The False Inspector Dew

by Peter Lovesey

  'I think I do,' said Walter with a modest smile.

  'Aren't you going to tell me?'

  'It's better if I don't. But thank you for your help.'

  21

  Alma looked at herself in the mirror and reached for the rouge. Her face looked spectral. She dreaded what was to come. She was waiting for Walter. She had slipped a note under his door asking him to come and see her. She was going to tell him that she had been mistaken. She did not love him. It had been infatuation.

  Already she wished there was some way to retrieve the note before he found it. She was afraid of him. She should never have chosen to tell him here, in the stateroom where Lydia had died. Only the strength of her love for Johnny kept her from running away. She would rather die than lose her chance of marrying Johnny.

  Yet she was tormented by guilt. In her mind she had been over and over the events that had entangled her life with Walter's and each time she could reach only one conclusion. If Walter had never met her, he would not have dreamed of murdering his wife. He would still be somewhere in England trying to find a way of continuing to work as a dentist. He was not and never had been the exquisitely glamorous figure her imagination had made him. He was decent and dependable and dull, dull, dull. There was not a spark of animation in him. It was depressingly obvious to Alma now that she had been bewitched not by Walter, but an idea. She had fallen in love with the prospect of running away with a man who had murdered his wife and abandoned everything — job, home and country — to be with her for the rest of his life. And now she did not want him. He was still dull beyond belief.

  Somewhere she had read that almost all murderers were boring and pathetic individuals. She had not believed it. Surely Ethel Le Neve had not believed it. But what if Crippen had never been caught? What if Ethel had faced the rest of her life with him?

  The murder had not made Walter glamorous. It had changed him in one way only: he was dangerous now. Dull and dangerous. A man who has murdered once and got away with it can never be ignored.

  The knock came, startling her. She was wearing a silk blouse, and it was alive with fear. She took a deep breath and went to the door.

  He stood with the note in his hand and his eyebrows raised questioningly.

  Alma tried to summon a smile. She stepped aside to admit him, and closed the door. She said, 'Walter, I know we agreed not to meet unless there was some over-riding reason.'

  'But there is a reason?'

  She nodded. 'Please sit down. I had to find a way of talking to you before tomorrow. 1 don't know how to start. You've had so much more to face then we anticipated.'

  He shrugged dismissively. it hasn't been so bad. It's occupied my mind.'

  'But you were shot. Are you still in pain?'

  'I wouldn't call it pain. Discomfort if you like.'

  'I blame myself for what has happened,' Alma told him. 'I've had more opportunity than you to think things over.'

  'Blame yourself for what?'

  'Everything. Lydia's death.'

  'We agreed to that together.'

  'If you had not met me, you would never have considered it. You would never have set foot on this ship, never have done what you did in this God-forsaken room, never have been forced to pose as a policeman.'

  Walter blinked in surprise. 'That's been no hardship. I've enjoyed it immensely.'

  'Enjoyed it?'

  'I've never been treated so well. I thought it would be difficult at first, but it wasn't. I didn't need to ask clever questions or discover hidden clues. Being a detective is just a matter of getting other people to talk. I'm a good listener — Lydia made sure of that. Well, if you let them talk they tell you everything and give you the credit for arriving at the truth.'

  Alma thought she understood. She said, 'Yes, you must have been clever to have taken them in.'

  'Taken them in?' repeated Walter as if the words were offensive.

  'Convinced them that you knew what you were doing — that you were solving the mystery.'

  'My dear, I have solved it. I know who committed the murder and I know why. That's what I'm saying. I'm a very good detective.'

  'Walter, that's impossible.'

  He leaned back in the chair with folded arms and said, 'You'll see.'

  She looked at him, wondering whether his mind had snapped. He seemed to have been taken over by the identity of Dew. He believed he was the great detective. He believed he had solved the crime.

  Was it conceivable that he was so far in the grip of this delusion that he intended naming himself as Lydia's murderer? And herself as his accessory? Was that to be the ultimate achievement of the false Inspector Dew?

