Flowers For the Judge (16 page)

Her appearance was vaguely familiar to Campion, and he had the impression that he had seen her somewhere recently. She was not a usual type and he was struck by something indefinable about her which he could only describe to himself as passive rather than active grief. She was middle-aged and, although smartly dressed, had none of Gina’s essential style. It occurred to him that she belonged to the category known to his father’s generation as ‘ handsome woman.’ She came forward timidly.

‘I don’t know if you’re Mr Campion,’ she said, ‘but if you are, could I speak to you for a minute?’

Her voice came as a surprise. Without being actually vulgar or uneducated, its refinement was not quite genuine.

Mr Campion took out his key.

‘Why, yes, of course. In just one moment,’ he said, and unlocked the door.

Miss Curley took Gina inside and as the light from the
inner
hall fell upon the girl’s face Campion heard a smothered exclamation from his unknown visitor. He turned round to find her looking after Gina, an embarrassed and defeated expression in her eyes.

‘That’s Mrs Brande, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I didn’t recognize her at first, in this light. I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr Campion. Good evening.’

She was half-way across the passage to the stairs before she had finished speaking, and Mr Campion was puzzled.

‘Won’t you leave your name?’ he said rather idiotically.

‘No, no, it doesn’t matter. I made a mistake. It doesn’t matter in the least.’

Her voice came back to him as she clattered down the staircase in her high-heeled black patent shoes. Looking over the banisters he saw her fox fur flopping up and down on her plumpish shoulders as she hurried.

Slightly bewildered, he went into the flat and put a question.

Gina looked up from the depths of his big arm-chair.

‘Yes, I saw her,’ she said wearily, ‘but I didn’t know her. I’ve never seen her before in my life. What did she want?’

‘Goodness knows,’ said Mr Campion.

ON ANY OTHER
occasion and in any other circumstances the spectacle of Mr Lugg in his latest rôle, serving afternoon tea to one of the principals in a
cause célèbre
, might easily have delighted Mr Campion; but as it happened, such is the perversity of fortune, he found it irritating.

The change which had occurred to Gina in the ante-room of the court still persisted. The agitation and ill-suppressed terror of the last few days had now given place to a weary, broken weakness a thousand times more pathetic.

Miss Curley, on the other hand, had reacted by becoming an intensified edition of her normal self. Campion suspected her of being extra busy and efficient so that she might not have time to think. All the same, it was a difficult gathering and John’s arrival was a relief.

He came in, scowled at Lugg, sat down in the chair which Campion had vacated on rising to welcome him, and announced querulously that he would like a cup of tea.

Lugg served him ungraciously, the expression in his little black eyes intimating clearly that he did not like his manners and was quite prepared to subject him to a course of instruction if the opportunity arose.

Having averted this danger by banishing Lugg, Campion glanced inquiringly at his new visitor.

Mr Widdowson was fast recovering from his hysteria of earlier in the afternoon. The pink pouches had disappeared from his gills and his eyes were cold and steady.

‘I’ve been talking to Scruby,’ he began peremptorily, his thin, academic voice raised a little above its normal tone, ‘and he agrees with me, of course, that the police are making a fantastic mistake. Apparently the Coroner is strictly within his rights, although Scruby feels he may come in for considerable censure. However, that’s not the point. What we have to think about now is the best way of clearing up the ghastly business satisfactorily.’

Mr Campion eyed the man and wondered if it could be possible that even now he had not realized the full gravity of the position.

John leant back in his chair.

‘I think Scruby feels that the police used the inquest to avoid shouldering full responsibility for the arrest,’ he announced. ‘He didn’t say so in as many words, of course, but that’s what I understood.’

Gina had shrunk back into her chair and he appeared to notice her for the first time.

‘We shall need you, Gina,’ he observed, pointing a long bony finger at her. ‘Scruby wanted me to impress it upon you that you’re likely to be a very important witness.’

She did not speak, and he evidently did not expect her to, for he returned to Campion.

‘Scruby feels with me that an independent investigation on behalf of the family is absolutely necessary,’ he said slowly. ‘Time, you see, is going to be short.’

Mr Campion, who had drawn up a small, hard chair, now sat upon it and blinked at his client, his pale eyes vague behind his horn-rimmed spectacles.

