The Hunter and the Trapped (12 page)

An unsensational, sordid death and a very obscure one. It did not take Mont long to discover from Mr. Wilson that Mrs. Morris was a regular cleaner at the flats. He learned who she worked for, how long and on what days of the week. He discovered that she was tolerated, but not liked, by the Wilsons, who never invited her into their own premises.

“Any particular reason for that?” asked Mont, eyeing Mr. Wilson severely. He knew several already, but was not prepared to disclose this.

“Not to speak ill of the dead,” Mr. Wilson said, pompously, “we wanted to avoid any possible unpleasantness.”

“Such as?”

“I'm sure you take my meaning,” said Mr. Wilson.

The Chief-inspector did. The Wilsons seemed to think Mrs. Morris was light-fingered. It was a point he would have to go into with the tenants. But there was no reason to suspect the Wilsons of murder, except for the curious circumstance of the body being found in their yard.

“She was working here on Friday, was she?” he asked. “That was the last time you saw her?”

“Correct. But she was working on Saturday, so I believe. She does for Mr. Nelson on Saturday.”

“Then you did see her
after
Friday?”

“No. Me and Mrs. Wilson was away all Saturday. At her mother's place in Ealing.”

“When did you leave?”

“About nine. Mrs. Morris would be coming ten till twelve. To Mr. Nelson.”

“I see. Then on Saturday there would be no one likely to notice anything that took place in the yard? I mean, your door is the only one to open into the yard, isn't it? You have a front door into the hall and the door into the yard. None of the other flats has access to the yard?”

“Only by the yard door off the road.”

“Exactly.”

Mr. Wilson received this conclusion with evident surprise. It had not occurred to him before. But he could not deny it.

“There's windows see out this side,” he said.

“I know. But the yard's small and there's the roof of the shelter.”

“Which would obscure a view of the inside?”

“Exactly. The angle is steep, there are blank walls on two sides. The roof over the dust-bins would render them invisible from higher up than ground level.”

Mr. Wilson said, hesitatingly, “Is it your opinion, sir, that the – er – murder took place under the shelter, like?”

Chief-inspector Mont allowed himself a straight, keen look at the caretaker.

“Unless she was carried out of your back door, or round the front of the flats, I imagine that is what happened. But my guess is as good as yours, so far,” he said. “Was the yard door locked on Saturday?”

“Not in the morning,” said Mr. Wilson, regretfully. “On account of Miss Draper's bicycle. Fourth floor. Teacher. Rides it to work. Goes off on it most weekends. I unlock the yard door at eight, mornings. And bolt it last thing at night. Every day, including Sundays. Miss Draper never brings her bike in late.”

“Thank you,” said Mont and prepared to interview the tenants of the flats, particularly those who had employed Mrs. Morris regularly.

But here he found himself frustrated. As Mr. Wilson explained, most of them were out working during the day. Some of them provided Mrs. Morris with keys of their rooms, one or two had asked him to let her in and see that she went on time, and not before.

“How do they pay her, then?” asked Mont.

“When she comes Saturday morning,” Mr. Wilson answered. “To Mr. Nelson. He likes to be there when she's working for him. He's a retired gentleman himself, but out a good deal. The others has her once each, weekdays, and Mr. Nelson on the Saturday. She calls at the others Saturday for her money before leaving. They stop home mostly, or if they're off for the weekend they gives the money to Mr. Nelson to pay her.”

“Complicated,” said Mont. “But they seem to be a trusting lot. Except you and your wife,” he added, as an afterthought.

Mr. Wilson made no reply to this and after finding that only one of the tenants, an elderly woman, was at home, the Chief-inspector left, saying he would be back in the evening to interview all the tenants.

He returned to the Yard where he expected to find more useful information than the people at the flats were likely to provide.

