Killing Time Read online

  ‘If anyone had bumped against that, the pictures would have fallen over,’ Hart said.

  ‘So?’ Slider encouraged.

  ‘So no fight. The villain must have took him by surprise. Crept up on him and whacked him from behind.’

  ‘But the villain kicked the door in. Wouldn’t you think he’d have heard that?’

  ‘He might’ve been asleep. People do drift off in front of the telly.’

  Slider grunted non-committally. ‘Does anything strike you as odd about that ashtray?’ he asked her. She looked, bent close to peer, and shook her head. ‘There are five dog ends in it,’ he said, ‘but no ash. How did he manage that?’

  ‘He didn’t. Look here,’ Hollis said. Between the coffee table and the couch there were traces of cigarette ash on the carpet, and an area where it had apparently been rubbed in, with a hand or a foot. ‘And there’s whisky been spilled here too,’ he added, sniffing. It was a damp patch which smelled strongly. ‘Chummy’s had the table over.’

  ‘Hang about, what’s that?’ Hart said. It was another glass, on the floor beside the other armchair, but standing upright, as though it had been placed there by someone sitting in the chair. ‘Maybe the whisky come from this glass.’

  ‘But you can see table’s been knocked over,’ Hollis said impatiently. ‘Look at the impressions in the carpet where it stood before. It wasn’t put back in exactly the same spot.’

  Hart said, ‘The table could have been knocked over any time. It didn’t have to be the murderer.’

  ‘True,’ Slider said. ‘But it strikes me that everything is very neat and tidy here. Clean, dusted and polished. Would such a houseproud person knock the table over and then just rub the ash into the carpet? Wouldn’t he clean it up properly?’

  ‘All right,’ Hart conceded, ‘but if it was the murderer done it, why would he pick everything up again, put the dimps back in the ashtray and all that?’

  ‘No offers,’ Hollis said with a shrug.

  ‘Well,’ Slider went on at last, ‘there’s a few things to think about, anyway. Bag up the whisky bottle and the glasses. And we’ll take the ashtray and contents as well.’

  Certainly, Slider thought, further pondering the room, Jay Paloma was killed there, in that spot, and probably in that chair. Apart from no signs of a struggle, there were no bloodmarks anywhere else. No reeling about locked in mortal combat à la Reichenbach Falls. There was blood on the chair, and on the carpet around it, some smears on the end of the coffee table, and a few specks on the TV screen. But why had Paloma sat there and let himself be killed? Asleep, maybe – but wouldn’t the kicking in have stirred him, wouldn’t he at least have been struggling to his feet?

  The worse possibility was trying to suggest itself to him. If Paloma had been pursued to the edge of breaking by a campaign of poison pen letters, it might have bred in him such a conviction of hopelessness that he had simply given up. Believing there was no escape, he had just been killing time here, waiting for the inevitable moment when he would hear the executioner’s approaching footsteps. To such a mentality, the crash of the door being kicked in would be almost welcome, signalling an end to the hideous anticipation.

  He didn’t want to think like that. His global-mammy circuits couldn’t take it. Perhaps Paloma had been drunk, and dead to the world. That might do it. Or doped. Leave that, have a wonder about motive, for light relief. It was pretty obviously not robbery. Slider wished the murderer had even made a pretence of ransacking the place. Whoever had killed Jay Paloma had gone straight in and come straight out again – apart from the brief pause to put the coffee table straight. They knew what they wanted all right, and it wasn’t loose change or a video recorder.

  Busty was waiting for him in one of the interview rooms, WPC Asher in attendance, a cup of tea steaming on the table in front of her. She was dressed in a smart coat with an imitation lucca-lamb collar, which was hanging open over a pink twin-set and a regulation barmaid’s black straight skirt. The eponymous udders were discreetly corseted now, but still peaks of splendour; in the first fine braless rapture of their acquaintance, the sight of Busty stepping out down Wardour Street had always set Slider to thinking about Barnes Wallis.

