Damned by Logic

by Jeffrey Ashford

  ‘I hope you’re just trying to be awkward.’ Mrs Draper passed across the plate on which were egg on a slice of bread, and bacon. She sat opposite Belinda. ‘Living here with two ageing parents must be boring.’

  ‘A haven of calm after the chaos of work.’

  ‘Hasn’t any young man appeared to offer a more varied existence?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Spoken very emphatically. Are all men temporarily off the screen or is there someone in the background?’

  ‘Can’t you stop going on about my non-existent love life?’ She regretted her words. ‘Sorry, Mother. I’m sounding like a bitch.’

  ‘Not a description I would use.’

  ‘Of course not since you haven’t moved with the times. And I’m out of kilter because of a case.’

  ‘Are you allowed to identify what that is?’

  ‘In part, probably, the poor woman who was brutally tortured, carved up, and dumped in woods last month.’

  ‘It’s horrific to realize there are people who will commit such crimes. Is anyone suspected or shouldn’t I ask?’

  ‘As yet, not for that crime. But the case may be connected with another one in which someone is very much suspected, but ...’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I can’t believe he could be guilty.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because of the person he is. I’d swear he’d never so much as strike a woman let alone kill his wife by threatening to strangle her.’

  ‘Haven’t you told me when I say a photo of someone in the papers shows he’s crooked, that appearance and apparent character are no guide to what a person is really like?’ Belinda’s mother asked perhaps sensing there was more to it than Belinda was letting on here.

  ‘Normally, they’re not, but ...’

  ‘You reckon occasionally they can be. Eat up, dear, or everything will be cold.’

  Belinda put a dusting of salt on the egg, speared the yolk with a fork and spread it, then ate.

  ‘You’ve always said the inspector is level-headed, so does he listen to what you have to say?’

  ‘When it agrees with what he thinks. The fact is, almost all the evidence stacks up against David and the motto of the CID is that only facts count, suppositions don’t. Yet if he did threaten her to try to make her tell him what he was so desperate to know and it seemed about to become violent, I’ll never trust my instincts again.’

  Belinda looked up at the wall clock. ‘Shit! ... Sorry for that!’

  ‘Apologies for what I suppose is not even called swearing these days?’

  ‘I’ve only five minutes to get to the station and the car’s been acting stupid and trying not to start.’

  ‘You haven’t had a word with the garage?’

  ‘Typically they say there’s nothing wrong since the engine’s warmed by the time I get there and when they try, it starts at once ... Too much work in hand to bother.’

  She finished the meal in two large mouthfuls and rushed out through the doorway, flinging on her coat as she did so.

  As the car drew away, Mrs Draper refilled her mug. She wondered if the use of the Christian name, David, held any significance.

  Monday was sunny; global warming, melting icebergs, growing pineapples in Sussex returned to the newspapers. The manager of the third bank Belinda rang was tight-lipped even by normal bank standards and would not say if David Ansell was a client, but suggested she came along and had a chat.

  Flavin was pleasant and prepared to be helpful, but as she had already discovered, he observed every rule and regulation with determination. ‘I am sorry, Constable Draper, but I am not at liberty to give you the information for which you ask without the requisite authorization.’

  ‘Surely you can at least say whether he has an account with you?’ she enquired.

  ‘I am afraid not.’

  ‘Suggesting I came here does make it seem he does have one.’ Belinda tried to prise the information out of the unforthcoming bank manager, allowing him to circumvent his own strict rules without actually giving anything away.

  ‘I must leave you to make such judgement. Return with the necessary authorization and I will give you all the assistance I can.’

  ‘Thank you.’ For very little, she silently added as she stood up to leave.

  There was a knock on the door. A man in his middle twenties, his unusually high forehead drawing attention, entered.

  ‘What is it, Jackson?’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Flavin, but someone said there was a detective here.’

  ‘Constable Draper,’ Flavin said, as he indicated Belinda while wondering why there should be an interest in her presence. He mentally and pessimistically propounded a discovery of fraud, a significant and perhaps criminal error in one of the clerks’ accounts, a failure of the number of used notes being returned for destruction to match the figure accompanying them ... ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘To know if she’d want the box.’

  ‘What box?’

  ‘I’ve been helping with the checking of the contents of the vaults and there’s a strongbox in the name of Mr and Mrs Ansell. After what’s happened, we thought the police might want to know about it.’

  Flavin looked at Belinda.

  ‘Yes. I’d like to see it,’ she said.

  ‘Will you bring it up here, please,’ Flavin said.

  Moments later, a medium-sized strongbox was placed on the desk after a newspaper had been spread out in preparation.

  She used a handkerchief to check it was locked. ‘Does the bank hold the keys?’

  ‘No,’ Flavin replied sharply. Had it done, he would have conceived circumstances in which it might be thought he had unlocked the box in order to see what it contained.

  ‘I’ll need to take this so I’ll organize transport.’

  ‘You’ll need authorization.’

  ‘Of course. Do you mind looking after it until I arrange things?’

  ‘I hope that will not take too long?’

  ‘I’ll get it arranged as quickly as possible,’ she assured him. ‘And will you make certain no one else touches it?’

