Lonely Road Murder Read online

  I gave myself a mental shake to dispel this silly idea, and walked firmly out of the station. Barely two steps further the lighted entrance was a blurred dim shape, and the inky blackness surrounded me completely. There was no sound but my own startlingly loud steps as I hurried along, one hand feeling the wall. I wished now that I had let Stephen come with me. Though I knew my way so well I was already hesitating and a lamppost looming suddenly up in front brought me to an abrupt halt.

  I stood perfectly still, trying to get my bearings — my heart thudding. The only lamppost on this road was at the corner of Chaplin Street: that meant I was barely fifty yards from home. I ran that fifty yards stumbling and half sobbing in a blind panic. I am not really a nervous person, but the fog had sent my bravery to the four winds, and the fear of a hand suddenly touching me, or a face leering over my shoulder was too much — I ran!

  I pushed through the swing door of the flats with a sense of blessed relief and leant breathless and shaken against the wall. Even here the fog had penetrated and the usually bright warm hall was misty and chill. A gathering menace seemed to hang in the air.

  I crossed the hall towards the staircase telling myself not to be so hysterical. I had one foot on the first stair, when I noticed the door of John and Mary’s flat was open. Perplexed, I halted. That was funny. They were always so careful about locking up, more so than the rest of us, as they were on the ground floor. It was nearly twelve. That meant they wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours yet, maybe later as the traffic wasn’t running. The best thing would be to shut it anyway.

  I turned back, and paused again. I could see through to their bedroom, and from under the bedroom door came a thin thread of light. Yes, and faintly I heard the radio playing.

  “Anyone at home?” I called softly. There was no answer. I called again, louder this time. There was still no reply. Puzzled, I pushed the door open and going in knocked rather hesitantly on their bedroom door. There was still no answer, only the music was louder now.

  Suddenly I was afraid.

  With trembling fingers I turned the handle and thrust back the door. There, huddled on the floor, face contorted, eyes fixed and staring, lay the body of Mary Francis.

  CHAPTER II

  INSPECTOR NEVIL’S SUSPICIONS

  Sheer terror gripped me by the throat as I stared at Mary’s huddled pitiful body. I tried to scream, to run from that horror-filled room, but my legs refused to move.

  The sudden jarring note of the hall clock as it struck the hour seemed to release me, and I screamed. Screamed and screamed — turning to half run, half stumble towards the door. The sound of voices and people hurrying down the stairs were mingling now with my cries. I heard a man shout: “It’s coming from here!” and Bob McDonnell burst into the room.

  I flung myself on him screaming and sobbing in wild hysteria, clutching frantically at his coat. Words poured from me. “Mary’s been strangled! She’s been murdered! The door was open and I came in and found her. Oh, Bob! Bob!”

  He gave one startled horrified glance over my shoulder, and putting his arms about me held me tightly. “There, darling. You’re all right now, I’m here, I won’t let anything happen to you. Don’t cry so. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Elly’s motherly figure robed in an old fashioned blue dressing gown, detached itself from the little crowd that had gathered in the doorway and Bob turned to her saying in a relieved gasp: “Oh, Elly. Thank God you’re here. Take Rosemary back to your room. She’s in a terrible state. I’ll be up later. We’ll have to get on to the police.” He locked the bedroom door. Elly shepherded me through the excited crowd, indignantly returning the stares we received.

  Once safely in her room, she put me gently into an armchair and hustled about, putting on the kettle and turning on the electric fire. I was very cold, my teeth were chattering and the tears ran down my cheeks, She glanced at me anxiously, and abandoning her tasks, sat down beside me, chafing my icy, shivering body.

  “My poor baby,” she crooned. “What a terrible thing for you to see. Try not to think about it.”

  “But who would want to kill Mary?” I sobbed. “Everybody liked her. It’s terrible, like some ghastly nightmare. John will be crazy with grief. Poor John, poor Mary.” Elly did her best to calm me, but I could see that she was as shocked and horrified as I was. Her capable hands were trembling as she poured me out a cup of tea. “Now drink this up, Rosemary,” she begged. “It’ll do you good.”

