The False Inspector Dew

by Peter Lovesey

  Towards 3am everyone left the taxis and linked hands around a streetlamp. They sang Knees up, Mother Brown and Auld Lang Syne. Kisses were exchanged all round. They called the taxi-drivers from their shelter and asked to be driven home.

  Paul asked Poppy where she lived. Those two and Barbara were already seated in a taxi.

  'Chicksand Street,' said Poppy with a giggle. Each few words she spoke were interspersed with laughter. 'You won't have heard of it. I bet the cabby hasn't either. It's down the East End if you want to know.'

  'Fine,' said Paul. 'I guess the Savoy is on the way. We can put you down first, Barbara.'

  Barbara nodded, but she didn't thank him for the suggestion. She couldn't understand why they could not drop Poppy first, and drive back together to the Savoy. It wasn't as if Poppy was supposed to be his partner for the evening. But she bit back her objection. As she smiled at Poppy she was hoping Paul would be bored to tears by that stupid giggle and that ridiculous accent.

  'What about you, Paul?' Poppy enquired, leaning across him to straighten his white tie. 'Where's your hotel, my love?'

  'I'm at the Savoy as well.'

  Another giggle. 'Strike a light — I didn't know you two were serious.'

  'We're on different floors,' said Barbara. 'It's pure coincidence.'

  Poppy shook with laughter. 'Oh, yes?'

  'Sure,' said Paul. He sounded just a little irritated. He told the driver to take them to the Savoy and then Chicksand Street. Then he turned to Barbara and said, 'There's just no point in taking you all that way when it's so late already. It's an early start tomorrow.'

  'Of course,' said Barbara. She tried to be magnanimous by thinking of the five days coming on the Mauretania.

  As they drove up the Strand, Paul kissed her softly on the lips. He put his hand behind her neck and kissed her harder.

  Poppy said, 'Looks as if your time's up, sweethearts.'

  The taxi door was opened by the Savoy commissionaire.

  Barbara said, 'Thanks, Paul. London was crazy, and I loved it.'

  'I guess I'll see you on the boat,' said Paul.

  As the taxi drove away, Barbara watched Poppy's hand waving from the small window at the back.

  3

  'Lydia, the taxi is here.'

  'Already? He will have to wait.'

  'It is eight o'clock,' said Walter.

  't won't take an hour to get to Waterloo. Why did you call the dratted man so early? The boat train doesn't leave till nine. Are you so eager to see the back of me?' But she spoke without much malice. She had given him the full blast of her fury two days before, when he had coolly told her that he had decided not to come to America. She had thrown a bowl of lentil soup at him. She had thrown the mustard and the cranberry sauce. She had sworn at him in front of Sylvia. Yet after due reflection she began to see it in another light. Walter would have been a burden in America. He was much too dull for Hollywood. He would have cut no ice as her theatrical agent. She would employ an enterprising young American instead.

  Of course the prospect of travelling all the way to Hollywood alone was daunting. But she had survived long and tedious journeys before. Actors were forever packing trunks and taking trains to distant places. It would be something to tell the newspapermen when they interviewed her.

  As for Walter, that selfish and ungrateful man, he would soon discover what life was like without being featherbedded by a generous and devoted wife. His practice and the surgery in Eaton Place were sold. He had until Monday to move his things out of the house. What he would do for money and accommodation was a mystery, unless he expected his fancy woman to keep him. Some hope of that!

  He was at the bedroom door looking in. 'Can I carry anything downstairs, my dear?' Inoffensive to the last. Even with his best suit coated in lentil soup and cranberry sauce the other evening, he had continued to apologise for changing his mind about America.

  'You may take my case, if you insist.' The trunks with the bulk of her clothes had been sent ahead on Tuesday, and ought to be on the ship by now. 'Tell him I won't be long.'

  She looked round the room, and felt a sudden surge of exhilaration. She was leaving it for ever. What a relief it was to escape from hidebound England, where talent was not valued any longer, to the opportunities of the New World!

  Walter was standing at the foot of the stairs as she came down. 'Are you sure you've got your ticket? And your passport?'

  'Of course I have.'

  'The money?'

