by TP Fielden
Auriol nodded and picked up a Spiritualist leaflet, which encouraged her to get in touch with loved ones through a medium. She thought about giving it to Judy for her mother – they’d never have to see each other in the flesh! ‘And?’
‘Then there’s this business of the dead woman. Bunton spent a large part of the evening with her at the bar in the Marine a couple of days before she was shot. He claims she was a prostitute, but Judy thinks not. Either way, this episode adds to his vulnerability – the police are after him and with it being Scotland Yard, Fleet Street can’t be very far behind. That’s why he’s suddenly packing his board of directors with the great and the good, getting the Archbishop to come and say prayers.’
‘Anything that gives us a clue as to what’s going on there?’
‘Betty’s good, you know. I told her to stick close to the Admiral at that party and so she did – he took quite a fancy to her.’
‘Oh yes,’ drawled Auriol, thinking, the man’s just an old goat.
‘He’d had a glass or two and he told her he’d just come back from Germany. Berlin. He’s supposed to be still on duty – he doesn’t retire for another month – but apparently he can find the time to go wandering around where he shouldn’t and, no doubt, meeting who he shouldn’t. The communists are all over Berlin and I can’t think he went all the way there just to sit with a cup of coffee in Unter den Linden and look at the leaves on the trees.’
‘I can check whether he was followed,’ said Auriol. ‘Looks like his guard is dropping.’
‘I’d say he’s a sucker for the young ladies,’ said Rhys. ‘With a glass or two inside him, a reporter from the local newspaper who hasn’t even got her notebook out, where’s the danger?’
‘Even so. It’s lax. I’m surprised at him.’
‘You say lax – I call it pretty damn lax he hasn’t been stopped before now!’
‘I told you, they want the wider circle, not just the Admiral.’
‘Well, are you going to hook him then, Auriol? With those special charms of yours?’
‘Keep to the point, Richard,’ Auriol swiped back. She knew how much he hated being reminded of his birth-name.
A bit of a kerfuffle was going on up at the other end of the church. Maud Prentice was shaking and gagging and staggering about as if ready to fall, and congregation members were anxiously reaching up to catch her. Clearly whoever she was drawing forth from the spirit world was giving her a very hard time.
‘Looks interesting,’ said Auriol. ‘You should get some of this in your paper.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Rhys gruffly. ‘They’re absolutely batty. Don’t want to encourage them.’
‘You don’t believe in supporting minority religions? They seem very committed to me – not a shred of malice in them.’
‘Rr-rrr,’ growled Rhys, who didn’t like being told how to do his job.
‘Quite refreshing in their way,’ added Auriol mischievously, as Maud fell to the floor with a clatter and started mouthing the words sent to her from the spirit world. ‘Mincemeat!’ she was crying, her head whipping from side to side, and one of her audience was shrilling, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s my Reggie! It was always mincemeat on a Thursday!’
It was quite a performance, and Auriol put sixpence in the collection box as they walked out.
They stood for a moment under a tree, shielded from public gaze by a heavy shadow.
‘Remarkable, don’t you think, how many admirals let their country down?’
‘You’re thinking of Domvile,’ said Rhys, a glint in his eye. ‘One of our more successful nabs.’
‘You’re not all bad, Richard. You did a very efficient job in tracking down that mistress of his – what was her name?’
‘Olive Baker. We had to give her to MI5 because she was a civilian. She got five years, though.’
‘But the mistress of Admiral Domvile, and it was her evidence gave us the Admiral on a plate. You know he was going round telling ex-servicemen that when Hitler finally landed on the mainland, they could have Edward VIII as their king once again. He deserved more than that jail sentence.’
‘Scum,’ said Rhys, tugging out his old briar pipe.
‘Yes, but Cedric Minsell is three times the scum that Sir Barry Domvile was. If he’s handed over those nuclear submarine plans to the Russians, he’s effectively given them the gun to shoot us all dead with. We have to get him, Richard, we really do.’
