Read Online Killing Time by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles - Free Book Online
Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
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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 kindof 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.’
‘Yes,’ said Slider. ‘I know.’
‘And I’ll tell you another thing,’ she said, flame-eyed with tears and outrage now. ‘Just Sunday, he was talking about chucking the whole thing up. He said he was fed up of it, the whole set-up, the club, show-business, working all night and sleeping in the day, being treated like dirt, being slobbered over by drunks. And he said to me Sunday, he said, “Val,” he said, “let’s chuck it up and get out of London while we’ve still got a bit of life in front of us.” Well, he’d got this plan, you see, for us to retire and get a place in the country, in Ireland, and do bed and breakfast for holiday-makers. He’d been saving up ages to buy a little place. It was his dream,
‘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 kindof 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.’
‘Yes,’ said Slider. ‘I know.’
‘And I’ll tell you another thing,’ she said, flame-eyed with tears and outrage now. ‘Just Sunday, he was talking about chucking the whole thing up. He said he was fed up of it, the whole set-up, the club, show-business, working all night and sleeping in the day, being treated like dirt, being slobbered over by drunks. And he said to me Sunday, he said, “Val,” he said, “let’s chuck it up and get out of London while we’ve still got a bit of life in front of us.” Well, he’d got this plan, you see, for us to retire and get a place in the country, in Ireland, and do bed and breakfast for holiday-makers. He’d been saving up ages to buy a little place. It was his dream,
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