  Alma started talking with all the urgency and the conviction of a prisoner pleading for life. 'Walter, listen to me, please. I have no right to say this now. It shames me, but I have to tell you.' She took hold of one of his hands and crouched beside his chair looking earnestly into his eyes. 'I have changed. When I used to come to you in the surgery I idolized you. I had never spoken to a man so confident, so strong, so handsome. I must tell you that I was very inexperienced. The only men I had known outside my family were in books, romantic stories of the sort you find in lending libraries. You were just like one of those godlike creatures to me, with your sophisticated ways and your foreign-sounding name. And like every one of them at the beginning of a book, you seemed unattainable.'

  'But we overcame that,' said Walter with an indulgent smile.

  'Yes.' Alma swallowed hard, i convinced myself that it was the way to everlasting happiness. I was completely selfish. I believed I loved you, and nothing, not even your lawful wife, should be allowed to stand in our way. It was an obsession. All the girlish dreams, frustrations, fantasies that had stayed with me right through the war were focused on you. Walter, I'm twenty-eight, almost an old maid, and I conducted myself no better than a schoolgirl.'

  'There's no need to be ashamed of that,' said Walter.

  'There is — because I deluded myself and you. These few

  'There is — because I deluded myself and you. These few days at sea have brought me to my senses. How can I tell you this without hurting you?'

  'You don't love me?' said Walter in a level voice.

  Alma lowered her eyes.

  'You don't want to live with me in America?'

  She bowed her head.

  'There is someone else?'

  'Yes.' She started to sob.

  He stroked her hair. He said, 'Thank you for telling me. To be honest, it's rather a relief. You see, I was feeling guilty over you. I took advantage of your feelings for me. Alone, I would never have plucked up the courage to do what I have. I faced it with your help. Like you, I have learned from the experience. Now I can stand alone.'

  He was calm and in control. He meant what he had said. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. She said, 'What happened in this room will be our secret. I'll take it to my grave.'

  Walter thanked her and stood up. He said, 'There are some trunks of Lydia's in the hold. When we are in America, would you take them? If they were unclaimed, there might be questions.'

  'Of course I will,' said Alma. As he reached the door, she added, on an impulse, 'It was a perfect murder.'

  'Almost,' said Walter. 'Good luck with Mr Finch.'

  Alma was alone again.

  22

  Before 7am on Wednesday, the morning the Mauretania was due to dock in New York harbour, there was a meeting in the captain's quarters. Walter had been summoned by his cabin steward. In the room where he had first been asked to investigate the murder, he saw, besides the captain, the master-at-arms, Paul Westerfield II, his fiancee Barbara and, her face stained with tears, Marjorie Livingstone Cordell. The captain nodded towards a chair and Walter sat down. He was opposite Mr Saxon, who was giving him a withering look.

  'Inspector, I'll be brief,' said Captain Rostron. 'Another passenger has disappeared. This lady's husband, Mr Livingstone Cordell, has not been seen since yesterday
afternoon. He did not return to his stateroom last night. Mrs Cordell reported the matter at 0300 hours this morning and a search has been conducted by the master-at-arms and his staff. They are experienced at searching the ship. They know the places to look for stowaways. After more than three hours they have found no sign of Mr Cordell. For obvious reasons, I decided that you ought to be brought in at this stage.'

  Walter nodded sagely.

  'He's dead,' said Marjorie. 'Livy is dead. I know it.'

  Barbara turned to her and said in a calm voice, 'Mother, you have no reason to say such things. He probably got into a card game in someone else's stateroom. People lose track of time when they have a good game going. He'll walk in for breakfast asking what the panic is about.'

  'There's no panic,' Mr Saxon said aggressively.

  Paul cleared his throat, i think we should put Inspector Dew more fully in the picture.' He said to Walter, 'Yesterday I asked Livy to allow me to marry Barbara. He seemed a little far away in his thoughts, but he gave his consent,and we all had a pleasant lunch with champagne to celebrate.'

  'Did he drink much?' enquired Mr Saxon.