‘I really don’t think if he’s the arch-traitor they think he is, they’d be leaving it to us, Auriol,’ said Rhys, shaking his head. ‘Think about it for a moment – you left the service ten years ago, I left after the war. We’re no longer masters of the dark arts – there’s a whole new generation with a lot more sophisticated tricks up their sleeve for catching people like Minsell. They’re the ones that’ll catch him – we’re small fry, we’re out to grass! Past it! Finished!’
Auriol stopped him in his tracks. ‘You may be, Richard, I am not. I’ve been asked to do something which they’ve tried and failed to do – to get Minsell to confess – and I’ll do it if I can. The top brass at Admiralty have buried their heads in the sand – terrified what’ll happen to their authority if this comes out. They really don’t want to admit to knowing about Minsell and his treachery. Not on their watch anyway – let their successors clear up the mess!’
‘Why not let sleeping dogs lie, then?’
‘There’s been a lot of talk in Westminster recently about combining the Navy with the Army and the RAF – think of the loss of face at the Admiralty if that happened! We’re supposed to be the Senior Service – think of Nelson!
‘It’s the next generation – the admirals of tomorrow, if you like – who want Minsell’s head on a plate. There’s a struggle going on as to how the problem is handled, but until somebody gets a firm grip on it they’re trying every avenue – including the small fry and the out-to-grassers – to get something firm on Minsell. He knows they’re after him and he’s enjoying every minute.’
‘Because he thinks he’s smarter.’
‘Exactly, Richard, exactly.’
The editor turned and looked back at the church. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m just a bit too old for these games. Why on earth don’t you get Miss Dim on the case?’
‘Don’t call her that!’ said Auriol sharply. ‘And anyway, she’s got her hands full. You’ve got her doing the Rural District Council on Monday, she’s trying to do something about the Buntorama murder and…’
‘I don’t want her anywhere near that!’ barked Rudyard Rhys. ‘She’s a reporter, not a detective! She’s paid to work for me, not for the police!’
‘And there you are saying she should take time off to do some naval intelligence work.’
‘That’s different.’
‘Trouble with you, Richard, is you pick on the small stuff. You’ve got Minsell on your patch but your main concern is that nobody says anything nasty about Temple Regis. A woman gets shot and you’d rather they carted the body off to Somerset than have her discovered there. I’m no journalist, but I’d say a cold-blooded killing on your patch is the very thing your newspaper was made for.’
‘You would, would you?’ said Rhys. His beard moved like a hedgehog getting up to walk after a long snooze. Auriol guessed that beneath the undergrowth a sneer had puckered his lips.
‘You were quite brave during the war, Richard. What happened?’
‘You don’t know anything about newspapers, about preserving the town’s reputation, about protecting its trade – not losing it to places like… Torquay.’ He spat out the opposition’s name.
‘Anyway, it’s you who’s helping me on this,’ said Auriol with authority. ‘Room 39 says so. You did very well with Admiral Domvile. And here we have, not twenty years later, another traitor covered in gold braid.’
‘Don’t know what more I can do.’
‘Nothing for the moment. I’m going to go and see him.’
The hedgehog wriggled once
again. This time it could have been a leer.
‘Put on your best dress, Auriol, if you want to nab him! You’re not getting any younger!’
He’s right, thought Auriol. What on earth am I doing smarming around a traitor who’s never going to tell me a thing? The whole thing’s quite absurd.
‘Neither, Richard, are you. How’s that novel of yours coming along? How long’s it been, thirteen years? Think you’ll get it finished before you shuffle off this mortal coil?’
That took care of it all right. The editor stumped off back to his office.
NINETEEN
Miss Dimont was waiting impatiently at the table in Belcanto’s. The bread roll she’d been offered lay in crumbs on the tablecloth which she absently swirled around with her forefinger.
‘Huguette! Sorry I’m late!’
Arthur was wearing a blazer and looking pretty pleased with himself. His niece soon put a stop to that.