‘I’m sure Mr Campion will do all he can to help Mike,’ put in Miss Curley so hastily that he smiled at her.

‘Of course he will. Of course,’ John brushed aside the interruption irritably. ‘Now, Campion, we all know Paul’s death was an accident. What I ask you to do is to prove it to the satisfaction of the most unintelligent member of the police and Press.’

Mr Campion rose. Wandering across the room, he took up a position of vantage, his hands in his pockets and his body supported by the edge of the desk.

‘I say, I do hope you won’t mind my saying it,’ he began gently, ‘but you’re making a most unfortunate mistake, you know.’

John stared at him. The quiet authority in the casual voice was unexpected.

Mr Campion continued diffidently:

‘I don’t want to alarm you all, but frankly, you know, I’ve a tremendous respect for the police. They’re about as good at their jobs as people ever get. Their occasional mistakes are the exceptions which prove the rule. They aren’t trying anything out, or shelving any responsibility, or anything like that. I’m afraid it’s much more devastating. You see, they feel they’ve got an open-and-shut case and so they’re dealing with it in the quickest and most efficient manner possible. It’s rather revolting when you see it from our present angle, I know, but there you are …’

Mr Widdowson appeared to be temporarily silenced, and it was Gina who spoke, her voice husky.

Albert, you don’t think Mike killed Paul, do you?’

‘No, old dear,’ said Mr Campion, ‘but somebody did. Don’t let’s lose sight of that.’

There was a long pause. Miss Curley moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, a regular movement more nervous than feverish.

‘Moreover, someone murdered him very neatly indeed’ – Campion sounded apologetic when he spoke again – ‘and in spite of that the method has been detected already. That’s another point I don’t think we should miss. Our astute friends Tanner and Pillow aren’t so very inefficient. They’ve dogged that much out all right, although they didn’t get on the scene until the body had been moved and the most appalling mess made of the strong-room. They’re not fools and they’re not dishonest. They don’t want to arrest an innocent man, believe me. That’s every policeman’s nightmare. But on the other hand, they do want to do their job decently. Someone has murdered Paul and they’re employed to catch him and stop him doing it to anybody else.’

John sat up slowly and turned the full force of his famous disapproving eye upon Campion.

‘You seem to be a very outspoken young man,’ he observed.

Mr Campion appeared to be embarrassed.

‘It’s a very outspoken business,’ he said. ‘Do you still want me to have a look round?’

‘Albert, you must.’ Gina had risen. The pallor of her face was accentuated and her mouth quivered uncontrollably. ‘I do see the danger. I’ve seen it all the time. It’s been haunting me ever since that dreadful Monday morning. You must find out that Mike couldn’t have locked the strong-room door and put the key away. You must find out why he didn’t say he’d seen Paul when he went down there on Sunday – because he must have been there – and you must find out what he was really doing before I phoned him on Thursday night.’

Her voice ceased abruptly and she stood holding out her hand to him, an involuntary gesture oddly appealing. He looked at her gravely.

‘I’ll do all I can,’ he promised.

John rose. ‘I know it was an accident,’ he said, and there
was
conviction in his tone. ‘If you want to oblige me, Campion, you’ll prove it. Get to the bottom of the mystery and you’ll find I’m right. Now, Gina, you’re to come back with me. I want you in the house when Cousin Alexander arrives.’

The girl rose obediently. A lifetime of authority had endowed John with a gift for it.

‘An accident,’ he repeated firmly as he shook hands with Campion in the hall, adding naïvely: ‘Terrible publicity. Good night.’

Gina clutched Campion’s hand; her lips were trembling.

‘Let me know what’s happening, won’t you – please,’ she whispered.

John was half-way to the staircase and she glanced over her shoulder at him, dropping her voice to a whisper.

‘Albert, will they open his letters there?’

Campion met her eyes.

‘I shouldn’t write if I were you,’ he said earnestly.

‘I see.’ Her voice died away and the dullness returned to her eyes. ‘Good-bye, and thank you.’

Campion watched her until she disappeared and then went slowly back into the sitting-room. He had forgotten Miss Curley, and now the sight of her sitting quietly in an arm-chair, her hat slipping back until it looked like a three-cornered halo and her near-sighted eyes thoughtful behind her pince-nez, startled him. He smiled at her guiltily.

