by J F Straker
Johnny knew that the yawn was not from boredom; he had seen men yawn on similar occasions before. It was the relief from strain. They had abandoned the struggle, now they could relax and let the law take over. But he was far from content. All Browne had done was to confirm the suspicion that Dassigne had been involved in the robbery. He had added little of importance to his written confession.
‘There was a drunk came into the bank just before your friends arrived,’ he said. ‘I gather he wasn’t part of the setup?’
Browne shook his head. The drunk, he said, had looked to him like the proverbial spanner. Browne had tried to hustle him out before his presence became known to the manager, fearing that the latter might send for the police. Luckily that hadn’t happened. But it had given Browne some anxious moments.
I bet it did, Johnny thought. ‘Who were Dassigne’s accomplices?’ he asked.
‘I’ve no idea.’ Browne smothered another yawn. ‘It was better I shouldn’t know, Dassigne said. What I didn’t know I couldn’t spill.’
Johnny believed him. Browne was a oncer, not an habitual. He’d have no inhibitions about squealing, particularly with Dassigne dead. Was that why one of them wrapped that hose-pipe round your neck?’ he asked. ‘He didn’t know you were part of the act?’
Browne nodded. Dassigne had agreed, he said, that to avoid suspicion he should make a show of tackling the raiders. Unfortunately for him, Dassigne had neglected to inform his accomplices of the arrangement.
‘Did you get your five hundred?’
‘Oh, yes. And my I.O.U.s. But only after I’d signed that damned confession. It was a guarantee, he said, against my acquiring a conscience. I said the guarantee should be mutual. He didn’t argue. Just took the paper, added an extra para implicating himself, and signed it.’ Browne’s tone was bitter. ‘Well, you’ve seen the bloody thing.’
‘He snipped his own para off later, eh?’ Johnny shook his head. ‘A bit naïve, wasn’t it, falling for that?’
‘I wasn’t used to dealing with crooks.’ He straightened and yawned. ‘Look, Sergeant. I said I’d make a statement, and I will. But do we have to go round in circles first? I’m tired.’
Johnny reached for a statement form. ‘There’s one thing that puzzles me,’ he said. ‘Why was Dassigne so willing to make you those loans? He couldn’t have known he’d be able to use you the way he did. Not all those months ahead.’
Browne didn’t know, and obviously didn’t care. Maybe Dassigne had just been throwing his bread on the waters, supposing a chief cashier to be more influential than in fact he was. Or maybe Jill had coerced him into being generous. She would know, if Dassigne didn’t that the money would be spent on herself. Did it matter?
Not intensely, Johnny said, handing him the form. Did Browne wish to write the statement himself? Browne said he did, and Johnny dictated the opening formula and got him to sign it, and then sat back and watched him write. Seven-thirty, he’d told Carole. Just as well he’d warned her he might be late. It was after seven now, and he still had to take Browne over to Acton to be formally charged and locked up. After that he should be free. Unless he was fool enough to ring the Boozer. Which he wasn’t. The Boozer could wait till morning.
It was en route to Acton that he asked Browne if he knew of the attempt to frame Nicodemus. Yes, Browne said, he knew. But why? Johnny asked, genuinely perplexed. A man of Dassigne’s intelligence must have appreciated that knocking out one copper wouldn’t stop the hunt. What had he hoped to gain by it?
Browne turned to look out of the window. He said, ‘Nothing, probably. But it wasn’t his idea, Sergeant. It was mine. Dassigne just arranged it.’
Johnny was stunned. ‘But I thought you and Nicodemus were friends?’
Acquaintances, Browne said, not friends. And that only because they were neighbours. He had never really liked Nicodemus, and the discovery that Jill was in love with him had turned dislike to jealous hatred. ‘When Mr Johnson told me of your superintendent’s suspicion that Humphrey might be involved in the robbery — I saw a chance to get him off my back. If he were disgraced, perhaps even sent to prison, Jill might forget him. Mind you, that wasn’t the reason I gave Dassigne. I suggested it might provide the police with a tempting red herring.’ Browne shrugged. ‘He didn’t object, provided I put up the money.’
