Death of an Airman (15 page)

Chapter XVI

Troubles of a Transatlantic Flyer

“Mrs. Angevin is aged forty-two,” declared Bray, reading extracts from a sheaf of papers.

“She doesn't look it,” commented Creighton gallantly.

“No, but she'll look sixty in five years' time,” said the Scotland Yard man grimly. “When this sort of woman starts to go, it's an avalanche.” He continued reading. “She is the daughter of a rural dean. That's pretty bad, but not the sort of thing you can use in evidence against her. She has been married twice and has been freed once by the Grim Reaper and once by the Probate, Admiralty and Divorce Division. She was the Guilty Party, as our grandfathers used to say.” He turned over a few papers. “She always appears to have been doing something. Led a woman's ice-hockey team for a year, then crossed the Gobi Desert alone, and flirted for a time with Arctic exploration. Then she became really well known, at least as a pilot. Not a good one, I'm told, and weak on navigation, but makes up for it on guts.”

“Is she clever enough?” asked Creighton thoughtfully. “Our murderer would need cleverness as well as guts.”

“Not necessarily,” argued Bray. “The brains might have been behind the scenes.”

“You're still set on making Gauntlett the Chief,” commented Creighton. “Well, I think you're probably right. Any convictions against the woman in your records?”

“Nothing serious. Dangerous driving, of course, and a narrow escape from a manslaughter conviction, but this type of reckless individual may always get involved in that kind of thing. They think it's their duty to drive about the streets like maniacs. Oh, there's a fine for assault when she bashed a fellow over the head with her ice-hockey stick for making some uncomplimentary remark about the sportsmanship of women players. It was perhaps excusable.”

“Still, it shows a violent temperament,” pointed out Creighton. “Anything else?”

“No. There's a rather odd gap of five years in her life when she went to America. Nobody seems to know what she was doing then. According to one account, she was violently pursuing a recalcitrant lover about the American Continent, and it is said he was the Angevin she subsequently married. But all this sounds to me like malicious gossip. She was probably quite mildly and peaceably earning her living in some inconspicuous occupation. So, you see, we know absolutely nothing which is really to her discredit.”

Creighton agreed. “The main thing is, can we find anyone on the aerodrome who might have seen her take off before the accident? Lady Laura saw her land in the second club aeroplane a fair time
after
the accident, but of course that's not nearly enough. We must be certain of the time at which it left.”

Creighton consulted his notebook. “There's just a chance Tommy Vane or Sally Sackbut may have seen it. They were both in the club-house at the time, Miss Sackbut because she comes on duty early, and Vane because he was having a lesson that day. It's just on the lap of the gods that they might have seen the aeroplane.”

“They're the two worst possible witnesses, you know,” Bray pointed out.

Creighton looked a little surprised. “Naturally, Miss Sackbut is doubtful, because she is almost certainly in the dope-smuggling game. But what on earth is wrong with friend Tommy?”

Bray gave a slightly shamefaced look at his colleague. “I am afraid I have spent the last day or two gathering the club gossip. I had a lesson in flying from Winters, and it appears to have given me the freedom of the club. It seems that Tommy Vane, poor devil, has a hopeless passion for Mrs. Angevin. Odd, isn't it, but these young puppies often fall for a woman much older than themselves. I gather she isn't the slightest bit interested in him, but occasionally deigns to use him for minor errands. So there you have the eternal triangle in a new form. Tommy hopelessly pursues Mrs. Angevin, and she, resolutely but with equal hopelessness, runs after Gauntlett. Gauntlett, wise man, keeps himself to himself.”

“You do seem to get information from people!” sighed Creighton. “It must be your languidly bored manner. They forget you are a policeman. They never forget it with me.”

“Oh, no doubt they make the mistake of thinking I'm as big a fool as I look,” answered Bray carelessly. “But you see the awkwardness of this weakness of Tommy's. If the young fool ever guesses that something he says may implicate Mrs. Angevin, he'll not say it. And he's a pretty tough young man, I fancy, for all his boyish airs. You ought to see him down double Scotches!”

“I have,” answered Inspector Creighton grimly. “Well, we must handle him tactfully, that's all. You'd better put on your sweetest and most winning manner, Bray, and see if we can bounce him into some admission before he realizes what is happening.”

