1953 - The Things Men Do (16 page)

"No, it isn't."

He took four pounds and a ten shilling note and left the rest of the money on the desk.

There was a long, awkward pause, then as he still showed no sign of going I said, "Well, Tim, thanks for all you've done. I can't say how sorry I am this has happened. You get off now."

"If you're sure you want me to go, I suppose I'd better go. I'd like to say good-bye to Mrs. Collins, please."

I was expecting that

"She's busy right now, Tim. I'll tell her you wanted to say good-bye. She'll understand." I forced a laugh. "It's not as if we shan't see you again. I hope you'll look us up one of these days."

I knew this would be the trickiest part of getting rid of him. He was devoted to Ann. The worried, unhappy look went out of his eyes, and something like anger showed in them.

"Does Mrs. Collins know I'm going?"

"Of course she does." I had to stop this, and stop it quickly. "As a matter of fact, Tim, it was she who suggested you should go. Don't let's embarrass her with a lot of good-byes."

He went as red as fire.

"Oh, I see."

I got up and began to crowd him out of the office.

"Of course she doesn't want you to go any more than I do, but we've got to be sensible about this."

"I'd like to say I have been very happy here, Mr. Collins. I'm sorry this has happened. If there's anything wrong, I'd like you know you can rely on me to help."

"There's nothing wrong. Now get off. I've a lot to do this morning, and I can't stand here nattering all day."

I spoke more sharply than I intended to, but my patience was rapidly running out.

He turned even redder.

"Well, then, I'll say good-bye."

"So long, and good luck."

I watched him put on his coat and cross over to where he kept his bicycle. As he wheeled the machine to the entrance to the garage, he looked back over his shoulder.

"And good luck to you, too, Mr. Collins."

And I'll need it, I thought. How I'll need it!

"Thanks, Tim."

The miserable, dejected look on his face made me feel bad. We had got along together, and I liked him, but he was too dangerous now. He had to go.

I watched him push his way through the crowd, mount his bicycle and pedal away.

Now I had to cook up some explanation for Ann.

I went to the foot of the stairs.

"Ann?"

She came out on to the landing. Sunlight coming through the landing window fell directly on her. I was startled to see how pale and anxious she looked.

"I think you must be right, Ann, Tim says there has been a hold-up."

"Yes."

"Well, thank goodness Bill wasn't mixed up in it. Bit of luck him being called home like that."

"Yes."

We stood looking at each other.

"It never rains but it pours," I said, making an effort to sound casual. "Tim has had to go home. His father's ill."

"Ill, Harry? I'm sorry. Is he bad?"

"He said something about a heart attack."

"Has he gone now?"

"Yes. I told him to take the week off." I began to move back into the office. "I think I'll shut up for the day, Ann. With all these crowds outside there won't be any business."

"All right, Harry."

She turned and went into the kitchen. I listened to her moving about. My hands were damp and I felt a little sick. The lies were piling up now. I could see nothing but lies ahead of me: lies to Ann, to the police, to Bill.

"Mr. Collins?"

I turned quickly, my heart skipping a beat. A squat, red-faced man in a shabby brown suit and a slouch hat pulled down over his eyes was standing in the office doorway.

"That's right." I got to my feet "Sorry, I didn't see you come in."

"That's okay, Mr. Collins. My names Norton: Evening Mail. I wanted a word with you about the robbery across the way."

I felt a cold chill run up my spine.

"What robbery?"

"Haven't you heard? There's been a hold-up of a mail van. The van left the sorting-office over the way about half-past three this morning. It was ambushed off Shepherd's Bush on its way to Northolt Airfield. It's big news. They got away with a lot of industrial diamonds, and one of the Post Office guards was killed."

"Killed?"

"That's right. Must have been quite a scrap. Two of the bandits were laid out, and one of the guards was killed."

"One of the guards was killed?" I repeated stupidly; my mouth was so dry the words came out in a whisper.

