by Jim Eldridge
‘Not many of those around when it comes to Ireland, sir,’ said Danvers. Then a new thought obviously struck him, because he added, ‘Although there might be someone.’
‘Oh?’
‘My Uncle Edwin. Sir Edwin Drake.’
‘Sir?’
Danvers nodded. ‘He’s my mother’s brother. He used to be at the Colonial Office. He was knighted for his ambassadorial services.’
‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’ demanded Stark.
‘Well, we weren’t sure if the murders were definitely connected to the Irish business,’ said Danvers defensively.
‘For God’s sake, Sergeant!’ exploded Stark. ‘It was one of the key points!’
‘Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir. I suppose the truth is I hadn’t really given much thought to Uncle Edwin lately.’
The phone ringing stopped Stark from chastising his sergeant any more. ‘DCI Stark,’ he said.
It was Charlie Watts from Camden Town. ‘That witness we were talking about, sir. Pete Stamp. He’s coming in.’
‘When?’
‘My man says in half an hour.’
‘Any difficulty getting him to come in?’
‘No, sir. He seems very keen to talk.’
‘Right, I’ll be along.’
Stark hung up. A keen witness. He was always suspicious of that. Too often it meant they had a secret agenda of their own, someone they wanted to get into trouble. Still, it was a lead.
‘That was Camden Town. They’ve got the witness who saw the men who attacked me. I’m going along there now.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘Right now I want you to tell me about your Uncle Edwin. You said he used to be at the Colonial Office.’
‘Yes, sir. He … er … retired. That was the official line. Although within the family it’s said that he resigned. I believe he had differences with Winston Churchill. We didn’t see a lot of him; he and my father never really got along. My father preferred the company of men of action. He wasn’t fond of politicians. But he knew about Ireland. He lived there for a while.’
‘Married?’
‘Widowed. No children.’
‘What does he do now?’
‘He stays at home and reads and paints. He’s seventy-something. Nice old chap.’
‘In that case, I’d like you to get in touch with him and see if you can arrange for us to visit him to pick his brains. And soon. Everyone’s going to be on our backs now, from the Prime Minister down.’
TWENTY-THREE
Charlie Watts was waiting at the reception desk when Stark arrived at Camden Town police station.
‘He’s in interview room two,’ said Watts.
‘Has he been here long?’
‘No, he walked in about five minutes ago.’
‘How does he seem?’
‘Chatty. Cheerful.’
‘Odd for someone coming in to a police station,’ mused Stark.
‘Not if they’re innocent,’ pointed out Watts.
‘I don’t know,’ said Stark. ‘I’ve noticed that even some innocent people get a bit edgy when they come into a police station.’
‘You’ve been in the job too long,’ grinned Watts. ‘Makes you suspicious of everyone.’
Stark followed him out of the reception area and along a corridor to a room with a large figure two on it. Watts opened the door, then stood aside for Stark to enter. A man was sitting at the table in the room. Apart from the table and two chairs, the room was devoid of furniture of any sort.
The man stood up as Stark walked into the room, a confident, relaxed smile on his face.
Why is he so cocky? wondered Stark. One thing was for sure, though: he wasn’t either of the two men who’d attacked him the night before. This man was of average height, average build. He had the appearance of almost every other man in the area: slightly unshaven, grey woollen jacket and trousers, not quite matching enough to be a suit, collarless shirt.
‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Stark,’ Watts told the man.
The man nodded in greeting.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Watts, and he left.
Stark sat down in the chair opposite the man, taking out his notebook and pencil, which he put down on the table before him. ‘Thanks for coming in,’ he said.
‘Just doing my public duty,’ said the man, putting on a serious expression.
‘Indeed, and it is much appreciated,’ said Stark. He flicked open his notebook, checked something in it, then asked, ‘Mr Stamp? That right?’
‘That’s me.’
‘The sergeant tells me you saw the two men who may have taken part in an assault last night.’
Stamp nodded vigorously. ‘The two Irishmen!’
‘You’re sure they were Irish?’
‘Oh yes! I lived next door to an Irish family for years. I’d know that accent anywhere!’
‘According to the report, they bumped into you in Crowndale Road, having just come out of Camden Street.’
Again, Stamp nodded energetically. ‘That’s right!’ He leaned forward and asked enthusiastically, ‘Is there a reward? If they get caught?’
‘There might be,’ said Stark carefully. ‘That usually depends on the outcome.’
‘Oh,’ said Stamp, obviously disappointed. ‘You mean if they don’t get caught, there isn’t.’
‘Sometimes there is,’ said Stark. ‘It depends on the circumstances. Can you describe them?’
‘Well, it’s like I said to the copper: one was big and the other was little. They both had flat caps on, and both had scarves pulled up, so I couldn’t see their faces.’
‘And then they rushed off in the direction of St Pancras station?’
Again, the energetic nod. ‘That’s right.’
‘And they didn’t say anything to you?’
Stamp frowned, puzzled by the question. ‘I don’t get you. Why would they talk to me?’
‘Because they’d just bumped into you. Did they apologize? Say sorry?’
