Death in Albert Park (9 page)

On the other hand it could, of course, have been the Stabber, scared away at the last moment by that piercing scream, the first uttered by one of his victims. If it was, a car may have been used in the other cases and the Stabber have come from a considerable distance. It was all hypothesis and speculation.

Carolus heard nothing about it that evening when he returned from the Crucible Theatre and had to gain his knowledge next day from newspaper reports. These were lurid in the extreme and according to one the butcher's knife was actually raised above the girl when neighbours, hearing her screams, had come to her rescue. Carolus decided to be content with what he read rather than attempt to see Viola for the present. The hostility of Dyke and his own lack of status in the whole affair made it difficult for him to do any more than wait and hope that presently he might have an opportunity of meeting the Whitehills and their niece and asking his own kind of seemingly innocent questions.

In fact, he found this case exhausting and decided to return to Newminster for the week-end. The method he had chosen seemed to him to give some hopes, but it would be a lengthy process for he yet had to examine the circumstances surrounding the deaths of Joyce Ribbing and Mrs. Crabbett.

It was a relief to come from the murky respectability of those Hibernian-titled avenues to his own quiet house and be among familiar objects. But when Mrs. Stick brought in his bottle and siphon on a scrupulously polished tray, he saw at once that he was under suspicion.

“It's to be hoped you've been having a nice holiday, Sir,” she observed with a note of enquiry.

“Splendid, thank you, Mrs. Stick.”

“Perhaps you've been down at the seaside.”

“No. No. Not the seaside this time.”

“We
did
hear, though I'm sure we didn't wish to believe it, in spite of someone telling us straight out, that you'd been up to that Albert Park where all the murders are. I was only saying to Stick, I don't believe it, I said. Mr. Deene would never get himself mixed up with anything as nasty as that, not after all he's said in the past. Because if he was to, I said to Stick, we should have to go, that's all. We couldn't have another upset like that last one, when we never knew from one day to the next whether you wouldn't be banged over the head with a hammer.”

“Yes, that was an unpleasant affair, wasn't it, Mrs. Stick?”

The little woman watched Carolus through her steel-rimmed glasses.

“It's not for me to ask questions, Sir,” she said. “But with my sister already half thinking we oughtn't to be where we are, with all these murders and that, I must go so far as to say that we couldn't have another. We should have to give our notice. But lets hope they were telling us wrong about Albert Park.”

“What have we got for dinner, Mrs. Stick?”

“Well, I thought you might like it for a change, Sir. I'm going to do some brochits. Shooshky babs, they call them. Over charcoal, which I got in specially. Then there's some cream fright afterwards.”

Carolus stared for a moment.

“Crème Frite”
he gasped as understanding dawned. “Excellent, Mrs. Stick.”

W
HEN
Carolus reached Albert Park next morning he drove straight to Dr. Ribbing's house and asked for him. He was received by a smiling little man.

“I'm Ribbing's
locum,”
he explained. “Poor chap has been sent away for a holiday. He broke down altogether, you know.”

“Sorry to hear that. Can you tell me where I can find him?”

“No. I certainly cannot. If you're a patient of his I'll see you.”

“I'm not a patient,” Carolus explained. “It was a personal matter.”

“It will have to wait for his return in about a week's time, then. I can't give his whereabouts to anyone.”

Carolus, thinking this over at the Golden Cockerel, decided that it was not a serious setback. There was no reason why he should, in his casual-seeming investigations, follow the same order as the murderer. He would look into the death of Mrs. Crabbett first and
when Ribbing returned, tackle the other case.

His first interview must clearly be with the widower, and he was grateful to the Press for the knowledge that Crabbett lived in Bromley and to the Telephone Directory for his address—Crabbett, James d'Avernon, 24 Bentink Hse, Maidstone Rd, Bromley. He set out to chance finding his man at home.

Crabbett was of medium height, a modest-looking man in his fifties with a rather shy smile. To make opening conversation, Carolus said he knew some d'Avernons and wondered whether they were relations. This seemed rather to embarrass Crabbett.

“To tell you the truth that is not my name,” he said. “The wife had an aunt who became a Mrs. d'Avernon and she took a fancy to the name. She liked to be addressed as d'Avernon Crabbett. Her first name was Hermione so it made a bit of a mouthful. Harmless, really. I didn't mind.”

Carolus carefully explained why he had called, pretending to no official status and apologizing for troubling Crabbett.

“Oh, that's all right. It's a relief to talk about it. The police did not seem to understand how I felt and the Press were terrible. I should like to give you any help I can. I don't want others to suffer.”

“That's kind of you. Am I to gather from what you tell me of your wife's name that she took that sort of thing rather seriously?”

“You mean, was she a snob? I daresay some people thought so, but they did not know her kind nature underneath it. My wife was well-to-do, Mr. Deene, and very generous. She supported many local charities.”

“You speak as though it was
she
who did all the good work.”

Crabbett looked rather bashful, almost boyish.

“Well, we both did our best, of course.”

“You are in business, Mr. Crabbett?”

“I retired a good many years ago. I was in shipping. There was no need for me to continue and my wife… we liked to be together. But I thought your questions would be about her tragic death.”

“I like to get the background. You had only one daughter?”

“Yes. Isobel. It was to see her that my wife had gone on the night…”

“You have grandchildren?”

“Only one. A girl of three. But…”

“Your wife went often to see your daughter?”

“Oh yes. Every Thursday. And they came here of course. They … we … were all good friends. Very good. I don't always see eye to eye with my son-in-law but I've no doubt he's an excellent fellow. Harry Press-ley. He works for a firm selling hearing-aids and similar appliances.”

