Another Man's Poison

by J F Straker

  ‘I should have guessed,’ Robin said bitterly. ‘But then who would suspect one’s closest friend?’

  ‘I would,’ Martin said. ‘So would any copper.’

  Concealed in the Hall grounds, he said, he had watched the kidnappers arrive and had been alarmed by the noise of their exhaust. He had expected them to call off the enterprise and after they had left in the Porsche he had rung Rowson from his flat to ask what the hell was going on. Rowson had rung back later to explain, adding that the Porsche had been returned and that all was well. ‘I’ve no idea why he chose Welsh Gwyn to make the ransom demand,’ Martin said. ‘Not that it mattered. She only had to read out what I’d written. As you may have gathered, it was worded so that you would have to ask someone other than yourself to make the drop. And I was pretty sure that that someone would be me.’

  ‘You could have been wrong,’ Robin said. ‘What if I’d asked Polly, or one of the Malletts?’

  ‘We had our contingency plans. Rather more complicated, but reasonably secure,’ Martin said. Since Robin’s arrival he had not moved from the cocktail cabinet, a resplendent piece of Victoriana converted to conceal its present use. ‘You may or may not appreciate, Robin, that the trickiest part of a snatch is collecting the ransom. It is then that the kidnapper is most vulnerable. The beauty of my plan, you see, was that it didn’t have to be collected. You handed it to me personally. Neat, eh?’

  ‘Forgive me if I don’t share your enthusiasm,’ Robin said sourly. ‘Why did you keep advising me to inform the police?’

  ‘Wasn’t that what you expected from a copper? It would have looked odd if I hadn’t. And I was dead sure you wouldn’t agree. If you had, however, I’d have stressed the trials and embarrassments Karen would have to suffer. And if that didn’t work — well, so far as you were concerned, I would have been the officer in charge, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘A phony investigation, you mean? With no result?’

  ‘Exactly. We couldn’t lose.’

  ‘And was it your idea to increase the ransom demand?’

  ‘Hell, no! That made me hopping mad. I’m not that greedy. Rowson told me later that his minions refused to release Karen until he upped their cut, and he wasn’t prepared to provide the extra out of his.’ Martin shrugged. ‘Probably a lie. More likely it was Rowson who got greedy. But there was damn all I could do about it.’

  ‘And how much of your share have you squandered on high living?’ Robin asked, with an attempt at sarcasm. ‘That was the point of it all, wasn’t it?’

  Martin gave another of his brief smiles.

  ‘Very little. I bought the Cavalier and had this place done up, but the rest is invested and doing nicely. Splashing it around might have caused talk. No, the high living must wait awhile. But the wherewithal is there. That’s what matters.’

  He had been truly horrified, Martin said, to hear that Karen had given birth as the result of rape; and it was only then, on accusing Rowson of criminal irresponsibility, that he had learned the identity of the two kidnappers. In his anger he had contemplated punishing Gatesby by arresting him on a drugs charge, planting the evidence — ‘Don’t look so shocked. It’s done all the time, you know that.’ But he couldn’t trust Rowson’s assurance that neither Gatesby nor Welsh Gwyn knew he was involved. So, very reluctantly, he had let it go.

  ‘That’s where we differed,’ Robin said curtly. ‘I wasn’t prepared to let it go.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Martin said. ‘Or you wouldn’t be here.’

  At first, he said, Rowson had accepted Simon Mallett’s interest in the Anson building as genuine. It was the discovery that the Malletts and the Grangers were friends and neighbours that had planted the first seed of doubt, a doubt that had grown when he had learned from Janet of Derek’s visit. To be on the safe side he had contacted Martin; and Martin, knowing that Derek had been staying with Robin at the time, had scented danger. Check on Welsh Gwyn, Martin had told him, she’s their only possible lead to Gatesby; and a visit to the woman’s flat by one of Rowson’s heavies had established, after a certain amount of physical persuasion, that Welsh Gwyn had indeed talked. ‘We both knew Gatesby lacked bottle,’ Martin said, ‘and that he was liable to squeal under pressure. So I told Rowson to get rid of him. I didn’t mean him to kill the bastard, just to get him some place where he’d be out of your reach. But Rowson misunderstood. Or he says he did. And I can’t pretend it broke my heart.’

  At least we have that in common, Robin thought. But it’s precious little after what we had before.

  ‘And now?’ he said.

  Martin shrugged. ‘That’s up to you. You say you have this tape —’

  ‘Do you want to hear it? It’s in the car. I’ll get it.’

  ‘Don’t bother. Some other time; you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have it. The question is, what are you going to do with it? Hand it to the police? Or destroy it?’

  ‘You’d like me to destroy it, eh?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘And if I hand it to the police?’

  ‘Well, for a start, they’d want to know how you came by it. That could be embarrassing, I imagine.’

  It certainly could, Robin thought. ‘I wasn’t intending to hand it over in person,’ he said. ‘Not if I could help it. What if I send it anonymously? Would that make a difference?’

  ‘Not really. Rowson would still be brought in for questioning. He’d probably claim the tape is a fake, but a voice print would soon squash that.’

