by Mick Finlay
‘Get that mumper out of here,’ the desk sergeant called over to me. ‘No sleeping in the station.’
I gave the guvnor’s cheek a slap. ‘Wake up, William.’
He moaned, squeezing his eyes together. I caught the pill as it fell from his beard.
I slapped him harder. ‘Open your eyes or I’ll pour this coffee in your lap.’
He half opened up, wincing like the light was too strong. His eyes were clouded with threads of blood. ‘Oh, my head,’ he said in his most pathetic voice. ‘I think I’ve had a haemorrhage.’
‘Open your mouth.’
I flicked the pill back in and poured a bit of the coffee onto his yellow tongue. He swallowed and opened his mouth again. I poured in more coffee. Then again. When we’d got halfway through the drink, I broke off a bit of bread, used the stem of his pipe to push it in his mouth, then poured on more coffee. He swallowed and choked.
‘Leave me alone!’ he muttered, trying to push my hand away.
‘Open,’ I hissed. He did as I asked. Bit by bit, I fed him half the bread. Finally, he sat up.
‘No more!’ he said in a fury.
‘You damn fool,’ I said.
‘Don’t talk to me like that.’
‘I’ll talk to you how I like.’
He gripped my wrist, digging his nails into my flesh. His yellow, bloodshot eyes glared at me in fury. ‘Who the hell d’you think you are?’
It seemed like he was trying to pierce my skin. I tried to prise his fingers away, but he wanted to see me in pain. I brought my arm back and slapped him hard as I could across the face.
He groaned, letting go and slumping on the bench.
‘Now you behave yourself, William,’ I whispered in his ear. ‘Open your mouth.’
He did so, and slowly I fed him the rest of the bread. Delphine watched in disgust. As I neared the last of it, Napper came striding in with Mabaso.
‘Oh, you’re here again, are you?’ he said when he saw us. He lifted his bowler and raked his stubby fingers through his tight orange hair. ‘Well, I suppose that’s lucky. We’ve had another development.’
‘What’s happened, inspector?’ I asked, stepping across to hide the guvnor from him.
‘It’s Sylvia,’ said Napper. ‘She’s gone missing.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘When?’ demanded the guvnor, using my arms to pull himself to his feet.
‘Last night. We had a message from Miss Leonie this morning. I’m just having a word with my super and then we’re off to meet them at Piccadilly Hall. They asked if we could bring you. I don’t know why.’
With that, Napper and Mabaso marched past the desk, knocked on the door, and entered the superintendent’s office.
The guvnor shook his head. ‘Sylvia? But why?’
‘You good now?’ I asked him.
‘The pills are starting to work. Do I need to apologize?’
I raised my eyebrows at him.
He sighed. ‘Thank you for helping me. I was at the end of my tether last night, Norman. My mind wouldn’t settle, not for a moment. This case gets more tangled the more we discover. I’ve developed a spasm.’ He pointed at his kidneys or his liver, somewhere in that vast region. ‘Just here. I don’t know if I’ve grown a tumour. My mother had one in the same place. And I am so sorry, Miss Delphine. Your time is precious, I know. I hope we haven’t kept you from anything?’
‘Church,’ she snapped.
He nodded, then looked back at me. ‘Don’t blame me, Norman, please. You know I need to relieve the infernal irritation somehow. And something occurred to me last night when I was in my cups. Remember that tin of rat poison that S’bu was pointing at? The one with the Chinaman in the red-and-yellow costume that we thought must mean it was Polichinelle he’d seen?’
‘I do.’
‘Well, Mr Wu came into the Hog last night.’
‘You didn’t take the pipes again, William.’
He waved my question away. ‘We were fools, Norman. Polichinelle’d never do an armed raid dressed in his clown outfit. I’ve noticed my mind is sometimes overwhelmed by one unusual element and it prevents me thinking clearly. It was never Polichinelle on that raid. You see, Mr Wu also has something that the Chinaman on that tin had. What d’you think that is?’
‘Just tell me, William.’ I knew he was right about the clown and was vexed I hadn’t seen it myself.
‘A ponytail. Every drawing of a Chinaman you ever see has one. And who do we know on this case has one?’
