning,’ Roger said. ‘Jan, I must go, it’s after nine, and I won’t be at the office until half past.’

  ‘As you weren’t home until two o’clock, who’s to blame you?’

  ‘It’s a peculiar thing,’ said Roger, affecting a long-suffering air, ‘but policemen’s wives never seem to grasp the simple fact that crime and criminals do not work to a time-table.’ He gave her a bear hug, let her go, and turned towards the back door. ‘I’ll be at Bedford tomorrow night,’ he insisted. ‘Big jobs don’t often run in pairs, and now we’ve got Sparkham in clink I’ll be given the odd jobs for a few days, while I’m preparing the case against Sparkham. How about opening the garage doors for me?’

  A few minutes after he waved to Janet from the wheel of his car, a black Humber Snipe, and settled down for the twenty-minute drive to Westminster and the Yard. He did not hurry. No one at the Yard would be surprised or censorious if he didn’t turn up till midday, for he had had three very late nights in a row. All of these had been while working to trap the jewel thief, Monty Sparkham, who had killed a jeweller in Ealing several weeks ago. Tracing him, tracking him down, and finally arresting him had been quite a job, but it was all over bar the shouting.

  Traffic was fairly thick, but not yet at its worst, and Roger turned into the Embankment entrance of the Yard a little before nine-thirty. He was acknowledged by the policeman on duty, parked his car near the steps, and went briskly up them. Last night’s arrest had been a stimulant, he wasn’t even slightly tired. He looked across at the Cannon Row Police Station, knowing that Sparkham was in the cells there; he would be up at Bow Street about eleven o’clock this morning, and Roger would give evidence of arrest and ask for an eight-day remand in custody. He nodded, smiled, or raised a hand twenty times on his way along the passages and up in the lift to his own small office overlooking the Embankment.

  Cope, his chief aide, was at a small desk in his shirt-sleeves, although the windows were wide open and a keen wind came off the Thames.

  ‘Morning, Handsome.’

  ‘Morning, Dave. What’s new?’

  ‘Well, I dunno how it was managed, but one of our chaps picked up that Sparkham customer last night. Must have been working overtime.’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep, I suppose,’ said Roger, straight-faced. ‘I said what’s new, I don’t want the old stuff.’

  ‘You work too much, that’s your trouble,’ said Cope. ‘S’matter of fact, Handsome, there isn’t much in this morning, and nothing new for you. The usual lot of pros – fat lot o’ good the new Act did – couple of raids last night, a few fights, crop of burglaries, and a couple of smash and grabs, but Hardy hasn’t sent anything along for you.’

  ‘I hope he keeps it that way,’ Roger said. ‘If I can get off by three o’clock tomorrow I’ll make my wife a happy woman.’

  ‘Only thing that would make my wife happy would be if I worked twenty-four hours a day seven days a week,’ grumbled Cope. ‘The way she talked to me this morning you’d think I was something that crawled.’

  ‘Find out what time Sparkham’s being taken to Bow Street and make sure I get plenty of notice,’ Roger said. ‘Then get cracking on the outlines of the case for the legal boys. They can have the weekend to chew it over.’

  He took off his coat, and ran through reports on several other cases on his desk. The signs were good, there shouldn’t
be any trouble in taking the weekend off. Apart from pleasing Janet, he wanted to see his brother-in-law; they had been very good friends before Ralph had emigrated just after Roger and Janet’s marriage.

  At half past ten Cope looked across and announced: ‘He’s being taken over at eleven-fifteen, should be up at a quarter to twelve.’

  ‘Suits me,’ said Roger, and the telephone bell rang at his desk as he spoke. He lifted the receiver. ‘West speaking He paused, and asked: ‘Where from? … Corby? Find out the name of the caller, will you?’ He closed his hand over the mouthpiece, and said to Cope: ‘Where’s Corby?’

  ‘Border of Essex and Suffolk, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got the place,’ Roger said, his frown disappearing. ‘Who do I know there?’

  ‘Don’t ask me the dark secrets of your private life,’ said Cope. ‘I—’

  ‘It’s Superintendent Tenterden,’ the operator stated. ‘He said that you would remember him.’

  ‘So I do,’ said Roger promptly. He closed his hand over the mouthpiece again. ‘It’s Tenterden who used to be at Colchester. They farmed him out … Hallo, Mr Tenterden, nice to hear from you again … What can I do for you?’

  The man at the other end of the line spoke slowly and deliberately, and Roger recalled more about him; a slow-speaking East Anglian, a typical flatfoot-to-superintendent type, sound, cautious, unobtrusive, florid-faced – and suddenly Roger remembered that he had an unexpectedly lovely wife.

  ‘I’m sure you won’t mind me telling you about my problems, Mr West,’ Tenterden said, ‘and I thought I would before I made any recommendations to the Chief Constable. The truth is I want some help down here, and you’re the man for my money if you’re free. If you’re tied up for a day or two I’d hang on until you’re free – that’s if you could swing it either way.’