Orders to Kill Read online

  Orders to Kill

  EDWARD MARSTON

  To my wonderful son, Conrad

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  December, 1917

  Days began early for Ada Hobbes. It was just past four o’clock in the morning when she let herself out of her house and felt the first blast of an icy wind. Head down and teeth clenched, she began the long walk over frost-covered pavements that did their best to bring her crashing down on the stone slabs. But she was far too watchful and sure-footed to slip and fall. Now in her fifties, Ada was a short, skinny woman, wrapped up in a moth-eaten fur coat that had been through three generations before it had reached her. The scarf around her neck also covered her mouth and her hat was pulled down over her face. Though she looked frail and defenceless, she was quite the opposite. Scarred by loss and tested by recurring misfortune, she had survived both. Ada was a fighter.

  To reach the offices where her working day started, she had to walk the best part of two miles, leaving the drab, cheerless, overcrowded district where she lived before arriving in a more affluent area. Her destination was an imposing Victorian residence converted into offices by an insurance company. Those who worked there expected three things on their arrival. They wanted their waste-paper baskets to be empty, their desks to be polished and fires to have been laid in their respective grates. Ada never let them down.

  She was quick yet thorough, cleaning each office in turn and leaving it spotless. After putting everything away, Ada went on a final tour of the building to make sure that nothing had been missed. Then she picked up the envelope on the hall table and slipped it into her handbag. There was no need to count the money. Her employers trusted her enough to give her keys to the property and she trusted them. Ada was soon letting herself into a house less than a hundred yards away and tackling another set of offices. Tireless and methodical, she went through the same routine. A second envelope was dropped into her handbag.

  Her third assignment that morning was her favourite. It was in a detached house that stood in a tree-lined avenue. Ada only had to satisfy the needs of one person this time instead of whole groups of them. Her employer was specific. When she entered the house, she found his instructions awaiting her. After making a mental note of them, she bustled along the passageway, went into the kitchen and through into the room beyond it. Expecting to find all that she needed, she reached for a sweeping brush. Then she realised that there was an unexpected visitor in the room.

  Opening her mouth in horror, she staggered back against the wall, then slid down it until she hit the floor and passed out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  No sooner had they arrived at Scotland Yard that morning than they were sent out again. Inspector Harvey Marmion climbed into the rear of the police car with Joe Keedy. It sped away from the kerb and dodged through traffic.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘Edmonton.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’ll find out when we get there.’

  ‘Didn’t Chat tell you anything?’

  ‘It’s a gruesome murder, Joe. That’s all we need to be told.’

  ‘We always get the messy cases,’ complained Keedy.

  ‘That’s because we usually solve them.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that. Chat has been throwing his weight around ever since he got promoted and we are his main targets. Other detectives get nice, easy, open-and-shut cases involving batty old women who commit suicide with an overdose of pills. The moment a severed head or a mutilated body is involved, we get lumbered with the investigation.’

  ‘I don’t see that as a punishment,’ said Marmion, easily. ‘In his own peculiar way, Superintendent Chatfield is paying us a compliment. And you must never sneer at batty old women. When people are driven to kill themselves, they deserve our sympathy. It may seem small beer to you, but it involves motives far more complex than those that make someone commit murder.’

  ‘That’s a fair point,’ conceded Keedy.

  ‘Remember it.’

  ‘What’s the name of the murder victim?’

  ‘George Tindall.’

  ‘What did Chat say about him?’

  ‘Very little.’

  ‘He must have given you some details.’

  ‘He told me the one thing that was important.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Tindall was a doctor.’

  Keedy was shocked. ‘Somebody murdered a doctor?’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘That’s terrible. At a time like this, we desperately need people like him.’

  ‘He worked at the Edmonton Military Hospital.’

  ‘Then he was doing a vital job. Wounded soldiers sent there have the most appalling injuries. The wonder is any of them survive – yet they do, somehow.’

  ‘That’s because of the medical team.’

  ‘They’re real heroes in my book.’

  ‘I agree, Joe.’

  ‘I take my hat off to them.’

  He was speaking metaphorically. In fact, he kept his hat on at its usual jaunty angle. Even though wrapped up in his winter wear, Keedy contrived to look smart. Marmion, by contrast, was as untidy as ever in crumpled clothing that never seemed to fit him properly. After a couple of minutes staring out of the car window, he turned to Keedy.

  ‘As for batty old women, there’s something you should remember.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘When you finally marry our daughter,’ said Marmion with a grin, ‘you’ll become part of the family.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘For a start, Ellen and I will be happy.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Imagine what may happen in due course.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘You may one day have a batty old woman as your mother-in-law.’

