Tight Circle (Detective Johnny Inch series Book 2)

by J F Straker

  ‘Yes. Quite often.’

  Fred was talking to Aaron Corby. Johnny beckoned, and he came quickly to remove the empty plates and take their order for the sweet. When he had gone Johnny said, ‘This chap Diamond. You say he was a friend. Didn’t he give your father any sort of a warning that there might be trouble ahead?’

  ‘No. At least — well, not really.’

  ‘How do you mean — not really?’

  Roger Diamond had come to dinner, she said, a few weeks before he was killed. Normally he was a sober man, but that evening he had been far from sober. ‘I think he must have been celebrating something or other. Anyway, he suddenly produced this piece of paper and showed it to Daddy. ‘If you could make sense of that, Harry,’ he said, ‘you could thumb your nose at the future.’

  ‘What was on the paper?’

  ‘Just numbers.’ Fred was serving the sweet, and she smiled at him. The smile brought dimples to her cheeks. ‘Ones and noughts, as far as I remember. In columns.’

  ‘What was your father’s reaction?’

  ‘He said figures weren’t in his line, and that he had no worries about the future.’ Liquid caramel trickled down her chin, and she put out her tongue and licked it away before dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. ‘Sorry. It’s too good to waste.’

  He grinned. ‘And that was all?’

  ‘Yes. Daddy remembered the figures, and wrote them down later in his desk diary. He’s always kept a diary. Still does. But none of us could make sense of them. I suppose we take after him — no head for figures.’ She put down her spoon with a sigh of contentment. ‘If Roger Diamond meant that as a warning it was a pretty devious one, wouldn’t you say?’

  He agreed that he would.

  It was as they were walking back to the flat that he disobeyed Nicodemus’s instructions and told her of the suspension. It not only seemed right, it seemed expedient; this was a girl whose friendship he intended to cultivate, and lies were a poor foundation for friendship. It was unfortunate that she should be Knickers’ sister; it might cramp his style. Yet without that kinship he might never have met her.

  ‘Suspended?’ She made it sound like a hanging. ‘How dreadful! Poor Humphrey! What will happen to him, Johnny?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Her distress distressed him. ‘He’s temporarily relieved from duty, that’s all.’

  ‘But why? What’s he done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said again. ‘It’s just that some crook has accused him of being an accessory to robbery. Absolute nonsense, of course — we know that. But until it’s been investigated your brother has to be taken off the active list. It’s normal police procedure. Happens quite often, unfortunately. If the tealeaves can frame a copper it gets him off their backs.’

  ‘A tealeaf’s a thief, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sorry. Yes.’

  ‘And what exactly is Humphrey supposed to have done?’

  There was no reason why he should not tell her, provided details were omitted. ‘Did you read about the Acton bank robbery yesterday?’ he asked.

  ‘I heard it on the news. I didn’t pay much attention, though. Why? Is that it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s been hinted he sort of helped to set it up.’

  They walked for a while in silence. Presently she said, ‘And that’s why you came to see me? Because Humphrey’s been suspended?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you think Paul may be involved?’

  ‘Hey! Don’t start jumping to conclusions.’ This was far enough. Further could be tricky. ‘I’m sorry — but do you mind if we leave it at that? The Boozer would blow his top if he knew I’d been gossiping. So would Knickers — sorry, Humphrey. He said not to tell you. He was afraid you’d tell your parents, and he didn’t want them upset. But I thought you ought to know.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But he’s right about the parents. It would upset them terribly. Particularly now, when they’ve got all these extra worries.’ A pause. ‘Is that what you call him? Knickers?’

  ‘Yes. It’s an abbreviation of Nicodemus. Nothing personal.’

  ‘With or without the K?’

  He laughed. ‘I’ve never thought about it. I mean, I only say it, I don’t write it. But — well, ‘with’, I suppose.’

  ‘Wouldn’t ‘without’ be more appropriate?’ They emerged from the dark alley that led into Eyton Place, and she skipped in relief. It was a short cut, but she hated it. She never used it when alone. Not unless she happened to be in a desperate hurry, which was seldom. ‘‘With’ seems more applicable to the female side of the family. Except that nowadays most girls wear tights.’