  Obediently I sipped the hot sweet tea, and it did seem to help a little. The fire was glowing hotly now and in the comfort and reassurance of simple ordinary things I began to grow calmer.

  There was a great deal of noise downstairs and we found ourselves talking in low fearful tones while we listened. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Elly adjusted her dressing gown. “That’ll be Bob.” It was, but not alone. Towering behind him was a policeman, accompanied by a middle aged grey-haired man, with a queer bird-like appearance. Bob patted my shoulder and said gently, “Feeling a bit better, Rosemary?”

  I nodded.

  The little birdman came over to me, a notebook in hand. “You are the Miss Lennox who found the body?” he stated in a matter of fact way. “My name is Nevil. Inspector Nevil. I’m afraid we have an unpleasant task ahead of us. If you will be good enough to tell me exactly what happened, we’ll get it over as soon as possible. At what time did you make the discovery?”

  “About twelve,” I answered nervously. “I remember glancing at the clock as I came in.”

  “Mmm. What happened then?”

  “I crossed the hall and was just going upstairs when I noticed Mary’s door was open. I thought it strange as they are always so careful about locking up.” I paused.

  “Yes — ” he encouraged.

  “Well, I went in and saw that there was a light showing under the bedroom door, and I could hear the radio playing. I called, but nobody answered, so I walked through and opened the door, and saw her lying — ” I broke off, my mouth stiff and dry as the recollection of that moment swept over me.

  Elly shifted in her chair and flared angrily. “Is all this necessary, Inspector? You can see she’s in no fit state for questioning.”

  He cleared his throat and gave her a reproachful look. “My dear lady, we have our job to do. It’s unpleasant I know, but these things must be gone into if we are to get a clear picture of what occurred.” Turning to Bob he continued smoothly, “The husband, you say, is on his way here?”

  Bob nodded. “I got through to him at the club where they work. Poor devil. I didn’t know how to break it to him. They worshipped each other.”

  “You say “they”; did Mrs. Francis work with him?”

  “Yes. They’re the vocalists with Les Roberts’ band.”

  “Why was she not there tonight?”

  Bob hesitated as he realized the frightening implications behind his next words. “I believe they had quarrelled.”

  Inspector Nevil raised his eyebrows and exchanged a brief glance with the constable, who was busily taking down the conversation. “Indeed!”

  “There’s nothing in that,” Elly broke in quickly. “Young people often have little tiffs.”

  “Quite so, quite so,” he agreed imperturbably.

  A sudden knock at the door startled us. The constable opened it. John Francis stood there, his face white and drawn, his eyes hard. “My wife!” he choked. “They won’t let me see her. There’s a policeman on the door and I can’t get in. Where is she? What have you done to her?”

  Inspector Nevil gripped his arm in a kindly way. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Francis,” he said gently. “If you’ll come downstairs with me.” He led the way accompanied by the large constable, and left us alone.

  Bob sat down with a sigh. “Any more tea going, Elly? I could do with something.”

  “Of course, dear.” She bustled into the kitchen, and Bob lit two cigarettes, handing one over to me. We sat in silence until the Inspector came back
.

  The constable was half supporting John, who leaned on him heavily, like a drunken man. They put him in a chair and made him drink the fresh tea Elly brought in, while Bob hovered protectively behind. My heart ached for him and I turned away to hide the tears. The Inspector stood by quietly. After a bit he expressed his sympathy, and made the same remarks about having to ask questions. I clenched my hands tightly and waited.

  “Do you know of anyone who had reason to kill your wife, Mr. Francis?” John gazed at him blankly. “Kill Mary? No, I can’t think of anyone.”

  “You say some of her jewellery and a lace housecoat are missing?”

  John nodded. This was news to me. “It must have been burglars then!” I cried.

  Inspector Nevil ignored my interruption. “At what time did you last see your wife?”