  War had changed Ellen Marmion’s life completely. It had imprisoned her in a routine that she did not even notice at first. Her day began with making an early breakfast for her husband and herself. After waving him off, she washed the plates and cutlery in the sink and left everything to dry on the draining board. She then did a sequence of chores that never varied. When she had finished, she took down the framed photograph of her son from the mantelpiece and began to rub it with a duster even though it was gleaming. Ellen then had her long, daily, ruminative stare at Paul.

  Mixed emotions stirred inside her. Pride was uppermost. Dressed in army uniform, Paul was smiling at the camera, glad that he had joined up in a moment of patriotic fervour. He was the wonderful, confident, happy-go-lucky son his mother had adored. But unfortunately he no longer existed. Paul had been one of thousands injured at the Battle of the Somme and shipped back to a hospital in England. Temporarily blinded, he also had afflictions that seemed worryingly permanent. The cheerful extrovert of the Marmion family had become morose and confused. He could not understand why so many of his close friends had been killed in action while he had crawled away alive from the battlefield. Paul felt guilty and bereaved in equal measure.

  The family was
warned that it might take him a long time to adjust to home life, but he showed no inclination even to try. Ellen made allowances for him but even her patience was tested. Instead of getting better, her son got steadily worse, revealing a nasty streak she had never seen before and behaving in ways that shocked her. Her husband was away from the house for much of the day and her daughter, Alice, no longer lived at home. For the most part, therefore, Ellen was left alone to cope with Paul and his increasingly dangerous moods.

  Then, suddenly, he disappeared without a word of explanation. They had no idea where he was or what his intentions were. Marmion organised a search for their son, but it was fruitless. When they did finally discover where he might be, Paul had vanished before they got there. Looking now at the dutiful son she had once loved, she felt the photograph was like a ton weight in her hands.

  When they arrived at the scene of the crime, the detectives were relieved to see that they would not be hampered by a large and intrusive crowd. That would certainly have been the case if they were somewhere in central London with people swarming about. Instead, they were in a quiet avenue of detached properties. Standing outside the one owned by George Tindall was a burly uniformed police officer. When he saw them approach, he raised a hand.

  ‘There’s no need to introduce yourselves, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen photos of you and the sergeant in the newspapers many times.’

  ‘Our fame is spreading,’ said Keedy with a smile. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Constable Fanning, sir.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m with a colleague, Constable Rivers.’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘He’s in the house next door,’ said the other, indicating it. ‘When we got here, Mrs Hobbes was in quite a state.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘The cleaner.’

  ‘Why did Dr Tindall need a cleaner? A house this size would surely run to a servant or two.’

  ‘That puzzled me as well.’

  ‘Who raised the alarm?’

  ‘Mrs Hobbes did – when she recovered, that is. She was so upset by what she saw, she fainted. When she came to, she remembered that there was a telephone in the house.’

  ‘Yes, that would be essential for a doctor. The hospital might have needed to summon him at short notice.’ Marmion flicked a hand. ‘Go on with your story, Constable. Tell us why you took her next door.’

  ‘We needed to get her out of there, sir. She was shaking like a leaf and who could blame her? I’ve seen gory sights in my time, but nothing to touch this. I’d warn you to be prepared.’

  ‘I’m grateful for your warning,’ said Marmion, ‘but it doesn’t apply to the sergeant. He used to work in the family undertaking business and often saw dead bodies in a deplorable condition. He learnt to take everything in his stride. Nothing unsettles him.’

  ‘Well, it unsettled me, sir,’ admitted Fanning.

  ‘Then you’d better stay out in the fresh air.’

  ‘Where is the victim?’ asked Keedy.

  ‘He’s in the room at the back,’ said Fanning. ‘Go through the kitchen.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Marmion led the way into the house, pushing open the unlocked front door. He went along the passageway to the kitchen, then stopped in front of the door to the room off it. He studied it warily.

  ‘Perhaps you should open it, Joe,’ he suggested.

  ‘Is that a challenge?’

  ‘No – but you’ve got a stronger stomach than I have.’

  ‘You’re not going to faint, are you?’ teased Keedy.

  ‘Get on with it.’

  Grabbing the handle, Keedy opened the door and looked inside the room. George Tindall lay sprawled on the floor in the remains of his pyjamas amid a jumble of brushes, mops, buckets and other cleaning paraphernalia. Blood was everywhere. The victim had been tied up and gagged before being hacked to death. Marmion forced himself to look and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Keedy ran his eye over the multiple injuries.

  ‘Someone enjoyed doing this,’ he said.

  Thanks to a cup of tea and the kindness of the neighbours, Ada Hobbes was feeling much better. She was sitting in the lounge next door with Stanley and Enid Crowe, an elderly couple who had been shaken by news of the murder. Standing by the door was Constable Rivers, a tall, thin, willowy man who kept shifting from one leg to another. Ada kept apologising to all three of them for causing so much trouble.

