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

time to time. Nothing that I could prove, though.’

‘You didn’t ever hear Joan say anything about it?’

‘No, but I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing she’d have confided in me. I mean, it’s more the sort of thing women talk to each other about, isn’t it? Unless they want a male friend to go and punch him on the nose, in which case I don’t think I’m the man she would’ve chosen for the job.’

‘Your wife hasn’t ever mentioned anything?’

‘No, but I’ll ask her when I see her, if you like.’

‘Thank you. Tell her to contact us, please, if she does know anything.’

‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘No, Mr Marwell. We’ll leave you in peace now.’

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

‘Well,’ said Jago as he and Cradock returned to the car. ‘We didn’t learn much about Joan and Ballantyne, but what Marwell said about the money was interesting. First thing tomorrow morning I want you to check with all the local estate agents and find out who handled the Ballantynes’ house purchase – someone should remember if it was only a couple of years ago. Whoever did it should be able to tell you who the Ballantynes bank with, or were banking with at the time. Then get on to the bank manager and find out where the money came from.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And now let’s pop down to Windmill Lane.’

It was only a few hours since they had last visited the Sullivans’ home. This time George Sullivan met them with a look of weary exasperation.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ he said. ‘Don’t you people ever give up? Haven’t you got anything better to do than come round pestering the local residents?’

‘Good afternoon, Mr Sullivan,’ said Jago. ‘We’ll come in, if you don’t mind.’

With a resigned shake of his head Sullivan let them in. He took them up the stairs and through to the kitchen at the back of the flat, where Jago was surprised to find both Martin and Ernie.

‘Well, well,’ he mused. ‘A full house.’

Cradock slipped round behind the three men and stood near the door to the outside stairs that led down from the flat into the back yard.

Jago acknowledged the two sons with a brief glance but addressed his first comments to the father.

‘Right, Mr Sullivan, I want to ask you again about your movements on Sunday. Earlier today you said all three of you spent the night together in your Anderson shelter, but I now have evidence that makes me doubt that.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Sullivan. ‘What kind of evidence?’

‘A witness claims you were not all here when you said you were.’

‘It’s a lie. Who told you that?’

‘I’m not at liberty to say, I’m afraid.’

Sullivan responded with a menacing glare at Jago, and looked as though he was about to add some threatening words, but he was interrupted by his elder son.

‘Shut up, Dad,’ said Ernie. ‘They’re not idiots.’ He turned to Jago. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Inspector. I’m big enough to take care of myself. I know what I said about not telling them, but I’ve changed my mind. If they’re mixed up in any way with what happened to poor Joan, I’m not going to lie for them – they deserve whatever they get. You can tell them what I said. I don’t care any more.’

‘What?’ shouted his father. ‘It was you? You ungrateful, two-faced little—’

George Sullivan launched himself at Ernie and began pounding him with his fists. The sailor, considerably lighter on his feet, parried most of the blows and then drove a punch into his father’s stomach, sending him reeling, breathless, into the corner of the room. Martin stepped forward and tried to help him up, but George, fighting for his breath, pushed him away. He attempted to get to his feet, but the effort was too much for him. He fell back, crashing into a heavy oak sideboard. Ernie stood over him, rubbing his knuckles.

‘As I was saying, Mr Sullivan,’ said Jago, addressing the defeated man on the floor, ‘I don’t believe your story about Sunday night, and I’m inclined to believe you were actually at the Regal cinema helping yourself to the contents of the safe.’

‘It’s not true,’ Sullivan hissed.

‘I also believe that your son Martin was there with you.’

‘You’re mad,’ said Martin.

Ernie took a step towards Jago. The confident air had suddenly faded from his face: he looked baffled.

‘What?’ he said. ‘I don’t get it. Are you saying my dad and my brother were out robbing a cinema?’

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘And you think I had something to do with it?’

‘No, Mr Sullivan, I don’t think you did.’

Ernie Sullivan was still puzzled. ‘So you mean this is nothing to do with Joan?’

Before Jago could answer, he saw from the corner of his eye Martin Sullivan hurling himself towards the back door. He shouted a warning, but Cradock had already seen. He stuck out a foot and sent Martin flying to the floor. The young man jumped back to his feet and seized the door handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. He rattled it noisily, but to no avail.

‘This what you’re looking for?’ said Cradock, holding a key aloft. ‘Someone’s locked it, I’m afraid.’ He slipped the key into his pocket.

‘Thank you, Peter,’ said Jago, as Cradock pushed Martin and his father onto chairs at the table while Ernie stood to one side, a silent spectator. ‘And now perhaps you’d better attend to the other door, in case anyone else should have a sudden desire to leave.’

There was no key in the other door, so Cradock took up position in front of it, blocking this remaining way out.

Jago surveyed the room, and something tucked behind the clock on the mantelpiece caught his eye. He crossed to the fireplace to take a closer look.

‘What do we have here?’

‘I don’t know,’ said George. ‘You tell me.’

‘It appears to be a brown envelope. A somewhat bulging one, sealed with wax – or rather, formerly sealed with wax.’

‘Really? So is it