  ‘I’m not entirely unaware of the trends in female fashion,’ Johnny said, taking her arm.

  She laughed. ‘I’m sure you’re not. Hey! Where are you going? We’re there. And you won’t have wasted your evening, after all. Jill’s home, by the look of it.’

  He stared with distaste at the light behind the curtained basement window. Natural optimism had suggested that she would invite him in, and that Nature would then take its course. Now it looked as if Nature were to be baulked.

  ‘I must take up cards,’ he said. ‘I should be lucky.’

  Jill Summerbee was not alone. As they entered the sitting room a man got up from the armchair, and from Nicodemus’s description Johnny guessed him to be Paul Dassigne. He was an inch or so shorter than Johnny, a dark, handsome man in his early forties, immaculately dressed in a dark suit and sporting an Old Harrovian tie. (Johnny didn’t know it was Old Harrovian until Nicodemus told him later. Perhaps that was why Knickers was suspicious of the man, he thought. Schoolboy rivalry. Knickers had been to Eton.)

  Carole introduced them. ‘Johnny’s a detective, a friend of Humphrey. Actually, he came to see you, Jill. But you weren’t here, so he took me out to dinner.’ She curtseyed. ‘The digestive organs thank you.’

  Not too boisterously, I hope,’ Dassigne said.

  Jill looked at Johnny. She was about his height, almost aggressively red-headed, and with make-up so pale that it seemed to negate colour rather than promote it. Until one noticed the mini-skirt peeping beneath her jacket she appeared to be clothed completely in leather.

  ‘You want to see me?’ Her voice was apathetic rather than haughty, suggesting there was nothing they could have in common. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Actually, Carole hasn’t got it quite right,’ Johnny said. Despite her apathy, he would have preferred to deal with the girl rather than the man. If Paul Dassigne was crooked he’d be giving nothing away. ‘It’s Mr Dassigne here I wanted to see. Carole thought you might know his address.’ He turned to the man. ‘I understand you drive a white Mercedes convertible, sir.’

  ‘No more than I have to. Why?’

  ‘Were you out in it yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘If you’ve been chatting up Carole you’ll know I was.’ He sounded more amused than annoyed. ‘You’ll know I dropped her in Grosvenor Place and then took Miss Summerbee to St John’s Wood. So what?’

  I wouldn’t call his voice flat, Johnny thought. Smooth, rather. But cultured, yes. Blue blood, public school, Oxbridge — the lot.

  ‘Can someone confirm that, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Does someone need to?’ Culture had acquired an edge. ‘What the hell is all this about, Sergeant? Am I supposed to have committed a crime of some sort?’

  Johnny evaded the question. ‘The point is, sir, that a crime was committed, and a car similar to yours was seen in the vicinity. Luckily it’s an uncommon model, so there can’t be too many of them around. But they all have to be investigated. Fully. Believe me, we don’t eliminate anyone until we’ve checked and double-checked.’ He smiled. He had an engaging smile that did a lot with women. ‘It can be bloody aggravating at times, but it pays.’

  Dassigne shrugged. ‘Well, Jill can vouch for me. Eh, Jill?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Her tone suggested she resented the request. She had green eyes, he noticed. ‘We took some flowers to a friend of mi
ne. She’s sick.’

  ‘May I have her name and address?’

  ‘Now wait a minute!’ The edge to Dassigne’s voice had sharpened. ‘Are you suggesting Jill’s word is not enough? Because if so —’

  ‘I told you, we have to check and double-check,’ Johnny said. He was beginning to dislike Paul Dassigne. ‘If my superintendent were to suspect I’d skipped a stage he’d have my guts for garters.’

  ‘Too bad. All the same, I —’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Paul.’ Carole sounded impatient. ‘Don’t be so pompous. You’re as bad as Humphrey. Give him the damned address, Jill, for Heaven’s sake! What the hell does it matter?’

