Who Killed Stella Pomeroy? by Basil Thomson Read Free Book Online Page B

you like me to come up?”
    â€œPlease do so and bring the superintendent with you.”
    Mr Beckett looked into the superintendent’s room. “The chief wants us both upstairs, Mr Witchard.”
    â€œWhy, what’s up?”
    â€œIt’s about that murder case down at Ealing—a man named Pomeroy. The message came through last night.”
    â€œSome busybody from outside has been getting at the chief, I suppose: that’s how time gets wasted in this building.”
    The chief constable, a man grown grey in the service in which he had risen from the ranks by sheer merit, rose wearily from his desk and entered the lift. Morden received his two lieutenants with an amiable smile. They had brought with them two teletype messages, the only documents that had reached the Central Office thus far. Morden read the messages leisurely and asked how soon a report from the divisional detective inspector might be expected.
    â€œIt ought to have been in by now,” growled Beckett. “D. D. Inspector Aitkin has no method in his work.”
    â€œHe means well, but certainly he’s not one of our fliers,” observed Morden. “I have just received a visit from two men who claim to have been present when the woman’s body was found and to have attended the inquest. Both appear to be convinced of the husband’s innocence. Their object in coming to me was to try to get the case transferred to Superintendent Richardson, but Richardson is superintendent of the group of divisions in which Ealing lies, is he not?”
    â€œYes sir.”
    â€œThen tell him to take over the case personally and keep us informed of every step.”

    The instruction was not needed, for Richardson had already taken over the investigation, with Divisional Detective Inspector Aitkin working under him. His first question to Aitkin was: “Have you yourself formed any impression of the case, Mr Aitkin? Do you believe as the jury did that Pomeroy was guilty?”
    â€œI do, Superintendent.”
    â€œOn what grounds?”
    â€œOn several. First there was the quarrel at the house where they played cards on the previous evening and the evidence that for some time the two had been on bad terms.”
    â€œBut a husband may be on bad terms with his wife without resorting to murder.”
    â€œYes, but there had been this talk of separation; of Pomeroy getting a job in one of the foreign branches.”
    â€œAnd so you think that the husband murdered her in the bathroom and then invited strangers into the house to find the body?”
    â€œYes, to divert suspicion from himself by acting surprised on finding the body.”
    â€œOn the other hand he may have thought that when once appointed manager of a foreign branch he would be quit of the woman without any resort to violence.”
    â€œThe only fingerprints found in the bathroom were his.”
    â€œThat’s not surprising, since on finding the body he lifted the head out of the water, and, naturally, his hands became stained with blood. No, Inspector, I’m afraid it will take more than that to convince me.”
    â€œWell, it would have had to be quick work on the part of a stranger, and in spite of all our enquiries we have no evidence of any stranger having been in the neighbourhood.”
    â€œWell, I shall go down and have a look at the spot where that raincoat was found.”
    â€œWould you like me to come with you?”
    â€œNo, you’ve other work to get on with, and I would like to form my own opinion on the spot. I can easily find my way to that thicket you spoke of.”
    It was one of those September days which come to remind humanity of the past glories of summer without the heat. The rough turf was spangled with cobwebs glistening with dewdrops, and there was already a tang of autumn in the air.
    Richardson found the hiding place of the bloodstained coat without difficulty. He was on the lookout for