[Mrs Bradley 41] - Three Quick and Five Dead Read online

  Laura stared at him.

  ‘So you really mean it,’ she said.

  (2)

  Dame Beatrice had been back in the Stone House for less than two hours when she received a frenzied telephone call.

  ‘Oh, my dear friend, it is I, Karla Schumann. I am in dreadful trouble. Please may I come to see you? I am so sorry, but I am so desperate.’

  ‘Of course you must come,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘What about lunch tomorrow?’

  ‘I am distracted!’ announced Mrs Schumann, as soon as she was shown in on the following morning. ‘First my Karen and now that wicked Otto! Perhaps you have heard?’

  ‘No. I’ve been away since just before Christmas and have not seen a newspaper or listened to any of the broadcast programmes except for the Queen’s speech. Let us have lunch first, and then you shall tell me all about it.’

  ‘I am not anxious for food,’ said Mrs Schumann. She did some sort of justice, however, to the meal prepared by Dame Beatrice’s French chef and, as soon as coffee had been brought in and there would be no further interruptions, she told her story.

  ‘Where to begin? I tell you I am distracted! I cannot think. I do not know where to turn. Help me! Please help me!’

  ‘What has happened to Otto? Why do you call him wicked?’

  ‘Nothing happens to him yet. I think he has murdered Maria Mercedes Machrado.’

  ‘Your lodger? The student from the University?’

  ‘Ja, ja! I will tell you. You know already that I have this young girl at week-ends and for the College vacation at Christmas. Well, she seems a very nice girl, quiet, modest, anxious to give no trouble, but soon I am finding her not so nice. All I ask of her is to make her bed and be a little tidy, that is all – no dusting, no polishing of furniture, no floors – and to be indoors on Fridays and Saturdays by ten o’clock. That is all I ask, and also, if she have boy-friends to call, that they shall please to be out of the house by ten o’clock, when I like to go to bed. Not unreasonable, I think?’

  Dame Beatrice doubted whether the modern young would think it not unreasonable, but she made no comment.

  ‘Well, at first, the first two week-ends, all is as I wish. Nobody could be nicer, quieter, more considerate. I am very happy – well, as happy as I can be without my Karen. Then comes the end of the term – a concert, a dance and so on. Maria asks whether I will mind, for once, some late hours. Well, I am not so pleased, but I remember that Karen also keeps some late hours on these occasions, so I say to Maria, “But how will you get home so late? I cannot come and meet you at the station, and it is a long walk in the dark for you, and it may be raining.”’

  ‘You did not think of meeting her with your car?’

  ‘No. I do not care to drive at night in case there may be ponies on the roads. Not all the Forest is fenced. This she understood. She shrugged her shoulders and said that she would be brought back after the dance and that I need not worry and must leave the front door unbolted. She had, of course, a key, in case I should be out at any time during Saturdays, so that she would be free to come in and go out as she pleased. That was an arrangement from the beginning.’

  ‘And you agreed to leave the front door unbolted?’

  ‘I was not very happy to do it. Karen’s death has made me very nervous. However, I agreed, and asked Maria please to come in very quietly, as I am a light sleeper and would not wish to be awakened. Well, if she is to be escorted home, I tell myself that there is nothing for me to worry about, but I ask her how late she expects to be. She says she does not know. It is her first term at the University and she has no idea how long are the College functions.

  ‘Well, she returns, as usual, to College on the Sunday, and I continue to tell myself that there is nothing to worry about, but I find myself worrying, all the same, so on the following Thursday I telephone the number I have been given in case Maria is taken ill at week-end and will not attend lectures, and I ask about the function on Saturday and at what time it will be over. They reply that I am making a muddle. There is no function on the Saturday because all the students went down already on the Tuesday.’

  ‘Dear, dear!’ said Dame Beatrice, feeling that some comment was expected. ‘How very disconcerting for you!’

  ‘What to do, I ask myself. I am in loco parentis to this naughty, deceitful girl. How shall I act for the best?’

  ‘Ring up her College landlady and ask what is going on, I imagine.’

