By now, the ticket office had opened and Hedley joined the queue, hoping it would force him into making a decision. ‘Where to?’ the booking clerk snapped when his turn came and tapped a ruler impatiently on the counter. As Hedley hesitated, a policeman came into view. He was just a bobby on an early shift, looking forward to his first hot drink of the day, but Hedley – who had been brought up to believe in the power of authority – saw it as a sign.
He recalled a book he had read recently. When he first met Elspeth and discovered her love for Richard of Bordeaux, he had borrowed a couple of Josephine Tey’s novels from the library to impress her. He couldn’t remember the titles but the one he had particularly enjoyed was a mystery which involved the chase and inevitable capture of a suspected murderer. Reliving it now, and finding himself on the wrong side of the story, he knew without any doubt that a life on the run was not for him. Hurriedly, he left the queue. What on earth had he been thinking of? He couldn’t spend the rest of his life cowering in the shadows, afraid to show his face, no matter how much trouble he was in. Decisive now, Hedley walked quickly to the nearest public telephone and called the only person he could think of without fear.
Lydia took some time to answer and, when she did, her voice was full of sleep. ‘I’m sorry to wake you so early on a Sunday,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t know who else to ring.’
‘Hedley? Where on earth are you? Are you all right?’
He explained, and she listened patiently. When she spoke again, all traces of sleep had disappeared and her tone was warm but firm. ‘You have to go to the police, darling. You haven’t done anything wrong but if you run away they’ll have something to hold against you; if you go now, there’s nothing to be afraid of.’
When he didn’t speak immediately, Lydia continued reassuringly.
186
‘Inspector Penrose is a fair man, Hedley, and he’ll be on your side as long as you’re honest with him. You want them to find who did this to Elspeth, don’t you?’ He could tell from the sudden forced brightness in her voice that she knew it was a cheap shot, but she was right to guess that nothing would make him see sense more readily.
‘You’re right and this sounds stupid, but I just can’t face having to walk into a police station,’ he said. ‘I know I’ve made it worse by waiting till now. Could you speak to Mr Penrose for me? Tell him I’m here?’
There was silence on the line, and Hedley waited for Lydia’s answer. ‘Look, I’ll speak to him now for you but I think it’s best if you go back to your digs and he comes to find you there. There’ll probably be a policeman waiting, but just explain what’s happening. You don’t want to have all this out in the middle of Paddington Station.’
Reading between the lines, Hedley realised that she was doing her best to keep his shame as private as possible without saying as much, and he appreciated her efforts while suspecting that they signalled a rough time ahead for him with Inspector Penrose. Still, he had made his decision and he wouldn’t go back on it now.
‘Thanks for trusting me,’ he said.
‘Don’t be silly, Hedley – of course I trust you. I’m glad you phoned me and I want you to let me know straight away if you need me. It’ll be all right, really it will. I’m sure the police will sort it out. And Hedley?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m truly sorry about Elspeth. I know how much you loved each other.’
Hedley replaced the receiver without speaking and made for the underground, fighting back tears. He trusted Lydia and knew her advice was sensible, but first there was something he needed to do.
Penrose was unavailable, so Lydia left an urgent message with the constable on the desk and climbed back into bed, shivering as she removed her dressing gown.
187
‘You didn’t tell Hedley about Aubrey’s death,’ Marta said, putting her arms around her.
‘No,’ said Lydia. ‘I just couldn’t. I was afraid I’d be able to tell from his voice that he already knew.’
Rafe Swinburne rode over the river and into Blackfriars Road, taking advantage of the straight, broad street and peaceful Sunday morning to reach a satisfying speed which was rarely possible in the city. He passed the entrances to Stamford Street and the Cut before turning right into the network of smaller roads behind Waterloo Station, and was pleased to see that the area in which he always parked his motorcycle – close to his digs, where he could keep an eye on it – was clear of cars. He cut the engine, relieved for once to be home and alone: his nightly diversions were taking their toll, although it was the smiling rather than the sex which wore him out. Perhaps he should have tonight off: it was supposed to be a day of rest, after all.
He took his keys from the ignition and crossed Chaplin Close, heading towards the old three-storey house in which he and Hedley shared rooms. It was shabby, but cheaper than lodgings on the other side of the river and, with his bike or the underground, the West End was only a few minutes away. If all went well, it wouldn’t be long before he could afford something better but, in the meantime, this suited him perfectly. The street was quiet and, from Waterloo Road, he could hear the bells of St John’s. It must be about nine o’clock, he thought. With a bit of luck, Hedley would still be in bed and he could enjoy a cup of coffee in peace before getting some sleep himself.