Tommy Vane was found in the bar. He greeted Bray cheerfully and Creighton with more reserve. His pale, knowing face looked out with a faintly malicious grin over an auburn short-sleeved shirt, decorated with a vivid green tie. His flannel trousers hung in redundant folds and were so pale as to be nearly white.

“You look worried! Baffled sleuths seek bright boy's aid,” he said brightly.

“Baffled about describes it,” acknowledged Bray with an answering grin. “I don't know whether you can help us very much, but it is just possible that you may have noticed some detail which didn't seem important to you and yet may be important to us.”

“Oh yeah?” answered Tommy. With disconcerting penetration he added: “In other words, you're not baffled. You've got some cute little theory and you want me to back it. Well, fire away. I'll always help a pal so long as it's nothing sinful.”

“It all turns on the identification of Furnace's aeroplane,” said Bray carefully. “We have attempted to trace every moment of its flight from the time it took off until the time it crashed. But there are certain inconsistencies in the accounts we have received. It has occurred to me that as Furnace was using a school aeroplane, it might be that some witness had confused it with the other school aeroplane, which was flying at or about the same time.”

“Where do policemen get that wonderful literary style?” murmured Tommy. “Well, your guess was correct. Another school aeroplane was buzzing round at or about the same time. It took off immediately before Furnace went up, and landed some time after the crash.”

“Ah, we must get an account of its movements and that will clear up the inconsistencies,” said Bray, adding with apparent casualness, “Who was the pilot?”

“Dolly Angevin,” answered Tommy readily. Then something in the glance exchanged by Creighton and Bray aroused a sudden apprehension in his eyes. “I say, look here, you don't suspect
her
, do you?”

Bray laughed and prevaricated. “If you can suggest any way by which a person who is flying peacefully round in an aeroplane can cause another to crash, in full view of half a dozen witnesses, without himself being seen, why, then, old chap, we do suspect her!”

Tommy, after a suspicious glance at his face, was satisfied. With a nod to Creighton, he left the room.

Bray and Creighton discussed for a few moments this evidence. “It's as good a confirmation as we could expect, so far,” Bray ended. “Lady Laura's evidence shows that Mrs. Angevin landed after the crash. Now Vane states that she went up before Furnace took off. The next step is to have a little chat with Mrs. Angevin, I think.”

The opportunity came in the afternoon. Mrs. Angevin betrayed no apprehension at the prospect of being questioned. On the contrary, she chaffed them gently as she sat back, puffing at a cigarette in an armchair in Miss Sackbut's office, which had been temporarily placed at the disposal of the detectives.

Meanwhile Bray studied her. He had been cruelly right about her age, for the lines in her carefully made-up face betrayed the imminence of large-scale ravages. But at least they were the lines not of sulkiness or bad temper, but of strain endured for some unfathomable reason of the woman's soul in a hundred desperately risky ventures. Her delicately modelled nose, her small chin, and her naturally crimson lips were daintily, almost softly, feminine. Her eyes made up for it by their resolute and masculine stare.

Mrs. Angevin stared at him now. “No one else been murdered, I hope? After poor Andy, one hardly knows what to expect next!”

Bray met the challenge in her stare indifferently. “No; nothing else—yet. We are still concerned with the first two deaths, and we think you can help us a great deal.”

“Really! I can't imagine anyone here who could help you less!”

Bray made a pretence of consulting his notes. “It seems,” he said, “that you went for a flight in a school aeroplane just before Furnace went up and did not return until he crashed. You may well have seen something that would help us materially. At least, you should have told us of the flight,” he ended reproachfully.

“I could have,” she answered carelessly, adding after a pause, “but I did not because I thought the matter was unimportant. You are wrong on one point. I did not arrive at the aerodrome until
after
the crash, and I went up immediately. It is a little habit of mine after an accident. I'm rather afraid of losing my nerve.” She stared at him defiantly. “I'm a bit more timid than I care to admit. It was quite a short flight, and Lady Laura can confirm the time at which I came down, because I remember speaking to her as I stepped out of the 'plane.”

“She has confirmed it,” answered Bray gravely. “But the time we are interested in is the time when you went up. And here accounts seem to differ.”