‘I thought I had better stay to tell you that I’ll give you all the help I can,’ she said. ‘Mr Widdowson is really terribly grateful to you for taking up the case, but of course he’s worried just now. The shock has been tremendous, for one thing. But I thought I’d like to tell you that if you care to examine any room in the office or get access to any papers I’ll see that you can do it without interference.’

‘I shall hold you to that,’ he said gratefully, and added impulsively: ‘I’m not really the sensitive soul you seem to think.’

She sighed. ‘Well, as long as you’re not …’ she said. ‘Mr Widdowson does give offence quite unconsciously at times. It’s being in the office so long, I suppose.’

And then, to his consternation, her voice broke and she began to cry.

‘I’m all right – I’m all right,’ she said, waving him away with one hand and dabbing at her eyes with the other. ‘I don’t know what made me so stupid. It’s the suddenness of it all, I suppose, although I’ve woken up in terror of something very like it every night this week. Mr Campion, why didn’t they arrest her as an accomplice?’

Before this mixture of muddled thought and penetration, Mr Campion found himself a trifle bewildered, but he answered the direct question.

‘Gina came out very well on the stand,’ he said cautiously. ‘Besides, there’s no direct evidence of an affair – no letters or anything. The charwoman was pretty damaging, but it was fairly obvious she’d go to pieces in cross-examination.’

‘But there’s no direct evidence against Mike,’ Miss Curley protested. ‘It’s all circumstantial.’

He nodded gloomily. ‘I know. But there’s a devil of a lot of it. I rather fancy that Salley has been stewing up for a row with his critics for some time and is spoiling for a show-down. You see,’ he went on gently, ‘the police evidently believe not only that they’re right, but that they’re obviously right.’

Miss Curley’s moist eyes darkened reflectively.

‘I’ve known Mike ever since he was a child,’ she said, ‘and I don’t think –’

She paused and he regarded her quizzically.

‘Are you sure?’

The old woman looked up at him.

‘Men in love are not quite normal,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen it over and over again. But I don’t – I can’t think Mike would
kill
Paul. And, anyway,’ she added triumphantly, ‘if he had he wouldn’t have done it like that.’

Campion brightened. ‘That’s what I’m banking on,’ he said.

Lugg put his head round the door.

‘Bloke outside,’ he remarked, and then catching sight of Miss Curley, started visibly. ‘I thought you had gorn,
Madam
,’ he remarked when he had recovered his composure, and straightening up announced with remarkable change of personality: ‘A gentleman is waiting in the hall, sir. Would you see ’im?’

‘Of course,’ said Campion, slightly ashamed of his old friend. ‘Do drop that accent, it’s getting on my nerves.’

A spiteful expression appeared in Mr Lugg’s small black eyes and he surpassed himself.

‘Very blinking good, sir,’ he said, and stalked out.

Ritchie came in, stooping unconsciously to avoid the lintel.

‘Gina gone?’ he inquired. ‘Oh, hello, Miss Curley. Thought I’d come and see you, Campion. Been down to the place with some of Mike’s things – pyjamas, toothbrush, comb, and so on. Still got to live, wash, eat, poor chap. It’s a mistake, Campion.’

He dropped into a chair as he spoke and his pale blue eyes regarded the younger man with that questioning, inarticulate expression which Campion had seen there before.

‘Got to find out who did it,’ said Ritchie. ‘Must.’

Miss Curley rose and held out her hand.

‘Don’t forget,’ she repeated, ‘if there’s anything you want to see in the office, come to me.’

Campion showed her out and on the steps she looked up at him.

‘You’re a good boy to help us,’ she said suddenly, and patted his arm.

Campion went back to Ritchie, who had drawn up to the fire and was gloating over it like some huge but benevolent spider trying to get warm.

‘Cousin Alexander,’ he remarked, without turning round. ‘Eloquent – dramatic.’

Campion took his mind off the immediate problem for a moment to consider Alexander Barnabas, K.C. The grand old man had been comparatively quiet for a month or so, he reflected. He could not remember seeing his name about since the Shadows trials in the summer. In view of the circumstances, he regretted that he had never seen the barrister
in
the flesh, although photographs of that magnificent head were familiar enough and the very mention of his name brought recollections of dramatic cross-examinations and sensational speeches.