  “About a quarter past seven. We had an argument, and I spent the afternoon over at some friends. I came back to change for the club. Mary was already dressed, but one thing led to another and we quarrelled again. She said I could go alone, that she didn’t care if she never saw me again — ” The harsh voice cracked and burying his head in his hands, he sobbed like a child. “My lovely, lovely Mary!” He got to his feet and stood swaying and sobbing. Elly darted forward with a warning cry, and just in time Bob caught him as he fell.

  They soon brought him to, and I saw the horror and misery creep back into his dazed eyes. The policeman said expertly, “He’ll be alright after this. The shock often takes them that way,” and the questions began again.

  The time of death had been established between seven and eight. Bob spent the evening at a party, he had left the building at seven thirty and returned at about a quarter to twelve. Mary’s door he asserted had been closed. Elly had left for the cinema at six thirty and got home at eleven, after having supper with her niece. She too insisted that the door was shut.

  Stephen had picked me up at seven and the rest of course they knew.

  “Got that all down, Johnson?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Inspector Nevil regarded us thoughtfully. “It’s strange about that door, perhaps it was not fastened securely and clicked open. I’m not quite satisfied on that point. Perhaps it will clear itself up. We’ll need to take a few more statements and check these alibis.” He turned to John and we held our breath. “Your story Mr. Francis puts you in a very difficult position. We know that your wife died not later than eight o’clock. On your own telling you were with her until about seven thirty and apparently the last to see her alive. I’m afraid you’ll have to come down to the station and make a statement. Purely a matter of form, of course.”

  John got up. He looked very old in that moment, but his voice was steady as he replied. “I did not kill my wife, Sir. I know everything seems to point that way, but I did not kill her. My conscience is clear.”

  “In that case there can be no objection to your accompanying us.” The Inspector continued smoothly., “The rest of you can carry on normally. I regret the trouble you have been put to. You understand, of course, that none of you can leave the district without notifying the police. He motioned John in a kindly way to the door.

  Bob said quickly, “How long will it take, Sir?”

  “The statement? An hour, maybe not that.”

  “Well, if I have your permission Inspector, I’ll come along and wait for Mr. Francis.”

  The Inspector looked at him quizzically. “Very well.”

  There was a pause while Bob ran upstairs for his coat, and then the little procession started down the stairs.

  Left alone, Elly and I sat gazing unhappily at each other. I moistened my lips. “They think John did it, don’t they?”

  She nodded. “It certainly seems that way. Taking him down to the police station as if he were a criminal — why, he’s nearly off his head with the shock of it.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “I can’t believe it’s happened, Elly. Everything seems too unreal. Poor John.”

  “If they’d only use some sense,” Elly said, angrily, gathering up the cups and banging them on the tray. “Her jewels are missing and they won’t even talk about robbery.” She stalked into the kitchen and I got up wearily.

  “My bed’s all ready, dear,” she called. “You can’t possibly sleep on your own tonight. No child, I won’t hear of it. There’s plenty of room for two.”

  I made very little objection to her kind offer, and crept thankfully into bed beside her, wearing a voluminous old fashioned nightdress that she insisted on lending me, and fell almost at once into a deep dreamless sleep.

  *

  I slept very late. When I woke, I couldn’t imagine where I was, or what I was doing in that ridiculous nightdress. Slowly at first, and then with a horrid swiftness, all the nightmare returned. I got up, and swathing myself in a blue dressing gown I found lying across the foot of the bed I went into the kitchen. There was no sign of Elly, so I gathered my clothes and bag and quietly let myself into my own flat.

  I bathed and dressed, then made some breakfast. I didn’t feel very much like eating though, I thought how yesterday Bob had laughed at my tea and toast hospitality, I thought of Mary’s slanting smile and her gay voice urging me to buy the mushrooms. Yesterday had been so full of laughter and good things, and now we were caught up in a different world. There was little to laugh at today.

  Somebody knocked at the door, and I jumped nervously. “It’s me,” Elly called. She came in busting with news. “John’s home. So everything must be alright. I saw him on the stairs just now. He slept the night at Bob’s. I didn’t like to ask him any questions, poor thing — he still seems sort of numbed. Those policemen are checking our alibis, too. I had a phone call from my niece this morning, asking me what I’d been up to — and — look at the papers!

