"Good idea." He strolled off down the hall.
My friend, Mrs. Philbrick, was on the desk. She had seen me on the telly and made much of me for a good five minutes while the other patrons looked on. I finally edged in a question about Daphne. She wasn't allowed visitors outside the family, but, translating the hospital jargon, I concluded they thought she'd survive. Her condition was "guarded." I asked if there was a flower stall nearby.
Mrs. Philbrick gave an approving nod. "But do find something cheery, love, something with a bit of color. Her brother, such a handsome gentleman, took up a bunch of dreary mums, all white like a funeral, not fifteen minutes ago."
"Oh dear." I wondered if white chrysanthemums were universally associated with funerals.
"Men!" Mrs. Philbrick gave me a matey wink and turned to help an elderly woman with a question about her niece's kiddy in the pediatric ward.
I drifted to my left, toward the plastic couch I had sat on the week before. The lobby was fairly busy. Medical types scurried down corridors. Patients and visitors knotted and separated, rather like fish swimming among coral. I garnered some curious looks, but only the younger children stared openly.
As I glanced around I caught sight of Trevor Worth. He was sidling down the left hand corridor in the direction of the main entrance. Though he wore one of his natty suits, he looked rumpled, almost distraught. I hesitated, hoping he hadn't had bad news, but decided I had better explain Dad's presence in the flat.
I cut him off by one of the administrative offices. "Hello, Trevor. How's Daphne? I hear she's better."
He stared at me. For a moment I thought he didn't recognize me, and my cheeks went hot with embarrassment. Then his eyes shifted. "Oh, hullo. Yes, better. Sorry." He started to edge past me as the office door opened.
A woman in a business suit emerged, followed by two men in the uniform of a delivery firm who were carrying a filing cabinet between them. They blocked Trevor's way to the street. The administrator was giving the two men directions.
"If you have a moment..." I began. Something was wrong. Trevor looked wild-eyed.
I hesitated, spotted Jay, who was almost upon us, and turned to him with relief. "Oh, Jay, here's Trevor. He says Daphne's better."
"That's good news." Jay held out his hand.
Trevor said something desperate under his breath and shoved past us. He ran a few steps toward the entry and careened into the workmen, who dropped the file. A drawer popped open, and papers spilled onto the tiled floor.
"Here, watch it, mate." One of the men grabbed for Trevor but slipped on the loose papers and toppled sideways, swearing.
Jay said, "Sorry," just like an Englishman and moved off after Trevor. I watched Jay hurdle past the workmen. He avoided knocking into a woman in a flowered hat who was coming up the steps, then disappeared to the right.
I gaped after them. The workmen scrambled up and were trying to gather the papers. The lady with the flowered hat had backed against the edge of the door, hands out defensively.
"Where did he go? Did you see him?"
I whipped around.
Sergeant Baylor, her face pink, trotted up to me. She was carrying a small hand-held radio with an antenna.
I pointed, and she dashed off, sliding by the bewildered workmen as if they weren't there. The woman with the hat began to scream, though she sounded more excited than frightened.
I decided I might as well join in the chase, too, whatever it might mean.
I scooted past the filing cabinet. "Sorry."
One of the men trotted after me. "What the bloody hell..."
I was wearing jeans and sneakers, so I moved fast. I stopped at the top of the wide stairs and glanced wildly around. Jay and Trevor had crossed the Fulham Road at the zebra and were half a block down a narrow street that led north. Jay was gaining on Trevor, running hard, and Sergeant Baylor chased after them, going flat out. I sprinted across the zebra and followed them.
Trevor was running toward the warren of streets that lies between the Fulham and Old Brompton Roads. He flashed around a corner when Jay was within arm's length of him, and I lost sight of them. Then Sergeant Baylor rounded the corner, too.
My arm was beginning to hurt. I hoped I hadn't jarred it. I slowed to a trot, nursing the sling. Behind me I heard a police siren, and squealing of brakes and beeping of horns as the traffic responded in the main road. The side street I was running along was almost deserted.
I turned the corner and slowed to a walk. Trevor was standing halfway down a quiet residential street, by the iron railing of a basement areaway. Jay had a grip on his arm. Trevor's shoulders slumped. I couldn't see his face.
