Forbes nodded, meeting the junior man’s eyes.
“Have you any idea what time he left the Manila?” Temple asked.
“He must have left while you and Mrs Temple were in the telephone box, sir. The bouncer said he saw you leave about half an hour after Brooks.”
“He told us he intended to drop in and see his sister,” Steve said. “Whether he was pulling our legs or not I don’t know.”
“Brooks hadn’t got a sister, Mrs Temple,” James told her, straight-faced. “He was an only child. He’d plenty of lady friends though - that’s probably what he meant.”
“Where did he live, James?”
“He had a flat in Whitedown Gardens, Sir Graham.
That’s just off the Cromwell Road. As a matter of fact I’m on my way there now.”
“Would you mind if I went along with you, Inspector?”
“Well…” James was taken aback at Temple’s request and for a split second his suspicion of an investigator outside the Force showed in his eyes.
“Yes, that’s all right, James,” said Forbes, blithely over- riding the implied refusal.
“If you say so, sir.” James inclined his head as a sign of his obedience to his Chief s command.
“Fine, I’ll get my things.” Temple spoke cheerily, though James’ reluctance had not been lost on him. “Oh, you’ve got a car, I take it? I’m without mine till you people have finished with it.”
“Yes, Mr Temple. I do have a car.”
Inevitably the lift was already in use. The overhead indicator showed that it had just reached the ground floor. Forbes, James and Temple watched it impatiently. At last the G gave way to a 1 and then a 2.
“It’s coming,” Temple murmured.
A moment later the lift doors opened. In deference James insisted on the other two preceding him. He had just squeezed in after them when the automatic doors closed.
“Which button do I press?” James was peering at the array of touch switches.
“G,” said Temple. “It’s the last but one.”
Before James’ finger had reached the button the lift jerked into movement.
“What have I done?”
“It’s all right, Inspector.” Temple laughed. “It must be someone on the floor above.”
The lift ascended one floor and the doors opened. On the landing outside was standing a tall man of about thirty with a friendly face and strikingly blonde hair.
“Oh! I beg your pardon!” he exclaimed at the sight of the three men. “I thought the lift was free.”
“That’s all right.” Temple put an arm out to prevent the lift door closing. “You just caught us in time.”
“Please?”
“We were just going down. There’s room for one more.”
The tall man squeezed in, still a little embarrassed.
“Do you want the ground floor?”
“If you please.”
The doors closed. This time James got the right button and the floor of the lift dropped away. It struck Temple that the stranger had probably bathed quite recently since he smelt of bath essence, soap and after-shave. His slight accent seemed to indicate that he was Nordic, probably from Denmark.
“My name’s Temple. Have you taken Major Hartley’s flat?”
“Yes, I moved in four or five days ago. The day you returned from America, Mr Temple.”
“Oh.” Temple was surprised by the man’s acumen but encouraged by the friendly smile.
“My name is Dr Elzec.”
“We have the flat under yours, doctor. Drop in one evening for a drink. My wife and I would be delighted to see you.”
“That is most kind.”
“Did you say Dr Elzec, sir?” James had been looking up at the Dane’s face.
“Yes,” said Elzec, focussing on the much smaller CID man. “But I think we have met somewhere before?”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” said James.
The lift stopped with a slight jerk and the door opened. With an apologetic gesture Elzec stepped out first, turned to give a slight bow and then walked with long strides out through the front door.
“You know him?” Temple asked, following James and Forbes out of the lift.
“I’ve seen him somewhere before but I’m dashed if I can place him.”
“Elzec,” said Forbes. “The name mean anything?”
“No, that’s the extraordinary part of it. I don’t think the name’s Elzec at all, in fact I’m sure it isn’t.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’ll come to me, Sir Graham. Is this the first time you’ve seen him, Mr Temple?”
“Yes. Apparently he’s taken Major Hartley’s furnished flat. Hartley’s with the Foreign Office. He’s been transferred to Washington.”
“I wish I could remember where I’ve seen him.” James shook his head, searching the floor for inspiration. “Elzec. I’m sure that’s not the name.”
Whitedown Gardens belied it’s name. It was a run-down street off North End Road, a few minutes walk from West Kensington Underground station. The houses, once substantial residences, had without exception been converted to flats. Cars were parked nose to tail along the kerb. Some of them appeared abandoned and were covered with leaves and bird droppings. There were no spaces and James double-parked the unnumbered Ford outside number 27.
Temple had done what he could during the short drive to break down the Chief Inspector’s resentment at having a well-known crime writer breathing down his neck. James had thawed slightly but the manner in which he led the way up the front steps and hammered on the knocker made it clear that this was his case and Temple was no more than an observer.
A head was poked out of an upstairs window, but no one came to answer the door. James wielded the knocker again.
“I think there’s someone coming,” Temple murmured.
“Not before time.”
“Who lives here, do you know?”
“A chap called Scaley owns the place. Brooks has the top floor.”