  ‘Is he the sort of villain who might crack?’

  ‘Who knows? A hell of a lot of grilling can be packed into forty-eight hours, which is how long he can be held without being charged. But I’ve no idea of his stamina.’ Martin shook his head. ‘You realise, don’t you, that if Rowson talks and is brought to court, anonymity goes by the board. It will all come out. You and Karen will be headline news.’

  Was that true? Robin wondered. It was natural that Martin should stress that aspect. But if Rowson had to provide a reason for Gatesby’s murder, would he really choose to incriminate himself further by referring to the kidnap, which was mentioned only vaguely on the tape on the theory, perhaps, that he might as well have it taken into account? Or would he seek to play safe by inventing a personal feud, or whatever, between himself and Gatesby?

  ‘And you?’ he asked. ‘What happens to you?’

  ‘Suspended pending investigation. After that — well, I’m clean on Gatesby’s murder, and you say the tape has only this one vague reference to the snatch. Nothing specific. So it depends on Rowson, doesn’t it? And that again depends on what he or his mouthpiece decides is best for Number One. I might get away with it, I suppose — assuming, of course, that you continue to remain anonymous. But I still think it would be advantageous for all concerned — and that includes you and Karen — if the tape were destroyed.’

  ‘And let Rowson go free, eh?’

  ‘From gaol, yes. Provided the tape was his only boob, of course. Weightman may unearth others, in which case we’re all back in the dirt. But we can make it a condition that he returns his share of the ransom. That would really hit him where it hurts.’

  ‘He’ll have other assets,’ Robin said. ‘The Anson building, for one.’

  ‘That’s not his. He has it on lease with an option to purchase.’

  ‘And how would you come out of it?’

  ‘Well, I imagine you’d make it a condition that I leave the Force.’ Martin gave his grim smile. ‘Can’t have bent coppers, can we? But that wouldn’t worry me. I’ll never make D.C.I. Not now. Not at my age. Not even D.I., probably. My face doesn’t seem to fit.’

  No mention of returning his share of the ransom, Robin noticed. ‘What would you do?’ he asked.

  ‘Get a job in security. My record’s clean — so far.’ Martin poured whisky and held up the bottle. ‘Sure you won’t join me?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘H’m! Well, we’ve just about said it all now, haven’t we? So where do
we go from here? What happens to that tape?’

  Robin took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. The situation was beyond him. So many imponderables, so many ifs and buts. It was his duty as a citizen to help the police in their war against crime, and that meant letting them hear the tape. One might argue that it had been obtained unlawfully — he didn’t know about that, just as he didn’t know if it could be given in evidence in court — but at least it would provide the police with a firm lead to Rowson, and from Rowson to Martin. With Gatesby’s death his anger had turned against Rowson, in the belief that Rowson had been responsible for the kidnapping and hence for the rape. Now he knew that it had all begun with Martin. Yet he could feel no real animosity against Martin, only bitterness and disappointment. Friendship, apparently, could not easily be discounted. Or not for him. Or was it because, deep down, he felt some small responsibility for Martin’s behaviour? Was Martin right? Had he perhaps been too insensitive to the effect his lavish generosity might have on Martin’s overweening desire to dominate their relationship?

  He stood up, thinking how incongruous the conversation would have sounded to an outsider. As if he were actually asking Martin’s advice on what he should do! Yet it was information he had been seeking, not advice. Any advice Martin had given would be biased and could be ignored.

  ‘I’m going home,’ he said. ‘I have to talk to Karen.’

  ‘You also have to make a decision,’ Martin said.

  ‘I know. And I will. But not now and not here.’

  Although he knew the decision he had to make he knew too that he must first discuss it with Karen. And there was no great need for haste. Rowson would not run, he did not know of the tape and Martin would not tell him. Nor would Martin run. Martin, Robin suspected, was pinning his faith on their friendship. Besides, to run would be to display weakness, and that wasn’t Martin’s way. Should Simon also be consulted? ‘You’re the boss’, Simon had said when they parted outside Rowson’s office, ‘you handle it’, which Robin had interpreted as giving him a free hand. But then it would not occur to Simon that there could be a choice. Simon went by the book; crime must be punished, no matter who got hurt. Although in this instance, with Gatesby black as well as crooked, Simon might be prepared to ignore the book.

  Flashing the car’s headlights as he came up the drive it occurred to Robin that the signal was responsible for the whole unhappy business. Without it Karen would not have opened the door, there would have been no kidnap. Or not under the same propitious circumstances. Had knowledge of the signal instigated the plan? Martin hadn’t said.

  ‘You poor darling!’ Karen exclaimed, kissing him fervently. ‘You look worn out!’ Gripping his hand, she led him into the sitting-room and urged him into the corner of a settee. ‘Have you eaten? No? Well, have a drink while I cut some sandwiches.’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ he said. ‘Later, perhaps. Is Edith or her mother here?’

  ‘No. I decided to be brave.’ She coiled herself beside him. ‘What’s up, Robin? You’re not just tired, you’re worried too. I can tell. What is it?’

