The Stratford Murder by Mike Hollow (best thriller novels of all time .TXT) 📗

registered shock and then puzzlement, in rapid succession.

‘Murdered? But that’s dreadful. Who’d want to murder Joan? She’s such a sweet soul.’

Jago heard a sniff coming from the corner of the room, and on looking round he noticed a distressed expression on Cynthia’s face.

‘It’s a shock for Cynthia too,’ said Conway. ‘I believe she’s known Joan for a long time, since before Joan came to work here. Isn’t that right, Cynthia?’

Cynthia nodded, but did not speak.

‘I’m very sorry, Miss Carlton,’ said Jago.

‘Do you have any idea who did it, Inspector?’ Conway asked.

‘No, not yet. But there’s something you can help us with. We want to speak to Joan’s sister, Beryl Hayes. I believe she works here too.’

‘That’s right – she’s an usherette, like Joan. She’s not due in until later, but I’ll send for her. Cynthia, get one of the pages to go round to Beryl’s flat and ask her to come in immediately. And tell Bert Wilson to come in here too.’

‘Yes, Mr Conway,’ said Cynthia.

There was an unmistakeable quavering in her voice, and Jago noticed that she didn’t look up as she left the room.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It took some time for Conway to compose himself. As soon as Cynthia had gone he took a bottle from an anonymous-looking piece of office furniture behind his desk that proved to be his drinks cabinet and poured himself a Scotch. He raised the bottle before his two visitors by way of an invitation to them to partake too, but Jago declined for both of them.

‘You said you were expecting us, Mr Conway, but it wasn’t to do with this unfortunate incident,’ Jago began. ‘May I ask why you were expecting a visit from the police?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Conway replied, ‘although it hardly seems important now. The thing is, you see, we’ve been robbed. And actually it is important, because we’ve lost a lot of money. I don’t know who did it, but I’ve got a pretty good idea when. It seems we had a break-in overnight.’

‘Perhaps you could give me the details while we wait for Miss Hayes to arrive.’

‘Certainly. You’d better hear what Bert Wilson has to say too – that’s why I’ve sent for him. He’s one of our doormen and he was here overnight. Normally there’d be no one in the building after we close up, but of course nowadays we have a fire-watchers’ rota – members of staff take it in turns. He’ll know more than me about what happened. But what I do know is that the takings have gone. Come and see.’

He took Jago and Cradock to the door through which they had entered his office.

‘You may not have noticed when you came in,’ Conway continued, ‘but you can see here where a bit of the door frame’s splintered away on the inside next to the lock. There are some marks on the outside too, but the damage is mostly on this side. It looks as though someone’s jemmied their way in, doesn’t it? The lock’s not very strong, because we keep anything of value in the safe.’

‘Have you found any signs of forced entry into the cinema itself?’ asked Jago.

‘No. I’ve had a good look round and haven’t seen anything to suggest that.’

‘Who had keys to the building?’

‘Apart from myself, of course, only Cynthia, who keeps a spare set. Then we have one set that we issue to the duty fire-watcher, which on this occasion was Wilson.’

Conway took off his jacket and draped it carefully over the back of a chair, then took the two men back across to the other side of the office, where he opened a door that gave access to a corridor.

‘Take a look in there,’ he said.

Jago could see that this door bore signs of forced entry too. Beyond it, the corridor was dark, with no windows, and when he flicked the electric light switch nothing happened.

‘Lights are busted,’ Conway explained.

In the gloom Jago could see a mess of unidentifiable debris on the floor. Taking out his flashlight, he spotted two further doorways, one on either side of the corridor. The door on his left was no longer attached to its frame but instead had fallen at an angle against the opposite wall. He looked back at Conway.

‘The one on the right’s a storeroom,’ said the manager. ‘On the left is where we keep the safe. If you go in you can see we’ve had visitors.’

Jago entered the room on the left, followed by Cradock and Conway, and surveyed the scene. The safe was at the far end, and the space in front of it was littered with tatters of paper and cardboard, all covered in dust and lumps of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling.

‘It used to be where we kept our confidential files too,’ said Conway with a sigh. ‘Looks like a bomb’s hit it, doesn’t it? But not a German one this time, I reckon.’

Jago stepped through the mess to what appeared to be its source. The door on the safe was about as useless as the one that had hitherto secured the room. It hung drunkenly open on one hinge. The safe was empty except for a few manila envelopes. He glanced around the floor and bent down to pick something up.

‘I think this probably explains it,’ he said, showing it to Cradock and Conway. It was a waxed paper wrapper with the words ‘Polar Ammon Gelignite’ printed on it. ‘Do you know how much money’s been stolen?’

‘Yes, it was our weekend takings, so it would’ve been more than three hundred pounds. Mostly coins, of course, and a few used notes, so quite heavy for the thieves to carry away, but I imagine they’d have had the time to do that in the night. During the week I bank the takings every day – I just put the cash into a stout bag and take it down to the National Provincial with one of the doormen with me for protection, but of course the banks aren’t