  After she had left, the clerk said, ‘Is it staying on your desk, Mr Flavin?’

  ‘Because of what she said, I suppose it has to.’

  The clerk did not leave.

  ‘It doesn’t need two of us to keep an eye on it,’ Flavin said. ‘You can return to work.’

  ‘But ...’

  ‘What is delaying you?’

  ‘I just wondered ... Shouldn’t you sign for the removal from the vault?’

  Flavin was very annoyed that, because of unusual events, he had been sufficiently confused to ignore required protocol and, even more unwelcome, had been observed to do so.

  Abbotts was met at divisional HQ by Glover. They went up to the conference room which had a slightly raised level at one end, large oblong table in the centre, blackboard on one wall, noticeboard on another, and a single window through which could be seen the unedifying view of part of a suburban road. Vane, a SOCO, a photographer, the two constables who had brought the strongbox from the bank, and a locksmith were waiting, the civilians with growing impatience. Abbotts and Glover finally entered, quickly followed by Belinda.

  Told to open the strongbox after it had been checked for prints, the locksmith did so with such apparent ease, it would have seemed to anyone without the necessary experience that the locks had been weak. He replaced the tools he had used in the large leather folder and went to raise the lid.

  ‘Leave it,’ Glover said sharply.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ was the resentful response. ‘Is there anything more to do?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll be off, then.’

  He left, unregarded by any of those present.

  DC Vane spread out on the unoccupied part of the table a square of specially prepared material which would catch and hold any particle, however small, even dust, which fell onto it. Gloved, he opened the lid of the strong
box and brought out an object wrapped up in newspaper. He placed that to the side of the strongbox, then lifted out the other contents which consisted of jewellery, which made those watching wonder what it was worth if genuine, and four files.

  ‘Find out what’s in the newspaper,’ Abbotts ordered.

  Vane carefully unwrapped the pages of newspaper to expose a fluffy toy monkey made from material.

  Belinda exclaimed, ‘That must be Georgie!’

  ‘Good God!’ Glover muttered.

  ‘It would seem this was not expected,’ Abbotts remarked ironically. He spoke to the SOCO. ‘What about prints?’

  ‘I’ll go over the newspaper sheets later, sir. As to the monkey, I’ll have a try, but with that fur, there’ll only be one or two very small areas able to record.’

  ‘Do we open up the ape, sir?’ Glover asked, his mind accepting it might not contain diamonds, but hoping to hell it did.

  ‘You suggest wasting time having it X-rayed?’ Abbotts replied sharply.

  ‘No, sir.’

  There was fresh stitching on the base of the ape. Vane cut through this, eased out the contents on to the square of material. There were small pellets of foam and a plastic bag. The bag was checked for prints; there were none. It was opened. Seven irregularly shaped, dull, greasy ‘pebbles’, with not a glitter from any of them, were inside.

  Each diamond was put into an exhibits bag; on the tag of each bag was written the time, date, place of discovery and then was signed by Glover.

  ‘It seems,’ Glover said as he and Belinda went up the stairs to the offices, ‘that Sergeant Frick made a very valid point.’

  She was silent.

  ‘Intuition is as valid as yesterday’s ticket to the Cup Final.’

  They topped the stairs, walked along the corridor. Glover stopped by his office. ‘I wonder what the lads at CPS will go for – murder or manslaughter?’

  ‘You’re presuming Ansell deposited the ape in the strongbox?’

  ‘I doubt I’m being fanciful to think that since it was his strongbox in which the ape was found, that is a valid presumption.’ He opened the door and went in.

  She stood in the open doorway. Once seated, he looked up. ‘Well?’

  ‘There were several slits in the body of the ape, probably caused by a knife.’

  ‘You may accept I noticed them.’

  ‘Why was it stabbed?’

  ‘Checking the diamonds were there.’

  ‘Or were they an expression of hatred?’

  ‘You are in an imaginative frame of mind?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Then what are you suggesting?’

  ‘That maybe this to some extent mirrors what happened in the old days.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘If you hated someone, you modelled him in clay, drove a knife or needle into the image to ensure his death or serious illness.’

  ‘A very imaginative frame of mind.’

  ‘We Aussies don’t keep our minds tied down to the ground.’

  ‘I thought you told me only one of your parents was Australian.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then I suggest whilst in England you respond only to your English genes and learn to show at least some respect for your seniors.’

  ‘I bow each time I say, Yes my Lord Inspector.’

  She was surprised when he laughed.

  Ansell replaced the phone. He went along to the kitchen and larder, poured himself a gin and tonic, less strong than he wished because he had forgotten to buy another bottle of gin the previous day. The pressure of events was making him forget many things.

  He settled in an armchair – one which Eileen had intended to replace because she had decided it had become shabby. He drank.

  Detective Inspector Glover would be grateful if he was at the divisional HQ tomorrow morning at ten. He had asked the reason for the request. There were one or two matters to discuss ... Such as? The speaker had replied that it wasn’t possible to say what these were over the phone.

  He had said he would be at work.

  It was suggested that perhaps he would explain to his employers why he might be late?

  Tell them the police wanted to question him and they would immediately, being PR men, assume he was heading for jail.

