Murder Must Wait. Arthur W. UpfieldЧитать онлайн книгу.
I have studied with no little interest,” he said, as though making a difficult request. “Circumstances sometimes favour the investigator, and on this occasion they have. When you, Constable Essen, entered the house by the unlocked front door, with Mr Thring following you, you first went into the lounge, having told Thring to remain in the hall. From the lounge you crossed to the bedroom opposite, pausing for a moment or two in the doorway. There you uttered an exclamation of horror, because Thring joined you there, standing behind you and seeing what you saw. You told Thring to stay in the hall, and he obeyed this time, while you went in, switched on the light, and stood looking down at the body. Then you moved to the baby’s cot, and from the cot back to the door.”
“You passed along the passage, opening the door to the left, then the next door on the right, and so to the kitchen, where you tried the back door. On returning to the hall, you and Thring went out to the porch. You closed the door, ordered Thring to remain and let no one inside, and you then left to telephone to Sergeant Yoti. Do I err in any detail?”
“No, you are all correct, sir.”
“When Sergeant Yoti arrived, he followed you into the house, Thring and the constable being told to remain outside. Sergeant Yoti went at once to the bedroom, and you followed him to the door. As you had done, Sergeant Yoti stood on the threshold for a short period before entering the bedroom on tiptoe. All the time he was in the bedroom he walked on his toes, passing to the body, then to peer into the baby’s cot, then back again to the door. You followed him from the bedroom door across the hall to the front door and went out after him to the porch. Again, do I err in any one detail?”
“In no detail, sir.”
“When Doctor Nott reached the house,” went on the soft, cool voice, “you, Sergeant Yoti, brought him in. He entered the bedroom ... I incline to believe he went in first, not you ... and it’s the only point about which I am a little doubtful ... and he crossed at once to the windows and released the blinds. Having examined the body, he drew down the blinds before joining you in the hall. Any error?”
“No,” replied Yoti. Bony chuckled.
“Were I Dictator I would prohibit the manufacture, sale, and/or use of any type of floor covering other than linoleum. Now, before I take the next step, do I have your co-operation?”
Receiving their assurance, he pointed out that when agreeing to investigate the disappearances of the babies he demanded no interference from the State CID. This murder, however, might upset the arrangement.
Yoti said, and Essen was astonished by his candour:
“We don’t want the city fellers here, sir. We’ve had a stomach-full. Essen’s had experience with the fingerprint section in Sydney, and he’s a pretty good photographer. So we could manage without Sydney.”
“Then we manage, and I will tell you what else the linoleum has told me,” Bony said, making no attempt to disguise his satisfaction. “I can reasonably assume that the dead woman polished her floors during the day preceding the night of her death, and as we know who entered this house after Thring called in the police, by eliminating known persons we have the prints of persons unknown.
“I find that two unknown persons have been inside this house after Mrs Rockcliff polished her floors. One was a man. A large man who wears shoes size eight which are worn along the outside edge beneath each toecap. He was drunk or he could be a sailor recently ashore after a long voyage. He entered by the scullery window, visited the lounge and stood against the wall behind the bedroom door, from which position he struck down his victim. He left the house by the scullery window.
“The other person is a woman. She entered by the front door. She stood for some time in the hall, possibly to be assured she was alone in the house. From there she entered the bedroom, where she crawled under the bed. She emerged on the far side, and stood by the cot. Her shoe size is six, wedge type, and she walks slightly forward on her toes as though habitually she wears high-heeled shoes. She left by the front door.”
“With the baby,” Essen supplemented.
“The baby not having left footprints, I am unable to be definite,” Bony flashed. “The man could have taken the infant, for he, too, stood by the cot. It would seem that these two persons acted independently of each other. The fact that the woman crawled under the bed certainly supports the assumption that they did; that the woman was under the bed when the man entered the bedroom, and when he killed Mrs Rockcliff. What d’you know about the victim?”
“Very little,” replied Yoti. “And that from Dr Nott. She came to Mitford from Melbourne. Down there she was under the care of a Dr Browner of Glen Iris. She rented this house from Mitford Estate Agents.”
“That’s a beginning,” Bony purred. “By the way, what is the number of your staff?”
“Two constables under Essen. Could draw another two from Albury.”
“Could you spare Essen, and do a little yourself on this case?”
“Certainly.”
“Good. Have the body moved to the morgue, and meanwhile interview the estate agents for what they know of the dead woman. Murder trails quickly become worn, and this is now forty hours old. We don’t want your CID tramping down tracks, frightening possible friendly witnesses, annoying me and irritating you. Therefore I will report this murder to Sydney, and you report to your Divisional Headquarters that I am in charge.” To Essen he said: “Can you get on with the dusting and the pictures?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I’ll wait here for you. And, by the way, when we are alone, favour me by omitting the ‘sir’ and sticking to ‘Bony’. I am Bony to all my friends.”
Yoti chuckled, grimly amused.
“Now I know,” he averred with emphasis. “Now I know why it is you’ve never failed to finish a case.”
“Me too,” agreed Essen, his wide face widening under pressure of subdued enthusiasm.
Chapter Three
A Strange Pair
Alone in the house, Bony brought a satin-covered cushion from the lounge to kneel on the hall floor and outline with chalk three sets of footprints: one made by a man and two by women.
Then he entered a second bedroom, but this was unfurnished, and he found in a linen cupboard the sheet he required and which he took to the front bedroom.
The golden shaft of sunlight had moved from the dead woman’s hand to beribbon the cream wickerwork of the cot; otherwise nothing was altered. He switched on the light and deliberately studied the body, noting its position and finding nothing helpful excepting confirmation that she had been struck when clear inside the door.
The woman would be about thirty. She had been pretty rather than beautiful, the most attractive feature being the chestnut hair. The eyes were blue. The feet from which he had removed the shoes were shapely and the legs long and well moulded. She was wearing a tailored suit of blue gaberdine. Thirty years only had she lived; robbed of thirty years of life she might have enjoyed. With relief, he spread the sheet over her.
Now it was shut away from his eyes but not from his mind. The position of the wound and the stain on the linoleum proved she had been killed by a blow to the top of her head. He estimated she was five feet ten inches tall, and therefore the slayer must be a tall man. She wore no hat that last night of her life, and this wasn’t remarkable in a town like Mitford in country like the Riverina in February.
The red-stained matted hair persisted in his memory, and he felt that hovering over the room and sprawled about him was an impalpable being with its lips pursed to direct an ice-cold breath upon the nape of his neck, its eyes unwinking like the eyes of the dead.
He gazed upon the infant’s cot, noting the covers turned back, the imprint of the little head upon the pillow. The baby-linen and satin-bound blankets were of good quality and a small chest of drawers was filled with costly baby-clothes. These tiny garments