by Roy Lewis
And looking at Peter, Shirley felt that perhaps a dead Jeannette presented a greater obstacle to Shirley Walker than she had done when alive. Angrily Shirley brushed the thought aside. Whatever had existed between her and Peter was over and done. And yet he had come to her now.
‘Jeannette is dead,’ he repeated slowly, ‘and I know her murderer.’
‘You can’t say that,’ Shirley insisted. His face turned to hers.
‘I think it merits looking into.’
‘You mean you’re going to tell the police?’
‘No. I can guess what they’ll say, in the first instance. First, not enough to go on. Secondly, I’m motivated by jealousy for my dead wife. I don’t think they’d be right on either count. But even if they did act, they’d behave predictably. They’d interview him. He’d cover up — he’ll already have brushed over his tracks anyway, but the sort of warning that the police would provide would make a resourceful man like he is obliterate them entirely. He’s already committed one murder—’
‘Peter—’
‘All right, I know, I can’t say it. Maybe soon I’ll be able to say it.’
‘But if you don’t go to the police?’
‘Billy Sneed.’
‘Who?’
Peter smiled faintly; it was the first time he had done so. It reminded her of other days, when he had smiled and laughed a great deal.
‘Billy Sneed. You know the idea of the conventional private detective? Well, he’s not it. Perhaps that’s why he’s so successful. He’s so completely nondescript.’
‘But how do you know him?’ wondered Shirley.
‘In divorce actions, the serving of writs, the tracing of relatives, he’s an artist. I couldn’t do without Billy Sneed. Nor could half the solicitors in the two counties. If there is anything on this man — if there are any marks unobliterated, Billy will find them.’
‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Peter.’ He shrugged.
‘No. I don’t know what I’m doing. All right, I agree it’s really little more than the conventional shot in the dark. Jeannette had a lover. She is dead. He could be the killer. It’s no more than that, for all my own conviction in the matter. So let’s find out.’
‘Why?’
‘Why find out?’ He regarded her carefully. ‘You know why, Shirley. This man Crow, by visiting you, and then me, has shown pretty clearly that he thinks we’re concerned in her death. We weren’t. I want to convince him of it. And I can do it, this way.’
She couldn’t meet his eyes.
‘By pursuing the matter, you could discover more—’
‘I know. More about Jeannette than I already know. But then,’ he added desperately, ‘I knew so bloody little, didn’t I?’
That was the trouble, Shirley felt like crying out; you know so bloody little about me, too.
* * *
‘Max Lavender.’
Billy Sneed chewed the name, rolled it round his tongue, swallowed it and sat there in digestive contemplation. Peter observed him for a little while as he hunched there in his dilapidated suit, his sad, thin face quiet, and his sandy hair thick at the nape of his neck, sparse at the temples.
‘You know him?’ queried Peter flatly.
‘Of him. But then, Mr Marlin, it’s my business to know of him. Though strictly speaking he’s way out of what our American cousins would call my league. He’s a bigger fish than what my clients would want to fry, in the usual run of things.’
Peter brushed one hand over his eyes. ‘You’ve seen the letters.’
‘Yes, and read them close, Mr Marlin. What is it then you want me to do?’
‘You’ll appreciate that this is all in strict confidence.’
‘Mr Marlin, I’m surprised to hear you say that. I think you will agree that over the years of our association, and I may add that I done work for this firm before you were ever here too, you will have had no cause to suggest otherwise than that I have always been the very soul of discretion.’
The little man’s tone was almost hurt, and his sad mouth drooped more than ever. He hitched at his jacket and did up an errant button, then went on, ‘The very soul of discretion. You appreciate that in the delicacy of our relationship discretion is forever necessary and you must know that you can count on me.’
‘I’m sorry, Sneed. You’re right, of course. It’s just that — well, this is unlike the many other things you’ve done for me, and the firm.’
‘I understand, Mr Marlin.’