  She was not a bad-looking woman still, even in the harsh strip-lighting of an interview room. Asher had escorted her to the ladies where she had had a wash to remove her ruined makeup, and without it she looked surprisingly young, despite her recent bout of hysterical weeping. She was calm now, but looked up at Slider with swollen, brimming eyes and pale and shaking cheeks.

  ‘Busty, I’m so sorry,’ he said. She nodded, keeping her lips closed. ‘I have to ask you some questions. You understand?’

  She nodded again, and then unlocked enough to say, ‘You do your job. I want you to get the bastard that did this to my poor—’ She lost it a moment. ‘I want you to get the bastard, and then I want you to let me have five minutes alone with him.’

  ‘You’ve no idea, I suppose, who it might be? Who hated him that much?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He was a good, kind soul. He never hurt anyone in his life. He looked after me, Mr Slider. He was like my big brother. It was him got me the barmaid job, because he didn’t like me stripping and such at my age. I haven’t turned a trick since we started sharing again, d’you know that? He said to me, Val, he said, you’ll never have to do that again as long as I live. That’s the sort of person he was. Always thinking of others.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Slider said again. He was going to be sorrier when he had to tell her about the poison pen letters, but that was for later. ‘Tell me what you know. You’d been away for the night, you said?’

  Busty had been visiting her sister who lived in Harlesden. She had set off at about half past eleven on Tuesday morning, taking an overnight bag with her, intending to return at about the same time the next day. ‘It was my day off. I wasn’t due on again at the pub until this evening. And my sister’s not been too clever lately – you know, women’s stuff,’ she explained delicately, ‘so I went over to give her a bit of a break, let her have a day in bed and an evening out.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a sister.’

  ‘Why should you?’ Busty shrugged. ‘We were close when we were kids, but then we weren’t all that much for a long time. Actually, I think when I first knew you was when we weren’t talking. Well, Mum and Dad didn’t approve of my way of life, and Shirley sided with them. It’s only since Dad died that we’ve sort of started liking each other again. She married a real bastard, so I suppose it made her realise there wasn’t much to choose between us.’

  ‘Come again?’

  She gave him a wan smile. ‘Between her and me. Doing it for one man you don’t like isn’t much different from doing it for several men you don’t like.’

  ‘I see. So, you came back from your sister’s early. What happened to change your plan?’

  ‘The bastard came back. Her Trevor. He’s a lorry-driver. He wasn’t due back till this afternoon, but he fiddled his tacho and cut his breaks to get through early, and there he was. Lucky I’m a light sleeper, I heard him parking his lorry outside, so it give me a chance to get out of bed, grab me stuff and lock meself in the bathroom while I got dressed. Only if Trevor had come upstairs and found me asleep in his bed—’ She shrugged eloquently.

  ‘In his bed?’

  ‘Shirley’s not got a spare room. I was sleeping in with her.’

  ‘What time was that, when he got home?’

  ‘It must’ve been about six-ish, a bit before. Anyway, by the time I get downstairs, Shirl’s got the tea on the go, and Trevor’s mellowed out enough to let me phone for me taxi, otherwise I’d’ve been stuck. I mean, you try finding a phone box that works in Harlesden.’

  ‘And you got home about half past six?’ Slider said, checking his notes. The shout was timed at six thirty-five.

  ‘I s’pose so. About then,’ she said, the animation draining from her face. ‘I didn’t realise at first. The door looked
as if it was shut. It was only when I went to put my key in the lock that I felt it move, and then I realised it was only pushed to. I went in, and—’ She stopped, shutting her mouth hard.

  ‘Yes,’ Slider said helpfully. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to take you through it. Did you expect Jay to be home?’

  ‘Well, yes – at least, he hadn’t said he wouldn’t. Normally he’d be asleep at that time, with working late and everything. Well, he doesn’t get back from the club till around four, so he never usually got up till half-twelve-ish. The only reason he wouldn’t be home would be if he went somewhere with someone, straight from the club – like, a pick-up, you know. But he hadn’t been doing that lately. He’d hardly been out at all, not socially, and he hadn’t had any casuals in months.’