A heavy bolt was drawn back, a key turned in the lock and a chain rattled. James was standing close to the door, as it opened, ready to jam it with his foot.
“Good morning. I’d like to – ”
An angry face had appeared in the gap. It was unshaven and topped by a head of ginger hair.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing, man, knocking on the door like that? Why for goodness sakes don’t you use the bell?”
“Where’s the bell?” said James, wrong-footed right from the start.
“It’s right under your nose, man! It’s staring you in the face!”
A grubby, stubby finger stabbed the bell push. Deep inside the house a bell shrilled angrily.
“There, you see! It’s quite unnecessary to be making all that noise.”
The little Welshman was three inches shorter than James but about a yard wider. He’d pulled a pair of trousers over his pyjamas and flung on an old jacket. That he was Welsh was obvious from his speech and intonation.
“Are you Mr Scaly?” James demanded, striving to re-assert his authority.
“I am,” defiantly.
“Well, I’ve come about Mr Brooks.”
“Then I wish to goodness you’d have a word with him. Would you mind telling the gentleman to stop his fancy ladies from ringing at all hours? There hasn’t been a moment’s peace in this house. His phone’s been ringing since six o’clock this morning.”
“Yes, well don’t worry, Mr Scaley – from now on that’s a thing of the past.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m afraid Mr Brooks has met with an accident.”
“Accident? What sort of an accident?”
“He’s dead.”
“Why, man, I don’t believe it! You’re pulling my leg now! It’s a joke, isn’t it?” Scaley turned to appeal to Temple. “Now tell me it’s a joke.”
“No, it’s not a joke, Mr Scaley,” said James. Having dropped his bombshell
he felt able to assume his official manner. “I’m Chief Inspector James of Scotland Yard. This is Mr Temple.” Scaley blinked at Temple. He’d heard the name before but could not place it. James prompted him gently. “May we come inside?”
Recovering himself Scaley opened the door wide, but still used it to half screen his dishevelled clothing. “Yes, yes of course! Archie Brooks … dead!” He was shaking his head and muttering to himself as he closed the door behind him. “Why, man, I can’t believe it. Lordy, I just don’t believe it.”
Temple had understood why James was so sensitive about this case. It was because Sir Graham Forbes had been ready to entertain doubts about Brooks’ integrity and Brooks was a colleague of his. If there were going to be revelations about police complicity in a counterfeit racket the Force could handle the inquiry themselves without any assistance from outside.
Accordingly Temple let James deal with the examination of the flat in his own way. While the Chief Inspector went about the business of checking the contents of Brooks’ residence - searching for papers, opening the drawers of the desk, riffling through diaries and note books, examining the contents of the bathroom cabinet, nosing out possible secret hiding places – Temple was careful to keep his hands to himself. But he gave his eyes every possible chance.
For such a run-down area the flat was pleasantly furnished and decorated. As a bachelor Brooks did himself well. There were good rugs on the floor of the sitting-room and striking paintings on the walls. A modern music centre plus TV and video stood in one corner and a well stocked cocktail cabinet in the other. The kitchen was small and ill equipped with only the essentials for preparing breakfast. Brooks evidently went out for most meals. His bathroom was stocked not only with masculine toiletries but with bath essences, sprays and eau de toilette more suitable for feminine use. The feature of the bedroom was a large double bed with a full-width mirror instead of a head board. A set of day clothes was neatly draped on a chair – dark suit, shirt, tie, underwear and socks.
James was just feeling under the piles of pants, vests and handkerchiefs in one of the drawers.
Temple said, “He must have come back last night to change before going to the Manila.”
“Yes, according to our Welsh friend downstairs he went out about eight.” James closed the drawer. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything here. The sitting-room’s more interesting.”
“Find anything of interest?” Temple asked casually, following James through the connecting door.
“Nothing of importance. There’s a few letters, a diary and a couple of snapshot albums. I’ll take them back to the office.”
“Is this the first time you’ve been here, Inspector?”
“Yes.” James looked round him with a certain degree of envy. “Nice place, isn’t it?”
The telephone on the desk started to ring. Automatically James moved to answer it.
“Don’t touch it, let it ring.”
James halted in mid-stride. He frowned at the peremptory command.
“James, you said you could do impersonations. Do you think you could impersonate Brooks?”
“Chunky?” James’ face relaxed. “Yes. Yes, I think I could.”
“All right, have a shot at it!”
“You mean – you want me to answer the telephone and pretend to be Chunky?”
“Yes, go on. I’ll listen in the bedroom on the extension.”
Dubious but at the same time tempted by the challenge, James put a hand on the receiver. Temple ran into the bedroom to lift the bedside phone there at the same time.
“Hello? Is that you, Chunky?” A woman’s voice, youthful by the sound of it.
“Yes - this is Chunky. Who is that?”
Temple smiled. James’ voice was totally different and remarkably like Brooks’ excitable, high pitched way of talking.
“Why this is Eileen – who did you think it was?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise your voice.”
“You sound different – is anything the matter?”