And Billy Sneed did. Peter could sense the sympathy in his voice. This wasn’t like the other things, because this was personal to Peter Marlin. He was involved in it.
‘I quite understand, Mr Marlin. Most delicate, a most delicate matter.’
‘What do you know of Max Lavender?’ Billy Sneed became business-like, in a birdlike way.
‘I know that he is a company director, and has some reputation in the City. I know that he’s wealthy — though it is possible that he would not be able to put his hands on ready cash, if you know what I mean, Mr Marlin. Not ready cash of his own that is: his money will be tied up in his companies, but his wife is a wealthy woman in her own right — what the papers would call a minor heiress, I believe. She is somewhat older than him, though not so significantly that it could be said that he married her for her money.’
‘Though it has been said.’
‘Quite so. And there is possible truth in it. But in any case, with the backing of her money and influence, in the last twelve years he has built his own reputation in the City, and his stock is high. He knows some pretty important people.’
Peter chewed his lip thoughtfully.
‘All this is pretty common knowledge, of course.’
‘Of course, Mr Marlin. But I have had no previous occasion to delve any more deeply into Mr Max Lavender and his affairs.’
‘But you think you could.’
‘If you want me to.’
At Peter’s nod, Sneed glanced down again at the letters in his hand.
‘Is there any particular direction you wish my inquiries to proceed in?’ he asked softly.
‘The obvious one,’ said Peter. ‘Those letters show that Max Lavender had . . . had an affair with my wife. It’s more than possible that she wasn’t the first woman he knew outside his marriage, and more than possible that she wasn’t the last. Indeed, I think that it may be that he threw her over for someone else anyway. I want you to find out. But more than that I want you to find out precisely what Max Lavender was doing on the night my wife died.’
Billy Sneed tapped a thoughtful fingernail against the letters, then carefully placed them on Peter’s desk.
‘You are of the opinion that Mr Lavender was involved in the death of your wife.’
‘I think he killed her,’ insisted Peter harshly.
‘He might be able to show that he was elsewhere at the time of death,’ commented Sneed mildly.
‘He could still have arranged it.’
‘And you wish to discover evidence of such activity.’
Billy Sneed reached for his hat, which he had placed on the floor beside his chair. He rose, hesitating.
‘Mr Marlin, I hope I am not presumptuous when I say that I think you should not bank too much upon my prospects of discovering what you want.’
‘You think Lavender is unlikely to have killed my wife.’
‘I didn’t say that, sir. It’s just that — the involvement may cloud your judgment and . . . I’m expressing this badly, but don’t be too disappointed if nothing turns up.’
‘He’s an important man, Mr Sneed.’
‘He is, Mr Marlin.’
At the door, Billy Sneed paused, a shabby figure in a nondescript raincoat. He looked back to Peter.
‘It seems to me, Mr Marlin, that you finding the letters may be one thing. But is there anything else? I mean, you mentioned that the lock of the drawer had been forced. Where’s the key? Have you looked for it? You might think that if she had hidden that ke
y, there might be other things with it. Other things that might help.’
Sneed was right, of course. When Peter had found the letters he had thought of nothing else — other than ringing Shirley to tell her about the discovery. When he got back tonight he would have to make a thorough search of the house — and of the few things of Jeannette’s that were still there. It would be distasteful. But it would have to be done.
Peter walked out into the office where Joan was at her desk.
‘I’ll be leaving early tonight, Joan. There are some things I’ve got to do at the house. So I want no calls this afternoon, all right? I’ve got enough to do in the office to keep me busy for the rest of the afternoon so I’m just not available.’
‘Oh, Mr Marlin, yes, that’ll be all right, but Mr Gaines just came in, a little while before Mr Sneed left. I told him you were busy but he said he wanted a quick word with you — and he’s waiting outside.’
‘Hell! Er . . . all right, I’ll see him, but not in the office. He might stay longer that way. I’ll pop out to reception and have a word with him there.’
