Good Murder (7 page)

After a few futile and frustrating hours at the hall we returned to the George to prepare for dinner. We had adopted a routine by now. Each person knew his job, and nobody seemed to mind too much doing it. I think waiting on tables was preferred to acting. With each day the George was becoming a bit more spruced up. Augie Kelly’s delusions of grandeur had prompted him to try to turn the dining room into some sort of palm-court fantasy. He had the walls and ceiling patched and painted, even though this meant people ate their dinners with the smell of paint and turpentine stripping their nasal passages. He had put large potted palms in strategic places, and made sure that there were flowers on every table. I had to admit, the room looked elegant. The inappropriately heavy drapes he had hung hid the ugly black-outs from the diners. In a matter of only a few days, the George had established itself as a place to take a girl for a decent meal. Word spread through the services, and most of our customers were air force or, occasionally, army — officers of course, showing a local girl a good time and hoping for something in return.

When we returned from the hall I retreated to my room and went over the script. I needed to drop four characters to make it work. Fatigued by rewriting Shakespeare, I decided to take a bath before going down to help out with the serving. There was no one in the bathroom when I entered, although someone had taken a bath recently. It had probably been Kevin Skakel, who shed extravagant amounts of hair whenever he bathed, and never cleaned up after himself. Sluicing out the tub was essential to avoid contact with the disgusting detritus of the Skakel moult. There was no hot water, but the water that came out of the tap was comfortably tepid. I slipped in, adjusted to the initial shock, and closed my eyes. I must have fallen asleep. How else would it have been possible for someone to enter the bathroom without my knowing it? That, however, is what happened.

I opened my eyes suddenly and, sitting on the edge of the bath, was Sergeant Peter Topaz staring at me. I was comprehensively discombobulated, sat up violently, and spilled water over the edge. Topaz stood quickly, but not quickly enough to prevent his trousers being doused. There was nothing else to do but to play this calmly, as if waking to the sight of a policeman perched on the edge of one’s bath was a perfectly ordinary experience. I slid back down into my previous, comfortable position.

‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you to knock,’ I said, trying not to sound peevish.

‘I did knock. There was no answer, so I thought I’d better check that you were all right.’

‘I’m touched. You get a lot of drownings in baths in this town, do you? What are you doing up here? I don’t think I know you well enough to meet socially under these conditions.’

‘I was looking for you. I was told you might be in here, taking a bath.’

‘So you thought you’d come and watch.’

Topaz walked over to the door that he had left half-open and closed it, quietly. He returned to the bath and once again stared down at me. I confess I felt at a considerable disadvantage.

‘That’s a nasty scratch on your neck,’ he said. ‘You have to watch those things up here. They get infected.’

My hand flew automatically and guiltily to the wound inflicted by Polly’s nails.

‘I did it in my sleep, last night.’ I closed my fingers over when I said this so that he couldn’t see that the nails were blunted by careful filing. I look after my hands. They are expressive. I didn’t tell him the truth because it was none of his business and because I hadn’t yet considered properly how I felt about the incidents of the previous evening. At the time, while walking home, I had told myself that I could not possibly see her again; that there was madness there. In the light of day, however, my resolve had weakened. There was something exciting about her. Perhaps I would see her again, after all, but stay well away from her house and its inhabitants.

Topaz seemed to be examining my body almost forensically. His eyes travelled up and down it in unembarrassed assessment. It made me uncomfortable and self-conscious, and my decision to remain calm mutated into umbrage.

‘What the hell is this about?’ I snapped, and there was real rancour in my voice this time.

‘Have you seen Polly Drummond today or yesterday?’ he asked, his eyes settling on the scratches on my neck.

‘What? No. Why would I have seen her?’

‘So you do know Polly Drummond?’

‘She was at dinner. The night you came. Yes, I know her.’

I didn’t like the way this was going.

‘You saw her after that, though. After that dinner, I mean.’

There was no point lying. I had no reason to lie. I saw her. So what?

‘She came here the other day. Friday. Asked me to walk her home. Arthur came, too. We went to see the circus arrive, and the movies.’

‘All three of you. You, Arthur, and Polly.’

‘Are you investigating something, or are you genuinely interested in my social life?’

‘Her brother’s worried about her.’

‘Hah!’ I said contemptuously. ‘Her brother is insane.’

With that, I stood up, wrapped a towel around my waist, and clambered out of the bath. Topaz made no move to leave.

‘You were with Polly on Saturday night.’

It was a statement, not a question. I wasn’t about to deny anything.

‘If you are insinuating that I spent the night with her, I most certainly did not. We went to the movies, saw two wretched films which she inexplicably enjoyed, I walked her home, and that’s it. I stayed for a bit until Polly and Fred started arguing, and then I left.’

Topaz stood between me and the door, not aggressively, but deliberately, with his arms folded. I pulled the plug in the bath and began to move past him. He turned slightly to allow me through but, just as I touched the door handle, he said coolly, ‘She’s missing.’

‘What do you mean, “missing”?’

‘Her bed wasn’t slept in on Saturday night and she didn’t come home on Sunday. She’s not home yet and she didn’t turn up at work this morning.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, she’s a big girl. She probably got fed up with the arguing — the whole family’s crackers, you know — and went to a friend’s house.’

‘Nope,’ he said.

I opened the door and walked into the corridor. Topaz followed.

‘Her brother says she left the house about ten minutes after you did. Catch up with you, did she?’

‘If she had caught up with me, Sergeant, that wouldn’t be any of your business, but as it happens, she didn’t.’ It seemed inappropriate to call him ‘Peter’, given the professional tone he was adopting.