  ‘And if I refuse?’ he had asked.

  ‘You might find reason to consider that to have been unwise, Mr Ansell.’

  He returned to the larder, but the bottle of gin remained empty. He filled a small glass with sweet Cinzano. Mixing drinks might prove more efficacious than a second gin in rolling back reality. Back in the sitting room, he stared at the blank screen of the television set. Life was a roller-coaster. Having to accept he would never be a good novelist. A good position with the PR company. Marriage in the name of love. A less than cheerful, loving wife. An exhilerating relationship at sea. Having to accept Eileen could have told him where Georgie was and saved Melanie’s and her own death.

  NINETEEN

  Ansell gave his name to the duty constable at the front desk, was shown into an interview room – dull, poorly furnished, the only reading matter a framed list of interviewees’ rights.

  Glover, closely followed by Belinda, entered. Glover offered a toneless greeting. Belinda, a more welcoming one. They sat, Ansell on one side of the table, Glover and Belinda on the other.

  ‘We asked if you’d come along, Mr Ansell, to help us answer one or two questions,’ Glover said.

  Was ironic politeness their trademark? Ansell wondered.

  ‘You have said on one or two occasions that you did not know Melanie Caine when you were both on the cruise ship, MV Helios?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you like to alter this evidence in view of the fact that you have previously as good as admitted you knew her.’

  ‘I have never said I did.’

  ‘Your previous evidence would be an admission to most. The steward in Bar Orpheus on the Helios has sworn on oath that you and Miss Caine were frequently together in the bar; that you, in his opinion, enjoyed a very amorous friendship with her.’

  His denial was immediate and sharp because Belinda was there and he did not want her to have to accept he had been duped by sex. A futile wish in the face of the evidence. ‘He is either half-seas over or bloody well lying.’

  ‘He has identified each of you from photographs.’

  ‘Then he is lying.’

  ‘Can you suggest why he should lie, knowing this was a police investigation and one in which he had no immediate interest and therefore no motive to lie?’

  ‘People can say something without rhyme or reason for doing so. In his case, perhaps it was the thought of possibly gaining publicity.’

  ‘Did Melanie Caine telephone you at your home after the cruise was over?’

  ‘She was hardly likely to have done so since we’d never met.’

  ‘Telephonic records prove she did phone your home and the call was answered.’

  ‘The records have to be wrong.’

  ‘I think you should accept that that is very unlikely. Whilst on the cruise and berthed in Gibraltar, did you buy a tourist attraction in the form of a Barbary ape?’

  He did not answer.

  ‘Mrs Morley has mentioned that you did.’

  ‘When she was not on the cruise?’

  ‘Did you buy it for Miss Caine?’

  ‘How often do I have to say I did not know her?’

  ‘Then the ape was for your wife?’

  ‘For myself.’

  ‘You collect mementoes from your journeys?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you will have a large number of them since I understand your job demands considerable travel. Where do you keep all such mementoes?’

  Growing concern and panic began to negate common sense. ‘In my house.’

  ‘That was searched and there was no such collection. Did you buy the ape for Melanie Caine?’

  ‘I’ve alrea
dy said why that’s impossible.’

  ‘Did she handle it?’

  ‘For God’s sake, do you want me to write in six-inch high letters that I did not know her?’

  ‘Mrs Morley has told us that when she saw the ape on your bed, she picked it up. On it was a scent which she had reason to be certain was not used by your wife.’

  ‘Babs is a tittle-tattle and expert trouble raiser. When she hasn’t any dirt to pass on, she makes it up.’

  ‘She noted some blonde hairs on the ape. Your wife’s hair was of a different shade. Where do you think those hairs came from?’

  ‘Either the woman who sold it or Barbara’s imagination.’

  ‘Not from the woman who entrapped you on the Helios?’

  ‘What d’you mean, “entrapped”?’

  ‘After identifying you as a potential victim, she used sex to dull your wits until you did as she asked without thought as to why she asked.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he said hoarsely as Belinda’s presence again increased his sense of humiliation.

  ‘Following information received, we applied for and were granted authority to open the strongbox deposited in the bank in your late wife’s name and yours.’

  ‘You listen to a woman who enjoys slandering people, accuse me of being persuaded to smuggle by a woman I never met, search my house, break into my strongbox ... You must believe you’re in a police state.’

  ‘Who has the keys to the strongbox?’

  ‘They’re kept in the bottom drawer of the desk in the spare bedroom.’

  ‘What was in the strongbox?’

  ‘Important papers, pieces of jewellery my wife preferred not to keep in the house.’

  ‘That is all? Please consider your answer very carefully.’

  ‘I can consider it for the next week and it won’t change.’

  ‘When we opened the box, we found in addition to the articles you have mentioned, a parcel wrapped up in the pages of a newspaper which was dated after the Helios docked and your return home. What was in the parcel?’

  ‘A ton of cannabis.’

  ‘You gain nothing by giving absurd answers.’

  ‘The question was meaningless so I gave a meaningless answer.’

  ‘Inside the pages was a Barbary ape. On a small tab at the back of the neck is the name of the retailer in Gibraltar.’