‘Good lord no, I’ll sell it. It doesn’t hold particularly happy memories.’
So much for the mausoleum.
‘Don’t think too harshly of her,’ he added. ‘Things would have been very different if my father had lived.’
‘I know; I wish I’d known her better.’ It was true; she felt he needed to speak of his mother with someone who’d known and understood her.
For some minutes they discussed the funeral arrangements and other depressing trappings of death. Then, refilling their glasses, George said firmly, ‘Now, enough of all that. Tell me about the Private View. Was Jeremy there?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘I saw him at Gianino’s the other evening, with a couple of rather strange characters he carefully didn’t introduce.’
‘How mysterious.’ She went on to tell him about the pictures she was interested in buying and the mutual friends who’d been at the View.
‘And we finished up at the wine bar over the road,’ she ended, ‘which was very pleasant.’
‘We?’
‘Hannah, Gwen, Dilys and I. I phoned you from there, but you were still at the hospital.’
He nodded. ‘By the way, an odd thing happened this afternoon; a couple of Bobbies came round and asked what I’d been doing on the evening of the twenty-first.’
The significance of the date was not lost on Monica. ‘Why you, for goodness sake?’
‘They assured me it was a routine inquiry, but they were uncommonly interested in the car and examined it very carefully. Lord knows what they were looking for.’
‘Oh, George, I’m sorry – I’m afraid that was my fault. Mr Webb asked me this morning who I knew with hatchbacks and I mentioned you among others. But I did ask him not to bother you unless it was necessary.’
‘He must have thought it was. Anyway, since my social life runs on very circumscribed lines, I was able to satisfy them I’d spent the evening here with Mother. Betsy confirmed it.’
‘That’s something, I suppose.’ She added with a smile, ‘Still, you’ll be considerably less circumscribed in future.’
He looked across at her. ‘Yes; Monica, there’s something I have to say, and this seems as good a time as any.’
‘My goodness, that sounds solemn. What is it?’
‘I don’t want you to think that now Mother’s died, you’re going to be rushed straight into marriage.’
She said only half-humorously, ‘You’ve changed your mind?’ and surprised in herself an acute anxiety. It would be rich indeed if after all her private reservations, George now turned the tables and released her from her promise. Especially when she was coming round to realizing it was what she wanted after all.
‘I think you may have changed yours,’ he answered her. ‘You’ve been wonderfully patient over the last four years – perhaps a little too patient.’ He gave a difficult smile. ‘What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want you to feel tied down. If you’d rather continue on a more casual basis, I can accept that.’
Perhaps, Monica thought, his mother’s disapproval had been a safety-net for him too. Now it had been removed, he might have taken fright.
‘Is that what you want?’ she asked, and was humbled to find how much hung on his reply.
‘No; I want you for my wife, but I’ve always known your feelings weren’t as strong. And why,’ he added very quietly.
Monica felt a sense of shock. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.’
She sat very still, not looking at him. He could only be referring to Justin. How long had he known of her feelings in that direction? How long had she? Certainly she’d believed them to be private to herself.
At last she said softly, ‘I’ve been very stupid.’
‘No, darling. Eloise took him from you as surely as he took her from Harry.’
‘But there was nothing between us.’
‘There might have been, in time.’
She looked up, meeting his troubled eyes. ‘I’m not in love with Justin, George. There was a time when I might have been, a little, but it was probably only a case of sour grapes. I can honestly say I have no regrets. I enjoy my life; I didn’t realize quite how much till it seemed under threat.’
‘And you don’t want it to change?’
‘Only in one respect; I’d like you to share it with me.’
He released his breath in a long sigh, and a smile spread over his face. ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure,’ he said.