  ‘I’m ashamed of myself for passing out like that,’ she said. ‘I always prided myself on being able to cope with any problem.’

  ‘You shouldn’t blame yourself,’ said Enid Crowe. ‘It must have been a terrible shock for you. Simply hearing about it has frightened the wits out of me.’

  ‘That goes for me as well,’ confessed her husband.

  ‘Besides,’ said Rivers, taking a step forward, ‘you deserve praise for what you did. As soon as you recovered, you had the presence of mind to pick up the phone and call the police.’

  ‘You did the right thing bringing Mrs Hobbes here, Constable,’ said Crowe.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘You’re welcome to stay as long as possible, Mrs Hobbes,’ said Enid.

  Ada gave her a smile of thanks. She had only been cleaning Dr Tindall’s house for a month or so. Like her, the neighbours could not understand why anyone would want to kill such a decent and dedicated man. Ada looked up at Rivers.

  ‘You will catch whoever did this, won’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, confidently. ‘We’ll catch him, Mrs Hobbes, and when we do, he’ll pay for this crime with his life.’

  While they waited for the Home Office pathologist to arrive, Marmion and Keedy searched the house for information about its owner. Even in the study there was little of real use. Drawers in the desk had been left open, showing that someone had been there before them to remove items such as a diary and an address book. All that they could find was correspondence relating to patients at the hospital. It was when they went into the master bedroom that they had some insight into what had happened. As they opened the wardrobe, Keedy gasped in admiration at the suits hanging up inside.

  ‘These are top quality,’ he said, opening a jacket to read the label.

  ‘Why did he have so many?’ asked Marmion. ‘Two is enough for anyone.’

  ‘He lived in a different world from us.’

  ‘Yes – and on a far better income.’

  Breaking away, he walked slowly around the room and looked carefully at everything. Marmion stopped beside a landscape painting on the wall. He scrutinised it for over a minute.

  ‘What do you think of this, Joe?’ he asked.

  ‘I hate it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s so dull and uninteresting.’

  ‘It’s also completely the wrong colour for the room. It doesn’t match anything. You can see from what is in his wardrobe that he was a man with taste, yet he puts this unsuitable painting in here. There must be a reason for that.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Marmion. ‘Perhaps it’s hiding something.’

  Lifting the heavy frame carefully off its hook, he revealed a safe set in the wall. Keedy stepped forward to grab the handle and discovered that it turned easily.

  ‘It’s not locked,’ he said, opening the door and peering inside. ‘And the safe is empty.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘That could be the motive behind the murder. Dr Tindall was burgled. Perhaps he made the mistake of catching the man in the act.’

  ‘There wasn’t only one man,’ explained Marmion, lowering the painting to the floor. ‘It would have taken two of them to overpower him and truss him up like that. In any case, he was not killed here because there’s no sign of a struggle. The butchery took place downstairs. Why did they choose there?’

  Keedy shrugged. ‘Search me.’

  ‘And there’s another thing that puzzles me.’

/>   ‘What is it?’

  ‘When we examined the body, I noticed that Dr Tindall was wearing a wedding ring. What happened to his wife? Why aren’t her clothes in the wardrobe?’

  ‘Perhaps she died.’

  ‘Then why aren’t there any photos of her on display? If she died before her time, he would surely want to preserve her memory. Yet there’s not a single photo of Mrs Tindall anywhere. I find that weird.’

  ‘Maybe the burglars took all the photos away.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Marmion. ‘What possible interest would photos hold for them? They came to kill him and helped themselves to the contents of the safe while they were here. That is how it looks to me, anyway.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘All of a sudden, this case has become a lot more interesting.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Before the conversation could continue, they heard a car pulling up outside the house. They crossed to the window and saw a short, stubby man coming up the drive.

  ‘It’s the pathologist,’ said Marmion. ‘I’ll handle him, Joe. You go next door and take a statement from Mrs Hobbes. With luck, she’s had time to recover and may be more coherent.’

  ‘Right,’ said Keedy, following him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. ‘Will you want to speak to her yourself?’

  ‘There’s no need. Just remember to be gentle with her.’

  ‘I will.’

  As they reached the hall, the pathologist was coming through the front door.

  ‘Good morning, Harvey,’ he said, cheerily, ‘and the same to you, Sergeant.’

  ‘Good morning,’ said Keedy, going past him. ‘You’ll have to excuse me.’

  ‘Joe has gone to interview the poor woman who found the body,’ explained Marmion. ‘We’re surprised that she didn’t have a heart attack.’

  ‘Is the victim in that bad a state?’

  ‘You need to brace yourself, Tom.’

  ‘Nothing will shock me,’ said the other with a chuckle. ‘I’ve just come from examining three people who were killed when a German bomb landed on their house. It’s frightening to see what tons of rubble can do to the human body.’