‘Ermano.’
He clapped me on the back and smiled. ‘It was Ermano.’
Napper came out the door, Mabaso following.
‘Come on, then, you two,’ he said, his boots clicking on the floor.
‘Could we just have a quick word with Miss Kunene and Mr Nyambezi?’ asked the guvnor. ‘Miss Druitt’s offered to translate.’
‘It’ll have to wait,’ answered Napper.
‘I see,’ said Delphine, standing.
‘I’m very sorry, miss,’ said the guvnor. ‘It seems we’ve wasted your time.’
‘So long in the cold for nothing,’ said Delphine. ‘You’re lucky I’m quite desperate to occupy myself.’
‘It’s the nature of murder investigations, I’m afraid. Could we ask your help later? Either this evening or tomorrow?’
‘As long as you don’t send me home again, Mr Arrowood.’
‘I promise,’ he said with a bow. ‘And I do apologize.’
We walked up Whitehall towards Leicester Square. It was Sunday lunchtime, the place dotted with families out strolling. Outside Morley’s Hotel was a newspaper boy with a stack of papers flung over his shoulder. ‘Missing woman found dead!’ he cried. ‘Latest on the Zulu murders! Missing women murdered! Three dead now! Get it here!’
A queue had formed up toward Duncannon Street, and every few seconds a punter dropped a coin in his hand and took a copy. As we passed, a young black fellow in a thick overcoat greeted Mabaso, taking him by the arm and stopping him.
‘Three dead now!’ cried the paper seller again, handing over the papers one by one. ‘Calls to bring in Sherlock!’
The guvnor stopped. ‘Who’s calling to bring in Sherlock?’ he grunted at the boy.
‘Get your purse out and find out,’ said the boy. The queue laughed.
‘Holmes’s never bothered with murdered women,’ snapped the guvnor, looking up and down the queue, trying to catch someone’s eye. ‘Where was he on the Ripper case, eh?’
‘He was likely never asked,’ said a short fellow with a silk rose in his button-hole.
‘He would have done if he was,’ agreed a proper-looking woman.
‘I doubt it,’ said the guvnor. ‘And I’ll wager anything he was asked.’
‘Come along, Arrowood,’ said Napper. He looked around for Mabaso, who was laughing and clapping the African fellow on the arm. The stranger threw his head back and laughed himself. Mabaso’s body had lost its tight control, his long limbs loose now, his face shining with delight. He was like a completely different bloke.
‘Constable!’ barked Napper.
Mabaso muttered something in the bloke’s ear, who laughed again, then hurried to catch up with us.
‘I didn’t think you knew anybody here,’ said Napper.
‘I just met him, sir,’ said Mabaso, his face severe again. He hacked into his hanky, his eyes watering.
‘Didn’t look like it,’ said Napper.
Mabaso said nothing as we walked on.
‘Did PC McDonald discover anything when he called at the houses around Gresham Hall?’ asked the guvnor.
‘Nobody saw anything. Now tell me what you’ve learned since we last talked.’
Napper marched ahead, the guvnor and me following and Mabaso behind with his hands rammed in his pockets. He was coughing worse than the last time we’d seen him. His scarf was wrapped thick around his neck, his ears like mug handles. He looked so cold I shivered just to look at him.
The guvnor told them about Thembeka playing us false over the note, and about them visiting the hotel. Still wary that Capaldi had a copper on the inside, he didn’t tell him about S’bu.
‘But why would they hide their knowledge of the princess?’ asked Napper. ‘Any ideas, Mabaso?’
‘They’ll have read about her and called on her because they missed home,’ said the constable in his careful voice. ‘That’s what I think. They didn’t know the lady or else they’d have gone back.’
We passed up the side of the Square and turned down towards Piccadilly. ‘But why hide it?’ asked Napper.
‘My people don’t lead the police to another’s door. They don’t trust them, even when they need them.’
‘Do they trust the black officers?’ asked Napper.
Mabaso began to cough again. He held his hanky to his mouth, covering his nose. When he’d caught his breath, he replied, ‘They despise us, sir. For working with the colonial authorities.’
