‘Yes, sir.’ Ballard ventured a grin, leading Stratton to wonder if he should utter a word of warning about keeping things discreet. Before he had time to pursue the thought, Ballard had stuck a sheaf of notes under his nose.
‘Here’s what we’ve got so far, sir. Nothing for Henry Twyford for the date you gave me, but we found a Cecil Henry Duke, born sixteenth April 1888 in Torquay, died thirteenth August 1935. That was in the fire, sir. Identity confirmed by his wife Mabel Morgan. A neighbour saw the smoke and called the fire brigade, but they were too late to save him, or the house. Body was in quite a state, apparently.’
‘So she wouldn’t have been able to identify it by looking at it?’
‘Not by the features, sir, but she said it was him. Wasn’t it?’
‘I very much doubt it,’ said Stratton.
‘They’re sending us the report, sir, but I don’t think there’ll be much there. As far as they were concerned, it was an accident. They didn’t investigate.’
‘They’d no reason to,’ said Stratton. ‘You’d better see if you can track down Duke’s dentist in Sussex - assuming he had one - and give Dr Byrne a call. We’ll need photographs of the teeth from the body in the church. Those,’ he scribbled the address, ‘are the details, but I imagine he’ll remember it well enough. Even if a dentist doesn’t have Mr Duke’s records, they can often identify their own handiwork. You’ll also need to contact the major shipping lines and check passenger lists to America - see if Cecil Duke travelled there between . . .’ Stratton thumbed through his notes to find the interview with Chadwick, ‘May 1935, when we know he was in England, and mid-August, when he’s supposed to have died. And see if you can find evidence of a return passage, either for Cecil Duke or the other name he used, Henry Twyford, in ’39, up to October.’
‘I’ll do my best, Sir. Will that be all?’
‘For the moment, yes.’
Stratton looked at his watch, found that it was almost midday, and wondered what, apart from miserably turning things over in his mind, he’d been doing all the morning. In the absence of Miss Legge-Brock and the Bentley, he decided to walk down to the Embankment in the hope that it might help to clear his head, and then catch a bus to Dolphin Square.
The fresh air, such as it was, did not have the desired effect. Everything he saw - buildings, shelters, people, even bloody sandbags - seemed to remind him of Johnny or Jenny or the kids. Looking into Suffolk Place as he passed down the Haymarket, he caught sight of a bombed house, the outer wall and stairs collapsed across the pavement and the lavatory, complete with cistern and chain, perched precariously on the landing above. Down the pan to nowhere: it was a suitable picture of where his career seemed to be heading. And, he thought, I’m on my way to pull the plug and land not only myself but my whole family, up to our necks in shit. He bent his head and, hands in pockets, trudged on towards Whitehall.
SIXTY-ONE
‘Most unfortunate, your meeting Apse like that.’ Forbes-James sounded matter-of-fact. ‘I’m very sorry, my dear, but I suppose it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. What did he say?’
‘Just that he’d thought he could trust me,’ said Diana. ‘And he looked so bleak.’
‘Did he say anything else?’ asked F-J.
‘Not really, sir,’ lied Diana.
‘He didn’t threaten you in any way?’
Diana shook her head. ‘I think he might have done, sir, but Dr Pyke came along and rescued me.’
‘Did he indeed? What happened?’
‘Nothing, really. They just sort of stared at each other. I didn’t know Dr Pyke knew Apse, sir.’
‘No reason why you should . . . But living in the same place, especially hugger-mugger like this, it’s hardly surprising.’
‘I suppose not, sir. But the way they were . . . It’s probably nothing, sir, but you did say to tell you everything - it made me think that Dr Pyke might know something about it.’
‘About what?’
‘About Apse, sir.’
‘What about him?’
‘Well . . . the whole business.’
‘Did he say anything to indicate that?’
‘No, sir. But I just thought - well, you know him, sir, and perhaps . . .’ Diana tailed off, then tried again. ‘I know it sounds foolish, sir, but . . .’
