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Chapter four

Inspector Hudson Receives a Letter

Then Sue Baker’s father called to report that his wife had remembered something about a “secret admirer” their daughter had mentioned to her.

“A secret admirer?” Hudson asked.

“Yes, sir. My wife is feeling a bit better -

of course she isn’t over the loss of our daughter yet. But at least she can now accept the fact that Sue is gone,” Mr Baker said.

“And she just remembered that Sue had said something about a man showing a lot of interest in her.”

The inspector was all ears. “Did she say who he was? Did she give a name?”

“No, she just said that he was in a difficult position and did not want her to talk about him.

She shouldn’t tell anyone before he had sorted out his problems.

My wife got the impression that he might be married.

Sue only mentioned him because her mother found a pearl necklace in her room while cleaning it.

So she asked Sue where she got those pearls, and after a bit of questioning Sue told her.”

“Can your wife remember anything else Sue might have mentioned?

Like where she met this man? how long she had known him, things like that?”

Hudson heard Sue’s father sigh sadly. “No, Inspector. Believe me, I would tell you if I knew.

The murderer of my daughter must be punished for what he did to her!”

“Yes, sir,” Hudson said with great respect for the grieving father. “I feel the same way.”

None of Sue’s girlfriends knew anything about a secret admirer.

Neither did the two other waitresses at the “Old Lion’s Pub”.

“A secret admirer who gave her real pearls? How thrilling!” the waitress from Jamaica said.

“I wish I had a secret admirer like that, too!

Then I’d quit this place in no time! Would you like a glass of ‘Pale Ale’? It’s our special brand.”

The inspector shook his head

. “Thank you, but I never drink alcohol while I’m working.”

The pretty waitress glanced at Hudson. “What about after you’re done working?” she asked sweetly. “It’s on the house.”

Smiling, Hudson had to decline her offer.

The other waitress, who was from Newcastle and had to work on her day off to replace Sue, shrugged.

“If I were you, I’d ask Paul about that secret admirer stuff,” she said in a tired voice.

“He was keen on her, and he happens to be married.

Aren’t all secret admirers simply married chaps?

Plus he’s making a lot of money from this place. not that we see a lot of it, though.”

“So Paul is the owner of this pub?” James Hudson inquired.

He looked appraisingly at the noble wooden floor and wall panelling.

It looked like real cherry wood.

“Yes, Inspector. You can find him in his office. It’s right back there, next to the kitchen.”

The man who opened the door to his office looked distressed. “Yes?” he asked.

Inspector Hudson introduced himself and flashed his badge. “Are you the owner of this pub?” he asked.

“Yes, so what!”

“I understand Sue Baker worked here,” Hudson said. “Therefore I must ask you a few questions.”

Paul Wynfield frowned. He was about thirty-five and had blue eyes and thick brown hair.

He had rough features and a tiger’s head tattooed on his upper arm.

Bernadine would probably have found him a “good-looking boxer sort of chap”, James thought.

“But your men were already here on Monday, asking all kinds of questions!

So why are you snooping round here now as well?

Didn’t I read in the papers about you? Aren’t you the chap the Yard always puts in charge when a case is hopeless?”

“If you want to put it that way - then I’m the one,” Hudson replied calmly.

“So why aren’t you out there finding the one who did that to Sue?” Paul Wynfield asked outraged.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, sir,” Hudson said.

“I need to ask you if you might have given her a pearl necklace.

Some man she called her ‘secret admirer ‘ gave her said necklace,

and it was more than likely a married man with a high income - like yourself.”

Wynfield pushed his chair back and rose. “What is this? an interrogation?

Are you suspecting me of having killed poor Sue? Me?!”

With a few quick strides he walked over to the small window and turned his back on the inspector.

“Why on earth should I go and kill Sue? I liked her! Everyone liked her!

She couldn’t hurt a fly! Why would anybody do something like this to her?”

His voice broke.

To the inspector’s surprise the tall man with the broad shoulders started to cry.

His back still turned on Hudson, he sobbed, “Sue and I - I mean, there was nothing between us - I have a wife and children, you know.

But I really liked her a lot. well, yes, I did give her those pearls.

I would have liked to give her a lot more, but, oh well.

He got a hold on himself, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and turned round.

“Inspector”, he said pleadingly, “you must believe me! I could never have killed her.”

“I want to believe you,” Hudson responded.

Even though the man had known Sue and might have had a motive to kill her,

that still did not explain the murder of the first victim. Unless he happened to have known her, too.

But still Hudson had to check if Paul Wynfield had an alibi. It was simple police procedure.

“Just tell me where you were last Sunday night between eleven and three o’clock the following morning.

Just so we can eliminate you as a possible suspect.”

“At home. Ask my wife,” the pub owner answered.

“I closed up here and left about eleven fifteen, as usual. Then I drove straight home.”

“When did you get home?”

“About half an hour later. Driving home takes about that long.”

“And your wife was home? Can she confirm that you arrived home round quarter to twelve?”

Wynfield nodded. “Of course she can confirm that. She was still awake when I got home.”

