by Carola Dunn
She hadn’t told him anything she had not already told Tom. In this case, perhaps direct questioning was the better way to go.
“What is the sister’s name and address?” he asked, glancing at Mackinnon to make sure he was ready to take down the information in black and white.
“Her name is Vivien … Oh dear, I simply can’t remember her surname.” She gave a faint smile. “I suppose I’ll have to pronounce those hateful words, ‘I’m not as young as I was.’ I refuse to believe one’s memory fails. It just gets so cluttered, one can’t find the needed fact. Enid shall fetch my address book.”
She rang the bell and sent the parlour maid to find the address book in the bureau in her bedroom.
While they waited, Alec asked, “Does your daughter-in-law often visit her sister?”
“Every autumn, when Aidan has to travel on business. Audrey and Vivien are quite close, as their mother died young, but Aidan has nothing in common with Vivien’s husband, so it works out very well.”
The regularity and timing of the visits would be easy to check with the servants, so that was probably true. “Why did Aidan leave so abruptly, when his brother had just returned after a lengthy absence? Did they quarrel?”
For the first time, she looked disconcerted. She hadn’t expected the question. Tom had asked the servants and been satisfied with their answer.
“Patrick and Aidan quarrel with each other?” She frowned. She not only hadn’t expected the question, she didn’t like it one little bit. “No, they’ve been good friends since childhood. Just the occasional squabble. You know how siblings are.”
“I was an only child,” Alec said woodenly, further disconcerting her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. And your two aren’t old enough …” She remembered Mackinnon’s presence and veered away from a cosy chat about the twins. “My sons do have the odd disagreement, inevitably. I find it hard to believe they had a … fight in the short time they were both here. But I wasn’t with them every second, of course.”
Apparently, she had decided on the spur of the moment that it might be advantageous to leave open the possibility that Aidan and Patrick had quarrelled, even come to blows. The obvious inference was that Aidan had sustained some presumably minor injury in his encounter with Castellano and had fled because the marks could not be hidden. But in that case, his mother must surely have noticed when she said good-bye, even if she had not witnessed her sons’ putative battle. Alec wondered how long it would take her to realise that her red herring would not fly, to coin a phrase.
He had to assume Aidan was still in England and track him down before the bruises faded. A hired car and driver might be traceable, with the driver possibly ringing up to report daily. All they had to do was find the car-hire firm.
“Sergeant Tring tells me Aidan has the only list of customers he’s gone to call on, but no doubt he mentioned where he intended to start out, which city he took a railway ticket to.”
A mantle of vagueness settled over her. Like Tom, Alec wished he had seen her on the stage.
“Oh … No, I don’t believe he told me. As he was not going to stay, there wouldn’t have been any point, would there?”
“I dare say not, but I’m sure his father or brother must know. I’ll ask when I see them here this evening.”
There was nothing stagy about her passionate plea. “No, not here! If the Bennetts see you haunting the house, they’ll make up some horrible story, and half the neighbours will believe it!”
“You have a point,” Alec acknowledged wryly. “I’ll make arrangements to see them at their place of business, after hours.”
“Mr. Fletcher, why are you hounding us? Why are you hunting down Aidan? He hasn’t done anything wrong. None of us has.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. Except the Bennetts. But a man has been murdered, and that man is known to have associated with your family, however briefly or unwillingly on your part. Would you have the police ignore it? I can ask to be relieved of the job, but whoever might take my place will follow the same trail.”
“No. No, I’d rather have you, I suppose.”
“What was Michele Castellano’s business with your husband?”
“I don’t know. I only know that Maurice didn’t want anything to do with him.” She turned with relief to Enid, who came in carrying a small green leather-bound book.
“Sorry I’ve been so long, madam. It wasn’t where you said, in the cubbyhole. I found it in the top drawer.”
“That’s all right, Enid. Thank you.” She took the address book and started to riffle through it as the maid went out. “The one thing I’m certain of is that Vivien lives in Lincolnshire, in or near some small village. Funny, I can’t find a single Lincs address. X Y Z. Nothing.” She turned back to the beginning.