  Jill Summerbee looked at Dassigne, who shrugged and turned away. ‘Thirty-five, Stretton Street,’ she said. ‘A Miss Yapton.’

  Johnny did not linger. They had killed his evening, and he made no attempt to resuscitate it. Experience under similar circumstances had taught him that it was wiser to make a clean break and start again, and as he followed Carole to the front door he said, ‘How about dinner tomorrow evening? Assuming I’m off the hook, that is. Or aren’t you free?’

  ‘I’m always free for a meal ticket,’ she said. ‘I’m a compulsive eater. Or didn’t it show?’

  ‘It showed,’ he said. ‘But who’s complaining?’

  3

  Unlike her flatmate, Jill Summerbee was not a hearty eater. Colin Browne wished she were; it would have stretched the meals they ate together, have given him more of her company. She was sparing with that. She allowed him to lavish gifts on her, to take her out of an evening when she had nothing better to do; but once the entertainment was over it was back to the flat in Eyton Place, a good-night-and-thank-you peck on the doorstep (she never allowed it to develop into an embrace), and the front door shutting him out. They were never alone together. There were always people: strangers mostly, for it was seldom she asked him to take her to a party or to make up a foursome. He thought he knew the reason. It was not so much that she disliked him as that she liked someone else too much. He was the second or third best, to be called on when numbers one and two were not available. The knowledge saddened him. Yet because he loved her he accepted it. The little of her society, of her affection, she so grudgingly gave him was better than no contact at all

  She had rung him that morning at the bank and had asked him to give her lunch. Now, watching her maul the cold salmon (it was typical of Jill to choose an expensive dish, only to leave most of it), he wondered why he had been summoned. He knew it was not just for the meal, and usually she was not hesitant in asking for whatever it was she wanted of him. But today her mood was different; she was less assured, less brusque. When her green eyes focused on him it was with a more speculative look than the cool, indifferent stare she usually gave him. She was so preoccupied that she did not even refer to the robbery — although, living with Nicodemus’s sister, she must have known of it. When he himself introduced the subject she asked the obvious questions, made the obvious comments. But she appeared not to notice the conspicuous stiffness of his neck, or the occasional spasm of pain that furrowed his brow and made his eyes contract.

  ‘What’s up, Jill?’ he asked eventually, unable to restrain his curiosity further. ‘Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?’ There was a long, calculating stare before she nodded. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me about it?’

  She shrugged. ‘There’s not much to tell. It’s just that I — well, I’m frightened.’

  That surprised him. He didn’t know what he had expected, but he hadn’t expected this. She had always seemed too poised, too unemotional, to be frightened. But now that she had said it he knew it to be true. It was in her eyes and in her voice, and in the faint twitching of her long fingers spread on the table.

  ‘Good Lord! But — frightened of what, Jill?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But it does! Tell me.’

  She had done something, she said, which could involve her in criminal proceedings, and which she now wanted desperately to undo. What frightened her was the knowledge that in undoing it she would be courting certain danger, for it would mean incriminating someone who would not hesitate to take savage reprisals. He had as good as told her so. She would be disfigured for life, she said, perhaps severely maimed. Wasn’t that enough to terrify any girl?

  It was enough to horrify Colin. But he knew she wasn’t there merely for sympathy, or to seek advice. Jill never took advice, and if she’d wanted a shoulder to cry on she wouldn’t have chosen his. There had to be more.

  ‘But what is it you’ve done, Jill? And who’s threatening you, anyway?’

  He thought he knew the answer to the second question. But he wanted her to tell him.

  She shook her head. Details were immaterial, she said; to disclose them would only involve him unnecessarily without easing the dilemma. For his own sake, the less he knew the better.

  ‘But that’s nonsense,’ he protested.

  ‘How the hell can I help you if I don’t know the facts?’

  ‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘No one can. Forget it.’

