shock as she sipped the brandy a police constable had brought her from Alice’s medicinal bottle in the kitchen, she had regained enough control to talk to Banks.
“Alice was supposed to call on me this evening,” said Ethel in a weak, shaky voice. “She always comes on Sundays and Tuesdays. We play rummy. She’s not on the phone, so when she didn’t come there wasn’t much I could do. As time went on I got worried, then I decided to walk over and see if she was all right. She was eighty-seven just last week, Inspector. I bought her that sugar bowl broken on the floor there.”
It looked as if someone had pulled all the drawers out of the oldoak sideboard, and a pretty, rose-patterned sugar bowl lay in several places on the flags.
“She always did have a sweet tooth, despite what the doctor told her,” Ethel went on, pausing to wipe her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.
“Is this exactly how you found her?” Banks asked gently.
“Yes. I didn’t touch a thing. I watch a lot of telly, Inspector. I know about fingerprints and all that. I just stood in the doorway there, saw her and all the mess and went to the box on the corner of Cardigan Drive and phoned the police.”
Banks nodded. “Good, you did exactly the right thing. What about the door?”
“What?”
“The door. You must have touched it to get in.”
“Oh yes, silly of me. I’m sorry but I did have to open the door. I must have smudged all the prints.”
Banks smiled over at Vic Manson, who was busy dusting the furniture with aluminium powder. “Don’t worry, Mrs Carstairs,” Manson assured her. “Whoever it was probably wore gloves. The criminals watch a lot of telly these days, too. We have to look, though, just in case.”
“The door,” Banks went on. “Was it ajar, open, locked?”
“It was just open. I knocked first, then when I got no answer, I tried the handle and it just opened.”
“There’s no sign of forced entry, sir,” added Detective Constable Richmond, who had been examining the doorframe beside Jenny. “Whoever it was, she must have let them in.”
Hatchley came down from his search of the upper rooms. He wasn’t irredeemably drunk, only about two sheets to the wind, and like most professionals, he could snap back into gear in a crisis. “It’s been gone over pretty thoroughly,” he said to Banks. “Wardrobe, drawers, laundry chest, the lot.”
“Do you know if Mrs Matlock owned anything of value, Mrs Carstairs?” Banks asked.
“It’s Miss Matlock, Inspector. Alice was a spinster. She never married.”
“So she has no immediate family?”
“Nobody. She outlived them all.”
“Did she own anything valuable?”
“Not really what you’d call valuable, Inspector. Not to anyone else, that is. There was some silverware—she kept that in the sideboard cupboard, bottom shelf.” The cupboard door gaped open and there was no sign of cutlery among the bric-à-brac scattered on the flags. “But her most valuable possessions were these.” Ethel gestured towards the knick-knacks and photographs that filled the room. “Her memories.”
“What about money? Did she keep much cash in the house?”
“She used to keep a bit around, just for emergencies. She usually kept it in the bottom drawer of her dressing table.”
“How much did she have there, as a rule?”
“Oh, not much. About fifty pounds or so.”
Banks glanced at Hatchley, who shook his head. “It’s a mess up there,” he said. “If there was any money, it’s gone now.”
“Do you think our man, or men, knew where to look?”
“Not by the looks of it,” Hatchley answered. “They searched everywhere. Same pattern as the other break-ins.”
“Yes,” Banks said quietly, almost to himself. “The victims always let them in. You’d think older people would be more careful these days.”
“Prosopagnosia,” announced Jenny, who had been listening carefully to all this.
“Pardon?” Banks said, seeming as surprised to see
“Alice was supposed to call on me this evening,” said Ethel in a weak, shaky voice. “She always comes on Sundays and Tuesdays. We play rummy. She’s not on the phone, so when she didn’t come there wasn’t much I could do. As time went on I got worried, then I decided to walk over and see if she was all right. She was eighty-seven just last week, Inspector. I bought her that sugar bowl broken on the floor there.”
It looked as if someone had pulled all the drawers out of the oldoak sideboard, and a pretty, rose-patterned sugar bowl lay in several places on the flags.
“She always did have a sweet tooth, despite what the doctor told her,” Ethel went on, pausing to wipe her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.
“Is this exactly how you found her?” Banks asked gently.
“Yes. I didn’t touch a thing. I watch a lot of telly, Inspector. I know about fingerprints and all that. I just stood in the doorway there, saw her and all the mess and went to the box on the corner of Cardigan Drive and phoned the police.”
Banks nodded. “Good, you did exactly the right thing. What about the door?”
“What?”
“The door. You must have touched it to get in.”
“Oh yes, silly of me. I’m sorry but I did have to open the door. I must have smudged all the prints.”
Banks smiled over at Vic Manson, who was busy dusting the furniture with aluminium powder. “Don’t worry, Mrs Carstairs,” Manson assured her. “Whoever it was probably wore gloves. The criminals watch a lot of telly these days, too. We have to look, though, just in case.”
“The door,” Banks went on. “Was it ajar, open, locked?”
“It was just open. I knocked first, then when I got no answer, I tried the handle and it just opened.”
“There’s no sign of forced entry, sir,” added Detective Constable Richmond, who had been examining the doorframe beside Jenny. “Whoever it was, she must have let them in.”
Hatchley came down from his search of the upper rooms. He wasn’t irredeemably drunk, only about two sheets to the wind, and like most professionals, he could snap back into gear in a crisis. “It’s been gone over pretty thoroughly,” he said to Banks. “Wardrobe, drawers, laundry chest, the lot.”
“Do you know if Mrs Matlock owned anything of value, Mrs Carstairs?” Banks asked.
“It’s Miss Matlock, Inspector. Alice was a spinster. She never married.”
“So she has no immediate family?”
“Nobody. She outlived them all.”
“Did she own anything valuable?”
“Not really what you’d call valuable, Inspector. Not to anyone else, that is. There was some silverware—she kept that in the sideboard cupboard, bottom shelf.” The cupboard door gaped open and there was no sign of cutlery among the bric-à-brac scattered on the flags. “But her most valuable possessions were these.” Ethel gestured towards the knick-knacks and photographs that filled the room. “Her memories.”
“What about money? Did she keep much cash in the house?”
“She used to keep a bit around, just for emergencies. She usually kept it in the bottom drawer of her dressing table.”
“How much did she have there, as a rule?”
“Oh, not much. About fifty pounds or so.”
Banks glanced at Hatchley, who shook his head. “It’s a mess up there,” he said. “If there was any money, it’s gone now.”
“Do you think our man, or men, knew where to look?”
“Not by the looks of it,” Hatchley answered. “They searched everywhere. Same pattern as the other break-ins.”
“Yes,” Banks said quietly, almost to himself. “The victims always let them in. You’d think older people would be more careful these days.”
“Prosopagnosia,” announced Jenny, who had been listening carefully to all this.
“Pardon?” Banks said, seeming as surprised to see
Similar Books