“I can't help that,” retorted Mrs. Angevin indifferently. “I have told you the truth.”

Bray produced a large blue-covered book from underneath his papers. “Here is the journey log-book of the aeroplane in question, given me by Miss Sackbut. I find that the entry for the date of Furnace's death quite clearly shows that you took the 'plane up for two hours.”

“Let me look at it,” said Mrs. Angevin suspiciously. She examined the entry and looked up with a bitter smile. “The entry is made by Ness. Very convenient. He is dead and can't be cross-examined.”

“You are surely not suggesting that we forged this entry, are you?” interjected Creighton sharply.

Mrs. Angevin made no answer, but irritably stubbed her cigarette into extinction.

“In any case, we have other evidence,” went on Bray smoothly.

“Whose?” asked Mrs. Angevin sharply.

Bray looked at Creighton. “I think we may as well have him in.” Creighton went out of the room and Bray offered Mrs. Angevin another cigarette, which she refused brusquely. Her eyes were fixed impatiently on the door. When she saw Tommy Vane enter she gave a gasp. Tommy Vane gazed at her with an air of trustful confidence, his usually hard, pale-green eyes looking rather like those of a spaniel. He blenched when he received the full force of the bitter look of contempt with which she returned his smile of greeting.

“Will you please repeat what you told us just now about Mrs. Angevin, Vane?” said Bray cruelly.

Vane looked from the detective to Mrs. Angevin with an air of hopeless confusion. “Only that I saw her fly off just before Furnace went up and come down some time afterwards,” he mumbled. Mrs. Angevin flushed and he hastened to add: “She was up in the air all the time, I can swear. She never came near us again, or near Furnace.”

“I don't know why you should tell such an outrageous lie, Tommy,” began Mrs. Angevin. Tommy shuddered. “Nor why you, Inspector, should want to encourage this absurd story. I do not see what bearing it has on the murder one way or the other. But the fact remains, I did not arrive on the aerodrome until after the crash. I met two people—first, Tommy, who told me about it, and Sally, who merely nodded to me.” She turned to Tommy and stared him fixedly in the eyes. “Can you really sit there, Tommy, and deny that I spoke to you after the crash, before I went up.”

Vane's eyes dropped. “You're right, Dolly,” he murmured weakly. “I forgot. I got muddled. I remember quite well. Of course you spoke to me.”

Mrs. Angevin glared triumphantly at the detectives. Bray looked at Vane, an amused smile on his face. “And you would be prepared to swear to this? Your first story was a fabrication, then?”

“I got muddled,” insisted Vane woodenly, tearing his eyes with an effort from Mrs. Angevin's now expressionless face. “But I remember now. The second club machine didn't go up until after the crash.”

The two detectives did not press the examination. “May I pop off now?” asked Vane miserably.

“Please stay a little longer, if it doesn't inconvenience you,” answered Bray with cold politeness. “Creighton, old chap, can you dig up Miss Sackbut?”

Miss Sackbut entered shortly afterwards with her usual air of brisk efficiency, and after a glance at Mrs. Angevin and Vane, suppressed any outward sign of curiosity.

“Can you help us on a small point, Miss Sackbut?” asked Bray. “As you know, we like to trace everyone's movements, and, as a matter of form, obtain some independent confirmation of them. Now, do you remember having seen Mrs. Angevin on the aerodrome just after Furnace's crash?”

Sally's brow wrinkled above her spectacles in earnest thought. “I have a kind of vague recollection.…I can't be sure, it's so long ago.”

Mrs. Angevin stared at her. “Surely you must remember, Sally? You were just beside the hangar and I walked past it. I was going to speak to you, but you looked so upset, and knowing from Tommy what had happened, I didn't. I only nodded.”

“Yes, I'm sure I remember now,” said Sally.

“Would you be prepared to swear?” asked Bray.

“Yes, I think I would,” replied Sally after consideration. “Yes, I'd swear it.”

Vane created a diversion by appealing in a high-pitched voice to Bray. “What are you trying to do to Dolly? Are you trying to make out that she had anything to do with the two murders? Why, I tell you again she didn't come on to the aerodrome until after Furnace had crashed, just as Sally says. And she was nowhere near the aerodrome on the day Ness died.”