Sergeant Baylor stood facing the two men. For an insane moment it looked as if they were having a nice three-way conversation. I picked up my pace and neared them as Sergeant Baylor began to inform Trevor of his rights with a formula similar to the Miranda warning.
When Jay saw me coming, he grimaced and gave a short shake of his head. No. I stopped and leaned against the square pillar at the edge of the railing. Neat steps led up to a bright yellow door with a polished brass knocker. There was a small neo-gothic church across the street.
Sergeant Baylor's radio squawked as the police car rounded the corner and pulled up sedately beside the little tableau. Two uniformed men got out. Trevor was handcuffed and put in the back seat with a minimum of discussion. Sergeant Baylor leaned down to the driver and said something, low-voiced, and the car drove off. It was almost as if Trevor had called for a taxi.
"Now, sir..." Sergeant Baylor turned to Jay. "Mr. Dodge!"
I said dryly, "My husband, sergeant. We bumped into Trevor in the lobby of the hospital. What happened?"
She blinked. She was puffing a little. "Your husband just assisted me in apprehending a murderer."
Murderer? Surprise struck me dumb.
Sergeant Baylor drew a long breath and tucked a stray curl behind one ear. "Mr. Worth was spotted not ten minutes ago in hospital trying to smother his sister with a pillow. We have reason to believe it was he who ran her down on Sunday in Dorchester."
Jay said, "I was afraid of something like that when I saw him in the lobby. He looked as if the devil was after him, and I knew Inspector Thorne hadn't been able to place the other suspects in Dorset at the crucial time."
"Trevor tried to kill Daphne? But that's awful," I burst out. "Why? I don't understand."
We were walking slowly back toward the hospital. Sergeant Baylor said, very cautious, "Chief Inspector Thorne has never been satisfied that the men who burgled your flat also killed Miss Beale."
"But I thought Parks..."
"Parks confessed to the burglary and to abetting the assault on Milos Vlaçek, but he swears neither he nor Smith had anything to do with Miss Beale's murder."
"So he says." I was having trouble admitting to myself that I had been attracted, however briefly, to a murderer. I stumbled on an uneven paving stone.
Jay took my good arm. "Different M.O."
Sergeant Baylor had been walking slightly ahead of us. She turned, her eyes earnest. "That's it. The burglary was a professional job, but the murder seemed to be improvised on the spot. Very amateurish."
"But effective," I croaked.
"And vicious." She shook her head. "That poor little dog."
We walked on, silent, giving Rollo his due.
At last she sighed and went on, "The Chief Inspector had Smith charged after the explosion at Hambly because of Miss Beale's Czech connections. It seemed possible that the murder was part of the international conspiracy after all. There was, er, a certain amount of pressure."
From the press, or from the Home Office, I wondered.
"So Thorne reconsidered when the sedan came up clean?" Jay sounded as if he were trying to read Thorne's mind.
Sergeant Baylor stepped boldly onto a zebra, the traffic halted, and we followed her across. "I'm sure he'll explain his reasoning to you, sir. There is circumstantial evidence in the first murder,
and, of course, the second attempt on Miss Worth's life settles it. The man's guilty." We were walking three abreast toward the hospital.
She picked up the pace. "I don't mind admitting I thought Mr. Thorne was daft to post me at the hospital when Miss Worth's assailant was under lock and key in Shropshire. But the inspector was right. He usually is."
Jay said, "Will you tell us what triggered the chase, sergeant?"
"I was standing at the nurse's station when the sister on duty let out a shriek. She'd gone in to adjust the IV, and she found him at it. She pulled him away. Mr. Worth crashed into me as I tried to enter the room. Knocked me down."
I wondered whether Trevor had said Sorry. "What did you do?"
"I radioed for help, but he'd disappeared down the stairs by the time I ascertained that Miss Worth was still breathing."
I drew a sharp breath. "She's alive?"
"Oh yes." She walked on for several silent paces. "Do you know, that ghastly hypocrite brought her flowers? We'd have caught up with him eventually, but I'm most grateful to you, Mr. Dodge. I'd not like it on my record that I lost him."