“No, I was asleep, that’s all. Where are you? Where are you speaking from?”
“I’m at home … It’s all right - he can’t hear. He’s still in bed, asleep.” The voice was sexy, cosy and confiding. “Chunky, listen … I found out what you wanted.”
“You did?” James was being as economical as possible with words.
“It’s tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yes. Eleven o’clock …”
“What?”
“Oh, Chunky darling, do try and listen. I said eleven o’clock …”
“Oh, I see,” said James, breathing a little heavily with the effort of keeping his voice at an unnaturally high pitch.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me where?”
Obediently James asked, “Where, Eileen?”
There was a short pause, then the caller snapped in a completely different tone of voice, “You’re not Chunky!” and the receiver was immediately slammed down.
When Temple came back into the sitting-room James was still holding the receiver. He put it down slowly and gave Temple an apologetic look.
“I made a mess of that one, I’m afraid.”
“No, you didn’t. You put up a marvellous show!”
“You think so really?” James was brightening up.
“Of course I do. I’d have taken you for Chunky myself if I had not known.”
“Phew! I feel like a piece of chewed string. She was just going to give me the vital bit of information, you know, when I blew it.” James sighed.
“They probably had some pet word. You couldn’t know that.”
“I was dying to ask her who she was.” James chuckled “Eileen. Eileen who, Temple? Sexy voice, eh?” James grinned. All of a sudden the barrier between them was down.
“Yes. You may find it if you’ve a list of ’phone numbers there. I wonder if Scaley knows her?”
“There’s just a chance that he might. Come on. Let’s go down and ask him.”
But Owen Scaley could recall no girl-friend of that name. There was a Phyllis, a Dora, a Pat, a Samantha – but no Eileen.
“Will you be reporting to Sir Graham about that ’phone call?” James asked as they were getting into the police car.
Temple looked him in the eye. “No, I won’t. It’s your report, Inspector.”
James nodded and gave Temple a pat on the shoulder. Temple knew he had made a friend.
“Pass the toast, Paul.”
“Mm?”
“I said, pass the toast, darling.”
“Oh! Sorry.”
“You seem very quiet.”
Temple lowered the newspaper. He’d not really been reading it, using it more as a screen to hide behind. “What do you mean, quiet? Of course I’m quiet! What do you expect me to be like? It’s eleven o’clock and I’m only just having breakfast.”
“That makes two of us. I thought you’d be pleased I waited for you.”
Temple sighed and looked contrite. “I’m annoyed with myself, Steve.”
“Annoyed? What are you annoyed with yourself about?”
The little storm in a teacup had passed. Like any married couple who had a perfect and sympathetic understanding the Temples sometimes had these minor tiffs. Both of them knew that sometimes they had to let off steam and it was better to do it on someone who would quickly forgive and forget.
“I jumped to conclusions, darling. The wrong conclusions.”
“About Archie Brooks?”
“Yes.”
“Yes,” Steve allowed herself a private smile, “I thought you had.”
“Why – what did you think?” said Temple, peering round the side of the paper.
“I thought Brooks was mixed up in this business but I felt sure he was on the right side.”
“What made you so sure?”
“Oh, just intuition,” said Steve with a lift of the chin.
“Oh, by Timothy!” Temple l
owered the paper with mock apprehension. “Don’t tell me that good old intuition’s on the war-path again!”
“Well, the way things are at the moment you can certainly do with it!”
“By the way, Steve, have you seen the young fellow who’s taken the flat above?”
“Yes, I caught a glimpse of him yesterday morning. They say he’s taken it on a six month lease. Supposed to be paying five hundred a week.”
“Five hundred a week! By Timothy, Dr Elzec must have a pretty flourishing practice!”
“Is he a doctor?”
“Well, he said he was. I met him in the lift when I went down with the Chief Inspector. As a matter of fact James thought he recognised him.”
“He looks a pleasant sort of person, but he certainly doesn’t look like a doctor.”
“He’ll probably turn out to be an osteopath or a chiropractor or a masseur or something. Doctors come in all shapes and sizes these days. I’ve asked him to drop in for a drink one evening.”
Out in the hall the front door buzzer sounded.
“Darling, answer that,” Steve pleaded. “I can’t go like this.”
“Where’s Charlie?”
“He’s gone shopping.”
Temple gave Steve time to hurry through to the bedroom before he went to open the door.
Hubert Greene was wearing a light check shower proof coat over his business suit and was already holding his wide-brimmed hat in his hand.
“Why, hello, Greene!”
“Hello, Temple! Sorry if I’ve interrupted anything.”
“No, as a matter of fact I’m just having breakfast. But do come in!”
Greene stepped across the doormat into the hall. His quick eyes checked the hats and coats on the stand.
“It’s a bit of an impertinence dropping in like this, but I did rather want to see you and since I was passing the door I thought I might as well …”
“It’s not an impertinence at all,” said Temple, making a great effort to be civil. “Delighted to see you. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, let me take your things, and come on in.”
Paul Temple and the Madison Case Page 7