Part 23 (1/2)
”Hurry, man,” urged Sloan. ”Hurry!”
Crosby raced through the gears as fast as he could; the slope of the ramp needed plenty of power. The corner at the end, though, was tighter than any at Silverstone. He took it on two wheels.
”And again,” commanded Sloan at the next level.
But they had lost speed on the way up. Crosby took the next bend more easily but at a slower rate.
”Keep going,” adjured Sloan. He had his hand on the door catch.
They reached the top floor and came out into the suns.h.i.+ne. The sudden glare momentarily distracted both men but there was no disguising the dark blue Ford Zephyr standing in solitary state on the top platform or the two figures standing by the parapet of the central well. One of them had his arm round the other who appeared to be resisting.
”Stop!” shouted Sloan as he ran.
The man took a quick look over his shoulder and standing away from the other-a girl-vaulted lightly over the parapet.
17.
Here ends all dispute.
I suppose,” snorted Superintendent Leeyes, who was a sound-and-fury man if ever there was one, ”that you're going to tell me that everything makes sense now.”
”The picture is a little clearer, sir,” said Detective Inspector Sloan. He was reporting back to Superintendent Leeyes the next morning, the morning after Frank Mundill's spectacular suicide over the edge of the parapet at the top of the multi-storey car park.
”Perhaps, then, Sloan, you will have the goodness to explain what has been going on.”
”Murder, sir.”
”I know that.”
”More murder than we knew about, sir.”
”Sloan, I will not sit here and have you being enigmatic.”
”No, sir,” said Sloan hastily. ”The first murder wasn't of Peter Hinton at all. It was of Celia Mundill.”
”The wife?” said Leeyes.
”The wife,” said Sloan succinctly. ”Frank Mundill wanted to marry Mrs. Veronica f.e.c.kler.”
”Ha!” said Leeyes.
”So,” said Sloan, ”he set about disposing of his wife.”
”He made a very good job of it,” commented Leeyes.
”He nearly got away with it,” said Sloan warmly. ”He would have done but for Peter Hinton putting two and two together.”
”So that's what happened, is it?”
”Elizabeth Busby tells me that Hinton was something of a student of criminology, sir. His favourite reading was the Notable British Trials series.”
”He suspected something?”
”We think so. Hinton wanted Mrs. Mundill in hospital.”
”That wouldn't have done for a murderer,” said Leeyes.
”No.”
”So Peter Hinton had to go?” grunted Leeyes.
”Exactly.” Sloan cleared his throat. ”I-that is, we-think that he came back one day and challenged Mundill.”
”And that was his undoing?”
”It was. He was a threat, you see, to the successful murder of Mrs. Mundill.”
Talk of successful murders always upset the superintendent. ”Do you mean that, Sloan?”
”I do, sir,” said Detective Inspector Sloan seriously. ”It was as near perfect as they come. We would never have known about the murder of Mrs. Mundill if he hadn't killed the young man too.”
Leeyes didn't like the sound of that. ”How perfect?”
”a.r.s.enic, at a guess.”
”You can't have a perfect murder with a.r.s.enic.”
”You can if it's diagnosed and treated as cancer of the stomach,” said Sloan.
”But what doctor would...”
”An old doctor who has had a letter from another doctor saying that that was what was wrong.”
Leeyes whistled. ”Clever.”
”Very clever,” said Sloan. ”Each year the Mundills went at Easter to housekeep for a loc.u.m tenens. Mundill's sister is married to a single-handed general pract.i.tioner in Calleford. While Mrs. Mundill was there she had her first attack of sickness. The loc.u.m-a Dr. Penthwin-arranged for her to have an X-ray at Calleford Hospital.”
”But it would be normal,” objected Leeyes at once.
”Of course it would, sir,” said Sloan, ”but that doesn't matter.”
”No?”