We were approaching the hospital. At the entryway she stopped. "We'll want statements from both of you, of course, but you may return to your flat and wait there, if you like. I know Mrs. Dodge is unwell."
Mrs. Dodge was dumbfounded but otherwise hale.
Sergeant Baylor offered to send us home in a police car. She checked in with Thorne via the radio. Jay thanked her but declined the ride. She shook hands with both of us and disappeared into the lobby.
Jay and I stood on the sidewalk staring at each other. After a moment, Jay began to chuckle.
"What is it?" I was rather cross that he had figured Trevor out and I hadn't.
"All the time I was chasing after the guy I was wondering whether a non-citizen can make a citizen's arrest. It's a good thing the sergeant showed up."
"You must've been damned sure Trevor was guilty."
"I did call out to him, asked him what was the matter. When he heard me, he really started running." He sobered. "You liked him, didn't you? I'm sorry, Lark."
I gave him as much of a hug as I could with one arm. "He talked about cars all evening. I thought he was boring." A taxi approached, cruising. "Hey, the little yellow light isn't on. Hail it. Quick."
We rode home in comfortable silence. I was trying to sort things out and was so absorbed I forgot to worry about the reporters. They were still there.
As we emerged from the taxi a young woman stuck a microphone under my nose. Flash-bulbs went off. "Mrs. Dodge, tell us your sensations when..."
I said, "You really ought to pop over to the Chelsea police station. Miss Beale's murderer was just arrested." In the breathless pause before the new questions began we dashed up the stairs, and Jay unlocked the door.
"Who did it? Tell us who did it, Mrs. Dodge."
I turned on the step and gave them all a huge smile. "No comment."
Chapter 19.
I wondered what was keeping Ann.
Jay and I kicked our heels at the flat, waiting for the police to come for our statements. Remnants of the press battalion still lurked around the entryway, so there was no inducement to go out. We talked about Trevor's arrest and what it meant, but not exhaustively. Jay is trained not to theorize ahead of the facts. I think he was a little embarrassed by his leap of intuition. I like to jump to conclusions as well as anyone, but I was feeling chagrin that I had so seriously misjudged Trevor. Of the two siblings, I would have cast Daphne as the murderer. Though I had come to like her, she had seemed the less stable personality.
We ate a snack. Ann still hadn't come. I hoped the errand she was running for Milos hadn't tangled her in some political web or bankrupted her. I hoped she wasn't going to pay Milos's rent. I stewed about that. Her funds had to be getting low.
Jay told me what I needed was a good run, and he was right. Unfortunately my feet weren't up to it, as my brief sprint that morning had taught me. I had applied bandages to the half-healed cuts and was scuffing around in slippers when the door buzzer sounded.
Jay went to answer it, and returned with Inspector Thorne himself. Thorne was accompanied by Sergeant Baylor and Constable Ryan, and all three looked pleased with themselves. Sergeant Wilberforce sent greetings from Shropshire.
I offered coffee or tea, and they settled for tea--or Thorne did. Though he was in high good humor, he made poor Ryan go out to keep the press at bay. Sergeant Baylor came with me to the kitchen and showed me her tea-making technique. I put the remainder of the digestive biscuits on a plate, and we took the tray to the living room.
After tea Thorne took our statements, with Sergeant Baylor doing steno duty. Thorne was thorough, as usual, but this time he didn't fish for our subjective interpretations. In my case that was just as well.
He seemed interested in Jay's part in the chase. "Betty here tells me you hared off after Worth before she appeared on the scene. Did you suspect him all along?"
"He was behaving strangely this morning." Jay rubbed the back of his neck. He looked embarrassed. "I can't say I pegged him from the first, sir. I thought he was a pleasant guy but not very bright. The thing is, he has expensive tastes."
Ah, the Porsche. I should have brooded about the Porsche.
Jay went on, "And then he sells used cars..."
"What?" I suppose my eyeballs bulged. Used cars?
Jay fiddled with his watch strap, avoiding my stare. "That agency deals in new and used vehicles, all up-scale, but he said he handled only used cars. He tried to sell me one. The commission on used cars--even used Jags--can't be all that wonderful. And this is an expensive town to live in."
