by Mike Hollow
They arrived at the flat, and Jago’s sharp rap of the door knocker brought an immediate response. It was George Sullivan who opened the door, dressed in what appeared to be the same clothes as he’d been wearing the last time they’d seen him.
‘Oh, it’s you lot again,’ he said, looking them up and down. His voice was sullen. ‘What do you want this time?’
‘I’d like to have a word with your son Martin, Mr Sullivan. Is he in?’
Sullivan jerked one thumb over his shoulder. ‘Up there.’
He stood aside so that Jago and Cradock could come in. They climbed the stairs, followed by the rhythmic stamp of Sullivan’s boots on the wooden treads. At the top they went into a small living room where Martin Sullivan sat reading a newspaper. He glanced at them and went back to his reading.
‘What do you want to know?’ said Sullivan senior.
‘What makes you think there’s something I want to know?’ said Jago.
‘Don’t make me laugh. Your sort never comes round just to pass the time of day.’
Jago turned his attention to the son. ‘Mr Sullivan, can you tell me where you were on Sunday evening?’
Martin Sullivan put his paper down, but had barely opened his mouth before his father spoke.
‘He was here, with me.’
‘The whole evening?’
George Sullivan looked at his son, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
‘No, not all the time. Martin and Ernie were both out for a bit. Martin got in before Ernie did. What time was it, now?’
‘It was about a quarter past nine, I think,’ said Martin.
‘Ah, yes, that’s right,’ said George. ‘I remember – a quarter past nine.’
‘And what about your other son?’ Jago asked.
‘Ernie? He, er … He got in a bit after ten, about a quarter past, maybe, and we bedded down in the Anderson shelter for the night.’
‘All three of you?’
‘Oh, yes, we were all there together.’
Jago kept his eyes on Martin Sullivan. ‘I understand you were at the Regal cinema on Sunday,’ he said.
If the young man was surprised to be told his whereabouts by a police officer his face did not betray it. Instead he looked affronted.
‘What? What’s going on here? You been spying on me? What kind of police state are we living in?’
‘No,’ said Jago, ‘we haven’t been spying on you. It just came up in a conversation we had with someone.’
‘Who?’
‘I can’t tell you that at the moment. All I want to know is whether you were at the cinema. That’s quite a normal activity. So were you?’
‘Well, yes, I was, as it happens. Not that it’s any of your business. Just an evening out with my girlfriend. So what?’
‘And would you mind telling me what time you left?’
‘About ten past nine, just after the film finished. I told you, I was home by about a quarter past.’
‘Did you walk your girlfriend home?’
‘No, I didn’t, if you must know.’
‘You leave her to fend for herself in the blackout, do you?’
‘No, of course I don’t. Normally I would’ve walked her home, but as it happened I was feeling a bit ill, so I went to the toilets. When I came out I couldn’t see her, so I reckoned she must’ve given up waiting for me and gone.’
‘Did you explain to your girlfriend that you were feeling unwell?’
‘I’m not sure. I told her I had to go to the Gents, but I didn’t go into the details. Well, you don’t, do you? Then when I was looking for her I started feeling ill again, so I went straight home.’
‘Have you seen her since?’
‘No. It’s not like we’re engaged or anything. We’ve just had an evening out once or twice. Besides, between you and me, I’m not so sure I’m the marrying kind.’
‘Really? Why’s that?’
‘Because of what happened to my dad.’
George Sullivan cut into the conversation. ‘Now then, Martin, there’s no need to go into that.’
‘Why not, Dad? It’s not as if you did anything wrong. It was her fault.’ He spoke now to Jago. ‘It was my mum, see – she just walked out when I was twelve, left him to it. And don’t ask me where she is now. I don’t know.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Sullivan.’
‘That’s all right. We managed.’
‘By the way, that reminds me. Is there any Irish blood in your family? Your mother, perhaps?’
‘What? What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I was just wondering. Is there?’
‘No, of course there isn’t. I’m as English as you are, and my dad too. Ask him.’
‘That won’t be necessary. It’s just that I understand you’re interested in Irish politics, and I wondered why.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Never you mind. Is it true?’
‘What if I am? I’m interested in Irish politics the same as I’m interested in American politics or French politics or Italian politics. I’m just interested in what’s going on in the world. Nothing illegal about that, is there? Or is it a crime to think now?’
‘There are no laws against what you think, Mr Sullivan. Only against what you do.’
‘So,’ said Cradock as they drove back from Windmill Lane in the direction of the police station, ‘he reckons he was ill. Not very convincing, was he?’
‘He didn’t inspire me with confidence,’ said Jago, ‘but if his father’s telling the truth he’s got an alibi. Martin can’t have been home by a quarter past nine and hiding in the cinema at the same time to let someone in when everyone had gone home.’
‘I reckon they’re all in it together, sir – that Martin, and his dad, and his brother Ernie too. Very convenient that they were all in the shelter together all night, isn’t it? A bit too convenient, if you ask me. Especially if they’re tied up with the IRA. Did you ask that Superintendent Ford at Special Branch about the gelignite?’