‘Are you still convinced it was they who killed Mrs Fowler?’ asked the guvnor. Although the shops were all shut up for the Sabbath, there was a queue outside Lyons’ tea house, kids with scrubbed faces spilling out onto the kerb, the boys in little suits, the girls in Sunday dresses. We stepped onto the road to get past.
‘All the evidence points to them,’ said Napper, his boots click-clacking as he walked.
‘But what motive did they have?’ asked the guvnor.
‘The motive isn’t important. These chaps are used to killing. It means little to them. Am I right, Mabaso?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Senzo Nyambezi’s already killed two people in South Africa.’
‘He says it wasn’t him,’ said Arrowood, getting out of breath at the quick pace.
‘He also says the deaths here weren’t him,’ said Napper. ‘But why’s he always there when people are killed?’
The guvnor shook his head. ‘How d’you explain Sylvia disappearing?’
‘I don’t know, Arrowood!’ snapped Napper as we crossed Coventry Street. He turned back to Mabaso. ‘It’s true about you having different rules for killing, isn’t it, constable? Ellis says that something that’s a crime here wouldn’t be where you’re from.’
‘The authorities have the same laws against killing as here,’ answered Mabaso. He cleared this throat. ‘But in the homesteads they do things differently. They follow the old ways.’
‘Why the devil would Senzo kill Mr Fowler?’ cried the guvnor. ‘The man was helping him, for goodness’ sake!’
‘Sir, just because we are of the same people does not mean I know his mind.’
‘It would be insane.’
‘Perhaps he is insane,’ said Mabaso, walking careful round a pile of dung spilled onto the pavement. ‘They were arguing on the boat, the ladies told us that. Let me interrogate Senzo, sir. I know how to get information from these Ninevites.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Napper.
As we approached the theatre, the pavements became busier, folk spewing out of cabs and buses, excited about their Christmas outings. A ragged woman was selling mince pies from a tray around her neck. An old soldier who sat in a wheeled chair with one of his legs missing sold saveloys from a griddle, while next to him a loudmouth couple had a vat of hot wine on the bubble in a little metal cart.
‘But what argument could be so serious for them to kill Musa?’ asked the guvnor.
‘Have you heard of the Qwabe succession dispute, sir?’ asked Mabaso, only now coming up level with us. He had a queer way of walking on his toes like his heels were tender. ‘It split the Qwabe people. There have been feuds ever since between those who support Meseni and those who are with Siziba. Murders, violations, riots at beer parties. You have no idea how hot the feelings are. I believe Musa was with Meseni. Senzo and Thembeka are Siziba.’
‘But Musa was Senzo’s uncle!’
‘The dispute split families apart,’ said Mabaso, shaking his head. ‘These fellows will fight if one of them breaks wind. As for Mr Fowler, well, he no doubt just got in the way.’
‘But Senzo and Thembeka said two white men killed Mr Fowler. I’m inclined to believe them.’
‘Well, I’m inclined to believe Constable Mabaso,’ said Napper. ‘He understands their minds better than we could. But we need to find the boy. He’s in on it too.’
‘Capaldi’s men captured him,’ said the guvnor. ‘Thembeka said they fell upon him.’
‘She’s protecting him, Mr Arrowood,’ said Mabaso. ‘She’s deceiving you.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nick opened the dressing-room door and stood aside to let us in. He looked a bit better than the last time we’d seen him, but his eyes twitched and his face was pale.
Gisele and Leonie were sat in front of a long looking glass, getting ready for the show.
‘Tell us what happened, Miss Leonie,’ said Napper.
‘We woke up and she was gone,’ said she, her powder brush in her hand. ‘Just disappeared!’
‘She was take in her nightclothes,’ said Gisele, her orange face full of worry. ‘Her house dress is missing, and her shoes.’
‘Perhaps she ran away?’ suggested the guvnor.
‘She doesn’t know anybody in England,’ said Leonie.
‘You saw and heard nothing?’ asked the guvnor.
Both ladies shook their heads.
‘What about you, Nick?’ asked Napper.
‘Nothing,’ he answered with a frown. ‘I was sleeping in the kitchen, by the door.’
‘The door was locked?’
‘Yes, sir. They must have a key.’