‘But it was so unnecessary,’ Johnny protested. Nicodemus wasn’t in love with Jill. He didn’t even find her attractive.’
‘Maybe not. But she was in love with him. That’s what mattered.’
‘Then why, when I saw you the next day, did you try to impress me with Nicodemus’s integrity? Why knock him down with one hand and pick him up with the other?’
‘Because he was almost certain to mention we were neighbours. That’s why. For all I knew he might have done so already. For me to say nothing would have looked a bit odd, wouldn’t it?’ Browne smiled wryly. ‘If I’d denigrated him you’d have demanded chapter and verse. Besides, a modest testimonial seemed appropriate from a neighbour. Particularly as I knew it would carry absolutely no weight against the evidence we’d already provided to the contrary.’
Hitherto Johnny had felt some sympathy for his prisoner. Now sympathy turned to disgust. All right, so Browne and Knickers hadn’t been exactly bosom pals. But for a man deliberately to lie in order to wreck another’s career, through misplaced jealousy or any other selfish reason — that he couldn’t take.
He said stiffly, ‘A pretty low-down trick, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I’m not exactly proud of it,’ Browne admitted. ‘But given the same circumstances I’d probably do it again.’
*
He was over an hour late at Eyton Place, but, as she had promised, there were no reproaches. Nicodemus had telephoned to tell her of Paul’s death, and that had depressed her. What did Johnny propose, she asked, to cheer her up?
‘We could eat,’ he suggested. ‘That usually turns you on.’
As they walked the short distance to the Chic Inn he told her of Colin Browne’s confession. He didn’t mention that it was Colin who had tried to frame her brother, or that Lara Dassigne had been murdered; one shock at a time, he decided. And shocked she certainly was: although more that Colin could so betray his position — a trusted bank employee, stepson to a baronet — than from personal grief. The shock was also cushioned by Johnny’s assurance that Colin’s confession would almost certainly disperse the cloud from above her brother’s head. She was less surprised or concerned to learn that Johnny and her brother had been right about Paul. She had not believed them, but they had conditioned her to the possibility.
‘Let’s ring Humphrey,’ she suggested.
‘Tell him the good news. I mean — well, it’s good for him, anyway.’
‘First things first,’ Johnny said. ‘I’m hungry. We’ll ring when we get back.’
Carole had always been on friendly terms with Fred Potatoes, but Johnny noticed that tonight she was particularly charming. After one touching exchange of pleasantries while Fred was clearing the soup plates, he said, ‘What’s with you two, Carole? Not courting, are you?’
She laughed. ‘Can you imagine Mother’s reaction if I started walking out with Fred? She’d have a fit. Though I say it as shouldn’t, she’s a snob, and horribly county.’
She’s all that, Johnny thought. Which is why she didn’t exactly fall on my neck. I’m not in the debs’ delight class. A tenant farmer’s son, and Maidstone Grammar — that’s not for her. And not for her daughter.
‘So you’re not courting. Then why all the loving kindness?’
‘I’m just trying to be nice.’
‘You’re always nice. What’s special about tonight?’
‘Nothing. Except that he did me a favour the other night, and I’m grateful.’
‘He gave you an extra large helping?’ She smiled. ‘It shows, doesn’t it? My appetite, I mean.’
‘It shows. All right, then. What?’
‘Don’t badger me.
Stop being a detective, can’t you, and act like you’re out with your girl?’ She pouted deliciously. ‘Or aren’t you?’
‘I thought I was. The way you and Fred are carrying on, I’m not so sure.’
‘That’s fine. I don’t like being taken for granted. Now tell me about Colin.’
He told her about Colin. As the meal progressed he also told her of Lara Dassigne’s death. That surprised her more than it distressed her. It was a ghastly thing to happen; but Lara had meant nothing to her, and coming on top of such a spate of robbery and murder her death made less of an impact. It was Colin and his family who evoked most of her sympathy.