Stamp’s face brightened. ‘Oh yes! I see what you mean!’ Again, he nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. He did, now you come to mention it. “Sorry,” he said.’
‘The big one or the little one?’
‘I think it was the big one,’ Stamp replied after some thought.
Stark looked down at his notebook. ‘And did one of them say “We’ll get the bastard next time”, and did the other one say “We will indeed!” before or after he’d said sorry to you?’
Stamp looked bewildered. ‘How do I know?’ he demanded.
‘I’m just trying to get the picture of what happened,’ explained Stark gently.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Stamp, but the uncertainty in his voice and his face showed that he didn’t. Or that he did and he was wary.
Stamp frowned thoughtfully for a short while, then announced, ‘They said it after he’d said sorry to me. The big one, that is.’
‘And who said what after that? Which one said: “We’ll get the bastard next time”?’
‘The little one.’
Stark nodded, then smiled appreciatively and rose to his feet, holding out his hand to Stamp. ‘Thank you, Mr Stamp,’ he said. ‘You’ve given us invaluable information; and if there is a reward, I shall see that you get it.’
‘Thank you,’ beamed Stamp, getting to his feet and shaking Stark’s hand. ‘Hope you catch ’em!’
Stark waited until Stamp had left the station, then he went to the desk where Sergeant Watts stood on duty.
‘Well?’ asked Watts. ‘What do you think?’
‘Can you do me a favour?’ asked Stark. ‘Can you put a watch on him? Nothing obvious.’
‘Sure,’ nodded Watts. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Who he sees. People he goes for a drink with.’
‘You think he’s lying?’
‘I think he made some of it up. I’d be curious to find out a bit more about him, especially his regular companions.’
>
‘Leave it to me,’ said Watts. ‘When I get anything, I’ll phone you at the Yard. Or, if it’s after hours, I’ll pop round to Plender Street.’
‘Thanks, Charlie.’
Watts grinned. ‘Your dad still won’t let you have a phone in at home?’
Stark sighed wearily. ‘He’s still living in the nineteenth century. Thinks modern things like the telephone are some instrument of the devil.’
‘My dad was the same,’ said Watts sympathetically. ‘But it must be hard for them at that age – all these modern things they don’t understand.’
Sergeant Danvers was going through witness statements when Stark returned.
‘Did you see him?’ Danvers asked.
Stark nodded.
‘And? Was he able to describe anybody?’
‘In detail. Except for their faces.’
Danvers frowned. ‘You don’t seem convinced,’ he said.
‘I’m not,’ said Stark. ‘Either he’s lying or he’s exaggerating. The idea that two men, on the run, bump into him and say sorry, and then proceed to stand there and say things like “We’ll get the bastard next time” and “We will indeed!” before rushing off is like something out of a bad stage play. I’ve asked Sergeant Watts to keep a bit of eye on him. See who he meets up with, in case there’s something else going on with him.’
‘But why would he lie?’
‘That’s what I want to find out. He might be protecting someone.’
‘If that’s the case, surely it would have been easier for him if he hadn’t come forward to say anything at all.’
‘Unless he wants us to follow a false trail,’ said Stark. ‘The Irish accents, for one thing. Which brings us back to your Uncle Edwin.’
‘I telephoned him and he says he’ll be delighted to help,’ said Danvers. ‘He’s invited us to call on him this evening, if that’s all right. We’re invited to dinner.’
Dinner! thought Stark. Damn! ‘Is that necessary?’ he asked.
‘It would make him happy,’ said Danvers. ‘I don’t think he gets get much company. And I am family. I think he’ll be pleased, and he’ll talk more easily.’
‘Fine,’ nodded Stark. Bang goes my dinner with Lady Amelia Fairfax. At least now I don’t have to tell my parents about it.
This is ridiculous, he scolded himself. You are a grown man. You have a son. You fought in the war. You won medals for bravery, yet you’re acting like a small boy who’s afraid of admitting to something he knows his parents won’t like. Behave like a grown man, for God’s sake!
Why was he so reluctant to tell them he was going to dinner? Because he knew what his father thought of Lady Amelia. Every time she appeared in the papers, going on about social injustice or anything at all, his father’s usual disgusted comment about her was ‘That Jezebel’s in the papers again!’
‘What time?’ asked Stark.
‘Eight o’clock.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘Knightsbridge.’
‘In that case, we’ll meet here at half past seven and get a car to take us. We can always get a taxi back.’ He looked at the clock, which showed a quarter to five. ‘Let’s call it a day, Sergeant. After all, we’re working tonight on unpaid overtime.’
‘The meal will make up for it,’ said Danvers. ‘Uncle Edwin’s housekeeper is a very good cook.’
‘I hope so,’ said Stark.
The promise of two good meals tonight, he thought. Lady Amelia’s and Uncle Edwin’s. Lady Amelia would have to wait.
TWENTY-FOUR
Stark waited until Danvers had left the office, then phoned the offices of the Communist Party. He was told that Lady Amelia had left for the day.
He telephoned her house at Cadogan Square. She was in.
‘I’ve been expecting you to call,’ she said. ‘It’s off for tonight, isn’t it? I heard about Tobias Smith.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Stark. ‘A line of enquiry has come up that I have to follow this evening.’