Sam grinned widely, and broke off the conversation he was having with the giggling Betty at the reception desk.
‘Ah, the very man! Sorry to bother you, dear boy, but passing by, thought I’d pay my respects. And ask you whether you can fix the trustees’ meeting for next Tuesday.’
‘Hallo, Same Tuesday, Tuesday . . . wait a minute.’
Peter stuck his head back around the door. ‘Tuesday evening, Joan, isn’t there something on?’
‘Er . . . Mr John asked you to go to the Holford firm meeting, I gather.’
‘Oh yes.’ Peter returned to Sam. ‘Sorry, Sam — you heard that, we’ll have to fix another date.’
Sam Gaines smiled.
‘Not to worry, Peter. Just that Mother wanted to have a dinner-party, and it would have been convenient to have the meeting afterwards. Can’t be helped. Will you let me know as soon as you can make it? You couldn’t come after the meeting, by the way?’
‘No. Old Holford does tend to drivel on, and it’s unlikely to be over before ten. Then there’s a drive of an hour and a half and I’ll need to stop off for a meal somewhere — I’d be too late for your mother and the others. But look, I’ll get Joan to ring you and fix a date.’
Sam nodded slowly. He was suddenly serious.
‘As soon as you can, Peter. I’d like to discuss the takeover, and the shareholdings of Amalgamated Industries in more detail, with you and Byrne. Right then, see you . . . and you be good, Betty, until I catch you one dark night, anyway.’
When Peter made his way back to his office the small knot of worry inside him was growing again. He sat in the leather armchair for what seemed an age, gnawing at his lower lip. Finally, impatiently, he reached out to the intercom switch.
‘Joan? Get me the Amalgamated Industries file. And put in a call for me. To Jackson. Mr Paul Jackson.’
* * *
Three days slipped past and there was no word from Sneed. The time passed uneventfully for Peter; the routine of the office remained routine. Stephen Sainsby was away in London and the strain that his presence would have imposed was avoided. Peter saw little of John either: he seemed preoccupied and was rarely in the office after lunch. Peter had spoken no more with him about his decision to go to the Bar. He wondered whether John had yet told Stephen, and doubted it. There would have been repercussions which would have reverberated around the office. Stephen was yet to discover that John was getting out.
Early on Monday afternoon Sneed telephoned Peter.
‘Hallo, Mr Marlin. No, don’t raise your hopes, I have little that is positive to report. I just ring you now to keep in touch, and to tell you that one of your hunches at least is correct.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘About Mr . . . I mean about a certain gentleman’s proclivities. He is, as you suspected, something of a womaniser. There is another lady at the moment in his favour.’
‘I see. But what about his whereabouts on the night of—’
‘Yes. On that particular night I fear that the gentleman has what is known in professional circles as an alibi. He would seem to have been playing cards — illegally, I believe — with a few male acquaintances of his in a little club off Jermyn Street. And yet . . .’
‘Yes?’ prompted Peter eagerly.
‘Who knows? I must not rush fences. Possibilities abound, nevertheless. Fear not, Mr Marlin, that I am keeping your best interests at heart. I will be in touch again soon.’
‘All right, Sneed. As soon as you get anything, let me know.’
The call unsettled Peter. He prowled around the office. If only Sneed could root out something! If only he could show that Lavender’s alibi was a false one! Playing cards with his friends . . . friends could be bribed to keep their mouths shut when it was necessary.
Peter attempted to get some work done on the papers on his desk but was too restless. His mind was seething. Inspector Crow had not put in another appearance but Peter felt all the time that the man was there in the background somewhere, watching and waiting. And Shirley hadn’t been in touch with him — but why should she? She had already made things pretty plain. Events might have briefly thrown her and Peter together again, but she had no intention of being anything but coolly distant towards him. Perhaps it was as well. And yet . . . there were times when . . .
He rose impatiently. Shirley and he — it was all over. She had shown she wanted it to stay that way. He strode to the door.