  ‘So you thought he was at home and asleep? Did you call out to him?’

  ‘No. I’m always quiet if I’m up early, not to wake him.’

  ‘So what did you do next?’

  ‘Well, I heard the telly was on, so I went in to the front room to see. And there he was.’

  ‘You didn’t touch anything or move anything?’

  ‘No. I didn’t really go in the room. I could see straight away, from the door, that he was – that he must be—’ She shook her head. ‘I just went straight and dialled 999.’

  ‘From your telephone? Which is where?’

  ‘In the hall. Opposite the front door. And then I just stayed by the telephone until the police come. I didn’t want to go back in there. I was in a state of shock. I didn’t even cry. It wasn’t until they came and started talking to me that I broke down.’ She took out a handkerchief and blew briskly.

  Slider waited for her. ‘Would you like some more tea?’ Busty made a sound of assent through her hanky, and he looked at Asher, who nodded and slipped out. ‘Did he often watch television when he got back from the club?’

  ‘Well, no,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I’ve never actually knew him to do that. But I suppose if he was upset or something and couldn’t sleep he might have.’

  ‘And the whisky? Was it his habit to have a nightcap before he went to bed?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say habit,’ she said carefully, ‘but he has done on occasions. Whisky is his drink, but he doesn’t have it any special time. I’ve known him pop down the pub lunchtime and have one, or at home in the afternoon, if there’s a good film on. He liked all them old black and white ones, especially if they were about the war. Richard Attenborough and that. Or with his supper, before he went to work. He’d have a pie or a bit of cheese or something, and a Scotch with that.’

  ‘When you last saw him – when was that, exactly?’

  ‘When I left for my sister’s yesterday. He got up to see me off. He came out in his dressing-gown and made us a cup of coffee and sat with me and drank it while I did my makeup.’

  ‘And how did he seem? Was he in his normal spirits?’

  ‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, he’s not been all that bright recently. A bit quiet and off it.’

  ‘Did he give you any reason?’

  ‘He was worried about something.’ She hesitated again. ‘I think it had to do with his friend.’

  ‘What friend is that?’

  ‘His gentleman friend,’ she said rather primly.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘He never told me. He always just called him his friend. All I know is, he was very rich. Someone important and famous – that’s why Maurice was extra discreet.’

  ‘Maurice?’

  ‘That’s his real name, Jay’s – Maurice McElhinney. Didn’t you know? Well, I suppose it’s only me that calls him that now. His parents were Irish – from Dublin. I think they were quite well off and that. Anyway, they wanted him to be a lawyer or a doctor or something, and they were really disappointed when all he wanted to do was be a dancer. He persuaded them to let him go to stage school, but when it came out that he was bent as well – well, all he could do was leave home and come to London. I mean, in those days it was hard enough being One Of Them over here, let alone in bleeding Dublin with Catholic parents and everything. And he’s never went back. I don’t think he’s ever even written to them. He said to me only last week, I was all the family he had.’ She began to cry again. Slider left her alone until Asher came in with the tea, and then he gave her handkerchiefs and jollied her along until she was back in control.

  ‘So tell me what you know about this friend of his,’ Slider resumed. ‘Have you any idea who it was? Any clues at all – where he lived or what he did for a living or anything like that?’

  She shook her head. ‘Usually he talked about his friends a bit to me – not the intimate stuff, just that he’d been to see them and where they’d gone and what they’d done. But this one was different. All I gathered was, if it had got out about Maurice, it could have caused this man trouble.’

  ‘Was Jay – Maurice – in love with him?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she said consideringly. ‘He was generous, this man – gave Maurice presents and money. It was because of that I was able to give up turning tricks – though that was a lot easier on the feet than barmaiding, I can tell you!’