  ‘Exactly so. That is what I do.’ There was a pause. Dame Beatrice ended it.

  ‘And?’ she asked. Mrs Schumann clasped her hands together and groaned histrionically.

  ‘The landlady says that on Tuesday a ship’s officer calls for Maria and says he is my son and that he will take her home, as he has shore leave for Christmas.’

  ‘So that is how Otto comes into the picture! But how did he know where to find her?’

  ‘Ah, that! When he finds out about Karen he is given leave of compassion to come and see me. It was after the inquest and after the funeral, of course, but he has heard nothing until the ship docked at Poole. I will say for him that, for once, he comes straight home, not even waiting to get drunk, and is very sympathetic and kind. That is on the Friday, when Maria comes to me the same evening also.’

  ‘I see. That is how they met.’

  ‘Well, as my duty to her, I take Maria aside and warn her, because I see that she likes him. “Otto,” I say to her, “is not good with women.”’

  ‘To women,’ said Dame Beatrice, in automatic correction.

  ‘Please?’

  Dame Beatrice apologised and then explained.

  ‘How did Miss Machrado take your warning?’ she added.

  ‘Maria shrugged it away and said she was well able to manage her men.’

  ‘Dear me! How very advanced and adult that sounds, does it not?’

  ‘So. I say to her, “You are a very silly little girl, and do not know what you are saying”. But will she listen to me? No. All of two Saturdays and Sundays they go out together, where I do not know, but Otto takes my car – without permission, of course – and on the Sunday evenings he takes her back to her lodgings in it. I say to him, “You will not get back until the little hours of the morning, and I shall not leave the door without bolts”. He says to me, “Then I sleep with Maria at her digs”. I think perhaps he will do so, because I know him to be a wicked naughty boy, so I pretend I make a joke and I say that of course I do not bolt the door, and I give him my key so that he can let himself in, but I do not sleep until I hear him come back, and that is at half-past three.’

  ‘How long was he able to stay with you?’

  ‘Two weeks, as I tell you, so he sees Maria two week-ends, and then comes Monday, when he says he must go back to his ship. But, of course, he does not go back to his ship. He goes to Southampton, but not to any ship, not there, not at Poole. He sleeps all the time with Maria at her lodgings, so I find out now, and makes trouble for her so she is with child. Then I think she makes trouble for him also, to marry her, but, instead, I think he kills her, for she is dead of being choked, just like my Karen. So what am I to do? I am a mother. I cannot go to the police and tell them that my son is a murderer.’

  ‘Of course you cannot. Have they questioned Otto?’

  ‘Yes, oh, yes. Me also. Both of us. Otto denies, and I – how am I to say to them that he is lying?’

  ‘It will not be necessary. They will conduct the inquiry along their own lines and find out the truth. There is no reason for you to incriminate your son. No mother could be expected to do that. What kind of questions have they asked you?’

  ‘How long Maria has been coming to me, and why. What kind of young girl. How long has she known my son. Did I allow men friends to the house. Nothing difficult to answer, except that I have this dreadful feeling that Otto has killed her, but, of course, I am not saying so.’

  ‘Do not dream of saying so. You must let me find out more about all this. When did the police question y
ou?’

  ‘On Wednesday of last week. I telephoned you as soon as they had gone, but your servant said that you were not here, and told me that you would return yesterday, so then I telephone you again and you are so kind to say “Come”.’

  ‘Where is Otto now?’

  ‘With his ship.’

  ‘Why are you so anxious, then? Clearly the police do not suspect him, or they would never have allowed him to go to sea again. Apart from the fact that Maria was to bear a child, what makes you think he killed her?’

  ‘He is wicked.’

  Dame Beatrice began to think that he took after his mother. She said: ‘But even wicked people do not necessarily kill others. I want you to put such thoughts of Otto right out of your head. Is anybody staying with you at present?’

  ‘My sister from Germany, for a few days.’

  ‘Good. I shall inform myself fully of the matter, and then I will talk to you again.’

