The Best of British Crime omnibus

by Andrew Garve

  ‘Involving Mr or Mrs Larden?’

  ‘Mrs Larden, sir. Miss Greet alleged that Mrs Larden was Mr Hackle’s local accomplice over the fake kidnap. That she suggested the flat as the hideout, and visited Mr Hackle there every day since Sunday, supplying him with food and er … and other things.’

  ‘I find that difficult to credit,’ said Molly quickly, in a tone more reactive than convinced. Her husband remained silent.

  ‘Miss Greet said Mrs Larden had just finished decorating the flat for the owners,’ the policeman went on. ‘She knew it’d be available, and free of interference. Miss Greet made the reservation and picked up the key. That was on Sunday, she said. Later that day, she handed the key over to Mr Hackle.’

  ‘What has Jane Larden said to all this, Inspector?’ asked Treasure.

  ‘At first she denied it, sir.’

  ‘Had she been told how Hackle died?’

  ‘She was told at the end of the interview. She still stuck to her denial, but later she called her husband. An hour ago, she came to Chiswick police station with her husband and their solicitor. She then made a voluntary statement.’

  ‘Did that confirm Miss Greet’s allegations?’

  ‘It did, yes. Mrs Larden went further. She admitted she’d been with Mr Hackle yesterday from four thirty to six. When she left him he was alive and well. She said they were lovers. That the plot was to make it financially feasible for her to leave her husband for Mr Hackle.’

  ‘Astonishing,’ said Molly.

  ‘Where’s Mrs Larden now?’ asked Treasure, in an overcasual tone.

  ‘At home, I expect.’ Furlong looked from one to the other. ‘We haven’t detained her, if that’s what you meant. She mentioned you telephoned her yesterday evening, Mrs Treasure?’

  ‘Yes. About some curtaining.’

  ‘Do you remember the time of the call? It could be important.’

  ‘I can see that.’ Molly thought for a moment. ‘It was straight after the radio news bulletin. The short one at seven. Must have been five past seven.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The policeman ticked something in his notebook.

  ‘I called her at home. So she could hardly have been in Chiswick at six forty.’

  ‘As a matter of fact she could have, Mrs Treasure,’ said the policeman. ‘But probably not after five to seven. The drive from Mereworth Court to her house can be done in five to ten minutes. Depending on traffic. The time of death is only approximate, of course.’

  ‘Another drink, Inspector?’

  ‘No thank you, sir. I’d better be going.’

  ‘But not until you’ve told us why you came.’ Treasure gave a shrewd smile. ‘I mean, you haven’t divulged all this fascinating information simply for our edification? Or as a trade for what my wife just told you, and which you probably expected.’

  ‘Well there is one other thing, sir.’ The hand went twice through his hair again, this time even more rapidly. ‘You see, Mrs Larden also said Mr Hackle told her you knew about an arrangement to bring down the price of Closter shares last Tuesday. So that Krontag could buy the company. He said you’d arranged to be well away in America for that reason.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Treasure responded, poker-faced. ‘Then I can only say, Inspector, that if you or Mrs Larden believe that, you’ll believe anything.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘So you think he told Jane you were involved just to make it all sound more … I don’t know, respectable, perhaps?’ Molly asked her husband.

  ‘Respectable’s a bit fanciful, but yes, I think that’s possible. If he really did tell her such a brazen lie. If she didn’t just make it up herself.’ Treasure spooned into the depths of the orange Antiguan melon with more vigour than was necessary. The calumny was irritating deeply.

  The Detective Inspector had left half an hour before. The Treasures were in the kitchen, finishing the informal dinner Molly had set out there earlier. They were at the round table in the window, with its cushioned banquette that seated two people in comfort and up to four with a squeeze.

  ‘But why would Jane invent such a terrible thing to say?’

  ‘Because she could be trying to make the kidnap and swindle seem more of a – let’s say, a group activity.’

  ‘In contrast to her affair with Dermot?’ said Molly acidly. Then she shook her head. ‘Even so, I still can’t believe it was Jane on her own. Dermot must have told her.’

  ‘But why did Bob let her repeat such a thing to the police?’

  ‘He didn’t know she was going to. In advance, I mean. The Inspector said it surprised Bob and the lawyer.’

  ‘I must have missed that.’ He spooned out some more of the melon, looking a little less disgruntled.

  ‘And if Dermot really did pretend to her that you were party to bringing down the share price, didn’t she have to admit it? Wouldn’t she have been sort of on oath?’

  Treasure pulled a face. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes. But since the man’s dead, it’ll now be his word against mine for the rest of time.’

  ‘No it won’t be. You’re dramatising.’ Molly stretched a hand across the table to one of his. ‘The Inspector obviously believed you.’

  ‘Policemen work on hard evidence not blind faith. Furlong is deeper than he looks. Probably why he’s so young for his rank.’

  ‘No one’s going to believe you were part of a swindle. And why should you have gone to Zürich like that if you had been? Forcing Krontag to own up. Exposing Helga Greet?’

  ‘What if Hackle told Helga Greet the same lie as he told Jane Larden?’ He frowned over this new awful possibility.