Thorne said he himself commuted from the southern suburbs because rents in Chelsea were so steep.
Jay waved an expressive hand at the zebra-striped decor. "Ann and Lark have been paying outrageous rent, and the incursion of a lot of well-heeled temporary residents into an area is bound to inflate all rents."
Thorne nodded. "Go on, lad."
I squirmed. Jay's observation was true, of course, and exactly what Daphne's group had been protesting, but hotel rates were even more outrageous than the rent we had paid Miss Beale.
Jay was saying, "I suspected both of Miss Beale's heirs even before I left home. When I met them, though, I didn't think Miss Worth was particularly interested in money or social prestige. I also didn't think her brother would settle for the wrong kind of address."
"Daphne hated the commute from Chiswick," I objected.
"But she was involved in that activist group, trying to do something constructive about rents in general. People who think that way don't usually succumb to selfish motives."
Thorne smiled at Jay as if he were a pupil who had come up with the right answer on an exam. "Greed and debt. Worth's overdraft was stretched to the limit. He owed his tailor a whopping tab, too. Miss Beale had bailed him out once and told him she wouldn't do it again. By all accounts she was fond of her nephew, but she had strict notions of fiscal rectitude. That and the prospect of inheriting were more than enough to provide temptation when the moment came."
Jay smoothed his mustache. "Miss Beale's murder looked like an opportunistic crime to me. When Lark told me about the burglary and its aftermath, she mentioned that both of the Worths had been in the basement flat when the crime was discovered. I suppose Worth saw his chance and took it. There was a strong possibility the burglars would be blamed."
Thorne chuckled. "Or your good wife."
Jay's mouth twitched at the corners. "Or Lark, or Ann, or both in collusion."
"He didn't like Rollo."
All three of them looked at me, and Sergeant Baylor's eyes narrowed.
I held my ground. "The first time I saw Trevor Worth he cuffed Rollo, who was yipping at us the way poodles do when strangers invade their territory. I didn't think much about it at the time. Rollo was just being a poodle, but the noise was irritating. I have since been, er, sensitized to British feel
ings about dogs. Trevor's behavior was not typical."
"Ah, the newspapers." Thorne must have read the Independent column, too. "D'ye know what set old Sparky talking?"
We shook our heads.
"He was willing to admit his role in the stabbing, and burglary's his trade, poor sod, but what he couldn't thole was being sent up for coshing a dog. Tears in his eyes. I had to believe him. Mind you," Thorne thumped the arm of the chair for emphasis, "Parks is an old-fashioned crook. Smith is another sort of villain altogether."
I leaned forward. "Is that why you asked me about Smith's personality?"
"Aye. I was trying to see him bashing in the dog's head and tossing Miss Beale down four flights of stairs. I daresay Smith wouldn't have had qualms. He's a killer, true enough, but he likes to use a knife, and he's quiet with it. You said he was cold, lass. That was my impression, too."
I shivered. "Efficient."
"Aye, and there was nowt in Miss Beale's death to suggest the killer was either quiet or efficient."
I sighed. "It's hard to imagine Trevor bludgeoning his aunt and Rollo with a blunt instrument. He may be greedy but he's fastidious, too."
"Not when it comes to battening on his female relatives," Sergeant Baylor interposed. When we looked at her she flushed, but she didn't retract. Something going on there.
"Ah, well, Worth's a wide boy," Thorne said. "He's not talking. Advice of counsel. The family solicitor's a nice, quiet chap. He's scurrying about looking for a Q.C. to defend. Good luck to him. If Worth hadn't tried to smother his sister he might've got away with it. Thanks to you, sir, we have him in custody."
Jay said, "Sergeant Baylor was right behind me. I had no excuse to hold him, you know. I was damned glad to see her. Have you found the car Worth used in Dorchester?"
"No, but he had access to any number of used vehicles. We're working on that angle now. It's a matter of time."
I stood up. "Shall I brew another pot of tea?"
Sergeant Baylor was ready to head for the kitchen again, but Thorne shook his head. "No, lass, thank you. We've a mort of paperwork to see to yet."
I cocked my head. "I know I'll be called as a witness--in both cases, probably."
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