It was after 7.0 when Webb arrived home. The outcome of the searches had been a great deal of indignation and not much else. Apart from the Cypriot mosaic there had been only a few pieces of doubtful provenance in the Teal household, and even these were debatable since it was possible they’d been purchased legally. The other three premises, despite several hours’ diligent searching, had revealed precisely nothing. Webb was not popular. HQ had already received a strongly worded complaint from Mr Justin Teal, JP -
But damn it, he was sure he was on the right track, though he’d realized they were shutting the stable door after the horse had gone. If their search of the Gallery had been twenty-four hours earlier, the result might have been very different.
He let himself into his flat and began to prepare his meal. When his marriage broke up eight years ago he had determined never to live out of tins, and in fact did not possess a tin-opener. Normally he enjoyed cooking, and Hannah maintained that the more involved he was with a case, the more elaborate his cuisine. However, there were rare occasions when he was in a hurry to get the meal over, and this was one of them. As he peeled some potatoes, he acknowledged that baked beans would have been a useful stand-by.
Throughout the preparation and eating of his meal, his thoughts continued to circle round the people he’d been speaking to that day, their hesitations, their evasions, their unease. Something was stirring at the back of his mind, and he was impatient to get it down on paper.
As soon as he’d finished, he went to the living-room and set up his easel. Then he paused. It was stuffy in there, despite the open window, but though he preferred to work outdoors, it was too much effort, after all the comings and goings of the day, to set out again now.
Then a compromise presented itself; he’d work in the garden. It was communal to all twelve flats in the building, and he seldom made use of it. Abandoning easel and paints, he collected instead sketchpad, crayons and canvas chair and went down the two flights of stairs and round the side of the house.
The garden was deserted, which suited him very well. The grass was crisp under his feet and as he crossed it, he wondered when they’d have rain. It was only the end of May; early in the summer to face a drought.
Beyond the lawn lay the wild area, a wilderness of shrubs and bushes which had been left untended to encourage wildlife. Webb set his chair up in front of it, alongside the small pond. To his right the sun hung low in the sky. He’d an hour or more of daylight still, which should be enough for his purpose.
Quickly, with light, sure strokes, he began to sketch in the background to the crime; first, the deserted stretch of the Chipping Claydon road with, marked along its length, the house Frank Andrews had visited and the Mulberry Bush pub. To the right of the sheet he drew a broken line representing the cross-country road to Chedbury and that other pub, the Magpie, where the twins were last seen alive. On the far left, a square denoted the Badderleys’ house and, down the road from it, a wood behind which he drew in a small aircraft. Then he sat back, staring at the layout. After a minute or two he inserted the van in the lay-by, and, under trees, the hatchback car.
Justin Teal had a hatchback, so did one of his sons, George Latimer the bank manager, and Harry Marlow. All of them had been asked to account for their movements and at first glance all appeared to have alibis. Those alibis were now being rechecked.
Tearing off the top sheet, he started to people the next one with the actors in the drama: the identical twins in their gre
en tracksuits, the members of their gang, Mr and Mrs Trubshaw, the Hargreaves. Had any of them said anything which could be regarded in a different light? Had there been any discrepancies? The little figures were surprisingly lifelike and he studied each in turn, assessing what he knew or guessed of their characters.
Monica Tovey was there because the bodies had been found near her house. Then there was her sister, who owned the mosaic; the Marlows, and the softly spoken Tony Reid. Webb had not after all been able to interview him this evening; immediately after the search he had left the house and no one knew where he had gone. They’d catch up with him at the Gallery tomorrow.
Finally, little stick figures, each in its own identifying colour, were inserted into the position where, according to their statements, they’d been between 9.0 p.m. and midnight on 21st May. Could this one – or that – have got from A to B and back again in time to commit murder?
The sun disappeared behind the houses and a small breeze ruffled the papers on the grass beside him. Looking up, he saw that a light had gone on in Hannah’s window. He wondered whether she had looked out and seen him. Realizing he was working, she would not have disturbed him.