He was still three or four doors from home when he heard someone call his name from the other side of the street. Looking over, he was astonished to see his room-mate lurking in the shadows outside a butcher’s shop. Hedley was beckoning urgently to him, and it would have been hard to imagine a more complete picture of human misery.
‘Jesus Christ, you look terrible,’ Swinburne said, going across to him. ‘What the hell are you doing out here?’
188
‘Waiting for you. I knew you’d be back soon and there’s something I need to ask you before I hand myself in.’
‘Hedley, what are you talking about? In where?’
‘To the police. They’ll be waiting at the house, I expect – that’s why I needed to catch you out here first.’ As Swinburne looked over his shoulder, bewildered, Hedley explained. ‘It’s Elspeth. She was the girl who was killed on the train and they think I did it.’
‘Fucking hell, mate, that’s awful. They’re here now, you say?’
‘Probably. Lydia said they would be.’
‘You’ve spoken to her about it?’
‘I had to. I didn’t know what else to do. She told me to give myself up and trust them to be fair.’
Swinburne was sceptical. ‘No doubt she means well, Hedley, but are you sure you want to do that? Wouldn’t you rather just keep out of sight for a bit until they catch the bastard who really did it?’
‘I don’t think I could stand it. Anyway, the more time they waste looking for me, the less likely it is they’ll get whoever did this to her. And I can’t bear the thought of him getting away with it, Rafe
– nothing would be worse than that.’ Swinburne waited while Hedley pulled himself together. ‘I’d like you to do something for me, though. I need an alibi for Friday night before the show. The papers said it happened early evening, so it’ll be before I got to the theatre. I didn’t kill her, but they’ll never believe me, so would you say I was with you?’
It was a risk, Swinburne thought; he didn’t want to get himself into trouble. ‘Aubrey would vouch for you,’ he said. ‘He’d know you couldn’t have done it.’
Hedley looked down. ‘I can’t ask him, not now. Anyway, I don’t think he would.’
‘All right, then. I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t say we went for a drink together. Not the Salisbury, though – someone might contradict that. We need somewhere more anonymous.
How about the Duncannon? It’s always busy on a Friday so nobody could swear we weren’t there. We went there together and arrived at about six o’clock. Is that early enough?’
Hedley shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
189
‘OK. We sat upstairs and drank beer – two halves each – until it was time to go to the theatre, then we walked back together as far as stage door. I’d say we got there about an hour before the performance, wouldn’t you?’
‘Can anybody prove we’re lying?’
‘I doubt it. I was actually with a girl but she wasn’t very memorable, and if I can’t remember her name, there’s not much chance of anyone else tracking her down. Fortunately, she was quite easy to shake off.’ He looked at Hedley’s worried face and wondered if it was sensible to ask; in the end, he couldn’t resist the question, but tried to make it casual. ‘What were you really doing, by the way?’
Hedley hesitated, then seemed to decide that he owed an explanation in return for the favour. ‘I was singing,’ he said, offering perhaps the one answer that would never have occurred to Swinburne. ‘Elspeth wanted one of those dolls from the play so badly but I couldn’t afford to buy her one. I thought if I did a quick round of the pit doors, entertaining the queues for a bit at each one, I might make enough money to get her a present.’
Swinburne raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘I can see why you want an alibi,’ he said, then, as Hedley began to protest, cut him short. ‘All right, all right – it’s unlikely enough to be true. I’ll speak up for you, and you’re probably right to assume that the police won’t go to the effort of tracing theatre queues to prove you innocent.’
He put a hand on Hedley’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. You can rely on me.’
‘Then will you do one more thing for me?’ He reached into the bag he was carrying and took out a doll. ‘I got the money,’ he said, handing it to Swinburne. ‘Actually, I did better than I could have hoped. I bought this in the interval ready to give to Elspeth when I saw her last night. Will you take it to her uncle for me? I’d still like her to have it and he’ll know where they’ve taken her. I’ve written the address down for you – it’s in Hammersmith, but it won’t take you long on a Sunday. And will you tell him I’m sorry?’
Swinburne looked down at the doll in his hands, relieved to have something to distract him from the intensity of Hedley’s grief.