  'I'm not a child, Walter. When you get a permanent address, be sure to send it to me, care of the Bank of California. But don't be so misguided as to write to me asking for money. You've chosen to be independent and that's the end of it as far as I'm concerned. That's not to say that I shall give you a divorce. I'm not old-fashioned, as you know, but I have no intention of going through all that simply to legitimatize your squalid philanderings with that creature who telephoned me.'

  'I've done nothing improper, Lydia, I assure you.' He looked quite shocked at the suggestion.

  'Goodbye, Walter.'

  'Goodbye.'

  'Aren't you even going to wish me bon voyage?

  'It didn't occur to me. I'm sorry.'

  She walked to the taxi. That was how she would remember Walter, forever saying he was sorry. The handsome, fashionable dentist, idolized by patients, confident and reassuring, was privately a mouse. To the last, she had half-expected, half-hoped that if she goaded him enough he would bare his teeth and bite back, but it was too late now.

  4

  Livy Cordell liked Southampton Dock. He liked the moment when the boat train steamed into the shed beside the ship, and some guy tugged at the broad leather strap to let down the window and you got the first whiff of salt air laced with the coaldust of the Southern Railway. It brought back the old days when he had made his way in the world, crossing the herring pond more than a dozen times, steerage at first, and then second class as the profits got bigger. This time he was first class. He and his ladies had taken breakfast on the train. It had left at nine, a full hour and a half after the train for third class passengers. No-one talked of steerage any more.

  A porter helped them out and humped the luggage onto a truck. Their passports and tickets had been checked on the train. From every side they could hear American voices. For so many it was the end of the vacation in Europe. The Mauretania band was on the platform doing its best to restore their spirits with military marches.

  Livy took out the embarkation cards. Ahead he spotted a familiar face. 'Say, isn't that young Westerfield?'

  'Paul?' said Barbara with undisguised excitement. 'Where?'

  'A little way ahead. He's wearing a boater.'

  'I can't see.'

  'There he goes!' said Marjorie. 'He's left the queue. He's coming this way.'

  'Well, isn't that nice?' said Livy. 'Do you think he spotted us?'

  Marjorie's voice changed abruptly, i don't think so, honey.'

  Barbara had turned a bright pink.

  Paul Westerfield was with an extremely pretty girl in a gold crepe de chine dress that matched her blonde curls and white hat, but looked out of place on a jetty in mid-morning. She didn't seem at all concerned. She had her white-gloved hand tucked round his arm and she was talking with her face turned towards him, oblivious to everything. But Paul's face registered that he had noticed the Cordells. There was a brief moment of indecision and then he moved towards them. He said something to Poppy and she turned her head and looked at Barbara. The look started as a glassy stare and turned into a radiant smile.

  'What a surprise! Hello, Barbara. How's your head this morning?'

  'How are you both?' said Barbara in a flat voice. 'Mother, Livy, this is Poppy. We met last night. You already met Paul.'

  'Sure,' said Livy. 'Nice to meet you, Poppy.' They shook hands.

  Marjorie simply nodded her head and gave an equivocal smile.

  'Poppy has come all the way down here to see me off,' said Paul in an ob
vious attempt to be casual. 'We just heard that visitors have to use a different gangplank.'

  'Back there,' said Livy. 'I saw the sign.'

  'Thanks. Well…' Paul took a step away, i guess I'll see you later, folks.'

  'Ta-ta!' said Poppy.

  As they moved off, Poppy's hand curled round Paul's arm again.

  Livy turned to Barbara and said, 'Say, you can just see the hull of the ship through the gap there. When you get on the gangplank, be sure to take a look at the size of her. It's an incredible sight, and you won't get it again till we reach New York.' He knew it was a transparent attempt to distract, but someone had to pick up the conversation for Barbara's sake. He felt quite cut up himself.

  'I just want to get on board and have a large gin,' said Marjorie. 'How about you, Barbara?'

  Ahead in the queue, Lydia Baranov crossed the gangway and went aboard the Mauretania. She had a porter to carry her case. At the purser's desk they checked her embarkation card against the passenger-list.

  'You're travelling alone, Mrs Baranov?'