‘Didn’t know you served in the Royal Navy, Arthur?’
‘What? Oh!’ he laughed, slightly self-consciously. ‘You mean the blazer! Everybody wears them nowadays, it goes well with the old flannels.’
‘Your tweed jacket would look nicer. Stop you looking like a chap who’d just walked off the poop deck. Is that a telescope in your pocket?’
‘Good Lord,’ said Arthur, ‘I can see your mother’s put you in a mood. How is she, Madame Dimont?’ He said this with a chortle for despite her accent, her manner, and her style of dress Grace Dimont was as British as a bulldog.
‘Talk about it later,’ said Judy, grimly. ‘Before you order anything, Arthur, I want to hear about Ramensky – you know that I must get back to Temple Regis tomorrow, there’s not a lot of time.’
‘Old Johnny?’ said Arthur, stretching his legs under the table and giving her a genial smile. ‘We got on like a house on fire – it was almost as if we’d been at school together.’
Men, thought Judy. It all goes back to their schooldays.
‘Spill the beans?’
‘Oh yes! What is it the Americans say? He gobbed a bibful.’
‘That’s disgusting. Tell me what he said.’
‘Very simple, really. That sewer Radipole was involved, of course.’
‘He ordered the murders?’ Judy pushed the crumbs excitedly to one side and leaned forward.
‘Not so fast,’ said Arthur, enjoying the moment. ‘It wasn’t Radipole, it was his girlfriend. Only, no, it wasn’t the girlfriend either… it was…’ For a moment a cloud passed across the old boy’s face. ‘I mean to say, it was like this.
‘Ramensky did a job for Radipole in Scotland. He burgled the safe of someone who’d crossed Radipole – this is while he was still running his motor business – and brought the loot down to London. When Johnny went round to the showroom he found him locked in an embrace with a young woman. Young enough to be his daughter.’
‘Yes?’
‘D’you know when you’re on remand in Brixton they allow you to wear your own clothes? Johnny’s a very snappy dresser, I got him to give me the name of his tailor.’
‘Well, maybe he could persuade you to get rid of that abomination,’ said Judy snootily. Evidently she had an aversion to men in blazers.
‘Yes, well. This almost certainly was the murdered woman. Her name’s not Patsy Rouchos, it’s Helen Patrikis.’
‘Well done, Arthur! That really is a major breakthrough!’
Looking smug, her uncle beckoned a waiter – evidently he felt he’d done enough to reward himself with a snifter. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘when I started you out on this detecting lark, I…’
‘Rubbish, Arthur! If you consult that failing memory of yours you’ll recall I fell into it after being recruited by the Admiralty. And why did they recruit me? Because I knew most of the capital cities of Europe and was able to get by in several languages. Because before the war Papa had sent me as his emissary to all the diamond dealers in Paris and Berlin and Rome. The sleuthing didn’t start because you were doing it – I barely knew about your activities because we didn’t see very much of each other at that time.’
‘Your mother’s always been difficult.’
‘We’re straying from the point, Arthur. Dead girl was Helen Patrikis, she was Radipole’s mistress, she was young enough to be his daughter. That it?’
‘Haven’t come to the best bit. It was Helen Patrikis who hired Gentleman Johnny to burgle her father’s house.’
‘And kill him?’
‘No! Johnny didn’t do it! The police tried to pin it on him, but they know their man – not an ounce of violence in him. No, what happened was Stavros, the father, kept his daughter on short rations. They were a very rich family, but the mother had died in childbirth and there wasn’t anybody else – just father and daughter. He adored her, worshipped her, but he was a very controlling figure and decided the only way he could keep her close was to provide her with all the good things in life – but never let her have any cash.
‘It meant she didn’t have a car, couldn’t take holidays, had to wait for him to stump up for her wardrobe. For a girl who’d been brought up among the rich of Hampstead it was pretty humiliating.’
‘Your Johnny seems to know an awful lot about her.’