  Pausing for breath she handed me the morning, papers, and I gasped. Headlines leapt out.

  “Girl strangled in flat”.

  “Husband questioned”.

  “Nightclub singer found murdered”.

  Shuddering I put them down. Elly nodded shrewdly.

  “There’s a young feller down in the hall asking all sorts of questions. Says he’s a reporter from the Daily Sun,” she said indignantly. “He wanted to see you, but I soon sent him packing.”

  Fascinated against my will, I read the lurid accounts. They had it all in, detail for detail. How many murder accounts I must have read without bothering about the feelings of those involved, and how different it seemed touching one’s own life.

  Elly flopped down into the armchair. “Thank the Lord it’s Sunday,” she said piously. “I couldn’t have faced Mrs. Samuel’s today.” Mrs. Samuels was an elderly lady whom Elly visited about three times each week. I don’t quite know what her duties consisted of, mostly companionship I believe, but from all accounts the lady was something of a tartar. I often wondered why she stood for it. It wasn’t the money, because Elly had a small annuity, and was quite comfortable financially.

  Thinking of Elly’s toiling, reminded me of my own. “I hope there won’t be a lot of talk in the office,” I said apprehensively.

  “Bound to be,” she returned dryly. “People are always inquisitive.”

  I nearly smiled at this, considering Elly’s appreciation of a juicy scandal. “I wonder what the police are doing? I’m sure they think John killed her, although they haven’t arrested him.”

  “Poor John,” Elly cried passionately. “If that Inspector Nevil had kept on much longer last night, I think he would have been driven out of his mind.”

  “Is the room still locked?” I asked.

  “No. The constable on duty said he’d be going this afternoon. They’ve seen all they want now. I suppose John will stay with friends though. He could hardly live here now.”

  I sighed at that. The terror that had struck last night would leave its mark on more than one.

  A little while later Bob came in. He looked tired and dispirited. He answered our questions and then fell silent. I gl
anced at my watch. Barely two o’clock and all the rest of the day stretching endlessly ahead. Elly seemed to sense my mood as I shifted restlessly in my chair. She got up briskly and fixed us with a determined eye. “Well, if we sit around here mooning all week, it won’t change anything. I think I’ll pop over to my niece’s, she wanted me to. Why don’t you two go out? Have a meal and pay the cinema a visit? It will do you good and take your mind off things.”

  Bob nodded thoughtfully and looked across at me. “She’s right, you know. We must do something. How about it, Rosemary?”

  I accepted the offer thankfully, feeling only too glad of the opportunity; and after a quick rush round we all left the flats together.

  There was no trace of yesterday’s fog. The sky was bright and clear, with an occasional burst of sunshine. There were quite a number of people about; all walking rapidly, and talking of their own affairs, and it was impossible not to fall in with the normality of life.

  We decided on the little restaurant round the corner, and in the bustle of finding seats and ordering the meal, we were at last able to relax. I found to my surprise that I was quite hungry, and when Bob said: “What will you have for a sweet, Rosie?” I consulted the menu with a genuine interest.

  As the waitress went away he laughed across at me. “That’s better, my pet. You’re beginning to look like my favourite redhead again. Marvellous what a little food will do. It’s all that tea and toast you live on, bound to get you a down a bit in the end!”

  “Bob, you are an old darling. You can always make me see something to laugh at.”

  He grinned. “Well, you’ll smile in a different way tomorrow, when you see what plum pudding and custard has done for your figure. Stephen will be sending me complaints.”

  “Stephen!”

  “Poor Old Moneybags,” Bob sighed addressing the menu with a long face. “She’s forgotten all about you — Never given you a thought all day!”

  I felt extremely guilty! Bob was quite correct. I had not given Stephen a moment’s thought throughout the day. All this horrible business had driven him completely from my mind. “Do you think he’ll see it in the papers?” I asked anxiously.