Clubbed to Death (15 page)

16

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As arranged with the Commander, Milton and Pooley arrived at ffeatherstonehaugh’s at ten o’clock the following morning. He was waiting for them, alert, smartly turned-out and radiating helpfulness.

‘You are welcome again, gentlemen, ’ he said. ‘The circumstances are regrettable, but it is my pleasure to make you as comfortable as possible. Please follow me.’

He led them across the hall and through the dining-room, down a corridor and into what he explained was a private dining-room where members could entertain groups of friends or associates. ‘We call it the Rochester Room,’ said the Commander, without further explanation. ‘It’s not much used these days, but I think you’ll find it comfortable for your purposes. I’ve had some armchairs brought in and put there at the window in case you want to talk to people more informally than around the table.’

He had done more than that. The room had several unexpected creature comforts: mineral water and glasses were on the table, along with a coffee tray, ashtrays and even a vase of fresh flowers.

‘Is there anything else you need, gentlemen?’

‘No, no, ’ said Milton. Thank you very much indeed, Commander Blenkinsop. You’ve been extremely hospitable.’

‘I’ll assign a waiter to you to make sure you have coffee when you need it and, of course, lunch. I’ve instructed all those you wish to see to be available today, but it would be helpful if I could give them some idea of the order in which you wish to see them.’

‘Alphabetical, I think,’ said Milton.

‘Very good. So you’ll want to see me first. Can you excuse me for a few minutes while I have a word with the others and then I’ll be straight back to you?’ Milton nodded and Blenkinsop left the room briskly.

‘Coffee, sir?’

‘Yes please, Ellis. Good grief! If we hadn’t heard so much about him from Robert, we’d find it impossible to imagine that this bloke was anything but the most upright of citizens.’

The paragon was back within five minutes. ‘Now where would you like me to sit, Detective Chief Superintendent?’

‘At the table, if you don’t mind, Commander. It makes it easier for us to take notes.’.

‘Would you care for some coffee?’

‘Kind of you. Yes. Black please. No sugar.’

While Pooley poured the coffee, Milton waited for Blenkinsop to seat himself comfortably. Then he asked, ‘Would you be kind enough, Commander, to describe to us your relationship with the Admiral?’

‘We were old friends. Knew each other for more than forty years. Young shipmates together. He was a fine man, Con Meredith-Lee. A brave sailor and a good friend.’

Milton repressed a familiar urge to tell an interviewee to cut the crap and drop the platitudes. Instead he said, ‘Well, sir, this must all be very sad for you. You have my sympathy. Did you keep in touch with Sir Conrad over all those years when he was away?’

‘With Christmas cards, postcards, that sort of thing. We did eventually rather lose touch, though we’d sometimes meet in London when he was back. But then, of course, in the last year we’ve seen a great deal of each other. We’ve been colleagues, you might say.’

‘A harmonious relationship?’

‘Oh, yes. As I say, we were old friends.’

‘I had the impression that you didn’t see eye to eye on how the club should be run.’

‘Can’t think where you got that impression.’ The Commander busied himself with his coffee cup: it clinked against his saucer as he picked it up. His hand was trembling slightly. Pooley wondered if it was an attack of nerves or the result of alcohol withdrawal symptoms.

‘From Sir Conrad himself, actually.’

The Commander took a sip of coffee and replaced the cup on the saucer with both hands. ‘I didn’t know you’d seen him.’

‘I saw him in pursuance of my investigation into the death of Mr Trueman.’

‘I see.’ The Commander rubbed his chin vigorously as an aid to thought. ‘So you know all about it?’

‘Let us say, sir, that the Admiral was frank.’

‘Con was usually frank. And look where it got him.’

Milton said nothing. After about half a minute the Commander broke the silence. ‘Very well then. I haven’t much option really, have I? Here goes: the whole sad story.’ He pushed his chair back slightly, leaned back and placed one cavalry-twilled leg over the other.