“Allow me.” Alec rose to take the book, and continued to stand, examining each page swiftly but with care. Most of Mrs. Jessup’s friends and acquaintances lived in London and the Home Counties, with a few, very likely relatives, in Ireland. Almost all of the latter were in the Six Counties, he noted, rather than the Free State. Not that Northern Ireland lacked disaffected citizens.
He found no addresses in Lincolnshire, no one named Vivien or listed with the initial V, and no sign of a page torn out. Closing the book, he handed it back. “That’s a pity.”
“I suppose I’ve always been able to ask Audrey for the address if I needed it, though, to tell the truth, I can’t remember ever having written to Vivien, nor can I imagine why I ever should. Sending kind regards via Audrey has always been perfectly adequate.”
Alec felt he was wasting his time with her. “One last question, for the present,” he said. “Where—”
“Not another word!” Mr. Irwin burst into the room. “My dear Moira, I hope you haven’t been answering questions. You cannot be required to do so. Mr. Fletcher, I am shocked to find you questioning Mrs. Jessup without her solicitor present. It’s against all the rules.”
“On the contrary, sir. As I have absolutely no intention of arresting Mrs. Jessup, it’s her duty as a citizen to aid the police in a murder enquiry.”
“In any case, Jonathan, I’m afraid I’ve been most unhelpful to Mr. Fletcher. I don’t seem to know anything he wants to know.”
Irwin regarded Alec with suspicion. “What have you been asking, Chief Inspector? I’m sure it’s most irregular.”
“I was about to ask one last question. May I proceed?”
“I suppose so,” he said grudgingly. “Now that I’m here.”
“Mrs. Jessup, where has your younger son been these past weeks, and on what business?”
The solicitor turned apoplectic red and his mouth opened and closed several times, but no words emerged.
“Patrick’s been in America,” said Mrs. Jessup with the utmost calm. “Something to do with exporting ‘the demon rum’ to the deprived citizens of that country. I’m assured that no English laws have been broken in the process. Jonathan, you look as if you’d better sit down at once. Let me get you a whisky.”
“My dear Moira! Law is Law! And these are policemen!”
She guided the horrified man to a chair and went to the drinks cabinet.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better for a whisky, sir,” Alec said soothingly. “In the meantime, I’d be grateful for your daughter Vivien’s surname and address.”
It was Mrs. Jessup’s turn to look appalled. She froze with the decanter in her hand. Her reaction suggested Audrey really had gone to her sister’s, not abroad. Alec breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Irwin looked merely astonished. “What can Vivien possibly have to do with a murder in London? She married a farmer called Bessemer. West Dyke Farm, Butterwick, near Boston.” Noticing Mackinnon writing down the name and address, he clarified: “That’s the Lincolnshire Boston, not the American one. Vivien has no connection with America whatsoever. Nor does her husband.”
“I’m glad to hear it, sir. Do you happen to remember the telephone
number?”
“They’re not on the telephone.”
“Thank you.” Alec glanced at Mrs. Jessup. She had regained her self-possession and was pouring whisky with a steady hand, though Irwin no longer appeared to be in need of fortification. Perhaps she intended to drink it herself. “May I ask what brought you here?”
“An impertinent telephone call from one of the neighbours,” Irwin said angrily. “He advised me that the entire family was about to be arrested for murder. Naturally, I hurried to my daughter’s assistance.”
Alec and Mrs. Jessup exchanged a look. Simultaneously they said, “Mr. Bennett.”
EIGHTEEN
Returning home, Alec arrived with Mackinnon just in time to follow the parlour maid into the dining room.
“Tea, please, Elsie,” said Daisy.
“How many for, madam?” the parlour maid enquired pointedly.
Daisy looked at Alec.
“Six,” he said. “Tom may not be back for a while, and Piper certainly won’t.”
“I’ll come and help you carry the tray, miss,” offered Warren. “If that’s all right, sir?”
Elsie looked mollified. Daisy gave Warren a grateful smile. His assistance might serve to avert mutiny in the kitchen.
Alec waved his permission and the two went out.
“Ross?”