“You didn't accompany your wife?”

“Not that evening. I drove her over as I always do and arranged to call for her at seven.”

“Was that your usual time for fetching her?”

“No. It was usually eight. She wanted to be earlier that night to see a programme on the telly. I feel responsible for her death you know, Mr. Deene. I'm inclined to be vague and it must have been nearly eight when I reached the house. I had come back here, you see, and was lost in a crossword puzzle.
The Times,
in fact. Perhaps you're addicted to crosswords?”

“I am indeed. Have you finished today's? That one across ‘South to the Cape, winter woollies discarded'…”

Crabbett became animated.

“ ‘Shorn', of course,” he cried. “The only one I couldn't do was ‘Further outlook 4, 4' “.

“ ‘Long view' “ supplied Carolus. “Funny how you can stare at them, isn't it? And how easy they look afterwards.”

“I know. You can understand, then, how I came to be late in fetching my wife? Besides there was the fact that my usual time for picking her up was eight. Still, I blame myself terribly for it.”

“But you weren't very late. I should have thought she would have waited for you?”

“You didn't know her,” said Crabbett, almost smiling. “She was so punctual herself always. My daughter said she phoned here before she left and got no answer.”

“But wouldn't that have suggested you were on your way?”

“Not to Hermione, I fear. She would return by Blue Line. Quite an easy journey and she knew a bus left at 7:55. No, there is really no excuse for me. I ought to have been there. Especially after those two murders in Crabtree Avenue, quite nearby. It was known there was some kind of maniac at large. If I had left home only a quarter of an hour earlier I should have saved her. You must forgive me for repeating that but it's very much on my conscience.”

“I don't see why it should be. There are many ‘ifs' by which you might have prevented the crime. If you had gone with her to see your daughter, for instance.”

Crabbett blinked mildly.

“Yes, of course. That would have done it, wouldn't it? Only she particularly wanted to go alone that day. Women
do
like a chance for a chat between themselves.
I always let them have it. You're not married, Mr. Deene?”

“No. But I can understand that. Have you a photograph of your wife that I could see?”

“Of course I have. Several. I'll go and get one.”

He returned with a large photograph in an ornate silver frame which matched several other frames on an occasional table. Carolus looked into the strong face of a rather handsome woman elaborately dressed.

“Taken some years ago,” said Crabbett. “She was a good-looking woman, don't you think?”

He was interrupted by dog noises in the other room.

“Do you mind?” he asked Carolus, and released a spaniel puppy which began to coil and lick and generally demand attention. Carolus reached out a hand to the little creature to be smothered with wet kisses.

“Had her long?” he asked.

“It's a he. I call him Dover—my home town, you see. He's only been mine a few days though I've known his family for some time. They live downstairs.”

“I'm surprised you can keep dogs in these flats.”

“Oh it wasn't that. There's never been a rule against it.” He paused then said in his shy manner—“I've been a bit lonely here since … it happened.”

“I expect you have. You're quite alone? No domestic help?”

“Oh no,” said Crabbett smiling again. “I don't need any. There's nothing I can't do in a house, from cooking to turning out a room.”

“Lucky man. I wish I could. It must give you a wonderful sense of independence.”

“Independence? Oh, I see. Yes. I haven't offered you a drink, by the way. May I?”

“Thanks. That's a neat little cabinet.”

“Like it?” Crabbett seemed delighted. “I found it in a furniture shop yesterday. I think it's rather neat.”

“You've certainly stocked it. May I have some of that dry sherry?”

They drank together.

“If you want to ask me any more about that evening,” said Crabbett, “please don't feel diffident about it. I've gone over it so often now that I don't mind discussing it.”

“Right. Then I'll fill in my picture. How long did you stay at your daughter's?”

“Oh, only a few moments. She told me Hermione had been gone about ten minutes and I said I would hurry back to get in before she reached home. I did that, but of course Hermione did not come.”

“How soon did you start to worry?”

“Well, quite soon, really. As soon as I realized she couldn't have been on the bus. I couldn't think where else she could have gone. We don't know anyone in Albert Park except my daughter and her family. Then I thought she might have decided to make a call here in Bromley and rang up two friends of hers, a Mrs. Sticer and a family named Vogelman. Neither had seen her. By now it was well past nine.”

“So?”

“Then Isobel phoned to ask if Hermione was in and when I said she hadn't come yet she got rather excited and began talking about the murders in Crabtree Avenue and said I must call the police. Do you know, Mr. Deene, I simply hadn't thought of those murders till then. It seems odd now, but at the time they never occurred to me. When Hermione did not come I thought of all sorts of things, accidents, illness, even some sudden impulse to go somewhere else, but I never thought of
those murders. You see, I don't read much about that sort of thing and don't go out a lot. I hadn't heard them discussed as other people had. So when Isobel began talking about them it occurred to me for the first time that something like that might have happened. So I phoned the police at once. You know what they found,”

“Yes. You've been most explicit, Mr. Crabbett. Now I have a suggestion to make. I would like to go over to Salisbury Gardens and have a chat with your daughter and son-in-law. Also to go over the ground, as it were. If it wouldn't be too painful for you, would you come with me? We could get some lunch first. I suppose there's somewhere in Bromley?”

“Oh yes. We could. As for going with you to Salisbury Gardens I'll certainly show you where it happened but I'll leave you to call on my daughter alone. I think she will tell you more if I'm not there.”