  'Not that I recall. Maybe a glass and a half. He was quiet, but then he often is. When he does speak, it's generally a humorous aside. But I have to admit that he wasn't on his usual form.'

  'He kept looking around the restaurant as if something was bothering him,' said Barbara.

  Marjorie gave a tearful sniff, i might as well tell you all, because I know the Inspector will drag it out of me if I don't. Before lunch — just after you came to see us in our room, Inspector — Livy and I had the first cross words in our marriage. We had three years of perfect bliss and then this happened — on the very day that these dear young people should have made us so happy. It was awful having to make a charade of being cheerful over lunch when we had just come from tearing each other to pieces.'

  Barbara put her hand out to Marjorie and said, 'Mother, I had no idea. What was it about?'

  'It doesn't matter, dear. Some dumb things I said to the Inspector. I was in a very nervous state.'

  'Why?'

  'Don't ask me now. It's not important — is it, Inspector?' Marjorie glanced imploringly at Walter.

  He shook his head in support.

  Captain Rostron had sensed something of significance in this. He decided it should not be brushed aside. He asked Walter, is this right, Inspector? You interviewed Mr and Mrs Livingstone Cordell yesterday?'

  'Quite correct, Captain.'

  Everyone waited for Walter to amplify his statement. He did not.

  The captain persisted. 'So there was some connection with your inquiry into the death of Katherine Masters?'

  'I wouldn't go so far as to say that.'

  Marjorie closed her eyes as if she were offering up a prayer.

  'But you must have had a reason for going to see them, Inspector,' insisted the captain.

  'Yes, indeed.'

  'The shooting,' blurted out Mr Saxon. 'You saw them about the shooting.'

  'That was it,' said Walter quickly. 'The gun. I was looking for the gun.'

  Marjorie opened her eyes and said, 'Yes, that was what it was about. Livy's gun.'

  'Your husband has a gun?' said the captain.

  'Mother, what are you saying?' asked Barbara, shocked.

  'Oh, God help me!' muttered Marjorie.

  'And you suspected this, Inspector?' said the captain.

  'More or less,' answered Walter evenly.

  'I don't know how,' said Mr Saxon.

  'Experience,' said Walter crushingly.

  'But you didn't dispossess him of it?'

  'No need,' said Walter. 'It wasn't there.'

  'I guess he threw it in the sea,' said Marjorie. 'He was so careful over everything. My poor Livy. He tried so hard to bury his past, and I had to be the one who betrayed him to the Inspector.' She covered her face with her hands, while Barbara got up to comfort her.

  'You didn't tell us you suspected him,' Mr Saxon said in a recriminating tone to Walter.

  Captain Rostron intervened. 'Mr Saxon, it's not for you to question the way the Inspector conducts his investigation. I've no doubt that he had his reasons for acting as he did.' He turned expectantly to Walter.

  'Several,' responded Walter.

  Paul said, 'Would you kindly tell us what this is about?'

  Walter shook his head. 'I would rather not distress the ladies.'

  'It's all right,' said Marjorie dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. 'You have a right to know, Paul. I shall tell you myself. Yesterday the Inspector came to see Livy and me. As you know, he's been keeping close to us all for quite a while, and the strain was starting to tell. He's a great detective, Paul, and he knew the exact moment to move in. He very cleverly threw me into a panic by suggesting something totally bizarre. It was untrue, of course, and it doesn't matter now what it was, but it undermined us both. We started saying things we never meant to say. I called Livy a small-time crook, ft was the one thing I should never have said, but I didn't know that at the time.'

  Barbara broke in. 'Mother, this is absurd! Are you telling us Livy is a crook?'

  'Honey, he used to be before we were married. He was a thief. He could open locked doors without any trouble at all. He used to travel on the ocean liners and help himself to money people left in their staterooms. Just enough to make a nice living. He would always leave plenty behind, and most of them never even noticed that any had gone.'

  'Well, that beats everything,' said Paul, and there was the ghost of a smile as he shook his head slowly. 'He actually told me he'd done a lot of sea travel in his business. He said it was import-export.'