‘Her brother is worried, that’s all. I said I’d ask around. So if you do know where she is, even though it’s none of my business, I’d like to be able to pass on that she’s all right. So, can I tell him she’s all right?’

I had reached the door of my room by this stage.

‘You can tell him what you like, but I have no idea where she is. I didn’t see her after I left the house. Now, unless you want to look under my bed, can I please get dressed? I have to help with downstairs.’

‘Make sure you put disinfectant on those scratches. They look nasty.’

His solicitude was actually a threat. He hadn’t believed a word I had said.

‘One last thing,’ he said. I sighed noisily.

‘Yes, Sergeant.’ I stressed his title to indicate that I felt he had put distance between us.

He lowered his head so that I could see its crown, and patted it with one hand.

‘Tell me honestly — do you think I’m losing my hair?’

I believe the American expression ‘out of left field’ just about covers this question. Without missing a beat, not wishing to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he had taken me by surprise yet again, I examined the top of his head and said, ‘Actually, yes. I think you’re thinning on top there.’ It was a lie, but it wouldn’t hurt to give him something to worry about.

The next two days of rehearsals were draining.
Titus
was starting to take shape but it was going to be a struggle to sell it to a town used to dancing bears and second-rate vaudevillians. Bill Henty snidely suggested that Annie should appear with one breast exposed. At least people would show up. I think she was flattered by the notion that just one of her breasts would be sufficiently magnetic to ensure full houses.

‘Which one do you think?’ she asked. ‘Left or right?’

‘It doesn’t bother me,’ said Henty. ‘I’ve only got one good eye anyway.’

It was when we had returned to the George on Wednesday that Annie plonked the
Chronicle
down in front of me. There it was, confirmation that Polly Drummond was now officially missing and that foul play was suspected.

SEARCH FOR MISSING GIRL

The search for Maryborough girl, Miss Polly Drummond, entered its third day yesterday. Last seen at home on Saturday night, police are without any real clues as to her whereabouts. Any information which would assist in the investigation would be welcome. The search will continue.

‘So where have you put her?’ asked Annie salaciously.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Oh, come on, Will. We all know you were keen on her.’

I bridled at this impertinence.

‘I took her to the movies. I knew her for precisely two days. I was not keen on her.’

‘All right.’ She made a gesture to indicate that she thought I was lying. ‘Far be it from me to pry.’

Everyone in the company, except for Arthur, made some snide remark about my having gone to the pictures with a missing girl. The reason I didn’t think it was cute, or funny, was that I had a growing suspicion that Fred Drummond had had something to do with his sister’s disappearance. For the next few days I opened the paper with a sense of dread. There was a small notice every day, asking for help in finding Polly and letting people know that she was still missing. By the fifth day it had become clear that she was probably dead. The police began searching the river banks and local dams. I was expecting a visit from Peter Topaz, but he didn’t come. Perhaps he, too, suspected Fred Drummond, and was directing his questions to him.

The Saturday night of the Comfort Fund dance was lit by a brilliant moon. The Town Hall filled quickly, and soon a pall of cigarette smoke hung in the air. I took the stage and faced the people of Maryborough for the first time.

‘Ladies and gentlemen’, I announced into the inadequate microphone. Although it made my voice sound a little flat, there was nothing I could do about it, and so I ploughed on. I introduced myself suavely, gave the Power Players a plug, and thanked the organising committee of the dance as well as the ladies who had given of their time to decorate the hall so beautifully. Well, I was hardly going to tell the truth and declare the paper streamers and arches of bougainvillea tired and tacky. The Brown-Out orchestra struck up a jaunty swing tune, and the dance floor became crowded with couples. There were a lot of uniforms there, almost all of them airforce.

I scanned the crowd from the side of the stage, trying to get a feel for the citizens of this town. Under the subdued lighting inside the hall, they scrubbed up pretty well. The women were well dressed, probably hoping to score a description in the next day’s paper. There was little evidence of clothes that conformed closely to the government’s austerity dress code. Several men were wearing double-breasted suits, and several others were wearing waistcoats beneath their jackets. Both of these were considered wasteful of cloth and labour, but perhaps they were ancient items taken from the back of the wardrobe and seen only at dances and funerals. The mayor was wearing the drab Dedman suit, the preferred official style, setting an example. I saw two men who I recognised from the bar of the George, as well as some of the people who had eaten in Tibald’s dining room. Adrian was there, hoping to pick up some soldier boy, no doubt, and no doubt he would succeed; and Bill Henty was there, too, wearing tails which fitted him snugly, and he knew it. Annie Hudson hadn’t yet arrived, but she was coming. ‘And not alone,’ she had said pointedly.

The orchestra played three tunes before I announced the terms of the raffle and the existence of a door prize. Some lucky person would take home a hamper that contained starch and blue, sunflower seeds, condensed milk, camp pie, and Clement’s corn flour, ‘And let’s put our hands together and thank Hetherington’s for their generous donation’. My gracious recognition of the supplier didn’t arouse much interest. There was polite, desultory applause, and it was clear that I would have to work hard to get the crowds’ attention as the night wore on. The orchestra started again, and the swell of voices was overwhelmed by the music. I left the stage and walked along the side wall, behind the tables at which wall-flowers and non-dancers sat, towards the rear of the hall. The air had become thick with cigarette smoke, and I wanted some fresh air.

I picked my way through the incoming throng of well-scrubbed young men and cheaply perfumed young women. I saw Topaz before he saw me, and I saw that the glamorous creature on his arm was Annie Hudson, all dolled up and accepting the looks she was getting like the gracious star she thought she was. Topaz was wearing a decent suit, borrowed probably, and he was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Annie, in fact, looked like a canary, in a yellow dress that made no attempt to hide what lay beneath. They made their way over to me.