  Laura and Gavin returned to the Stone House after Gavin had called on Phillips.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gavin, in answer to Dame Beatrice’s question, ‘it isn’t Scotland Yard’s pigeon yet, although I’m pretty certain it soon will be, but I’m now pretty fully informed about this second death. It’s rather interesting. To begin with, the girl was another foreigner, a Spaniard, as, of course, you know; then the method of the murder was exactly the same as in the other case, a tightened ligature to produce unconsciousness, followed by a right-handed manual strangulation; thirdly, there is this connection with the Schumann household, and, lastly, there was a similar message pinned to the body with a precisely similar knitting-needle – size eighteen, I am told. The only difference was in the digits which followed the message. The whole thing read: In Memoriam 380. In spite of all these similarities, however, the police are treating with caution the theory that the job may have been done by Karen Schumann’s murderer. Unfortunately, a lot of detail leaked out in that first case, and it’s more than possible that some other lunatic got an idea from this and decided to try the same method.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Laura, ‘wouldn’t he have used the same set of figures? Why 380 instead of 325?’

  ‘Yes, that might be a point, of course. Incidentally, the message on Karen Schumann’s body was not reported in the papers. Anyway, owing to the similarities, Phillips and his chaps are working on this second case too, but I don’t suppose he’ll have any objection if you pump him.’

  Superintendent Phillips, far from having any objection, called at the Stone House on the day following Gavin’s departure.

  ‘The Assistant Commissioner told me you’d had a visit from Mrs Schumann, Dame Beatrice,’ he said, ‘and were interested in this second case that’s cropped up. We’ve got a feeling – although, of course, being his mother, she hasn’t said so to us – that she thinks her son knows something about it. I wonder whether she’s got anything definite to go on?’

  ‘To the best of my knowledge she has not. She merely writes him off as a wicked boy who has seduced this girl. What did you make of him?’

  ‘Lively young spark. Big, fair, good-looking. Womaniser, obviously. I liked him.’

  ‘And you do not suspect him of the murder?’

  ‘We know how to get hold of him if we need him,’ said the Superintendent evasively. ‘Personally,’ he went on, coming into the open, ‘although my colleagues are keeping in mind the idea that this may be a copy-cat crime, I myself am convinced that we’re looking for the same man as killed Miss Schumann, and as that couldn’t possibly have been her brother, because we checked that he was at sea at the time, I’m inclined to think that we can write young Otto off.’

  ‘If only we could find out what those numbers mean!’ said Laura.

  ‘Or if they mean anything at all, Mrs Gavin. I still think we’re looking for a maniac. I thought so when we began our investigation of the first murder, whether James did it or not. I only hope we don’t get a run of them. If I’m right, and he isn’t picked up soon, there’s no knowing how far this kind of lad is likely to go. Remember the Ripper and Landru and Neill Cream?’

  ‘What had Otto to say for himself?’ asked Dame Beatrice.

  ‘Said that Miss Machrado wasn’t the first girl he’d put in the family way, and probably wouldn’t be the last. Said that she knew her way around and the risk she was taking. Said that he had never had the slightest intention of marrying her, as he wasn’t the marrying kind, and had made this clear from the first. Said that she had told him that her religious denomination was not in favour of the pill. A fair lot of cheek, of course, but I took to him, and I can’t see him as a murderer. He’s a Don Juan and a Casanova and what have you, but that sort don’t kill their women, they simply love ’em and leave’em.’

  ‘Where and when was the body found?’

  ‘Soldiers on exercises found it by some gorse bushes at the side of one of the tank tracks on Bere Heath. It must have been placed there the night before, that’s to say on the night or evening of January fifth. There were winter manoeuvres the day before, and if it had been there at that time it must certainly have been spotted, and …’

  ‘It wasn’t?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘That gives us another point of resemblance to the first murder, then.’

  ‘You mean the impossibility of sorting out any recognisable car tracks? Quite so. The tanks had made such a mess of the heath that any tracks anything else might have left were indistinguishable. Oh, yes, the fellow may be a madman, but there’s certainly method in his madness.’

  ‘How long had she been dead?’

