Injury Time - Beryl Bainbridge [39]
The taxi, abandoned with open doors in the middle of the road, was briefly scrutinised and then photographed. Later a breakdown van arrived to take it away for more serious examination. There was a subdued round of applause from spectators as the taxi was hoisted into the air, doors swinging, and lowered gently on to the bed of the truck. Inquiries were made and statements taken. A dishevelled Mrs Montague, spitting with excitement, told of a crying female sprawled on the step earlier in the evening, of a lady in a blue frock holding a suspicious-looking parcel in her arms. A youth across the road swore he’d seen a man with a wooden leg dragging himself toward the garage at about nine o’clock. Several people recalled a shortish individual in a suede overcoat, prowling up and down the steps of houses and behaving like a Peeping Tom.
The neighbours on either side of Binny were warned they might have to be evacuated. It was not clear what was going on inside the barricaded house, or how many persons were involved, but investigations were under way. Sybil Evans answered the questions put to her as discreetly as she was able. She was shy and hated explicit conversation. She had known Mrs Mills for a number of years – they were friendly, not close. It was a popping-in-and-out sort of relationship – borrowing things, feeding cats when one or other of them went away on holiday. Loyally she forbore to mention that it was Binny who did the borrowing. Two older children were staying with friends and the youngest child was upstairs sharing the back bedroom with her own daughter. When asked if she thought any significance could be attached to the absence of all the children from the house, she was nonplussed. ‘Well,’ she said weakly, ‘there’s a dinner party, I believe, and she wanted the house to herself.’ As she spoke, she realised she’d implied that Binny might have been planning some kind of orgy. ‘They’re large children,’ she added. ‘Noisy and hard to control.’ She hadn’t been told who was coming to dinner and she hadn’t asked. It was none of her business. She had no objection to a policewoman asking the youngest child for information, but not until the morning – the little girl was fast asleep and it was going to be difficult enough to cope with her when she woke; she was very attached to her mother. To her knowledge Binny wasn’t in the habit of entertaining formally – people dropped in for a drink, but she didn’t hold dinner parties. She had no idea why tonight had been an exception. There was a gentleman friend, but she hadn’t met him and she didn’t know his name. ‘Please,’ she said finally, ‘I don’t wish to say any more.’ Pressed, she admitted she’d glimpsed Binny that morning throwing something down into the yard. Only for a second. Her interrogators wanted to know how Binny had seemed. Was there anything unusual about her, peculiar – ? With some spirit she declared that anyone would appear peculiar in these particular circumstances. ‘Life itself is peculiar,’ she cried. Willingly she described the interior of Binny’s house, the position of the furniture. She allowed an assortment of men, uniformed and otherwise, to bring their equipment into the hall. Painstakingly they began to measure the dimensions of the rooms.
12
There was talk of tying Edward and Simpson to their chairs with rope. Simpson glanced accusingly at Edward but said nothing. The gunmen were worried that with Widnes in the bathroom and Ginger upstairs, it left only Harry to deal with a possible rebellion in the kitchen. Their injured confederate was unlikely to move fast in an emergency. Binny said she didn’t own any rope.
‘You needn’t worry about us, dears,’ Alma told them. ‘We shan’t be any trouble.’
‘Don’t you have a washing line?’ asked Ginger. ‘Where do you hang your stuff?’
‘I go to the bagwash down the road,’ Binny admitted.