He straightened, easing his back. Well, there they were, the basic ingredients of a crime. One of these pleasant, civilized people must have perpetrated it, must in fact be not only a murderer but the mastermind behind the extremely daring and brazen organization which was robbing countries of their antiquities and selling them at vast profit. If the Gallery was implicated Harry Marlow seemed the best bet, but they had no proof that it was. And Justin Teal, in whose house the mosaic rested, was as yet an unknown quantity. He would certainly merit investigation.
CHAPTER 14
As Monica drove past the house on her way to the garage she saw Justin’s car parked outside, and he was in the hall to meet her as she came in from the garden.
‘Hello, there; are you waiting for me?’
‘I am, yes. Your mother’s out.’
‘I know, they’re having a social at the bridge club. Come through.’
‘You’re late yourself; have you been preparing for the sales?’
‘No, I went to see George.’
‘Ah. I must drop him a line. How is he?’
‘Fine. Are you on your way home?’
‘No,’ he said, his voice tightening, ‘I’ve been home most of the afternoon. Eloise sent for me.’
‘She’s not ill?’ For a panic-stricken moment Monica wondered if she’d misjudged her sister’s state of health, as she had Mrs Latimer’s.
‘She’s well enough, but considerably upset. The police have been turning the house over.’
‘What?’
‘Exactly. Imagine the Bench’s reaction to a search-warrant for my house. The police are going to hear more about this, I can tell you.’
‘Was it to do with the car? They called to ask George about his.’
‘They looked at it, certainly, along with everything else. My God, what the hell did they imagine –’
‘Justin, wait a minute. Have you met the Chief Inspector?’
‘Only in Court.’
‘He’s a man who knows what he’s doing. There must be some reason –’
He interrupted her. ‘Oh, there was a reason, so-called – that knick-knack on the sitting-room wall. Religious artefacts aren’t my scene, but it’s inoffensive enough and if Eloise wants to hang it there, I’m not having the police trying to stop her.’
‘The mosaic, you mean? What’s the matter with it?’
‘I’ve no idea. They were asking all sorts of questions and they’ve taken it away with them, together with a few other trinkets. If they so much as hint they’re stolen property, I swear I’ll take the lot of them to Court.’
‘What other things did they take?’
He shrugged. ‘A few pieces of jewellery, that carved statue from the landing and a couple of the stone vases from the hall alcove.’
‘Did they say why they wanted them?’
‘To check their provenance, if you please. Bloody nerve!’
She had never seen him so rattled. ‘Where did they come from?’
‘Oh, Eloise picked them up on her travels. Webb saw the mosaic when he called round earlier – that’s what started it all.’
‘Well, I shouldn’t let it bother you. No doubt they’ll meekly return everything tomorrow and you won’t hear any more about it.’
‘We might not, but I assure you the police will. The Marlows had their place searched, too.’
Monica frowned, liking the affair less and less. ‘Perhaps it’s to do with the Arts Society.’
‘Quite possibly; when Webb was round earlier he was asking about it, making out he was thinking of joining, and so on.’
‘But that wasn’t the reason for his visit, surely?’
‘No, he was interested in last night’s do. According to Claudia, he seemed to think something was going on upstairs.’
Monica had a sudden picture of Tony Reid taking the Clériots on one side, and Dilys saying she’d been hurried back into the Gallery. All at once the whole business had assumed sinister proportions. She glanced at her brother-in-law, who was staring at the carpet and chewing on his lip. No point, though, in adding to his worries with what were, after all, mere suspicions. If something was seriously wrong, he’d know soon enough.
He sighed and rose to his feet. ‘Well, I’d better be getting back. I just wanted to talk it over with you and see what you thought.
‘By the way,’ he added, as she showed him to the door, ‘a spot of good news for a change: Jeremy’s landed quite a coup; his agency was anxious to get that new Italian tenor on to their books, and he’s managed to pull it off. Vittorio Vinetti, his name is.’
‘I don’t think I’ve heard of him.’