  He told her. Although she shared his horror at Martin’s criminal disloyalty she was not as bewildered as he had been; she had always considered Martin to be hard and selfcentred and incapable of true affection. ‘And I never thought he was as fond of you as you were of him. When it came to the crunch Martin would always put himself first.’

  ‘Yesterday I would have denied that,’ Robin said. ‘Now — oh, I don’t know. But I believe he really did try to ensure you would come to no harm, and I suppose I was partly responsible for what he did.’

  ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Robin! How?’

  ‘By not realising he might resent my wealth, and that flashing it around could only increase his resentment.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘You’re making excuses for him out of a sense of loyalty.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Or I don’t think I am. I don’t see them as excuses. More like extenuating circumstances. However, right now it’s not so much Martin’s guilt that concerns me as Rowson’s. Martin betrayed thirty years of trust and friendship and I feel bitter as hell about that. But what he did was between him and us; no one else was hurt. All right, so he’s bent. But he’s not the only bent copper, not by a long chalk, and he’s agreed to leave the Force. So if it were only Martin I’d be inclined to do nothing. But there’s Rowson. Rowson’s a cold-blooded murderer. That’s something else.’

  She took his hand and held it. For a while she was silent. Then, ‘Look, darling!’ she said. ‘After the kidnappers released me you didn’t inform the police because, being the lovely husband you are, you put my peace of mind first. You were content to let the matter drop.’

  ‘Not content,’ he said. ‘More like resigned.’

  ‘All right. But you weren’t sufficiently concerned about the criminal aspect, were you, to override my objections?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It was the baby that changed your mind, wasn’t it — that made you determined to find the men yourself? But it was really only the man who — the black man — Catesby, is it?’

  ‘Gatesby.’

  ‘It was really only him you wanted, wasn’t it? Not the others.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You wanted to punish him for what he did to me. Nothing else — just that. Well, Rowson punished him for you, and much more terribly than you would have done. So why didn’t you stop there? Why did you hunt down Rowson when you’d never bothered about him before?’

  ‘He hadn’t committed murder before,’ Robin said.

  ‘I know. But what I’m getting at is well, with Gatesby’s death the hunt was over. For you, I mean. So why can’t you leave Rowson to the police? He’s their responsibility, not yours.’

  ‘I am leaving him to them,’ he said doggedly. ‘But whether or not they get him could well depend on that tape.’

  Karen sighed. She could appreciate his mental struggle. Did he follow the dictates of his heart or of his conscience? Which came first: his love for his wife, his desire to protect her, or what he saw as his duty as a citizen? She knew the choice she wanted him to make. The prospect of being badgered by policemen and reporters, of banner headlines and persistent photographers, of being the constant focus of prying eyes — sympathetic, curious, prurient — of appearances in court, of being quizzed and subtly persecuted by lawyers, filled her with dread. But she would not try to persuade him further, perhaps forcing him into a decision he might later bitterly regret. She loved him too much for that. The decision must be his.

  ‘And Martin?’ she asked.

  ‘He seems to think he might get away with it. If he doesn’t — well, too bad.’

  ‘May I hear the tape?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He took the recorder from his pocket and reversed the tape a short distance.

  When he switched on he got the end of his conversation with Janet. ‘I’ll explain that later,’ he said. ‘Now listen.’

  They listened, watching the spools revolve. And presently they looked at each other in bewilderment. There was just a faint murmur of sound that could have been background noise but which Robin knew to be Rowson’s voice. Occasionally he thought to catch an isolated word. The rest was unintelligible.

  ‘What’s gone wrong?’ Karen asked.

  Angry and disappointed, Robin stopped the tape. Technically, nothing had gone wrong. Rowson must have been standing too far from the door, which had been only fractionally ajar, for his voice to register on the tape. Which meant that the decision had been taken from him. He could, of course, report to the police in person what he and Simon had overheard. But it would not be a verbatim report and Rowson would undoubtedly deny it; and without breaking his promise to Janet and letting the police hear her false accusation against Rowson it would be difficult to invent a plausible reason for having gone to the man’s office that afternoon. He had to set the chance of his word being accepted against the distress Karen would u
ndoubtedly suffer.

  ‘Everything,’ he said bitterly. ‘Every bloody thing.’

  ‘Never mind, darling.’ She leaned to kiss him. ‘Maybe it’s better this way. Now come and help me make the sandwiches.’

  If you enjoyed Another Man’s Poison check out J F Straker’s other books here: Endeavour Press - the UK’s leading independent publisher of digital books.

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  Also in the Inspector Pitt Detective series:

  Postman’s Knock

  A Will To Murder

  The Detective Johnny Inch series:

  Tight Circle

  Dead Letter Day

  Death Mask

  Also by J F Straker:

  Death on a Sunday Morning

  Motives for Murder

  Death of a Good Woman

  Pick up the Pieces

  Dead Man Walking

  The Shape of Murder

  A Man Who Cannot Kill

  Miscarriage for Murder

  Murder for Miss Emily

  Final Witness

  Hell is Empty

  A Choice of Victims

  Arthur’s Night

  A Gun to Play With

  Ricochet

  Swallow Them Up

  Countersnatch

  Another Man’s Poison