  'Yes, my husband had to cancel his passage.'

  'That's unfortunate, madam, but I hope you enjoy the crossing, nevertheless.' The assistant purser turned to the line of blue-uniformed bellboys in attendance. 'Stateroom 89 for Mrs Baranov.'

  The boy first in line stepped forward and took the key. 'This way, if you please, madam.' With the manner of an old salt the boy headed across the crowded embarkation hall with Lydia and her porter in tow. A touch here and a word there and people obligingly moved aside. As he passed obstacles like sets of golf clubs and terriers on leads the bellboy pointed out the hazards without turning round. He led her into a cherry-wood panelled corridor. Everywhere there were groups of passengers and visitors, talkative, tearful, amorous, agitated and boisterous, while porters, stewards, newsboys and flower sellers passed among them. Lydia stopped to buy a Daily Mail and nearly lost the bellboy.

  Stateroom 89 was down a flight of stairs at the end of another corridor. The bellboy unlocked the door and Lydia took some money from her purse and tipped the porter. The bellboy pulled aside the curtains.

  'So I have two portholes,' said Lydia. That will be nice. Which side of the ship are we?'

  'Port side, madam. This is D Deck, also known as the Upper Deck. The first class dining saloon is through the door at the end of the corridor and straight ahead. Shall I open one of the portholes?'

  Thank you. What time is it now?'

  'About half past eleven, madam. Luncheon is served at one o'clock.'

  'I won't bother with lunch. I'll unpack my things and have a quiet hour with the newspaper. Kindly see that I'm not disturbed.' She found a shilling and gave it to the boy.

  Left alone, she went to the porthole he had opened and peered out, but all she could see was the tip of one of the cranes on the quayside. The room seemed extraordinarily high in the ship's side. She had not been prepared for the hugeness of the Mauretania. She turned from the porthole and saw that her cabin trunk had been brought in and left beside the chest of drawers. That was one worry removed.

  All told, it was not a bad place to pass five days in. She inspected the bathroom. It was on the small side, but beautifully finished in white marble. In the main cabin she had the chest of drawers, an armchair, dressing-table, washstand, writing desk and small round table with a vase of fresh roses. The bed felt comfortable enough. The side away from the wall had a wooden board to box the occupant in when the ship was rolling.

  There was still half an hour to sailing time.

  She was determined not to feel lonely. This was the start of a great adventure. It would be ridiculous to get morbid now. She unlocked the trunk and started to take out the lovely new things she had bought to wear on the voyage.

  5

  'You know, this wouldn't be allowed in New York,' Paul told Poppy as they sat together in the smoking room sipping sherry.

  'Ladies in the smoking room?' said Poppy. 'Blimey, I thought we was old-fashioned.'

  'No. This.' He held up the sherry glass. 'Prohibition. On the way over, we weren't allowed to touch a drop until the ship was past the twelve mile limit. Then you should have seen the rush for the bar.'

  Poppy giggled. 'I always thought you Yankees went on British ships because the food was better.'

  'Now you know. Imagine five days at sea on a dry ship like the Leviathan: Suddenly Paul's attention was caught by someone on another table. 'What do you know? There's Barbara and her people again.'

  This was not good news for Poppy. She had a job to do before she left the ship. She needed Paul to herself. 'Take no notice. They haven't seen us.'

  'I could buy them a drink. It was kind of embarrassing seeing them on the pier. Do you want another one, Poppy?'

  'I've got a headache. There's too much smoke in here. Let's go up on deck.'

  'As you wish. I'll ask Barbara to come along too. Poor kid — who wants to be stuck with their parents?'

  Poppy swore to herself as Paul went over to the Cordells. The plan had gone so well up to now. She only wanted a few more minutes with the bloke. After that, Barbara could eat him for lunch if she wanted.

  She stood a yard or two back from their table. Barbara's mother was saying, 'Go on, dear. You don't want to stay with us. You young people have much more in common.'

  Barbara got to her feet without looking too pleased about it. Paul walked between them.

  'Let's go up and see the Verandah Cafe,' suggested Poppy.

  'I thought you weren't feeling so good,' said Paul.