  ‘Well he didn’t. Because if he had she’d have told the Zürich police. When she was confessing all. Trying to excuse herself.’

  ‘That’s probably true.’

  ‘I’m sure it is.’ Molly smoothed an eyebrow. ‘You know, I still can’t help feeling dreadfully sorry for Bob Larden. To be done out of the company and his wife by his trusted lieutenant.’

  Treasure looked at the time. ‘I’ll ring him again when we’ve finished.’ He had called the Fulham number twice before they had started eating. There had been no reply, and the answering machine hadn’t been switched on. ‘Apart from Jane’s bombshell about me, I must talk to Bob about the murder tonight.’ His hand went out to his wine glass. ‘I just hope Jane didn’t do it.’

  ‘You don’t seriously think she could have?’

  Treasure shrugged. ‘She knew where he was. She admits being with him up to six. In terms of timing she had the opportunity, obviously.’

  ‘But why would she— ’

  ‘Who knows? They could have quarrelled. They would both have been on edge. Perhaps Dermot had just been using her. Once he thought his million pounds was safe he could have told her he was dropping her for one of his other women. He might even have relented about taking her away from Bob.’

  ‘Could she have got hold of the knock-out drug?’

  ‘The Bovetormaz? Yes. Or at least she’d have had similar opportunities to everybody else to nick some.’

  ‘Not such good opportunities as a Closter director?’

  ‘Probably not. But Bob may keep samples of products at home.’

  ‘Of lethal drugs?’

  ‘Most drugs are lethal. Taken in large enough quantities,’ he answered pedantically. ‘But yes, I agree, it’s unlikely he’d have had any of that one lying about. Maybe Dermot really did have some with him.’

  ‘Well I don’t believe Jane killed him,’ said Molly flatly. ‘Why couldn’t it have been one of Helga Greet’s lot? They knew where he was, too.’

  ‘Getting rid of him to save on his million pound bonus? The police may want to think so. I believe members of the Greet brigade would have felt too vulnerable to have risked it.’

  ‘The Inspector said Bob was standing by Jane.’ Molly looked irritated as the doorbell sounded again as she stopped speaking. ‘Oh no. Now who can that be?’

  Treasure found Stuart Bodlin at
the door – with a day’s growth of beard which gave his normally pallid, sunken countenance a sinister dimension. He was dressed in a faded red T-shirt, jeans, and white sneakers.

  ‘On the drive up I knew there was nowhere else I should go. No one else I should speak to. You understand? I’m sorry. It’s urgent,’ Bodlin was saying as Treasure showed him through to the kitchen.

  The visitor seemed to be in a kind of daze, his voice devoid of expression. The excuse for his presence was probably meant to cover his appearance too. He stood irresolute in the centre of the kitchen, the legs of the shrunken jeans revealing that he was wearing odd socks – one dark blue, the other a patterned red. Wordlessly, he had acknowledged Molly with a dejected sort of bow.

  ‘Do sit down, Stuart.’ She moved up a little and patted the end of the banquette beside her. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

  He sat. ‘Nothing, thank you.’

  ‘Some coffee, perhaps? We were just reaching that stage,’ said Treasure returning to the table himself. He had brought an extra coffee cup. ‘We all wondered what had happened to you. No one at the factory knew where you were.’ There was a touch of admonition in the voice.

  ‘At a friend’s cottage. In Dorset. I often go there at weekends. Or when I need to think.’ If the need for thought wasn’t sufficient to explain a day’s absence from his laboratory, no other was being offered. ‘The news on the radio at six said Dermot Hackle died of a heart attack. In the flat where he was held by kidnappers. As soon as I heard, I got in the car and drove up straight away.’ The speaker’s head was bent so low that he seemed to be addressing his feet beneath the table. Molly wondered if he would notice the socks. He had earlier taken off his spectacles.

  ‘We were both at that flat shortly after Hughie McFee found the body,’ said Treasure.

  Bodlin’s gaze came up. ‘Hughie found him? They didn’t say that. And both of you were there.’ The last was a comment not a question. ‘You must understand. There was no kidnap. That was a sham.’ He looked down again, kneading his hands together.

  Molly opened her mouth to say something, but was stayed by a glance from her husband as the scientist continued.

  ‘You see, I was at Bob Larden’s house yesterday. In the afternoon. After the meeting with Professor Garside. Something I heard then. When I was making a phone call. In the study. It seemed impossible. I didn’t know what to do. Not till I knew Hackle was dead.’ He drew in his breath sharply.

  ‘What was it you heard?’ asked Treasure.

  ‘The tape of a phone conversation. Jane Larden talking to Hackle. Bob was having everything recorded. We’d all agreed to do that. In case the SAE called us at home. His wife couldn’t have known it. Or she’d forgotten. Or thought she’d switched off the machine. Most likely it was that. The ordinary answering tape wasn’t on. It’s a complicated mechanism. Well slightly.’ The speaker’s frown deepened, as he drew the front of his right wrist across his brow. ‘She called Hackle at lunchtime yesterday. I mean she knew the number. Where he was. I wouldn’t have heard the tape, except I didn’t want my call recorded. It was personal. Very personal.’ The last phrase came out defiantly, as if he was expecting it to be challenged. ‘I was checking the machine. To make sure I’d switched it off. When I recognised the voices, I had to hear the rest.’ His voice was now reduced almost to a whisper. ‘It was compulsive. I’m not ashamed of what I did.’