  'His sense of humour,' said Marjorie. 'Inspector, would you like to tell them about the LusitaniaT

  'As you wish,' said Walter. He repeated the story he had heard from Jack Gordon, with Livy now cast in the role of the thief who had knocked Katherine unconscious and shut her in the stateroom in the sinking ship.

  'I knew nothing of this until yesterday after lunch,' said Marjorie. 'He told me the whole story. How he was amazed and horror-stricken to see the stewardess aboard this ship on the first evening out from England. He stepped out of our stateroom and she was walking towards him. He always thought she had died on the Lusitania, but there she was like some spectre coming to take revenge. He stepped back into the room and slammed the door. But that wasn't the worst of it.'

  'He saw her playing cards with us?' said Barbara.

  Marjorie nodded. 'Actually as he described it you had finished playing, and she was at the table with you, honey, deep in conversation. He asked Paul what was going on.'

  'I remember,' said Paul. 'He must have thought she was telling Barbara about him — or about to. He sent me back to "break it up" — in his words.'

  'He went to her stateroom and broke in,' said Marjorie, 'and waited for her.' She stopped and took in a deep breath.

  Captain Rostron said gently, 'There's no need to go on, Mrs Cordell.'

  Clearly the captain spoke for everyone. In the silence of the next few seconds the mental picture of Livy with his hands on Katherine's throat needed no description. It was so vivid that Barbara suddenly cried out, 'No, Livy! No, no!'

  Paul went to her and held her in his arms. He asked the captain, 'Do you need us any more? I'd like to take the ladies outside.'

  'I understand. But we still need to find out what has happened to Mr Cordell. If you could bear with us a moment longer, I'm sure Inspector Dew would want to hear Mrs Cordell's own account of what her husband said before he disappeared.'

  'It would be very helpful,' Walter confirmed.

  Marjorie said hesitantly, it was kind of personal.'

  'It may help us to find him,' said the captain gently.

  'I don't think so,' said Marjorie sadly, 'but I'll tell you. When he had finished telling me about everything that happened, how he shot the Inspector and threw the gun over the side, he said he was sorry for me and Barbara and Pa
ul. He said he wished he had told me before about what happened on the Lusitania, but he had thought it was something between him and his own conscience. Then he gave me a kiss and walked to the door and turned and said something that told me for certain that I would never see him again.'

  'What was that, Mrs Cordell?'

  A tear slid down Marjorie's cheek. 'You wouldn't understand. He said he hoped it was true about your past life flashing through your mind because he wanted another look at those sublime ankles in the elevator at the Biltmore. Then he left me.'

  The captain's eyes flicked downwards and as quickly up again. 'I see. It does sound rather conclusive. Thank you, ma'am. You have been remarkably brave in the circumstances.' He nodded to Paul, who got up and escorted Marjorie and Barbara from the room.

  When they had gone, Mr Saxon asked the captain, it looks as if he took a jump, sir. Can we call off the search?'

  The captain turned to Walter with eyebrows raised.

  'Were the cabins searched?' asked Walter.

  The master-at-arms glared back. 'Of course not. The passengers were asleep. You can't do that in the middle of the night.'

  Captain Rostron said, 'But you can by day. The Inspector's right, of course. We must carry on the search. See to it, would you, Mr Saxon?' As soon as the door was closed, he commented to Walter, 'A reasonably efficient man, but you can see why he would never make a good detective. Inspector, I must go up to the bridge. We must be within sight of Ambrose Light, and the pilot will be coming aboard. I would like to see you after we dock, if that is possible.'

  'Most certainly,' said Walter.

  When he went out on deck, it was already cluttered with cabin trunks. He weaved a way through and saw America, a heavier band of blue above the sea. He smiled.

  The ship was stopped to let the pilot tender come alongside. People crowded the rails to see the diminutive figure climb the Jacob's ladder. The ship's whistle sounded. She was under way again, past Sandy Hook and through the Lower Bay towards The Narrows.

  There was another stop at the place offStaten Island known as Quarantine. Immigration officers came aboard. With them came the press.