“Miss Bennett’s friend exists, sir. I talked to all the servants. None of ’em’s been there more than a few months, and none of ’em’s planning to stay more’n a few months, but as long as they’ve been there, she’s spent a day or two each month with a Miss Lagerquist. They saw the lady a couple of months ago, in the summer, when she came in a hired car to pick up Miss Bennett for a jaunt in the country. There was some argument as to was it July or August, but they all agreed it happened.”
“I don’t suppose you asked whether this is the usual time of the month?”
“I did, and it is, and she told ’em yesterday she wouldn’t be in for lunch or dinner today.”
“Good work,” said Alec, “even if it’s not the answer I’d hoped for. Ardmore?”
“No trouble with Mr. Lambert’s landlady, sir. She went up to his room with me and pointed out all the stuff he usually takes with him when he goes away for a night or two. She cleans a couple of times a week, so she’s had a good nose around and knows exactly how many pairs of socks he owns, and how many pairs of under—Begging your pardon, Mrs. Fletcher! And what’s at the laundry, too.”
“All right, we don’t need a list of every item of clothing he possesses! The conclusion is that he didn’t plan his departure.”
“That’s right, sir. He’s never gone off without warning like this before, seemingly. Proper worried about him is Mrs. Hodge.”
“Daisy, you know him best. What do you think would make him dash off without his traps?”
“The slightest hope of getting mixed up in some sort of havey-cavey business where he could use what he fondly imagines to be his undercover skills. I’m worried about him, too, Alec. If the Jessups’ connection with bootlegging isn’t utter piffle, then Lambert was on the scent.”
“It’s not utter piffle,” said Alec. “Mrs. Jessup admitted it.”
“She didn’t!”
“It’s not illegal here, as she pointed out.”
“Then Patrick was in America?”
“He was. She must have realised we had only to ask to see his passport to find that out. Of more immediate use to us, Mr. Irwin gave me Audrey’s sister’s address. Mackinnon, I’m going to send you to take a statement from her—from Mrs. Aidan, that is. The children’s nurse, as well. What we need most is Aidan’s whereabouts. But who knows, it’s always possible one of them will provide some revelation about what happened last night.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Ring up the Boston police and request a car and driver to take you to the farm. You’d better get going. Goodness only knows how you get to Boston.”
“Mrs. Jessup said it’s two changes. There’s a Bradshaw’s in the drawer of the little table beside the phone,” Daisy told Mackinnon.
The detective sergeant met Elsie and Warren in the doorway and stood back to let them through. He cast a longing glance at the tea trays as he disappeared.
No biscuits, Daisy noticed sadly. She poured a cup and said to Elsie, “Take this to Mr. Mackinnon, at the telephone, please.”
“Yes’m.” Elsie took the cup and saucer and added with a touch of belligerence, “If you please, madam, Mrs. Dobson wants to know how many for dinner.”
“Alec?”
“Just the two of us. Or possibly just Mrs. Fletcher, Elsie. I’ll try to get back in time. I’m going to see Jessup and Patrick at the shop after all. Mrs. Jessup pointed out that to keep going in and out of their house will just add grist to the Bennetts’ mill. Though there will be enough coming and going if Tom gets those warrants….”
“Couldn’t you just have asked her to let you search?” Daisy handed cups of tea to each of the men.
“Not once Irwin turned up. To ask and be refused would just give warning, give them the opportunity to clear everything up thoroughly.”
“They had time to do that before the body was even found, sir,” said Ardmore.
“True, but in the flurry and scurry of getting Aidan away, they may not have thought of it, and they could hardly do much today, under the eyes of the servants.”
“On the contrary,” said Daisy, “the absence of both Audrey and Aidan and the children would give them the opportunity for a grand turnout of their rooms and the nursery. And what more natural than that Mrs. Jessup should take a look around first to make sure any valuables are safe, and to see what needs doing?”
