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

‘In Carpenters Road, Mr Sullivan. That’s where we found your cap, and I want the truth, please.’

‘Carpenters Road?’

‘Are you denying that you were there? If you weren’t there, what was your cap doing there?’

‘Yes, I mean no. I mean – hold on, I don’t understand. I …’

Jago fixed him with a cold, silent gaze. Sullivan looked round the office, as though hoping that help would appear. None did, and finally he spoke.

‘All right, yes – yes, I was,’ he said. ‘I was in Carpenters Road, but I – no. No, that must be it – she must call herself something different now.’

‘You’re referring to Mrs Lewis?’

‘Yes, exactly, that’s it. I don’t know any Joan Lewis, but if that’s Joan Hayes’s married name then yes, I do. She said she’d got married but didn’t mention her new name, and I didn’t think to ask.’

‘She said this to you on Sunday?’

‘Yes, but what’s the problem? I bumped into her on the street near the Green Man in the afternoon. She’s an old friend from when we were kids at school. I gave her a pair of those stockings, actually.’

‘Did you go to her flat on Sunday evening?’

‘Yes. I asked her if I could pop in some time, just for old times’ sake, and she said yes. I said what about later that day, and she said she had to go to work – at the cinema. I asked her what time she knocked off, and she said she’d probably be home by half past nine. So I said I’d drop in then.’

‘And she consented to this?’

‘Of course. Why shouldn’t she? We were old friends, like I said. It wasn’t as though I was going to try anything on. She’d know that. She scribbled her address down and gave it to me.’

‘What time did you visit her?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose it must’ve been about half past nine, but I didn’t check the time when I got there.’

‘You weren’t there for long, then, if you were home in time for The Epilogue.’

‘I suppose not. I certainly wasn’t there for as long as I’d thought I might be. She said she wasn’t feeling too well, but she still invited me in for a quick hello. We had a drink and a bit of a chat, but then I left. I could see she was going down with something – a touch of the flu, probably, I thought.’

‘And you went straight home?’

‘Yes. But look, what’s going on? All I’ve done is have a drink with an old friend. So why are you giving me the third degree like this? What’s the problem?’

‘The problem, Mr Sullivan, is that Joan Lewis has been murdered.’

Sullivan seemed taken aback. He fumbled for his words. ‘Murdered? But why would anyone want to do that?’

‘That’s what I intend to find out, Mr Sullivan.’

‘Well, it wasn’t me, right?’ said Sullivan, his voice rising. ‘And if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do today. I’m off.’

He strode out of the office, banging the door behind him, and Jago was left wondering whether the ferocity in the sailor’s voice denoted anger, grief or something else.

Cradock went after Sullivan to ensure he had left the premises, then returned to the office and sat down.

‘So,’ he said, ‘our Ernie was at Joan’s flat after all, but not for long.’

‘Yes,’ said Jago. ‘It must be about ten, fifteen minutes’ walk from her flat to his end of Windmill Lane, less if he was in a fit state to run, so if he was home in time to hear a bit of The Epilogue he must’ve left the flat by about a quarter to ten, or five to ten at the latest. If he’s telling the truth.’

‘Do you think he was?’

‘About what?’

‘All that falling asleep in the street and not knowing what time it was. And everything else he said too, for that matter.’

‘What do you think?’

‘I’m just thinking we’ve found a sailor’s cap in Joan’s flat, and we’ve found a sailor with no cap, but he can’t remember when he lost it – or where or how, for that matter. Very convenient, that.’

‘Yes, but if he’d had too much to drink and genuinely can’t remember when he lost it, all we know is that he was seen with it in Martin Street at some time after half past eight. Which reminds me, he said one of our men stopped for a word. Check with the duty roster to see who was on that beat on Sunday late turn and ask him if it was Ernie he spoke to.’

‘Will do.’

‘In any case, if he did kill her, it wouldn’t be very smart to leave his cap there in her flat with his name stamped inside, would it? He might as well have left a calling card.’

‘Yes, sir, but if he was drunk he probably wouldn’t have thought of that, would he?’

‘No. But nevertheless, the fact that we found his cap in Joan’s flat doesn’t necessarily mean he murdered her.’

‘Right. So supposing he really did lose it – before he got to her flat, I mean. Someone else could’ve come across it, lying in the road or whatever. Do you think someone could’ve found it or stolen it and put it in the flat to incriminate him?’

‘It seems unlikely, but it’s a possibility. He was just lying in the street, dead to the world, after all. But if someone did take it, I doubt very much that young Ernie’ll be able to say who it was, unless he’s not telling us everything he knows.’

‘So what next?’

‘Next,’ said Jago, ‘I want you to phone up Addingtons in Carpenters Road, that place where Derek Marwell works, and find out what shift he’s on today. If he was with his wife when they saw Ernie in that doorway on Sunday, I’d like to know whether he can tell us anything else about it.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The reply from Addingtons was that Derek Marwell’s shift wouldn’t end for another two hours, at six o’clock,