‘Yes,’ said F-J, ‘it does. I’ve warned you about getting yourself so worked up that you imagine the whole world to be one vast conspiracy, but that really isn’t the case. It’s a bad state of mind to be in. Dangerous. This meeting with Apse has obviously rattled you more than I thought it would, but you’re stronger than that, Diana. Now, stop being a silly girl and we’ll say no more about it.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Diana.
‘But,’ F-J continued, ‘while we’re on the subject of being silly, I understand you’ve been seeing Ventriss again.’
‘I—’
‘Don’t bother,’ said F-J. ‘I overheard some conversation between Lally and Margot. I doubt very much if they were making it up.’
‘It was a chance meeting, sir, at the 400 Club. Nothing more.’
F-J made a dismissive gesture. ‘I’ve warned you once, Diana.’
Diana stared down at her lap, Apse’s words, If you’re lucky, you’ll get a warning . . . echoing in her mind. ‘I know, sir.’
‘I’m disappointed in you, Diana. Please see that it doesn’t happen again.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right. Now we’ve cleared that up, I’d better fill you in on what’s been happening before Inspector Stratton gets here.’
SIXTY-TWO
‘I’ve brought Mrs Calthrop up to date with the latest developments, ’ said Forbes-James. Stratton, watching Diana as she cleared up the plates of cold meat and salad, thought she looked pale and tired, and there was an air of fragility about her that could not, he felt, be entirely explained by Forbes-James’s news. Perhaps, he thought, darkly, it had something to do with Handsome, and was again taken aback by how angry the thought of this made him.
‘—any news for us?’ The question - which, by the sound of Forbes-James’s voice, was being asked for the second time - brought him back to the matter in hand.
‘Yes, sir.’ Stratton got out his notebook and passed on Ballard’s findings and his further instructions.
Forbes-James sighed. ‘I won’t deny,’ he said, ‘that this is all getting rather too complicated for my liking. Too many people involved. However, there seems to be nothing we can do but press on.’
Stratton took a deep breath. ‘Actually, sir, there’s something else.’
‘Oh?’ Forbes-James, who had accepted coffee from Diana, stopped in the act of drinking, his cup in mid-air. ‘Serious?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir. At least, it is for me. It concerns Miss Morgan. As you know, sir, I never thought she was a suicide, and Joe Vincent - the man whose flat she lived in - had a visit from a couple of thugs after her death.’
‘Looking for something, yes.’
‘Well, from the description Vincent gave me, I knew that one of them was a man called George Wallace, who works for Abie Marks. I also have descriptions from another lodger. I’ve made some further enquiries, and it appears that the other person is my nephew John Booth.’
Forbes-James looked at him intently. ‘I see. That’s most unfortunate. I assume that no-one else knows about this?’
‘Only my wife, sir. I’ve told her not to say anything.’ Forbes-James raised his eyebrows. ‘She won’t, sir.’
‘Can you be sure it’s your nephew?’
‘Wallace admitted it. We’re holding him, sir - a van-load of stolen cigarettes. It’s a bit irregular, but I decided not to charge him with anything until I’d worked out his part in this business.’
‘Well, that makes things a bit easier . . . I take it that this character Wallace doesn’t know about the family connection?’
‘No, sir. But I think that Wallace and my . . . and Booth . . . may have had something to do with Miss Morgan’s death.’
‘Pushed her, you mean? Killed her?’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as that, sir. But I think they were present when it happened. Something my nephew said.’
‘Rather hard to prove, I should have thought. Unless one has a confession, of course . . . And the man in the church? Did they have anything to do with that?’
‘Wallace denies it, sir.’
Forbes-James shrugged. ‘He would, wouldn’t he? What do you think?’
Stratton rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I honestly don’t know, sir. Marks has a lot of people besides Wallace to do his dirty work for him. And if sir Neville—’
‘I must remind you,’ said Forbes-James, severely, ‘that there is no proven connection between Apse and this man Marks.’