‘If Con had a failing, it was that he could be bloody sanctimonious, even when he was a young man. Sometimes you’d be having a bit of a lark together and Con would draw himself up and say, “This has gone far enough”, or, “Have you considered the implications of this course of action?” And he’d start talking about duty.’ He saw Milton’s enquiring eye. ‘All right, all right. Maybe I was lackadaisical and a bit self-indulgent. Got drunk too much maybe, even by sailors’ standards. But what could be really annoying about Con was that you’d start off together, a couple of sailors on shore-leave, and at the end of your binge, you’d be left feeling embarrassed at having gone too far. Con always knew where to stop, and he knew where you should stop as well, and if you didn’t, he reminded you that you’d have been better following his example.’

‘He was cautious?’

‘Maybe the best way of putting it is that if you were abroad and on the town, Con would find a licensed brothel where the girls all had health checks, while the riff-raff might sometimes take the risk of picking up a likely-looking tart in a bar. He was a bit coldblooded really.’

‘It doesn’t sound as if you liked him that much.’

‘I liked a lot about him. I admired him, I respected him and I was flattered that I was his friend. And I think he was fond of me. We’d a lot of good times together. It was only when I did something particularly outrageous that the priggish side of him came out.’ He sat up straight, swallowed the rest of his coffee and pushed the cup and saucer over to Pooley. ‘I’d be grateful for some more of that, if you don’t mind, Sergeant.

‘We began to drift apart when we were posted to different ships. Then we got married. We met in the odd foursome and it didn’t really work out. We thought his wife was stuck-up. A bit county – you know the sort. My wife wasn’t like that. She was full of fun. I suppose the Meredith-Lees would have thought her common. She was only a typist in the navy. A great girl and we were very happy for the short time we had.’

‘What happened?’

‘She just dropped dead of a brain tumour at the age of thirty, leaving me with a ten-year-old girl. I did my best, but I suppose it was during that time that I began to drink too much and that finished off my promotion chances. By the time my daughter was eighteen and at university, I’d had enough of the navy and the navy had had enough of me. We parted happily when I got the job at ffeatherstonehaugh’s.’

‘When was that?’

‘About fifteen years ago. Ask Chatterton. He’ll tell you the time of day I first entered the building.’

‘What was the club like when you came in as secretary?’

‘Running down. I had a lot of plans. I knew it couldn’t be restored to what it had been in the old days, but there was still room for a club where members had fun rather than did business. So I started in quite enthusiastically, but as you’ve probably gathered from Con, I didn’t succeed.’

‘What went wrong?’

‘The committee.’

‘Who were they at that stage?’

‘Chatterton and Fagg and a few more like them who’ve since kicked the bucket. But it was those two who ruled the roost. Chatterton had the brains and Fagg the energy. And they were both agreed that the thing to do with the club was to use it for their private purposes. I knew what they were doing, but they had the authority. They weren’t doing anything illegal and I wasn’t much of a fighter any more by then: I suppose I just caved in. I had a conversation the other day with Con that reminded me of what I used to be, before I got corrupted by this place. I’m making no excuses. Just call it lack of moral fibre.’

‘Is that what Sir Conrad said to you, sir?’

‘No. In fairness to him, Con was kinder than that, even when he got me out of the secretaryship last year. Let’s say he didn’t use more force than was necessary. All I knew by then was that I just didn’t want change.’

‘You weren’t concerned about the condition of the club any more?’

‘Didn’t give a tuppenny damn really. I was pretty permanently stewed, I suppose.’

‘I appreciate your honesty, sir.’

‘I haven’t any choice really, have I? Anyway, I’ve been sober for a couple of days now and it changes your perspective a bit. What’s encouraging is I haven’t got the DT’s. Not a pink elephant in sight. Mind you I haven’t cut the stuff out completely, you understand. That’d be a bit too drastic, but I’ve cut the intake by about eighty percent.’

‘So who killed the Admiral?’

‘Well, I won’t insult your intelligence by suggesting a terrorist: that notion’s been laid to rest. I simply don’t know, Mr Milton. All the committee had motives. I think Con was strong enough and single-minded enough to do what I should have done years ago. He was threatening them with an extraordinary general meeting of the club. He’d assembled a lot of evidence about unethical behaviour. But I can’t see how any of them was physically capable of setting a trap like that or even knowing how to do it.’

‘Well, in view of their age, presumably all the members have some kind of military background?’

