A Commonplace Killing (14 page)

T
he next morning, the Tuesday, in the absence of anyone else from CID, he was called to a tobacconist’s on St Ann’s Road which had had its cashbox rifled and all its cigarettes taken. Kids, the shopkeeper reckoned; like everyone else, he didn’t know what the world was coming to. Wearily, Cooper took an inventory of everything that had gone and gave instructions to the fingerprint chap; then he walked back to “N” Division HQ and went in search of a cup of tea.

Walter Frobisher and Evelyn Wilkes were going to give their statements later on that day, but he reckoned that the chances of learning anything new were about as good as a bloke’s chances of finding himself handcuffed to Madeleine Carroll. He assumed that the same logic could be applied to the interview he was now having with the victim’s son, Douglas, but it was worth conducting all the same. The kid had his father’s pale lashes and hair; the same blue eyes, but his were more substantial, as Walter Frobisher’s must once have been. Douglas was also twice the man his father was: no blubbing for him. A couple of times it seemed that he might be in danger of giving way to his feelings, but the stout lad held on to them pretty tightly. Cooper always found such stoicism unaccountably moving; generous
outpourings
of emotions always left him feeling slightly nauseated.

“We had tea at about half past five,” Douglas was telling him. He spoke in a pleasant well-modulated voice: the product of a reasonable grammar school, Cooper reckoned. He assumed that grandparents had secured the same for him, since there was little evidence that Frobisher had the wherewithal. “I wanted to go out, so Mother got tea ready a bit earlier than normal, and when we’d done, she asked me to go out and telephone the Odeon to find out what the big picture was. It was
Gaiety George
, with Richard Greene and Ann Todd. The evening screenings were at 6.20 and 7.45.”

“Approximately how long did that take you?”

“I was probably gone about fifteen, twenty minutes – I stopped off to buy a newspaper.”

“So you were out of the house for a short period somewhere between six and six thirty?”

“Yes, something like that… I think I was probably back before six thirty.”

“When you returned to the house, were you aware of anything unusual?”

“No. Mother said she quite fancied the picture, but she was feeling tired so wasn’t sure if she’d go or not.”

“She was feeling tired?”

“Yes, but she often says that. She’s tired a lot of the time, I suppose.”

“After you told your mother about the film, what happened then?”

“I cycled over to Tufnell Park to meet up with a pal and some girls we know.”

“What time did you get back?”

“About half past eleven.”

“And did you notice that your mother was out?”

“Dad told me the next morning that she’d gone down to see Auntie Mavis in Jaywick.”

“Is that something your mother does quite often?”

“She’s done things like it, though not since Father came back. During the war, she’d sometimes get stuck in town in the blackout and stay in a hotel or something. It wasn’t especially unusual… It didn’t strike me as all that odd, especially because Father didn’t seem concerned. I wondered if Mother had walked out – she’s always saying she will one day.”

“Is she?”

“She gets a notion, sometimes. Says she can’t stand being in the house with Dad, and if it wasn’t Grandma’s house she’d go somewhere else. She’d say other things too, like she’d put her head in the gas oven – that sort of thing.”

“All of that must have been somewhat difficult for you…”

The boy shrugged and for a brief moment Cooper thought he might give way to feeling; he was relieved to see the boy was striving manfully for composure.

“I knew she didn’t mean it,” he said, “about the gas oven, I mean. I don’t suppose I’d have been all that surprised if she did leave. But that’s only thinking about it now. At the time I really didn’t think about it very much at all. I just expected her to come home when she was ready…” He fell silent for a moment. “I might have supposed Dad had made it up,” he said, “about Mother going to Jaywick – so I wouldn’t worry, you know, when she didn’t come back the next day…”

“Why do you suppose he would have done that?”

“I don’t know – maybe because he knew she had gone into town or something and it didn’t seem – you know – respectable.” The boy sighed deeply. “You will find who did this, won’t you?” he asked, his pale-blue eyes searching Cooper’s. “Sometimes I can’t believe it’s happened, and then other times all I want to do is beat the man who did it to a bloody pulp.”