‘His mother’s going to feel it terribly,’ she said. ‘So will Sir John, though not in the same way. I don’t think he goes much on Colin; Colin isn’t the lovable type, somehow. It’s the disgrace and the notoriety that’ll hit Sir John. Mind you, I’m sure Colin had nothing to do with murder; it’s just bad luck that he got himself involved. But he’ll go to prison for what he did at the bank, won’t he? How long will he get, Johnny?’
‘Anything up to seven years, I’d say.’
‘How ghastly!’
‘Don’t waste your sympathy on Colin,’ Johnny said. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you this, but you may as well hear it now as later. It was Colin who tried to incriminate Knickers.’
She was as disgusted as Johnny had been. She was still brooding on it when Fred came bustling over with the evening paper.
‘Have you seen this, miss?’ His round, red face looked rounder and redder than ever. ‘About Mr Dassigne and his missus? They’ve been murdered. Did you know?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Shocking, isn’t it?’
‘Shocking? It’s bloody terrible!’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry. But he was such a nice gentleman. Always left a good tip, Mr Dassigne did. Did you know he was married, miss? I didn’t.’
‘I didn’t either.’
‘First poor Miss Summerbee, and now them two. And all in just a few days. You’re a policeman, Mr Inch. What do you reckon to it?’
‘I don’t, Fred. I’m as baffled as you are.’
Fred smacked his lips, flapping at crumbs with his napkin. ‘Well, if you asks me, they was all done by the same geezer. I mean, it stands to reason. It says here Mr and Mrs Dassigne was strangled. And Miss Summerbee — ‘His eye was caught by a mini-skirted blonde who had just seated herself at a table. ‘’Scuse me. I’m wanted.’
He bustled away. Carole smiled. ‘Fred’s a great one for the birds,’ she said. ‘He told me the other evening he’d like to retire to a Pacific island, surrounded by a bevy of beautiful grass-skirted birds.’
‘Who wouldn’t?’ Johnny said. ‘Which was surrounded, Fred or the island?’
‘Fred, you idiot.’
‘Was that the evening he did you this favour?’
‘Yes.’ The smile faded.
‘H’m! Well, I hope it wasn’t the favour I’d like to do you.’
‘That’s a very dubious remark.’
‘Not at all. You know exactly what I mean.’
I’ll have to tell him something, she thought. Not the whole truth, perhaps, but enough to satisfy his curiosity. Only not here. I might make a mess of it; get all worked up and start to weep, and have everyone staring at me. I’ll leave it till we get back.
She told him the news her brother had given her over the telephone. Did he know Forest Lodge had been sold? Quite cheaply, too, according to Humphrey. Paul had been killed on his way into Branleigh the evening before, so perhaps they’d been right in thinking he was interested in buying the house. There was a suitcase in his car, Humphrey said. He must have intended to stay the night at The Forester, and attend the sale the next morning.
‘Which reminds me,’ she said. ‘Fred!’ Fred was at a near-by table, clearing the remains of a meal. He came quickly. ‘Yes, miss?’
‘Did Mr Dassigne call in here Monday evening? About seven o’clock?’
Fred thought for a while. ‘No, miss. I’m sure he didn’t.’
‘That’s odd. He said he would.’
‘What’s all this about?’ Johnny asked. He put a cigarette in his mouth, and Fred flicked his lighter and lit it. ‘Thanks.’
‘Paul called in to see me. Didn’t I tell you?’
‘No.’
‘Oh! Well, he did. To say how sorry he was about Jill, and to apologize for his wife barging in on us Sunday night. He said he had a train to catch — he was going away for the night — and he wanted to leave a message for Aaron Corby. He said he’d look in here on his way to the station.’
Fred had been following the conversation with vague interest. Now his face brightened.
‘Ah! That’s different, miss. I thought you meant, did he come in for a meal? But if it was just to leave a message — well, I could have been in the kitchen, couldn’t I?’
‘Was Mr Corby in here Monday evening?’ she asked.
‘Yes, miss, he was. He’s in most evenings. No, not yesterday. He wasn’t in yesterday. But he was in Monday.’