‘Yes. He confirmed that the IRA have stolen gelignite and supplied it to some of their people in London. But whether that means that’s how our safe-breakers got it is another matter.’
‘I expect they could find out, though.’
‘Special Branch don’t necessarily know everything, Peter.’
‘Yes, of course, but they know more than we do.’ Cradock’s eyes widened with a kind of boyish enthusiasm. ‘It must’ve been exciting for you when you worked for them, sir.’
‘Well,’ said Jago, ‘I was only with the Branch for a six-month secondment, so it was hardly a career.’
‘Interesting, though, I bet.’
‘Yes, it was. Mind you, all that business I was involved in with the civil war in Spain is history now. The fascists won, Franco’s got total power, and now the only reason we’re interested in Spain is because we’re worried he might join up with Hitler and Mussolini and grab Gibraltar.’
‘Gibraltar will never fall,’ said Cradock confidently.
‘I believe that’s what they said about the Maginot Line,’ Jago replied. ‘Even Special Branch couldn’t prevent that little disaster. Anyway, Superintendent Ford’s advice was to treat our cinema job as an ordinary case of larceny, so if there’s any heroics required, we’ll leave it to them.’
‘Yes, sir. Still, I wouldn’t mind doing a bit of that myself some day. Special Branch, I mean.’
‘I dare say,’ said Jago. ‘And if they need your services, I’m sure they’ll let us know.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
When they reached Stratford Broadway Jago slowed the car and pulled over to the kerb, where he stopped. He was thinking.
‘Before we go back to the station we need to see if Mr Conway’s in,’ he said. ‘He’s probably expecting us to give him an update on the break-in, and we might profitably put one or two questions to him too. Interesting fellow, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, and very ambitious,’ said Cra
dock. ‘So’s that Elsie, I think. I wonder if they’ve ever met – they’d probably get on well together if she wasn’t already married.’
‘From what we’ve heard about him so far, I’d say he might not regard that as too great an obstacle.’
‘True. He’s certainly what they call a go-getter. That reminds me – when we were talking to Vera Ballantyne about horoscopes and all that, she said Hitler was ambitious, didn’t she? She said a man with that kind of ambition’s going to think the world’s there for the taking.’
‘And?’
‘Well, that sounded just like what Conway said the first time we spoke to him at the cinema, didn’t it? He said he had big plans, and the world was out there for the taking.’
‘Are you suggesting Mr Conway’s another Hitler? Is he going to march into the Forest Gate Odeon and annex it?’
‘No, it’s just that it struck me. I suppose it made me think about whether ambition’s always a good thing. It can be a bit unpleasant, can’t it?’
‘Well, it certainly is in Mr Hitler’s case. I think it depends on the person – some people handle it better than others. I suspect there’s something of the dreamer in Conway.’
‘Same as in Joan? That’s what Elsie said, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Jago, pulling out into the traffic again. ‘I think Joan had her dreams. Or maybe “hopes” would be a better word. But I don’t get the impression she was the sort to scheme and plot to get what she wanted. That’s the difference between someone like her and the Conways of this world. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of ambition, but the trouble is it can make you selfish – you end up seeing other people just as stepping stones to what you want, so you tread on them on your way.’
‘You reckon that’s Conway’s problem?’
‘I do. But what I’m wondering is whether it was hope that cost Joan her life.’
Cradock was still pondering this new thought when they arrived at the Regal cinema.
Conway met them in the foyer. Striding across the richly carpeted floor, he threw open the door to his office with what Jago thought was a rather grand gesture and swept in behind them.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you’ve come with good news. Have you found my envelope yet?’
‘The envelope from your safe?’ said Jago.
‘That’s right, the sealed one.’
‘Not yet, I’m afraid, but we’ll let you know as soon as we recover it, if we manage to. And the money?’
‘What?’
‘You haven’t asked whether we’ve found the cinema takings that were stolen from the safe in your office.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. The money. Is there any news?’
‘Not yet. Forgive me for asking, but I get the impression you’re possibly more anxious about your missing envelope than you are about your employers’ money. Is that correct?’
‘Of course not – what a ridiculous idea. I’ve told you, there’s nothing in that envelope except a few silly old photos. It’s just that the deadline for submissions to the competition is coming up, and I’m very keen to have them back before that.’
‘Silly old photos, you say. That’s a very modest way for a man to speak about his own art. We’ve been discussing your pastime with someone who claims to know something about your photographic work. That person described them as “saucy snaps”. What do you say to that?’
‘What? Who said that? I’ll, I’ll … Who told you that?’
‘I can’t tell you at the moment, Mr Conway.’
‘Well, whoever it was, he’s a fool and a Philistine who knows nothing about art. Saucy snaps? I’ll give him saucy snaps. My work is art, and my photographs are artistic images, quite possibly soon to be judged as works of outstanding artistic merit. If, that is, you manage to get them back in time from whoever stole them – something you don’t seem to be having much success at, as far as I can see.’