“Of course you do. I’d feel the same if it was my mother.” Cooper had one more question he needed to ask. “Did your mother have any friends – anyone she might have stayed with?”

The boy thought for a few moments, before shaking his head.

“I don’t know of anyone she’d be friendly with,” he said, “outside of the family.”

Cooper spent the rest of the morning being availed of the north London black market – a welcome respite from the doings of the Frobisher household, the gloom and dinginess of which had settled upon him like a layer of thick dust, and bouts of sheer despair. He did not want to see Walter Frobisher dangle at the end of a rope – he did not wish to see anyone dangle at the end of a rope, come to that – but it could not be denied that the wretched fellow had a motive; and add to that the fact, highly suspicious in itself, that the fellow had not reported his wife’s disappearance, that his only alibi was the word of a
shiftless
girl who it appeared was also his mistress, and the curious matter of the mackintosh, which quite possibly had been bought in the same shop where Frobisher happened to be employed as a doorman, and it would not have required Sherlock Holmes to draw things to a conclusion. He was sorry for the boy,
naturally
, who, if he were to follow this line of inquiry, might well be deprived of two parents; but there was the distinct
possibility
that Frobisher, as a returning serviceman, would attract a degree of leniency, though you couldn’t rely on that: juries and judges had an unpleasant knack of disappointing your expectations. He thought some more about it, before coming to the realisation that what really prevented him from pursuing the matter was the knowledge that he despised Frobisher, and you really can’t condemn a man because of his weak features, weak character and weak morals. He rubbed his brow, lit a pipe and wondered how much longer he ought to give it before calling a halt to the investigation. Upstairs were applying the thumbscrews in regard to the black-market eggs, and Lucas had already instructed the murder team, such as it was, to give priority to numerous other urgent matters over the investigation into Lillian Frobisher’s death. For all intents and purposes the investigation was being conducted by the two of them alone, and Cooper knew that he would not be able to depend upon the undivided attention of his adjunct indefinitely.

Mrs Mavis Jackson of Jaywick Sands was a stouter and more affluent version of her dead sister. She had come up to London in order to attend to her mother, but before she did so there were a few things she reckoned that the police ought to know concerning Lillian Frobisher. Cooper took her into one of the interview rooms where she settled herself into a chair with a studied, self-conscious poise that nevertheless belied her bulk. She joined together her plump, immaculately white-gloved hands and set them purposefully upon the table.

“This has come as a great shock to me, Inspector,” she began. She had overcome her north London vowels with a thin veneer of respectability.

Cooper ran through the usual stuff, expressing sympathy, gratitude, reassurance that everything possible was being done, before coming to the point.

“Do you know of anybody who would wish your sister ill?”

Mrs Jackson pressed her lips tightly together with all the disapproval she could muster. “Lillian and I have never been close, Inspector,” she said. “And you may rest assured that I know nothing of her cavortings since she came back to Holloway.”

“Cavortings…?”

Mrs Jackson drew a deep breath, and moistened her lips delicately.

“It is not my custom and habit to speak ill of the dead, Inspector,” she said, before continuing to do just that with an undue haste, “but it has to be said – my sister has not led a blameless life.”

Cooper had the curious sensation he occasionally experienced in an investigation: the inkling that he was about to learn
something
of immense significance.

Once she had started to speak ill of her sibling, Mrs Jackson was unable to stop.

“She’s always been flighty, Inspector, but I had no idea how low she could sink until she came to stay with me in Jaywick during the war. The way she carried on… well… it was shocking. Truly shocking. Running about with all sorts; out till all hours – when she troubled to come back at all, that is. I warned her time and again that she was taking risks and would come to a bad end if she didn’t take more care, and I made it quite clear that I did not approve of her carrying on – not while she was under my roof – but she refused to listen. It was as if something had been unleashed within her, Inspector, some animal force…”

“When you say ‘carrying on’, you mean with other men?”

“She was off every night, leaving me to take care of Mother and Douglas.” Mrs Jackson leaned in closer across the table and whispered: “Yanks.”

“I see.”