  'I'll be all right. There's dancing up there.'

  'How do you know?' asked Barbara.

  Poppy knew because Jack had told her when they had first talked about this in his handsome house by Hyde Park. Jack knew all there was to know about the Mauretania. He had a plan showing every room on every deck. He had a passenger list with Paul Westerfield's name on it. She told them, 'I heard some geezer talking about it.'

  The Verandah was modelled on the Orangerie at Hampton Court. Its vast windows and glass roof made it the one public room on the ship without artificial light. There were large potted palms and hanging baskets of bright flowers. There were wicker chairs set at small tables. There was a square of floor where couples were shuffling to the music of a concertina.

  'Come on, Paul,' said Poppy. 'Aren't you going to ask one of us to dance?'

  Paul looked uncomfortable, but Barbara said, 'Go on, you two. There isn't much time. I'll just sit here and watch you.' Although she said it with good grace, she still looked as if she wished her mother had not thrust her forward. She could neither walk away nor stay and watch with any dignity. She sat at an empty table on the fringe of the dance square and watched Paul and Poppy expressionlessly.

  Poppy let Paul take her slowly round the square. As they turned in one corner she caught a glimpse of slicked-back, honey-coloured hair. Jack was there as arranged, ready for the pick-up. Poppy really did feel ill now, for every step they took was being scrutinised by Barbara. It would be idiotic to try to make the dip while she was there. Poppy knew what was possible in the art of picking pockets. It was always a risk. On this small floor, under Barbara's gimlet eyes, it was futile. She would need to think of something else.

  Over the sound of the concertina came a more strident resonance.

  'Too bad,' said Paul. 'That's the visitors' gong, I guess.'

  Poppy pressed her hips against his and gave an extra wriggle. Paul responded.

  'I could stow away.'

  'In my cabin, huh?' He grinned.

  'Why not? I wouldn't take up much room.'

  'They always find stowaways. They'd pretty damn soon find you, Poppy. Curly blonde hairs.'

  She gave a sly smile. 'They wouldn't show up like chestnut brown. Why should I leave you to her?'

  'Barbara is just a friend from my college days.'

  'She doesn't think so. Anyway, what would happen to me if I was caught? Would I have to scrub the decks?'

&nbs
p; The music stopped. There was a boy in the room now, beating a gong and shouting, 'All ashore that's going ashore!'

  This was becoming a nightmare for Poppy. As they turned to walk back to the table, she glanced towards Jack. His face was masklike. She pursed her lips to try to convey her predicament. There was not a glimmer of comprehension from Jack. It was more searing than a blaze of anger.

  The concertina player had finished and was taking a bow.

  'I'm going to say goodbye right here,' Barbara said to Poppy.

  'Paul will want to see you off, and I really must go to my cabin and unpack before lunch. It's been fun, hasn't it? 'Bye, Poppy.'

  Poppy was so grateful that she almost kissed her. She watched Barbara leave, and said to Paul, 'Darling, we've still got ten minutes at least. Let's say goodbye in private.'

  As they passed Jack's table, she avoided his eyes. But she let him know with a nod that the job was still on.

  6

  In second class stateroom 377 Alma heard the gong. Her shoulders gave a tremor. She tried to make it seem that she was shifting her position in the chair.

  'There's really no need to be nervous,' said Walter in the voice he used with all his patients. It's going to work, I assure you. Nobody questioned my identity when I showed the passport on the boat train. I am Walter Dew. And nobody will think you are anyone else but Mrs Lydia Baranov. They have no reason to question it, my dear.'

  'Of course.' She tried to give him a confident smile. 'Mine is the easy part.'

  He smiled back, a genuine, easy smile. 'Mine is not difficult. It won't be the first time I've administered chloroform. The only problem with anaesthesia is the danger of harming the patient. In this case it doesn't apply.'

  'She won't suffer, will she?'

  'Not at all. It will be over very swiftly.'

  Ever since that evening on Richmond Terrace when they had thought of this way of making Lydia vanish without trace, Alma had become aware of a change in Walter. He was not so diffident. There was more confidence and more purpose in his manner. He smiled more. The prospect of being free from Lydia had made a different man of him.