For Mrs. Morris and her family were well-known there, which was the reason why Mont had been given his present assignment. She herself, though often suspected of collusion with the various delinquent members of her family, had never actually faced any charge. But Mr. Morris's heavy features and thickset torso were represented in the records, together with his finger-prints and a considerable description of his persistent criminal activities. Mr. Morris had left the cooler only the Friday before and was known to have visited his home. The married daughter from Kentish Town, who had identified her mother's body at the mortuary, had said so. He had been seen in the neighbourhood besides, though his younger sons and daughters denied his having spent Friday night at his home. They were almost certainly lying.

The fact remained that on Saturday evening and Sunday Mr. Morris was known to have made contact with some former friends in Bermondsey. He had been seen in several of his old haunts. He was not, apparently, short of money. But that could mean nothing at all: His lot were never short of money. They were too valuable to the top crooks who employed them.

On the other hand it could mean much. Mrs. Morris collected her wages on Saturday. She was always on bad terms with her husband. He knew where she worked. They could have quarrelled in the yard of the flats if she refused to hand over those wages. Morris's temper had grown steadily worse over the years. He had let out at a prison officer during his last stretch, putting the poor screw in hospital for a week and himself in the punishment cells for a longer period. He had lost his remission for this episode. And he had now disappeared.

Chief-inspector Mont, usually very careful not to draw conclusions from insufficient evidence, nevertheless felt it safe to do so now. Tentatively, of course. In the first place, the bulk of murders were domestic; men killed their wives or their wives' lovers; wives occasionally killed their husbands; parents killed their children; children their parents. Mrs. Morris was not a type to occasion sexual enmity. But money was a recurring problem in her family. The Morrises were known to fluctuate for no apparent reason between affluence and near penury. Their various legitimate occupations did not carry anything like top wages. Several of them, besides the father, had had convictions.

Secondly and significantly, no handbag had been found with Mrs. Morris, no purse of any description in the pockets of her clothing. The local inspector had noticed this fact in attempting to verify Mr. Wilson's identification. He had very properly taken steps to search the yard and the single dust-bin that was left there. Without result. The refuse department of the local authority was asked to impound the lorry concerned and preserve its contents. Already these were being sorted and examined. Chief-inspector Mont was disappointed in the results so far. A scarf that the woman might have worn on her head was set aside for him to look at, but her daughter said her mother never wore scarves on her head and she did not recognise the article.

So the Chief-inspector found himself baulked in his main line of inquiry. This did not disturb him. There were the tenants of the flats, after all. It was still less than twelve hours since the body was found. The story had not broken in the evening papers.

Mont looked at his watch. Those tenants should be in by now, or at any rate those who had gone straight back to the flats from their work. Taking a sergeant with him he drove to Kilburn.

The Chief-inspector did not announce his arrival to the caretaker. He simply walked up the dingy stairs to the first floor and after reading the names printed on small cards in slots, rang the bell on the right hand side of the landing. The card there was yellow and stained with age; Mrs. Hyde was evidently an old inhabitant.

She opened the door after some delay occasioned, the Inspector decided, by her difficulty in walking rather than by a reluctance to answer the bell. When he explained who he was, she apologised immediately for keeping him waiting.

“Arthritis,” she explained, limping across the room. “I don't get out much these days.”

Mont expressed sympathy and explained his errand.

“Poor woman,” Mrs. Hyde said, but without any apparent sorrow. “I suppose it was that brute of a husband of hers.”

“Did she tell you about him?”

“Oh, constantly. I never knew quite what to believe, because she was not altogether reliable herself. I mean I think she exaggerated. Particularly when she wanted to get money out of me.”

“In excess of her wages, you mean?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Hyde looked thoughtful. The Chief-inspector waited.

“I never gave in to her,” Mrs. Hyde said, “not even when she tried to apply pressure.”

Mont was interested. The mild old woman with the painful hip was looking at him with quite a new expression. The soft lines of her ageing face had hardened and two steely eyes showed the power that still lived behind them.

“If you could give me some idea of what you mean by pressure,” he said, carefully, “it might help us. We have a certain amount of information that leads in what I presume to be the same direction.”