"Yes. Now, look, Mr. Collins, you're right opposite the sorting-office. I was wondering if you saw anything suspicious."

"I didn't see anything."

One of the guards was killed! If I hadn't got Bill out of the way, it would have been him!

"The way I figure it, Mr. Collins," Norton went on, "the bandits must have been watching the sorting-office for some time. The van left at an unusual hour, and yet they were waiting for it. That must mean they had someone watching for the van to leave. Do you happen to remember seeing anyone or a car even hanging about Eagle Street during the past few days?"

"No. I don't remember seeing anyone."

I don't know how I managed to sit still or even speak. I wasn't only involved in a hold-up, I was now involved in a murder!

"Think a moment," Norton urged. "Are you sure you didn't notice anyone? Didn't you hear something unusual around half-past three this morning?"

I sat looking down at my desk. After a long pause, I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't remember seeing anything suspicious or hearing anything either."

He let out a long, sighing breath of disgust.

"Oh well, it can't be helped. I thought I might strike lucky with you, seeing the position you have here. Never mind. Most of my work consists of asking questions and getting the wrong answers. I'd better have a talk with the other people down the street. They may have seen something. Thanks, Mr. Collins, for giving me your time. If you do remember anything you think might help me, give me a ring, will you?" He put his card on the desk "We'll make it worth your while. So long, and keep thinking, won't you?"

I didn't say anything. I just sat still, looking beyond him at the crowd standing in front of the sorting-office.

"By the way, that young fella I saw leaving just now." Norton said. "Would he have seen anything, do you think?"

I kept a grip on myself with an effort.

"No. He's not working here."

"Oh, isn't he? I imagined he was. My mistake."

"My wife and I run this place."

"Could I see her for a moment?"

"She didn't see anything, Mr. Norton. She would have told me if she had. She's busy right now."

"Well, okay. Talk to her, will you? You never know. She might remember something. Give me a ring if she does. So long, Mr. Collins."

"So long," I said.

I watched him walk slowly down the length of the garage.

I could tell by the way he held himself and by his slowness that he wasn't satisfied, and that his mind was busy. He suddenly snapped his fingers, turned and came back.

"I knew there was something. Weren't you a friend of Guard Yates? I fancy one of the blokes over at the sorting-office said something about you and Yates being pals."

I looked at him, and a sudden cold wind seemed to blow through my brain.

“What do you mean?"

"The guard who was killed," Norton said patiently. "Guard Bill Yates. Weren't you a friend of his?"

chapter fourteen

F
or a long moment I sat still staring at him. I felt as if someone had hit me a violent blow on the top of my head. I couldn't move nor speak.

"Didn't you know?" Norton said. "I'm sorry. I thought someone must have told you. This'll be a bit of a shock for you."

I got slowly to my feet

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry," Norton said, and I could see by his startled expression I must have looked as if I were going out of my mind. "I quite thought you knew. It was Bill Yates who was killed in the hold-up."

I came around the desk and caught hold of his coat-front and shook him.

"You're lying! Bill wasn't there!"

"Here, steady on!" His eyes bulged and his face went red. "Take it easy, Mr. Collins."

"You're lying!" I said, my voice off key. I shook him again.

"Bill was up north. He left on Saturday. It wasn't he who was killed. Do you hear, you damned liar?"

"Take your hands off me!"

"Don't you dare come here and tell any more lies! Now get out!"

I shoved him away so violently he crashed against the wall.

"You’re crazy!" he gasped, straightening his coat. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Get out!"

"All right, if you know so much, then it wasn't Yates. To hell with you!"

He walked down the garage without looking back.

I watched him go, my heart hammering, my whole body shaking.

It couldn't be Bill! Bill was with his people, miles away.

He couldn't have got back in time to go with the van.

That fool of a reporter must have got the names mixed.

Someone must have told him Bill was the regular guard on the van, and he had jumped to the conclusion that Bill had been on the van at the time of the hold-up.