  ‘According to the evidence at the inquest – which will have to be resumed, of course, when we’ve anything more to go on – less than twelve hours. What’s more, there had been no attempt to conceal the body. It had simply been dumped.’

  ‘And Otto? When did he rejoin his ship?’

  ‘Three days ago. We picked him up, of course, and gave him a pretty good going-over, you may be sure, but we got nothing except, as I told you, a lot of cheeky answers. When he docks again – they’re only toddling round the Dutch ports, so it won’t be all that long – I’ll pull him in for further questioning, and you can have a go at him, if you like, and see what you make of him.’

  ‘Did he seem upset in any way by the girl’s death?’

  ‘Well, he said that if he caught the bastard who did it he’d make him wish he’d never been born. He also said that he and the girl had had a flaming row and that she had thrown him out on his ear a couple of days before the murder.’

  ‘Hardly the statement a guilty man would be likely to make. It could hardly be more damaging.’

  ‘Just so. He has an alibi, too, of sorts.’

  ‘The same sort as Edward James’ library one?’

  ‘Just as difficult to prove or disprove. Claims that after the girl kicked him out of her digs he got drunk, had his pocket picked and slept rough in a stable-loft just outside Lyndhurst. Got up at the first grey of the dawn and toddled off. We gave the forensic boys the clothes he said he’d slept in, but he’d been to his mother’s place before we collected him, and she’d given the suit a thorough brushing and pressing. There weren’t even any turn-ups to the trousers to give the back-room boys a bit of help.’

  ‘So you had to let him go? Did you question the girl’s landlady?’

  ‘Yes. The landlady’s evidence was that he and the girl had had this toss-up and she’d given him the air, and that he certainly hadn’t been back to her digs. That seemed to be as much as she knew. After Otto Schumann had gone, the landlady kicked the girl out as well, and (though, according to Mrs Schumann, she had not been near her) she said she was going back to the cottage for a day or two.’

  ‘By the way, the landlady seems to have been a party, at first, to the goings-on between Otto Schumann and Maria,’ said Laura. ‘Does she admit as much? Of course, I know things are a lot slacker now than they were when I was at College. All the same …’

  ‘A
h, well, there, you see, Mrs Gavin, you may be maligning the landlady. It seems that Miss Machrado was all ways round a little bit of a beauty. She had told the landlady from the very beginning that she was married and that her husband was a sailor and might be coming to see her, and that he would, of course, share her room. I should say, although it seems unkind to mention it now that she’s dead, she had it coming to her, all right.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I look forward to meeting Otto Schumann.’

  (3)

  This meeting took place some ten days later.

  ‘Well, Herr Schumann?’ said Dame Beatrice with her crocodile grin.

  ‘Mister, if you don’t mind,’ said Otto. ‘Born and bred in the briar patch, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I do know. But Señorita Maria Mercedes Machrado was not similarly born and bred, I believe.’

  ‘That little tart! She wasn’t a Spanish-born Spaniard either. Came from South America or somewhere.

  ‘Really? On one of your ships?’

  ‘Hell! How did you know that?’

  ‘It was an inspired guess, I admit.’

  ‘How many of those do you average to the minute?’

  ‘The usual “sixty seconds’ worth of distance run”. Look here, Mr Otto, you could help us, I think. You had quarrelled with the girl. You’ve admitted that. What was it all about?’

  ‘God knows, I don’t.’

  ‘She was with child.’

  ‘So she said, and, of course, she may have been.’

  ‘Was the quarrel …?’

  ‘About that? No. Besides, I don’t admit it was my doing. It might have been, of course, but I don’t see how she could have known she was pregnant if it was my kid. It takes a few weeks, surely, to make certain.’

  ‘I take your point, and I do not believe that you killed her. Who did? You must have some idea.’

  ‘I haven’t. I know what you’re thinking, though.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Well, it’s more than a bit obvious, isn’t it? Some bloke killed my sister, and the same bloke killed Maria. Personally, I think the king rat James is indicated.’

  ‘On what do you base this assumption?’