“Dash it, Daisy, you’re right. We’ll just have to hope they don’t get to it till tomorrow. Now. Ross, you’ll come with me to Jessup and Sons. Ardmore, it’s a late night for you. You’ll help Sergeant Tring search next door, and then, if you don’t find out where Aidan took a ticket to, you can be off to St. Pancras to see if we can trace him there. Mrs. Jessup gave me a photograph of him.” He handed it over. “Mr. Irwin simply couldn’t think of a reason why she shouldn’t.”
“He’s about as ordinary-looking as a bloke can get,” said Ardmore in dismay.
“Just do your best. I don’t want to have to ask every big-city force in the North to make enquiries at every car-hire firm near their main stations. We may get his destination at the shop, but I don’t want to wait.”
“Can’t trust ’em to tell the truth anyways,” Warren pointed out.
“What are you going to do about Lambert’s disappearance?” Daisy demanded.
“Circulate a description. Why don’t you write one out for me?”
“Right-oh.” Daisy turned to a fresh page of her notebook, glad that being a journalist meant she always had one available when needed for police business.
It was a pity Lambert had been in England long enough for his very American haircut to have grown out. He still kept his fair hair cropped very short, but in an English way. Horn-rimmed glasses, American-cut clothes, and an American accent were pretty distinctive, though. Unfortunately, the face behind the spectacles was about as ordinary as Aidan’s. “Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, nor mark prodigious” to make him either “despised in nativity” or instantly recognisable.
Concentrating, Daisy missed Alec’s instructions to Warren. As she tore off the sheet and slid it across the table to him, Mackinnon came in.
“There’s a train I can catch if I leave right away, Chief, but I willna get to Boston till after nine. They’re booking a room for me and they’ll take me out to the farm. Should I go this evening or wait till tomorrow morning?”
“Farm people generally retire early. Better wait till the morning. It won’t make much odds. When you get to Boston, ring up for the latest developments here.”
“Right, sir.” He turned towards the door, then swung back. “I’ll be forgetting my own head next. Mr. Tring rang up while I was looking up t
he trains. He says he has the warrants and he’s on his way here.”
“Excellent. I hope he’s springing for a taxi, as you may if you need to. Go catch your train.” As Mackinnon went out, Alec consulted his wristwatch. “Five o’clock. I want to go and see what visibility is like in the garden.”
“The sky’s cleared,” said Daisy. “It’s lighter today than yesterday. By the way, what time did Mr. Whitcomb walk up through the garden yesterday on his way home from work?”
“Who went to the Whitcombs? Number seven.”
“Number seven?” Warren thumbed unhappily through his notebook. “DS Mackinnon and me, sir. Mr. Whitcomb wasn’t there, and we only asked did he mention seeing anything out of the ordinary. We knew we’d have to try again this evening to talk to all the gentlemen as was off at work.”
“I’d forgotten that,” Alec said ruefully. “I need more men! You’re right, Daisy. Even if Whitcomb saw nothing, the time he didn’t see it may help pin things down. Let’s see…. Tom had better—”
The telephone bell rang in the hall.
“Warren.” Alec jerked his thumb towards the door and the eyebrowless detective constable hurried out. “Ardmore, Ross, come outside and we’ll check what can be seen from where.”
They followed Warren out to the hall. Daisy sat on for a moment, wondering why Alec was being so obliging about letting her join their conclaves. True, she knew the Jessups better than he did, but such was usually the case when she found herself enmeshed in one of his investigations. In fact, that was almost always why she was involved in the first place. Yet usually he strove to exclude her. Though she felt she had made one or two helpful suggestions, she found it hard to believe he had suddenly realised the inestimable value of her assistance.
There was no understanding it. With a shrug, she went after the men.
She was just in time to hear Warren call Alec back from the front steps. He stood at the rear of the hall, holding the telephone receiver at the full length of the wire and his arm.
“Sir, it’s DC Piper. He’s talked to three booze sellers, two wholesale, one retail on a large scale. They all recognised Castellano’s photo and Lambert’s name, though one of ’em tried to deny it. Castellano came to their houses, not their business places, trying to coerce them into shipping to the U.S. Then Lambert came along to the business, claiming to represent the U.S. government and warning them of dire consequences if they did. Half a mo—What’s that?” he said, stepping back to the telephone under the stairs.