“It did not concern me personally,” said Mrs. Hyde. “Only a member of my family. I told her if she ever made any such suggestion to me again I would go to the police. She never did – to me.”

“I can well believe that,” said Mont, smiling.

“But she may have approached – others,” Mrs. Hyde said, gently.

Was this a hint? Did it relate to the other inmates of the flats or to the relative she had so firmly shielded? Was it an old woman's imagining or deliberate malice? The Chief-inspector began to feel that he did not much like Mrs. Hyde.

“In spite of this sort of thing you continued to employ her?” he asked.

“Well, yes. She came to several of my neighbours. It was a convenience. We shared the insurance stamp and the travel. Not that she had to come from far away. She had another job quite close. I expect she collected double bus fares.”

“Very possibly,” Mont murmured.

“I had her for two hours on Tuesday mornings. These flats are very small. Just this living room, a small bedroom, kitchenette and bathroom. Originally built as offices, I believe, but turned into flats in the rush for accommodation after the war. I've been here ever since. I lost my own house and …”

“Did you pay her every Tuesday?” Mont asked, breaking through the rising tide of reminiscence.

“Naturally.”

“I understand that a Mr. Nelson undertook to …”

“Oh, some of the others were always out when she did their rooms. I am tied by my hip. I seldom go out. Too painful and too tiring. No. I was always in when she came.”

“Like Mr. Nelson?”

“Like Mr. Nelson.”

Mont thanked her and left. Her opposite neighbour had nothing to contribute. A middle-aged bachelor clerk at a bank he was one of those who never saw Mrs. Morris and paid her through Mr. Nelson. He had no complaints to make about her work. He had never missed any of his possessions. Looking round his very poorly furnished room this did not surprise the Inspector. The Morrises were both knowledgeable and discriminating. They stole for profit, not for the hell of it.

Mont continued up the stairs. He found Mr. Nelson's card on the second floor, opposite that of a Mr. Fawcett. Deciding to speak to Nelson later he rang the other bell but got no response. After all, he couldn't expect to find them all in, he decided, turning away. He went on up the stairs.

The third floor was totally unprofitable. Both tenants were business girls, who did their own cleaning. On the fourth floor there lived another clerk who also employed Mrs. Morris without seeing her at work and Miss Draper, the school teacher who kept her bicycle in the yard.

She was the only one so far who showed any feeling for the murdered woman, Mont decided. As soon as he explained who he was she said, “It's so horrible I can't bear to think about it and I can't stop. Poor thing, attacked in the yard, with no one to hear a cry for help.”

“How d'you know all that? How d'you know there was no one to hear?”

Miss Draper was startled.

“Didn't it happen on Saturday? When the Wilsons were out? I thought that was why …”

She broke off, looking miserable and frightened.

“We are still trying to establish the time,” Mont said. “Did you go into the yard yourself at any time on Saturday?”

“Yes. To get out my bicycle. I ride it to school and back every day.”

“Is there school on Saturdays?”

Miss Draper blushed.

“Not official lessons. But we are trying to establish a small games club. One of the other teachers takes the boys and I take the girls. Netball. We've nearly got a full team now.”

“So you took your bicycle out on Saturday morning. At the usual time? When would that be?”

“Oh, no. The usual time is eight fifteen. On Saturdays I don't start from here till nine. The children drift in any time after ten.”

“And when did you bring it back – the bicycle?”

“About two in the afternoon.” She blushed again. “I had lunch out – with the other teacher.”

“Did you see anyone at all in the yard on Saturday?”

“No. The Wilsons were just going out by the front door when I came down. I don't know what time they came back.”

“But the yard was unlocked?”

“Yes. They unlock it every morning, early. They shut it at night, though.”

“Aren't you afraid your bike might be pinched?”

“Oh, no. I keep it in the Wilson's coal shed. They let me have a duplicate key of the door.”

Mont decided that he now had the full description of Miss Draper's habits in respect of her bicycle and that he had not so far progressed a fraction of an inch in his inquiries. He went down to the second floor and rang Mr. Nelson's bell.