‘Joan — any chance of getting Betty to make some coffee? Or get one of the juniors to do it, at least.’
Joan was on the telephone; she raised one hand, then covered the mouthpiece.
‘Yes, I’ll see to it, Mr Marlin. But there’s a call coming through for you. Shall I put it through to your office?’
‘Yes, all right,’ said Peter absently.
As he went back in he heard her flick the switch. His phone rang, and he heard her door bang as she left the ante-room to seek out Betty.
He picked up the telephone. ‘Mr Peter Marlin?’
The voice was quiet, and unfamiliar. ‘Speaking.’
There was a short silence. Peter waited, puzzled. Then the voice came again.
‘My name is Lavender.’
Instinctively, Peter glanced up to the door — he wanted Joan to be able to listen in, be a witness to the conversation, but she had already left the ante-room. Excitement surged through him — excitement, and frustration at Joan’s absence.
‘What do you want?’
Lavender’s reply came in smooth tones. ‘No, Mr Marlin, it’s I who should be asking you. What do you want?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think you do. I’m not a fool. It has come to my attention that for some reason best known to yourself you have begun to pry into my affairs. I want to know why.’
‘You must be making a mistake, Mr Lavender. I —’
‘I do wish you would not prevaricate.’ The smooth tones had taken an edge. ‘I’m an extremely busy man and you’re wasting my time. I gather that questions are being asked about me by a certain disreputable little private detective who is favoured by the dubious name of Sneed. I don’t like it, Mr Marlin, and I would ask you first to tell me what the hell you think you’re doing, and secondly to persuade me that you will immediately cease this activity.’
‘I have three letters in my possession, Mr Lavender.’
In the silence that followed, Peter could hear the man’s controlled breathing.
‘Letters?’
‘Three. That you wrote to my wife. Two in affectionate, one in not so affectionate terms.’
Again there was a long pause. Then Lavender sighed.
‘All right, so you know about Jeannette and me. It would be quite cynical, and pointless for me to say that I’m sorry. We don’t know each other — though we did meet once, I believe — and let me assure you that . . . what there was between your wife
and me, well, it didn’t reflect upon you in any way, and in any case it’s all over. I should say, it was all over before she came back to you.’
‘But it wasn’t all over for her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you know what I mean.’
‘Listen, Marlin. I don’t know what you’re implying. I assure you that your wife and I finished it a long time ago. I’ve not seen her—’
‘Think carefully before you say more, Lavender.’
‘What the hell’s the matter with you? Sore that you were cuckolded?’
Peter kept his temper with difficulty; the fact that Lavender was losing his helped him.
‘My position in the matter is irrelevant. I’d just like to know more about yours. Such as where you were on the night that my wife died.’
Lavender’s voice took on a harsh, brittle note.
‘What the hell are you trying to say, Marlin?’
Peter was silent. The silence angered Lavender.
‘Listen, Marlin, call off your blasted snooper. Do you hear me? I’m not having you or any filthy little detective creeping around prying into my affairs. Keep your nose out of my business, or I’ll see to it that you never nose into anything again, ever.’
Lavender paused, and the malice in his voice became even more obvious.
‘I can break you, Marlin, tear you into little ribbons. So stay away, do you understand? Stay away — or you’ll pay for your snooping. Do you understand me? You’ll pay!’
The receiver clattered. Quietly Peter replaced his. His calmness was a luxury, for euphoria surged through him.
Lavender had threatened him. So he must have something to hide.
Peter needed to get out of the office. He wanted to get some air. Wanted to think. Joan looked up in surprise as he walked out. She had a cup of coffee in her hand.
‘Sorry, Joan. Changed my mind. You have it. I’m going out. Won’t be back this afternoon.’
He walked down through the town till he came to the public park. The sun was warm and there were prams parked on the grass. Alongside the artificial lake there were wooden seats; Peter occupied the end of one and sat staring at the calm water.