  ‘How long had he known him?’

  ‘About a year.’

  ‘And relations were normally smooth between them?’

  ‘Oh, I think so – except I think the secrecy got on Maurice’s nerves a bit. But just recently – well, the last few weeks, I suppose – he hasn’t been his usual self. Always very cheerful, he was, and sort of – brisk. Always cleaning the house, singing to himself, nagging me about my appearance. Try this lipstick, Val; have your hair cut, Val; get yourself a new dress, Val. All good-natured, you know. He wanted me to make the most of myself. But lately there hasn’t been much of that. He’s been sort of quiet and – off it. And then yesterday morning, while he was sitting fiddling with my makeup, I said to him, “What’s up, Mo darling, you look as if you’ve got the blues,” and he said, “Oh,” he said, “my friend and I had a bit of a disagreement yesterday, that’s all.”’

  ‘He’d been to see him, then, on Monday?’

  ‘Monday lunchtime. He was spending the afternoon with him, but I’d gone to work before he got back. That’s why he got up, I suppose, to see me off.’ Her eyes filled. ‘To say goodbye. If only I’d known. If only we’d both known.’

  ‘Did he say what the quarrel was about?’

  ‘He didn’t say quarrel, he said disagreement. He didn’t say what about, but they had argued before, so I suppose it was about the same thing. I gather his friend has been objecting to Maurice working at the Pomona.’

  That made sense to Slider. ‘Well, it isn’t exactly Rules, is it?’

  ‘Isn’t what, pardon?’

  Slider waved that away. ‘Did you know that Jay had been receiving threatening letters?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She scanned his face keenly, and then let out her breath in a slow hiss. ‘So that was it! I knew he’d been keeping something from me. No, I didn’t know that, but I knew there was something wrong. I thought at first it was one of those summer colds, you know, that sort of hang on and never come out properly. But no wonder, with that hanging over him, poor lamb! Why didn’t he tell me?’

  ‘He didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘So you knew about it? He reported it to you, did he?’

  ‘He came to see me on Monday afternoon. Unfortunately, he hadn’t kept any of the letters, so there wasn’t much I could do. And I had the feeling he was hiding something. I thought he knew who was doing it, but wasn’t willing to tell me. I told him to come back if anything else happened.’

  She looked at him, her eyes widening. ‘Do you think – this friend of Maurice’s – do you think he killed him?’

  ‘It’s possible, at any rate, that whoever sent him the poison pen letters may have killed him.’

  ‘You knew about the letters,’ she said. ‘You could have saved him.’

  ‘I don’t know how,’ Slider said abjectly. ‘
Busty, I’m sorry, believe me. I feel terrible about it. But what could I have done? I had nothing to go on, and short of posting a bodyguard on him—’

  But she turned her face away, grieved, and rocked herself. ‘If only he’d told me, I’d never have left him. I’d have stayed with him every minute.’ She wiped at her nose and eyes, but they went on leaking, like a slow bleed. She turned back to Slider. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? He was always so careful – went everywhere by taxi, made me go everywhere by taxi, ’cause he said public transport wasn’t safe, especially late at night, and with the kind of places we worked. And always a proper taxi, never a minicab, because he said you never knew who you’d get. There was that time, d’you remember, when I was working at the Nitey Nite Club, what was it, back in ’seventy-eight, when Sandra Hodson got abducted by a minicab driver? D’you remember her? She did that act with the python. Madame Ranee she called herself.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘And she got driven out into the sticks and raped and dumped naked somewhere—’

  ‘Beaconsfield.’

  ‘That’s it. Miles out in the country. And poor Sange always hated fields and cows and that. Wouldn’t even walk through St James’s Park if she could help it. So ever since then I’ve never had anything but a proper black cab, and Maurice was the same. That careful, he was. And then they come and get him in his own home – sitting in his own front room, Mr Slider, watching his own telly. It’s not fair. It’s—’ She struggled for a word. ‘It’s like cheating.’