“She made no secret of it. They’d come to the house to take her off in their motor cars. No shame… It was disgusting, Inspector. It was Joe this, and Jerry that, going on about how they took her to dinner and into public houses, and for spins in the countryside. They’d give her things as well.”

“What sort of things?”

“You know – lipsticks, perfume, stockings… She never went without, Inspector, not like decent women had to do…”

“A lot of married women went off the rails during the war,” he said. He was mildly surprised to discern a certain reluctance to fully embrace the notion; he found it distasteful. And he could not suppress the thought that a lot of men must have gone off the rails too. War was inimical to family life, after all. “Do you happen to know if she continued with this way of life after she returned to London?”

Mrs Frobisher considered for a moment or two.

“It wouldn’t surprise me, Inspector, but I’m afraid I really couldn’t say for sure. She came back to Holloway in March 1944, so there would have been plenty of opportunity before Walter came back from the army.” She was unable to resist a slight sneer at the mention of her sister’s husband.

“Indeed. I wonder, do you remember anything specific about any of these men?”

He was thinking that it ought to be a simple enough task to identify the nearest GI base to Jaywick, but nigh on impossible to trace any individual GI – most of whom would have gone back to America in any case.

“I tried to turn a blind eye, Inspector. There were so many of them…”

Cooper sighed.

“And this was something,” he pursued, “that started during the war – as far as you know…”

“Well, Lillian could never settle to anything – she suffered with her nerves, you know…”

“So I gather…”

“But I think the war definitely made her worse – what with Walter being away and all that. I certainly don’t remember her ever going into public houses before: she didn’t even drink, as far as I know. But it must be said, she was never very
dependable
. She relied on Mother and Father for everything.”

“What I’m driving at is: do you think it’s possible that her husband knew about any of this?”

Mrs Jackson evidently reserved a special degree of scorn for Walter Frobisher. She pressed her lips together very tightly as if damming a great wave of abuse.

“He never heard it from me,” she said, tersely.

“What about friends, neighbours?”

“There was no opportunity for people in Jaywick to gossip to Walter, if that’s what you mean.” She reached into her handbag and retrieved a dainty lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes with it. There was something comically insufficient about the handkerchief in her fat hands. Mrs Jackson sighed deeply. “She never tired of telling me what a burden Mother was to her,” she said. “I’m afraid to go into that house. I dare say the poor dear’s in a shocking state…”

“Your mother seemed comfortable enough when I saw her yesterday. Miss Wilkes has been keeping an eye on her the past couple of days.”

Mrs Jackson raised a solitary pencilled eyebrow.

“Miss Wilkes? Do you mean Evelyn? That nasty common girl: I never understood why Lillian brought her into the house. Hardly the sort of influence any normal mother would want around an impressionable boy…”

Up until then it had not occurred to him that it was the victim who had taken up with Evelyn Wilkes: he had assumed that she was living in the house at the behest of the husband.

“How long has Miss Wilkes been lodging with your sister?”

“I believe that they met at a dance not long after Lillian came back to Holloway. She told me she felt sorry for the girl.”

“I see. So that would be, what, 1944? A couple of years…?”

Mrs Jackson nodded.

“Lillian said she was company for her while Walter was away. Someone to gad about with, more likely.” She tut-tutted. “Evelyn’s a very knowing sort of girl, Inspector. Very knowing…”

“Can you think of any reason why Mr Frobisher would
introduce
Miss Wilkes as your sister’s cousin?”

A sly smile crept across her face.

“You had better ask him that,” she said.

“I intend to. Tell me a little more about Mr Frobisher – would you say that he and your sister were happily married?”

Again, the little moue of distaste.

“I won’t lie to you, Inspector: I’ve never cared for Walter.”

“Why’s that?”

“I never understood why Lillian took up with him. They’ve spent most of their married life living in awful little flats, and I’ve lost count of the number of times they’ve come to me with their begging caps – and to Father when he was alive. I dare say the War was the first time in his life Walter Frobisher has ever done anything worthwhile – if you can call pushing papers about while other men were dying at the front worthwhile.”