Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [48]
The younger policeman, more smartly dressed than Griffin but rather quiet, Johnny thought, for a detective, spoke for the first time. ‘It all fits. He was killed on Tuesday. That’s ten days exactly after the letter was written.’
Inspector Griffin still had his back to the door, but Johnny could tell from an angry flick of his wrist that he disapproved of the interruption. The polite wave that followed indicated that Mr Bennett should continue reading:
‘I, however, will stay in France to help with her convalescence. We will leave Avignon – Ah, Avignon. That was it. That’s where they went – leave Avignon next week for a country hotel where I intend to stay until after Christmas. Once again, thank you for your generosity. Your friend, Marie Langford.’
He folded the letter and offered it to Inspector Griffin. ‘You may keep this if it is of any interest to you.’
The inspector took it with a grateful bow. He looked over the letter. ‘So we can assume that Mrs Langford is abroad.’
‘Yes. That’s a relief, anyway,’ said Bennett. ‘It means you can be pretty sure she’s safe.’
Johnny was thrilled to hear it. At least that was one worry off his mind.
Inspector Griffin nodded. ‘As you probably read in the paper, we have been looking for another body, just in case, sir. I think we can stop that search now. But we need to inform the poor lady that her husband is dead.’
‘How will you find her?’ said Bennett. ‘She must have left Avignon already. All we know from the letter is that she’s at a country hotel somewhere in France. That’s not much to go on.’
The second detective spoke again. ‘No. And we don’t even know where she was staying in Avignon. If we did, we could ask the people there where she and her aunt moved to.’
Griffin interrupted him. ‘Do you still have the envelope, by any chance, sir? Perhaps an address was written on it. It’s the continental way. Even a postmark might help.’
‘I’m afraid not, Inspector. I put envelopes on the fire as soon as I open them. Otherwise I would be drowning in paper here.’
‘I quite understand. But what a shame. I fear it may take some time to locate Mrs Langford.’
‘I only hope she doesn’t read the English newspapers, wherever she is. It would be awful for her to hear about her husband’s death from the press.’
‘Indeed, sir. But we will do our best to find her, and to break the news as gently as we can. I don’t think we need detain you any longer.’
Mr Bennett started ushering them towards the door. Johnny slid back under the fur coat just in time. As Bennett opened the front door he said casually, ‘It says in the paper that you have a suspect. May I ask who it is?’
‘Well, strictly speaking, I shouldn’t tell you, sir. But I’m sure we’ll be charging her today. It’s the Langfords’ cleaning woman, sir. A Mrs Swanson. Do you know her?’
‘Not to speak to. But she’s one of my tenants. She lives in one of the houses on Dagmouth Lane. I’m planning a lot of improvements on that part of the estate.’
Johnny would have liked to add that any building works were an excuse to drive up the rent, but he held his tongue as Bennett stopped on the doorstep and continued: ‘Funnily enough, now I think about it, I remember Marie Langford mentioning Mrs Swanson over supper that day. She said the woman was looking for extra work. She asked me if there were any jobs here. Apparently Winnie Swanson is a bit hard up.’
‘That’s what we’ve heard too, sir,’ said Griffin, holding out his hand to say goodbye. ‘It seems that money may be at the heart of all this.’
‘The things people will do for cash,’ said Bennett, shaking his head. ‘It beggars belief.’
Johnny wanted to talk to the detectives, to convince them that his mother was innocent. It was why he had come. But now he could only do it if he revealed that he had been hiding and listening in to everything they’d said. For a split second the brave part of him – the part that would do anything for his mother – urged him to show himself; but in an instant his fear of getting into trouble triumphed. He even persuaded himself that being caught