‘What line of enquiry?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘He wasn’t as bad as some of them,’ she said. ‘Tobias Smith. He was even talking about supporting votes for women.’
So that’s what Sir William Fanshawe had been referring to when he’d said that Smith and Amersham held different views on some things.
‘Although I hope this isn’t just an excuse,’ she said.
‘No, I will definitely come and have dinner with you.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow evening.’ The words were out of his mouth before he’d even thought about it properly. ‘Tomorrow evening at eight.’
‘Unless someone else gets shot,’ she said.
‘At this stage, I’d rather not joke about that,’ said Stark.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow evening, then.’
He went downstairs to the car pool and found his allocated driver for the journey home. It was someone new, someone he didn’t know, so he had to give him directions. His parents expressed surprise at seeing him home so early.
‘I haven’t got supper ready yet,’ his mother said. ‘I didn’t expect you at this time.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Stark. ‘I won’t be staying.’
‘Huh!’ snorted Henry.
Stark looked down at Stephen and gave him a smile. ‘Stephen, would you pop up to your room for a moment? I need to talk to your grandparents about something.’
‘What?’ asked Stephen, and Stark saw his son’s face tighten, fear in his eyes. He’s suffered so much in his short life, thought Stark. He’s lost so much, he’s worried he’ll lose more. ‘It’s nothing serious,’ Stark assured him. ‘Nothing about us. It’s … adult talk. Work talk. It won’t take long, I promise.’
With a feeling of relief, he saw the tightness in Stephen’s face relax. I have to play this business about Lady Amelia carefully for Stephen’s sake. I don’t want him getting the wrong impression. It’s only a dinner – nothing else, nothing more – and I want to make sure he knows that.
‘I’ll be up and see you in a minute, son,’ he said.
‘All right, Dad,’ said Stephen. He headed up the stairs to this bedroom.
As soon as Stephen reached the landing, Henry turned on his son accusingly. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded suspiciously. ‘What can’t you say in front of Stephen?’
‘It’s about the case,’ said Stark. ‘I don’t want Stephen to get worried when I talk about it, especially after what happened last night.’
‘What?’ asked Sarah apprehensively.
‘I’ve got to go out with Sergeant Danvers this evening. That’s why I’m back early now. There’s a lead we’re following and I might be back late. Will you look after Stephen?’
‘We always look after Stephen,’ snapped his father irritably.
‘I know, but I’m asking because I don’t want you to think I take you for granted,’ said Stark.
‘Of course it’ll be all right,’ said his mother quickly, before Henry could continue the argument. ‘What about your dinner?’
‘That’s all right, the sergeant and I will look after ourselves.’
‘He doesn’t look like he eats much,’ said his mother. ‘He’s very thin.’
‘That’s because he’s young,’ said Stark. ‘He burns it off. And he walks everywhere.’
‘You’re not going to get yourself beaten up again?’ asked his father.
‘I hope not,’ said Stark with a smile. ‘Don’t worry, Sergeant Danvers will be with me.’
‘Are you going anywhere dangerous?’ asked his mother, still doubtful.
‘Knightsbridge,’ replied Stark.
Henry sniffed. ‘Very upmarket. Very posh.’
Now’s the time, thought Stark. ‘Actually, talking of upmarket and posh …’ he began tentatively, and then stopped.
‘Yes?’ prompted his mother.
‘Would you look after Stephen again tomorrow night for me?’
; ‘Of course,’ said his mother.
‘What is it? Another investigation?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Stark. ‘I’ve been invited to dinner.’
‘Dinner?’ echoed Henry, suspiciously.
Sarah looked at him and smiled broadly. ‘It’s a woman, isn’t it!’ she said. ‘I can tell! I could always tell with you, Paul!’
Am I that transparent? Stark cursed himself. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said.
‘Who is it? Someone from work?’
‘No. It’s … it’s Lady Amelia Fairfax.’
His father stared at him, mouth open. ‘That Jezebel?’ he stammered at last.
‘Dad, just because the papers say those things about her …’
‘But … she’s a married woman!’ said Sarah, distressed.
‘Divorced,’ said Stark.
‘Absolutely not!’ snapped Henry indignantly.
Stark nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask Mrs Pearce next door. She’s always offered—’
‘No!’ said his mother.
Henry glared at his son. ‘This woman’s that important to you, is she?’ he demanded.
‘No,’ replied Stark. ‘But I’ve been invited to dinner by her, and I’d like to go.’
‘Dinner!’ sneered his father.
‘Yes, dinner,’ emphasized Stark. ‘If you remember, it was only a couple of days ago you were telling me I ought to get married again.’
Sarah stared at him, shocked. ‘You’re not thinking of marrying her?’
‘No, of course not! But say I did meet someone and wanted to go out with her, I can’t if we’re going to have this sort of situation every time.’
‘This is different and you know it,’ said Henry. ‘I was talking about someone of our own sort. Our own type.’
‘But not divorced. A woman who’s never been married.’
‘You’re twisting my words!’ growled his father. ‘There are plenty of widows around. Nice women. Women of our sort.’