Page 60 of Marriage and Murder
Johnson paused, then added, “I almost asked him whether the sister, who must be in mourning, would marry him anytime soon—just to see if he would tell me anything about the older sister dying—but in the end, I held my tongue. I could see Pincer was on his last throw of the dice, and his scheme falling in a heap would suit the boss, so I didn’t say anything more. Just kept the pressure on and let him run.”
Johnson smiled rather smugly. “And that’s when we came out of the park and saw the younger sister—my man had given me a good description—with Lord Glossup. He’s a magistrate in the area, so of course I know him by sight.”
Mallard muttered, “Of course you do.”
Johnson shrugged. “The man I sent to the village had said he thought there was something brewing between his lordship and the sister, and there the pair were, acting like a couple, and Pincer had just told me she was his. I pointed out to Pincer thatit appeared he had some serious competition. Of course, the silly beggar had no choice but to try to make it look like all was as he’d said.”
“Ah,” Penelope said. “That was why he was holding on to her in that ridiculous manner.”
“Seemed he wanted to make the point to me, and also to the sister and his lordship, too, how he—Pincer—expected things to be.” Looking at Penelope, Johnson helpfully offered, “Men like Pincer are like that. They think they can make it clear how they want and insist things should be, then smile and charm everyone into falling into line. Deluded, they are, but that’s how they behave.”
Penelope was impressed by the insight.
Stokes stirred, drawing Johnson’s attention. “Would it surprise you to know that we believe it was Pincer who strangled Viola Huntingdon to death?”
Johnson’s expression immediately turned impassive. After a moment, he sat back in the chair, his gaze steady on Stokes’s face. After a full minute and more, slowly, Johnson nodded. “Aye, that would surprise me.”
Penelope, Stokes, and Mallard frowned.
“Why?” Penelope was the first to ask. She went on, “Viola had just discovered that Pincer had arranged to have the aquamarines in her favorite bracelet swapped for paste. We believe she confronted him with that crime, perhaps threatening to have him taken up by the police, and he panicked and strangled her.”
Johnson pressed his lips together and plainly cogitated, then shook his head. “All I can say is you’ve got that wrong. Men like Pincer, they always believe they can talk their way out of damned near anything, any situation. And the younger sister hadn’t come back yet, had she? So at that point, Miss Viola Huntingdon was Pincer’s only available ticket out of his very deep hole.” Moredefinitely, Johnson shook his large head again. “Quite aside from that he’d never have the spine for it—his sort just don’t—I can’t see him killing the lady he saw as his golden goose. Not when killing her would leave him with nothing. Killing her wouldn’t advance his cause, not in any way.”
Penelope, Barnaby, Stokes, and Mallard fell silent, their expressions telegraphing the effective upending of their until-then certainty as to Pincer’s guilt.
After a moment of studying their faces, Johnson shrugged. “Just my take on it, but in my experience, wastrels like Pincer, when desperate, might do something stupid, but they are cowards at heart and weak with it, and I’ve never in all my years known any to resort to violence. In extremis, if the option is there, men like Pincer run.”
Silence engulfed the room.
Eventually, Stokes looked at Mallard, then Stokes turned to Johnson. “Thank you for your frankness. You’ve been a very real help.”
Johnson flashed them all a smile almost as shark-like as Stokes’s. “Pleased to have been of assistance and earned some points with the local plod.”
Stokes returned the smile with a degree of respect, then, sobering, looked at Mallard. “I believe we have all we need from Johnson. It’s time we spoke with Pincer himself.”
Mallard, Barnaby, and Penelope nodded and showered thanks on Johnson, which he accepted with some grace.
At Mallard’s wave, Johnson led the way out and into the foyer, then with a last nod to them all, he continued out of the building’s main door.
Barnaby halted in the foyer with Penelope, Stokes, and Mallard. He looked at the others, and it was patently clear they were juggling and shuffling facts and insights and felt, as he did,rather at sea, no longer as certain as they had been as to who had killed Viola Huntingdon.
Eventually, Mallard broke the weighty silence. “Johnson has known Pincer longer than anyone we know, and through being O’Reilly’s lieutenant for more than a decade, Johnson understands Pincer’s sort, likely better than anyone.”
Penelope looked torn. “Monty being Viola’s murderer seemed to fit so well, but…” She raised her hands, palms up. “I can’t help but agree with Johnson’s reading of Monty’s character. When confronted, cowards rarely act decisively.”
Stokes grimaced. “And by the medical examiner’s account, this murder was a very deliberate and decisive act.”
Barnaby added, “Johnson was correct in saying that Monty had staked everything on getting Viola to marry him. His existence as he knew it was riding on him achieving that goal, and he had no other option at that point in time.” He paused, then added, “If Viola had confronted him over the aquamarines, he would have talked—excused, persuaded, cajoled. Even if she hadn’t accepted his explanation, he would have left and come back later. He wouldn’t have murdered her.” He glanced at the others. “Murdering her wouldn’t have suited Monty’s purposes, not in any way.”
Mallard grunted. “Even I’m finding it harder and harder to see him killing her.”
Footsteps sounded on the basement stairs, and they turned and watched as O’Donnell came up from the cells. He saw them, smiled, and walked across to join them.
O’Donnell nodded to them all, then halted and reported to Stokes, “We put Pincer in the end cell, then got Jacobs out of his and asked him to take a gander at all the other prisoners and tell us if there was anyone he recognized. There were seven other prisoners in total, including Pincer, and some of the others had similar coloring and roughly similar builds to Pincer. Jacobs washappy enough to do what we wanted, and he went around the cells, looking in through the peepholes.”
“And?” Stokes prompted.
O’Donnell grinned. “Jacobs got to Pincer’s cell, and we could tell from Jacobs’s face alone that he knew the bloke. Jacobs called, ‘Farmer!’ and Pincer looked up, and his face, too, said he definitely recognized Jacobs.”