The guvnor turned to Leonie. ‘Where’s Dave?’
‘He left after we found she’d gone. Went to tell Mr Capaldi.’
‘Was he there overnight?’
She nodded.
‘Could it be Bruno?’ asked the guvnor. ‘He must have a key.’
Leonie shook her head. ‘We’ve four shows this afternoon, and we’re sold out every day until the middle of January. They’re going to lose a lot of money.’
‘Could be him, though,’ said Nick. ‘She goes missing, it’s in all the papers, they sell more tickets. Then she comes back.’
‘But it might be the murderer!’ exclaimed Gisele.
‘We have the murderers in gaol,’ said Napper. ‘This is something different.’
Leonie spoke angrily. ‘Senzo and Thembeka didn’t kill that woman.’
Napper flushed. ‘Leave the policing to me, ma’am,’ he snapped.
‘Then what are you going to do to find her?’ asked Leonie, wringing her hands. ‘She’s in danger. They’ll kill her like they killed the Quaker lady. And we’ll be next.’
‘We’ll go to see Mr Capaldi and find out who else could have had keys. I’ll apply for another warrant to search his premises. It may be as Nick says, but I can’t see him doing it in the middle of a run. Madame Delacourte would make more sense, but we’ve just searched her building too. We’ll concentrate on the keys for now. Maybe one of Mr Capaldi’s men is working against him.’
‘Or maybe S’bu?’ said Nick.
‘No, Nick,’ snapped Gisele. ‘How can you say? He just a boy.’
‘I don’t know!’ cried Nick, throwing his hands in the air. ‘I’m worried half to death for my poor Sylvia.’
‘It’s not impossible, though,’ said Napper. ‘He might think Sylvia’s disappearance would convince us the killer’s still out there and we’d then release the two prisoners.’
Nick nodded like his life depended on it.
‘Perhaps she ran away, Nick,’ said the guvnor in his softest voice. ‘I’m sorry to say it, but isn’t it possible? She hated the shows. She was weeping about what the audience said. She didn’t want to be Baboon Girl.’
Nick spat in a bucket on the floor. ‘She’d never leave me like that. She’s nuts on me.’
The guvnor went over to Nick and took his shoulder. ‘I know she is, Nick. I know she is. But perhaps she
hid her despair from you because she knew it was too dangerous to get you involved. Capaldi would have killed you if you’d been caught. Perhaps she ran away because she loved you.’
At that moment, the door opened and young Ralf Capaldi walked in. He stopped when he saw the coppers, his gloved fingers touching the pockets of his cashmere overcoat. His eyes travelled over each of us men, lingering on Mabaso for a few extra moments, avoiding the corner of the room where Leonie and Gisele sat.
‘Hello?’ he said when he’d managed to find his words again. ‘What…’
Napper stepped forward. ‘We’ve met before at your father’s house, Mr Capaldi. Detective Inspector Napper. This is PC Mabaso from the South African Police.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Ralf, backing towards the door. He looked like he might be sick. ‘If it’s about the Zulus you ought to speak to my dad. I don’t know about them.’
‘It’s about the disappearance of Miss Sylvia.’
‘Of Miss Sylvia?’ He was in the corridor now, just out of sight of the two women.
‘Didn’t you know?’
‘Sylvia disappeared?’
‘Dave went to your house to tell you this morning, Ralf,’ said Leonie from her chair.
‘I was out all night,’ said Ralf, his eyes on Mabaso again. ‘What d’you mean disappeared?’
Napper explained what’d happened.
‘But we’ve a show in twenty minutes!’ he spluttered. He swung round to Nick. ‘Nick, where is she?’
‘Don’t know, sir. It’s like the police says. She just disappeared.’
‘But did you search the building?’ he asked, pulling off his calfskin gloves and twisting them in his fists.
‘We did search, sir.’
‘Maybe she just went out for a walk. Maybe she’s there now. Nick, go back, will you? She’ll be there waiting for us. I’ll st— no, you stay here and look after the ladies. I’ll – no.’ He turned to Napper. It was clear poor young Ralf didn’t want to be alone with Sylvia nor with Leonie and Gisele. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You go, sir. We’ll come along later.’