‘What time? I don’t remember seeing him.’
Fred couldn’t say what time. But early. Corby was usually early. ‘He doesn’t eat much, does Corby. Just pecks at his food. But he likes his beer.’
‘You’re being mysterious,’ Johnny said, when Fred had left them. ‘Give a little.’ ‘It’s nothing, really. Just idle curiosity.’ She hesitated. ‘Now that Paul’s dead well, anything that happened just before-hand seems to have a sort of weird significance. Don’t you find that?’
‘Frequently. It goes with the job.’
It was on the way back to the flat that she told him. They were in the alley, and it seemed an appropriate place. As they neared the recess she pressed his arm against hers. ‘You — you wanted to know why I was being nice to Fred.’
‘I still do.’ He was enjoying the pressure. ‘I’ve a jealous nature.’
‘Well, it was Monday night. I was on my way home from the restaurant — it’d be about half past nine, and quite dark — and as I came through here two men accosted me. I couldn’t see their faces properly, but they were big and rough-looking. I was really frightened. I thought they might try to — well, you know. They they said things.’ The pressure on his arm increased. ‘I don’t have to tell you, do I?’
‘No.’ His voice was harsh. He stopped, put his arm around her, and pulled her to him. ‘What happened?’
‘Well, Fred happened. He seemed to materialize out of nowhere; I’d been talking to him in the restaurant only ten minutes before. He knocked one of them down, and tore into the other so fiercely that the man just turned and ran.’ Her voice was muffled against his jacket, but he could sense her agitation. ‘Then the first man got up, and Fred sort of — well, booted him away.’ She looked up. ‘Fred said the man wouldn’t be interested in women for quite a while. Know what I mean?’
‘Yes. Did Fred go after them?’
‘No. He was afraid I might be hurt.’
‘And were you? They didn’t well, maul you?’
‘Oh, no,’ she lied. Her body tensed at the memory of what the men had done. ‘They would have, I expect, if Fred hadn’t stopped them.’
‘Well, bully for Fred.’ It sounded facetious, but she knew he didn’t mean it that way. ‘Did you inform the police?’
‘It didn’t seem worth the fuss. I wouldn’t recognize them again, and Fred said he wouldn’t either. He was too busy hitting them, he said, to look at them.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘He really was terrific, Johnny. And so — so considerate. He saw me home, and when I asked him in for a drink he said he was late for the boozer and his mates would be wondering. That was just an excuse, of course. He knew I was upset, and wanted to be alone.’ She drew away. ‘You won’t mention it to him, will you? I said I wouldn’t tell anyone — not even you — and he promised he wouldn’t either. If it got around — well, everyone would stare at me. I’d hate that.’
‘You should be used to it,’ he said, as they moved on. She
stayed close. He was a protection against memory. ‘There’s one thing, though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘When I phoned Monday evening you said you were going out with a man from the office.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. That was a lie. But I was a bit peeved with you at the time.’ She thought it unnecessary to explain why. ‘Anyway, I was cutting off my own nose. If you’d been with me it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘I forgive you,’ he said. ‘Provided you make it up to me this evening.’
‘That depends on how much making up you had in mind.’ She gave his arm another squeeze. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘No man can ask for more,’ he said.
They were out of the alley and nearing the flat. Johnny tried to shut his mind to what she had told him and concentrate on what was to come. Women who had been subjected to an indecent assault, even when the assault was little more than technical, often became temporarily frigid. It didn’t seem to have had that effect on Carole, thank goodness.
This time, he thought, we really may get somewhere.
Disillusionment came on the basement steps. A figure rose out of the darkness to greet them, a dustbin lid clattered to the ground.
‘Blast!’ the figure said.
‘Oh, no!’ Johnny said weakly. ‘Not again!’
‘What do you mean, ‘Oh, no!?’ Nicodemus dusted the seat of his trousers. ‘I came up especially to see you. After today’s little lot I reckoned you’d be dead keen to discuss it.’
‘I’ve had it in mind all evening,’ Johnny told him. ‘How did you guess?’