‘I’ll come to that in a minute.’ He could see the waiter bringing the wine bottle and nodded energetically, as if to hurry him up.
‘So what happened?’
‘Well, remember this was four or five years ago. By that stage this Helen must have been in her mid-twenties – stranded at home with a father who was overpowering and very controlling.’
‘Why didn’t she go out and get a job, like everybody else?’
‘That’s just it – she tried. But apparently she had a most unfortunate manner – comes from being the apple of her father’s eye, I suppose – a real madam. Expected everything her own way and very controlling too. She tried a couple of jobs but people couldn’t put up with her. She was beautiful, but a pain in the posterior. If you’ll excuse the expression.’
Belcanto’s was noisily filling up with the Saturday luncheon crowd and now she had to lean forward to catch what Arthur was saying.
‘In a nutshell, she wanted money. She told Johnny she wanted lots of money. She knew her father kept huge amounts of cash in a safe in his study, but despite her best efforts she’d never been able to find the combination. She fell on Johnny’s neck – quite literally – when he came down to London with the loot from his Scottish job. She knew where the money was – all she needed was a safecracker to do the work.’
‘Sounds like your Ramensky isn’t too choosy about the jobs he picks. Burgling someone’s house on the say-so of a young girl?’
‘Ah,’ said Arthur. ‘I was coming to that. She seduced him. Johnny told me he’d never been to bed with anyone so posh.’
‘But she was Radipole’s mistress!’
‘Not by choice. Radipole had some hold over her, don’t know what. He’s a dreadful man, Huguette, dreadful! He sold Helen’s father a Bentley just after the war – and seduced the daughter at the same time. She could barely have been seventeen, and him touching fifty!
‘Radipole and Helen remained lovers over the next six or seven years, even though he had other affairs. Radipole was obsessed by her and, just like her father, she couldn’t escape his clutches. I wonder if perhaps the father… ah, well… people are not always as we wish them to be, dear girl, let’s draw a veil over that. She jumped on Johnny when he came along and got him to do her bidding.’
‘Very manipulative.’
‘Johnny said that. He said it was suffocating being with her because she was so self-obsessed, but he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t keep away.’
‘So she persuaded him to burgle her house.’
‘Yes. He said the job was a walk through the park. She’d told him how to disable the burglar alarm, then she hopped off to stay with an old schoolfriend in Wales. He got in, cracked the safe in no time, then skedaddled.’
<
br /> ‘Leaving a bloody corpse behind him.’
‘I told you, Huguette, Johnny didn’t do it! It’s not his style, and when the police charged him with murder they told him not to worry, they just had to put someone’s name on the charge sheet.’
‘So who did it, and why?’
‘Well, naturally Johnny was keen to find out! He didn’t want to swing for a murder he hadn’t committed. They’re a powerful lot, that Patrikis family – managed to get out of Greece before the invasion in 1940. Being in the shipping business they had offices and money in Britain, and of course did pretty well out of the war – though in an honourable way, unlike our friend Radipole.’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘We suspect it,’ nodded Arthur. ‘Anyway, Johnny said he made a mistake when he did the petering job. When he shot out of the house he left a side door open – obviously that’s how the murderer got in. But he was confused by what happened because Helen had told him her father wasn’t in the house that day. Yet hey presto, pretty soon after Johnny had hopped it, in came the knifeman and did the deed.’
‘Almost too much of a coincidence, don’t you think Arthur?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ came the airy reply. ‘If someone was watching the house, they discovered their moment and pounced.’
A waiter came to take their orders; Miss Dimont pointed with her finger at something on the menu without even taking in what it was, so keen was she to hear the rest of the burglar’s tale.
‘Anyway, old Johnny got the boodle and delivered it to Helen. He was amazed when she said she’d give him half, far more than they’d agreed – there must have been five thousand! He said she didn’t even look at it when he handed it over, just told him to take half. I suppose that’s what happens when you grow up with so much money.’