  He knew she didn’t want him to forget it, that this was a build-up for the finale; she might be frightened, but she could still dissemble. He tried to banish the thought as being disloyal, but it persisted. In an attempt to re-establish his loyalty he said earnestly, It’s no good telling me to forget it. I can’t, and you know I can’t. So let’s have it, Jill. There’s a solution to most problems if you’re prepared to work at it. There’s probably one to yours.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ She had picked up her fork and was idly shredding the remains of the salmon. Now she looked at him. ‘I know you think I’m egotistical and self-centred, that I couldn’t care less about others so long as I’m all-right-Jack. That isn’t completely true, Colin. I may seem hard on the outside, but I’ve got scruples and a conscience same as most people. That’s why there’s really no alternative; I’ve just got to tell the police what I know. The thought terrifies me, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.’ She shivered. ‘I probably won’t be able to live with myself if I do. I’ll be a nervous wreck, waiting for something to happen. Still, I don’t suppose I’ll have to wait long.’

  ‘You could go away,’ he suggested. ‘Hide somewhere until it blows over.’

  She shook her head. ‘I could if I had the money. But I’m broke. And it might be for months.’

  His heart sank. So it was money she wanted. He had hoped to play a more active role in her protection.

  ‘How much would you need?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘Difficult to say. I mean, it depends, doesn’t it? But I imagine a couple of hundred would see me through. Say two-fifty to be sure.’

  Colin gasped. ‘As much as that?’

  ‘Well, I’d have to stay at an hotel. Friends and relatives are out. That’s where he’d look for me first, isn’t it?’

  She was always broke, he reflected, although she probably earned more than he did. She had expensive tastes. The hotel, no doubt, would be four star. But he did not hesitate.

  ‘I’ll get it for you,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly let you, Colin. It wouldn’t be right.’

  The waiter was hovering. They were silent while he cleared away the plates. No, she said, nothing more to eat. Just a coffee. Black.

  ‘It was sweet of you to offer, Colin,’ she said, when the man had gone. ‘And you know, don’t you, that that wasn’t why I wanted to see you? I just thought —’

  ‘I know,’ he lied. ‘And don’t worry, Jill. You shall have the money. What’s money compared with your safety?’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure it won’t embarrass you — financially, I mean. I wouldn’t want to do that.’

  ‘It won’t embarrass me.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘I’ll pay it back, of course.’

  ‘Of course. When do you want it?’

  ‘Could you m
anage it by this evening? After you leave the bank?’

  ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘We might have dinner together later.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’d love to, of course, but — well, there’ll be lots of arrangements to make. And I’ve got to pack.’ She leaned forward to touch his hand. ‘You’re terribly sweet to me, Colin. I don’t mean just lending the money, but — well, everything. Goodness knows why you do it. I give so little in return.’

  ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘That’s enough, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it? All the same, I —’ He felt the pressure of her fingers. If green eyes can be warm, then hers were suddenly warm. ‘I tell you what. If I let you know where I’m staying, how about joining me one weekend? Does that seem like a good idea?’

  Her meaning was clear. She might change her mind when he arrived (If he arrived. It was more than likely that he wouldn’t even hear from her), but at least she meant it now, he thought. The knowledge charged him with emotion. He had to clear his throat before answering.

  ‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘It sounds like a very good idea.’

  *

  It had been a frustrating day. One of those days which Johnny described as ‘croakers’: a day when most of the visits were fruitless, when nobody wanted to know, when the weather was foul and he didn’t feel too good in himself. So he was in an itchy mood when he reported back to the Yard late that Thursday afternoon. He was tired, he was hungry (only a bolted sandwich for lunch), he was wet. He was also in a hurry to be off. He’d need a bath and a change before meeting Carole, and time was running out.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ The superintendent spoke sharply. He was in shirtsleeves and pullover, and from the way the greying hair lay flat on his head Johnny guessed that he too had been out in the rain and had only recently returned. ‘Weren’t you supposed to be checking on Dassigne’s alibi?’

  ‘Among other chores — yes, sir.’

  ‘H’m! Taken your time, haven’t you?’

  It was Mrs Yapton who had taken his time, Johnny said. It was not until his fourth visit to the house in Stretton Street that his knock had been answered. She had been out all day, Mrs Yapton had told him, and her daughter couldn’t come to the door. She was in bed with tonsillitis.