‘I’m aware of that, sir.’
Forbes-James sighed again. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it looks as if we all have a reason for wanting this wrapped up as quickly and as quietly as possible. How do you suggest we proceed?’
‘The easiest way to get Marks to talk,’ said Stratton, ‘would be getting a confession from George Wallace, but I’m afraid I’ve used up my credit there, for the time being, at least. Booth should be more co-operative, but he may not know very much about Marks.’
‘Better talk to him first, then,’ said Forbes-James. ‘I realise this is going to be pretty difficult for you.’ Stratton thought, but did not say, that that was as masterly an understatement as he’d ever heard. Instead, he said, ‘I didn’t want to do anything without your say-so, sir, because it’s not an official investigation. Not for us, anyway.’
‘Of course not. Your nephew’s not a member of any right-wing organisation, is he?’
Stratton shook his head. ‘No interest in politics at all, as far as I know.’
‘Shame. We could have had him detained under Regulation 18B, but that would seem to be taking things a bit far.’ Forbes-James lit a cigarette and stared into space for a moment. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘I’d better telephone the Yard and explain the situation. Why don’t you take a turn round the square? Spot of fresh air. Take Mrs Calthrop with you.’
Stratton and Diana gravitated to the nearest bench. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘It must be awful for you and your poor wife.’
‘He’s her sister’s son,’ said Stratton, ‘So it’s worse for her. You know, Mrs Calthrop,’ he added, ‘I thought he’d tell me to leave.’
‘That F-J would?’
‘Yes.’
Diana shook her head. ‘That’s not how it works. Anyway,’ she added, ‘he likes you.’
‘Does he?’
‘Definitely. And please, Inspector, don’t call me Mrs Calthrop. It’s Diana.’
‘Ted,’ said Stratton. Diana looked surprised.
‘I wasn’t christened Inspector Stratton, you know.’
‘No, of course not. How silly of me. Ted. Ted . . .’ She put her head on one side and contemplated him. ‘You know, Inspector, I really think you’re more of an Edward. May I call you that instead?’
‘If you prefer it,’ said Stratton, nonplussed by her sudden flirtatiousness.
‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ Diana said quickly, lowering her eyes. ‘If you don’t like being called Edward . . .’
Stratton thought for a moment. He couldn’t have said exactly why, but it seemed right, coming from her. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘Cigarette?’
‘Why not? I’m sure F-J will give us a wave when he wants us back.’
As Stratton leant over to give her a light, he was conscious of her delicate perfume, the closeness of her face and hair. Was his desire to kiss her, he wondered, because of Diana herself, or because of his need for comfort, or merely something to take his mind off whatever might be unfolding upstairs?
She seemed aware of it - or of something, anyway - because she drew back with a nervous laugh and said, ‘Of course, we’re assuming the worst about all this, but we don’t know what’s going to happen.’
‘It won’t be good, though,’ said Stratton.
‘No, I don’t suppose it will. You know . . .’ She looked at him oddly, her head on one side again. ‘When I was young, I had a nanny - a lot of different ones, but this one was older than the others and stayed longer. If anyone talked about the future - you know, something that would happen or might happen - she’d say,’ - Diana gave a reasonable imitation of an elderly woman - ‘“Well, I shan’t be here to see it”. As if that satisfied her. I used to think she could see into the future, that there was going to be a disaster and we’d all be killed or something. When I got older I felt sorry for her because she didn’t have anything to look forward to, but now I’m beginning to dread things. Not the bombs - one’s used to that - but . . .’ She looked round the garden, then up at the window of Forbes-James’s flat, ‘ ...all this. People not being who you thought they were. Nothing feels secure any more . . . I’m sorry, it’s probably all nonsense, and in any case, I shouldn’t be troubling you with it.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Stratton, then, after a pause, and without really knowing what prompted him, other than a strong feeling that her comments were more wide-ranging than she was letting on, added, ‘May I ask you something?’