‘Hardly anyone has in this country but it seems he’s destined for the top. All the big agencies were after him, so negotiations were very hush-hush. Apparently Jeremy took him and his agent out to dinner to finalize it, and things were just at a delicate stage when old George wandered across. It was all a little embarrassing.’
‘I can imagine,’ Monica said drily.
He started down the steps, then stopped and turned. ‘Talking of George, will you two be getting married now?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
For a moment longer he looked at her. Then he nodded and went on his way and Monica closed the door.
Tony Reid was alone in the Gallery when Webb and Jackson arrived the next morning. No longer the smooth, self-assured young man of the previous day, he regarded them with unease.
‘Mr Marlow’s not here,’ he said sullenly. The search of his home obviously still rankled.
‘It’s you we’d like to see,’ Webb said pleasantly. ‘I think it’s time we got things sorted, don’t you? Tell me, Mr Reid, why did you kill the White twins?’
The man stared at him wildly. ‘Me? I never killed anyone in my life! I didn’t even know them!’
‘Come now, two nice-looking young men like that? You must have noticed them when they cleaned the windows.’
Reid moistened his lips. ‘I might have taken them a mug of tea once or twice.’
‘There you are, then. And they recognized you, didn’t they?’
His eyes were darting about nervously. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Saw you by the plane, and recognized you.’
It was a shot in the dark, but it struck deep and true. Reid gasped and his face turned a sickly yellow. ‘What – what plane?’
‘The one you met on the Steeple Bayliss road on the twelfth of May.’
Reid swallowed convulsively and glanced desperately at the door. ‘Please – someone will come in any minute, I really can’t –’
Webb nodded to Jackson, who stepped to the door and turned the notice on it from Open to Closed. ‘Now we needn’t bother about interruptions,’ Webb said comfortably. He pulled the chair out from behind the counter. ‘Sit down, Mr Reid,
and take your time. We’re in no hurry.’
The man had begun to whimper. ‘It was nothing to do with me; I was only doing my job.’
‘Mr Marlow gave the orders?’
A nod.
‘And he was with you, was he?’
Another nod.
‘When did you realize you’d been spotted?’
‘I didn’t – I mean, we weren’t! Everything went off just as usual.’
‘It was a regular practice, then?’
Reid muttered something and Webb leant forward. ‘Come again?’
‘Three or four times a year.’
‘And you used the hatchback to load the goods into?’ Another guess.
‘Yes.’ He was slumped in the chair, his whole attitude one of dejection.
‘Your car, or Mr Marlow’s?’
‘His.’
‘Got a hatchback of your own?’
‘No, a small saloon.’
‘Now for the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, and that’s probably a low estimate. What were you unloading?’
Before he could answer, the door was pushed open and Marlow’s voice said angrily, ‘Tony, it’s nine-fifteen! Why haven’t you opened?’
He was into the room before he saw them, since the counter was along the same wall as the door. He stopped short, and the woman behind him bumped into him. It was Eloise Teal.
‘Come in, both of you,’ Webb said genially, ‘we’re having a very interesting chat here.’
Tony Reid started out of his chair. ‘I didn’t tell them anything, Mr Marlow! They – they seemed to know!’
‘Shut up!’ Marlow turned to Webb. ‘For your information, Chief Inspector, I’m filing a complaint of police harassment. Not content with turning over my house and business premises on a whim, you come back here and start badgering my assistant. I was very patient with you yesterday and let you snoop round to your heart’s content. And what did you find? Nothing! And that, my friend, is because there’s nothing to find. Can you get that into your suspicious mind? Because I’ve had just about enough of this, and I know Mr Teal feels the same. In fact, he told me he’d already been in touch –’
‘Perhaps you’ll be good enough to fill in a few gaps for us,’ Webb interrupted smoothly. ‘We’ve got as far as your meeting the plane with the hatchback and unloading the goods. I gather they’re stolen artefacts, but I’d be grateful for a few more details.’
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