‘Don’t think so. Fagg and Fishbane, yes, but I think Chatterton was in intelligence, code-breaking, that sort of thing. And I’m pretty sure Glastonbury had a desk job. He certainly never talked about any time in the forces. But even with a military background, you don’t know how to rig up bombs. Or if you ever have known you wouldn’t remember. Maybe somebody employed a hit man. I don’t know.’

‘What of this evidence the Admiral had collected?’

‘Well, as I told you yesterday, Chief Superintendent, there’s nothing in the safe. So it’s either at his flat or, more likely, he had it with him when he was blown to bits.’

‘He had paper, certainly,’ said Milton grimly. ‘Or so our colleagues tell us. But where had he got the information from?’

‘Account books seemingly, sketchy though they are. He had a taste for bookkeeping, had Con. Kept absolutely meticulous accounts, even in the old days when he was a kid. Even after a binge.’

‘D’you mean wine, four and sixpence, women, one pound thirteen and fourpence and song, half a crown?’ asked Milton.

The Commander laughed and looked at Milton gratefully. ‘That sort of thing, yes. But the account books have gone too.’

‘Well, leather-bound volumes were certainly involved in the explosion,’ said Milton. ‘So I expect that is that.’

‘Nothing at his flat?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Any help you want I’ll give you. But it won’t be that much because I’ve been out of things for the last year and before that I had shut my eyes anyway. But I do know, in general terms, how Fagg manipulates the provender committee and Chatterton creams off the most expensive wines from the cellar to add to the committee’s disposable income.’

‘I should be most grateful, sir, if you could jot down any facts, figures or leads you think might be of assistance to us.’

‘Certainly. Is that all?’

‘Except for the matter of Mr Trueman.’

‘But that was suicide, wasn’t it?’

‘The inquest said accidental death, since no motive for suicide could be found, as you know, sir. But we’re still perplexed as to how the accident could have happened and we’re still looking for any motive for murder or suicide.’

‘You’ve plenty of motive for murder,’ said the Commander. ‘The state I was in at the time I’d have wanted to murder him myself. He kept talking about wanting to put things on to a sound financial footing, in which case none of us would have been able to afford to live in the club. At least, not live well in the club, if he’d had his way. He was trying to achieve too much, too soon, I think. More of a revolutionary than a reformer.’

‘Was he murdered?’

‘You’re the police. You tell me how any of us could have chucked him over the balustrade even if the whole lot of us got together to do it. He’d have shouted. It has to be suicide. Something in his private life we know nothing about.’

‘Very well, Commander. I’m grateful to you.’ Milton consulted his list. ‘D’you think you could ask Mr Chatterton to join us?’

‘Certainly. And when I get a moment I’ll get down to noting any facts I think could help you. I’m angry about Con. I’d like to help.’

‘That’s most kind of you, sir.’

‘I won’t get a chance to do anything till much later, you understand that, don’t you? We’re having a hell of a crisis with staff because of the media attention. Half of them didn’t turn up this morning – the ones who’re probably illegal immigrants and the ones who’re afraid of being blown up. And the ones that did are completely bewildered at the siege of journalists outside and everything has to be explained to them in words of one syllable. I’m at my wits’ end.’

‘Good luck,’ said Milton and smiled.

‘Good day, Chief Superintendent. Good day, Sergeant.’

The Commander marched from the room with his shoulders back.

17

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A few minutes later there was a tap on the door. In answer to Milton’s shouted invitation, Amiss walked in. He bowed.

‘Good morning, sir. Good morning, sir. The Commander has assigned me to you. If I can fulfil any of your needs just ring that bell behind you and I will be in attendance as quickly as possible.’ He shut the door behind him. ‘And if you laugh at me, you bastards, the coffee will be laced with arsenic’

‘You ask a lot of us, Robert, ’ said Milton, gazing fixedly at Amiss’s uniform.

‘Yes, well as you will appreciate, this is the spare uniform that fits me best, i.e., it was made for someone only three inches shorter than I am. No doubt you enjoy the effect of the exposed sock, the way the bum-freezer jacket now shows the waistband of the trousers – not to speak of the exciting way the buttons strain across my chest.’