I wiped my face with my handkerchief. I had been reckless to have acted the way I had. I shouldn't have treated him like that It was unwise to make an enemy of a newspaper man. I half started down the garage to stop him and apologize, but he had already gone.

He had given me a fright: a hell of a fright, but I was over the first shock now. At least, Bill was safe, but what of the guard who had been killed?

This was murder!

I walked down to the garage doors to close them, my mouth suddenly dry. This was murder!

Then I stopped short and looked at the Jaguar standing against the wall. I felt a little chill run up my spine as I thought of those two suitcases in the boot. I had forgotten about them.

If the police found them they would have an excuse to arrest me. If they believed I was handling stolen property, the next step would be to hook me up with the mail robbery.

Joe said Gloria would collect the car this morning, but would she? Would she have the nerve to come here with the police outside the door and the Pressmen taking photographs? I doubted it.

I didn't hesitate for more than a few seconds. I had to get rid of those suitcases and at once. I was undecided for a moment whether to take the Jaguar or my truck. I knew the police opposite wouldn't fail to see me drive out. If I went in the Jaguar they might be curious, but I should be fairly safe in the truck.

Moving quickly I closed the garage doors and bolted them, then I opened the boot of the Jaguar and hauled out one of the cases.

It was as much as I could do to carry it over to the truck. I heaved it up on the tailboard and shoved it out of sight. Then I went back for the second case. It took me several agonizing seconds to drag it to the back of the truck. It was far too heavy for me to get it up on the tailboard single handed. I got two planks and a rope. Laying the planks on the tailboard so they formed a ramp, I tied the rope to the handle of the case and hauled it up the ramp into the truck.

Sweat was running off me by the time I had got the case into the truck, and I was gasping for breath. But I couldn't afford to waste a second. I stood the planks against the wall, found a large tarpaulin which I tossed over the cases, then I went quickly to the foot of the stairs.

"Ann?"

She came out on to the landing,

"I'm just going to take a run around the block. One of the brakes is grabbing and I want to test it. I won't be long, and I've shut up."

"All right, Harry."

I opened the garage doors and drove out the track.

The crowd had thinned out by now, but I was very conscious of the two policemen standing in front of the sorting-office. Both of them looked sharply at me as I jumped out of the truck to close the garage doors.

But neither of them made any move as I got back into the truck.

It wasn't until I turned the corner that I let out a long breath of relief. I drove along Oxford Street towards Holborn.

The long street was empty of traffic and I made sure no one was following me.

There was a big rubbish tip near Moorfields underground station. I decided to drop the cases there. At this hour of the day and on Sunday, I didn't think anyone would be about.

It took me a quarter of an hour to reach the rubbish tip.

As I had imagined the place seemed deserted but I cruised around for a few minutes to make sure. Then I quickly backed the truck up the ramp so the tailboard overhung the dump.

I spent a few seconds wiping the cases carefully to remove any fingerprints on them, then I put on a pair of gloves I always kept handy in the truck and heaved the cases down on to the tip.

I watched them bump and roll down the pile of rubbish until they vanished in a cloud of dust. I wasn't kidding myself they would remain undiscovered. They would be found all right, but at least, they wouldn't be found in my garage.

I headed back to Eagle Street.

As I pulled up outside the garage I glanced at my wrist-watch. The time was now eight-thirty. It had taken me a little over half an hour to get rid of the cases.

I opened the doors and drove the truck in. As I did so I saw one of the policemen outside the soiling-office turn abruptly and walk inside.

As I shut the garage doors, Ann appeared in the office doorway.

"Harry, come upstairs!"

The urgency in her voice startled me. I shot the last of the bolts and walked quickly down the length of the garage.

She had already gone up the stairs and I followed her.

I found her in the sitting-room. She had been crying, and one look at her white, frightened face brought me to a standstill.

"What's the matter?"

"Have you heard about Bill?"

"Bill?” I reached forward and caught hold of the back of a chair to steady myself. The muscles in my legs began to flutter. "What do you mean?"

"They killed him, Harry."