Not the best of alibis, the inspector thought. A wife can confirm anything if she does not want to send her husband off to prison.

Moreover, if the pub owner had been quick, he could have given Sue a lift and strangled her inside his car.

Then he could have dressed and dumped her body by the river, which was only a few minutes’ drive away from the pub.

He would still have made it home without losing enough time for anyone to notice.

“Can anyone else confirm your times?

Did anyone see you leave the pub or arrive home? Any neighbours?”

Wynfield frowned and shook his head. “No, not that I remember.”

Hudson thanked him and left. He was lost in thoughts. The man did not have much of an alibi, but he also did not have much of a motive.

Also, there did not seem to by any connection between him and the first woman who had got killed over five weeks ago.

“So, Inspector - did you find the secret admirer you were looking for?” the waitress from Newcastle called after him on his way out.

When he turned round, she was wiping down a table, smiling knowingly at him.

Of course Mrs Wynfield was able to confirm that her husband had come home about eleven forty-five on Sunday night

and had not left the house until the next morning at seven.

“What’s all this about, anyhow?” she asked upset. “Why should he have anything to do with the murder of one of his waitresses?”

“Just a routine check, Madam,” the inspector answered discreetly.

After all he did not want to be responsible for the break-up of a marriage.

Friday afternoon the mysterious stranger who had been so interested in the blue dress rang up Scotland Yard.

The call was transferred over to Hudson’s line.

After Hudson had taken down the caller’s name and address, he asked the man,

“So you are the male customer who was looking at the blue dresses at ‘Gray’s Boutique’ a few months ago?”

“Yes, I think so,” the man, whose name was Mr Graham, said nervously. “Even though I have no idea what this is all about.

But I did go to ‘Gray’s’ a few months ago to find something for my wife’s birthday. And I saw a blue dress I thought she might like.

But she is very particular about colours, and so I ended up putting it back.

I’m glad I did! She just bought herself an olive blouse at ‘Gray’s’. I never would have picked that colour for her. but that’s my wife!”

“An olive blouse?” the inspector asked.

He dimly remembered the woman who had been looking at the rows of blouses when he had stopped by “Gray’s” early this week.

“Yes. She calls it olive, but I would say it’s a sickly greenish grey.”

“I may have met your wife when I was at the boutique this week,” Hudson said astonished.

“That’s possible, sir. Usually she ends up buying pink stuff,

but when she came home from her last shopping tour, she said one of those blokes from Scotland Yard had walked in.

He had had nothing better to do than tell her not to buy that pink blouse she had picked out.”

Flustered, Hudson apologized, “I’m sorry if I have offended your wife, Mr Graham.

I just thought that pink was a touch too pink. But of course it was none of my business.”

“Well, I’m glad you told her, Inspector!” Graham replied.

“She actually looks surprisingly good in that olive blouse and is very pleased with it.

She said that inspector from Scotland Yard may have been rude, but that he had a good eye for colours!”

The letter arrived on Saturday. It was addressed to “Scotland Yard, London”.

There was neither a street address nor a postal code on the envelope.

Hudson’s home phone rang the minute he was starting on the breakfast

Miss Paddington had prepared for him after letting him sleep in.

The Yard called him in to take a look at the package bearing “Jack the Skipper’s” handwriting.

He glanced at the tempting scrambled eggs with fried sausages and tomatoes, the steaming toast and the fresh biscuits and sighed.

Then he hurried over to his office. The envelope was already waiting for him on his desk.

The inspector took one look at the small package and knew what was inside.

The printed letters and the incomplete address told him enough.

“The arrogance,” he murmured while opening it carefully.

“The arrogance of not bothering to even write a full address!

He considers himself to be too important for that.

He knows we were waiting for his second letter and expects us to recognize it immediately

cautiously he took out a folded sheet with the help of tweezers, and we do! We do exactly what he expects us to do.”

Scotland Yard had indeed been waiting for a second note from “Jack the Skipper”,

and the secretary who handled all incoming letters had been alerted to be on the lookout for an envelope just like this one.

So she had sent it on to Inspector Hudson before even opening it.

He unfolded the piece of paper and read the printed text: “Hello, Inspector Hudson! I heard they put you in charge of my case.

If you really are as competent as they say, then why haven’t you knocked on my door yet?

The second lamb choked on this blue belt (just check the marks on her pretty neck if you don’t believe me!).

The next little lamb won’t die in colour - but rather in a bad mood. Love and Kisses, Jack the Skipper.”

Sure enough the blue belt that matched the second victim’s dress was in the envelope as well.

The inspector did not touch it. The crime scene experts had to examine it for traces first.

If they were lucky, they might get the murderer’s fingerprint or some traces from the clothes he had been wearing that night.

Hudson put down the letter and stared at it. How did “Jack the Skipper” know who had been assigned to the case?

That fact had not yet been made public. The public did not know.

But the murderer did. So what did that mean?

It could only mean one thing: “Jack the Skipper” was either one of the men Hudson had already interviewed,

or he had been told by someone that the famous inspector was going round, asking a lot of questions.