‘We’re doing our best, Mr Conway.’
Conway did not reply immediately, as if he had heard the sudden burst of petulance in his own voice and was regretting it.
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he said, composing himself. ‘I’m sorry for speaking sharply. It’s just that I’m anxious about the competition. Please excuse me.’
‘That’s all right, Mr Conway. But I must ask you another personal question.’
‘Yes?’ said Conway warily. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s been suggested to me that you were involved in a relationship with one of your staff. A personal relationship, if you know what I mean. Is that correct?’
‘I’m not sure I do know what you mean. Which member of staff am I supposed to have had this relationship with?’
‘With your secretary, Miss Carlton.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘It was Miss Carlton herself, actually.’
This answer seemed to knock the stuffing out of Conway. He moved to his desk and sat down behind it. There was an unfamiliar look of uncertainty in his eyes.
‘I see,’ he replied slowly. ‘Well, in that case yes, it’s true. But I don’t see what business that is of yours. It’s got nothing to do with your investigation.’
‘Perhaps so. But what interests me is that she claims you ended that relationship. Is that true?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Why did you end it?’
Conway thought for a moment, then pursed his lips and looked up at Jago. ‘If you must know, it’s because I grew tired of her. She has a superficial charm, but it became clear to me that behind that she is shallow. No depth. No mystery. I assume you won’t need to tell her this, Inspector, but between you and me I look for something more in a woman. I want a woman with character, who’s been through the fire, as it were, who’s been tested and has overcome. A woman who deserves to stand beside me in the future. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’
Jago thumbed silently back through his notebook, then stopped and ran his finger down a page.
‘You perhaps won’t be surprised to learn that that’s not the reason Miss Carlton gave for the end of your relationship. She says you dropped her in favour of Joan Lewis, and I think you’ll agree that does have something to do with my investigation.’
Conway looked shocked. ‘Joan? No, it’s not true! She was a married woman.’
‘Such things are not unheard of, Mr Conway.’
‘Yes, of course, but no, you’ve got it wrong. The only relationship I had with Joan was the normal contact between employer and employee. There was nothing improper about it at all.’
‘So you’re saying Miss Carlton is mistaken?’
‘No, I’m not. I’m saying Miss Carlton is lying. Can’t you see? She’s just bitter because I didn’t want to carry on with her. She’s jealous and immature, and quite frankly she’s jeopardising her future employment in this cinema. It’s outrageous, and I won’t have it.’
‘So you were not in an intimate relationship with Joan Lewis.’
‘Intimate relationship? What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean the kind of relationship that’s intimate enough for a woman to get pregnant.’
Conway’s face took on an expression of outraged astonishment. ‘What? Are you saying Joan was—’
‘Just answer the question, Mr Conway.’
‘I most certainly did not have such a relationship with her, and I’ve nothing more to say on the subject.’
‘Very well. That will do for now. But there’s just one more thing I’d like to ask you, and that’s to do with the theft from your safe.’
‘By all means,’ said Conway, visibly calming himself. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Simply this – do you have any reason to suspect that someone working at the cinema could’ve been involved in the theft?’
‘What they call an inside job, you mean? No, I don’t. I know you said there was no sign of forced entry, but I’ve told you before, the only people with keys are myself, my secretary and whoever’s on fire-watch
ing duty overnight, which on this occasion was Wilson. I regard him as a trustworthy fellow, and whatever Miss Carlton’s personal shortcomings might be, I’ve no reason to believe she’d do something like that.’
‘Providing the thieves with a key isn’t the only way a member of staff might be involved. If there’s no sign of forced entry, it could be because someone let them in from the inside.’
‘Well, in that case it could be anyone, couldn’t it?’
‘Perhaps, but it also seems they were sure enough of where the safe was to go straight to your own office and break into it. Your man Wilson said they didn’t ask him anything when they attacked him and tied him up. They knew exactly where to go. Could someone who works for you have given them that information?’
‘Yes, but the safe was in my office. That would be a fairly obvious place to look for it, wouldn’t it?’
‘There’s no sign on the door saying “manager’s office”. It’s just a blank door.’
‘Yes, but it’s right next to the pay box. It wouldn’t take much to work out that’s where the safe might be.’
‘Right. So you’ve no reason to suspect that any member of your staff might’ve told these thieves where to look?’
‘No, I haven’t. Are you asking this because poor Joan was murdered on the same night as the break-in? Are you saying there’s a connection?’
‘What do you think?’
‘No, it’s not possible. Joan would never do anything like that.’
‘And her sister?’
‘What? Beryl? That sweet little thing? No, it’s impossible. My staff are all very loyal – not just to the company, but to me personally. Good leadership creates trust, and trust creates loyalty, Inspector.’
‘An interesting thought, Mr Conway. I’m sure you’re right – a man can’t get far without loyal staff. Is Miss Hayes on duty at the moment?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘In that case, if you don’t mind, I’d like a brief word with her.’