  ‘Did either of them say where Dermot was?’ Treasure asked.

  Bodlin shook his head. ‘She said she’d be with him after four thirty.’

  ‘Did she say where she was phoning from?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then he probably assumed it was from her car.’

  ‘He said he couldn’t wait to see her. And … and what a pity he’d be setting himself free on Friday. That they’d miss their afternoons together. Except soon they’d be together for ever.’ Bodlin paused. ‘It was a very intimate conversation.’

  ‘And it shocked you?’ said Molly.

  ‘Not because they spoke as lovers. Because they were conspirators … who’d tricked everyone … robbed us all. I couldn’t believe it. The depth of it. You understand? I didn’t know what to do. How I should tell Bob. You’ll think that’s weak, I know. But I couldn’t just come out with it. Not cold.’ He looked appealingly from Treasure to Molly.

  ‘I understand,’ said Molly. ‘It was a terrible dilemma for you. Please go on.’

  ‘It was then I heard Bob’s wife. She was downstairs. Speaking to him.’ Bodlin’s nervousness had made him nearly breathless, and might also have been the cause of his suddenly running out of words.

  ‘So what did you do, Stuart?’ This was Treasure, in a lively, encouraging tone, while wishing Bodlin would get on with it. Nor did the banker share his wife’s view on the terrible dilemma. The man’s duty had been obvious.

  Bodlin swallowed painfully. ‘I left. I don’t know what they thought. I didn’t care.’

  ‘You hadn’t erased what was on the tape?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So Bob could have played it himself later?’

  ‘I thought he was bound to.’

  ‘You preferred that to happen? As opposed to telling him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘I sat in my car. Up the street. I was too upset to drive. I knew they should be exposed. Hackle and Jane Larden. I nearly went back. But in the end I couldn’t do it. I remember thinking the damage was done anyway. Then, before I left— ’ He stopped, covering his face with his hands. He took several deep breaths before resuming despondently with: ‘Anyway, what does any of it matter now? He’s dead. They said it was his heart.’

  ‘He was murdered,’ said Molly.

  ‘Murdered?’ The hands parted. The eyes stared out between them in stark surprise. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Poisoned by Bovetormaz. Around seven last night,’ Treasure added.

  ‘Who did it?’ The murder method seemed not to have impressed itself on the speaker.

  ‘We don’t know. Jane Larden’s been to the police to say she didn’t. She’s confessed the kidnap was a hoax. The Irishman on the telephone was Dermot doing an impersonation. It explains why both voices on the tapes opened the lock to your lab. We figured that as an outside possibility last night, after we checked the tapes. At the time it still seemed too bizarre to credit.’

  ‘Was the Bovetormaz injected?’ asked Bodlin.

  ‘No, Hackle was just scratched with it.’ The banker leaned back. ‘So you’d remained undecided about what to do. Left for the country to make up your mind? Or hoping Bob would play that tape for himself?’

  ‘Hoping he’d play it, yes.’ But there had been hesitation before the reply.

  ‘Did you have other ideas before that?’

  There was a long pause. ‘I thought I’d like to kill Hackle,’ the scientist almost whispered.

  ‘Did you kill him?’ Treasure’s tone was as impassive as a psychoanalyst’s.

  ‘No. If I’d known where he was …’ The words petered out. ‘No, I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘You knew Jane was going to him. You didn’t wait and then follow her?’

  ‘No. I went home. I’m alone there. My … my friend’s away. After a while I didn’t want to stay in London. So I drove to Dorset.’

  ‘To keep out of the way till the truth was exposed?’

  This time there was no response to the question. Bodlin’s gaze had dropped again.

  ‘Of course, you couldn’t rely on Bob playing the tape. So who else had you told?’

  ‘No one.’

  Molly had looked as surprised as Bodlin at the question.

  ‘You confided in no one before you left?’ Treasure pressed. ‘Not to someone who happened along while you were sitting in the car near the Lardens’ house?’

  Bodlin’s head came up rapidly, almost as though it had been tugged from behind. He looked confused. Both hands went to rubbing his thighs. ‘No … no o
ne.’ His forehead was beading with sweat. ‘Look, I came to tell you the kidnap was a hoax. I didn’t know you knew that. I didn’t know Hackle had been murdered.’ He pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. Suddenly his actions had become sharper, the expression in the eyes guarded. ‘So I’ve nothing new to tell anyone. I should have stayed out of it.’ He rose from the table. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry I came here. Sorry I disturbed you. It was all a mistake. I can find my own way out. Please don’t bother …’ He was still muttering apologies as he reached the doorway.

  Molly was about to call him back. Her husband’s raised hand discouraged her.

  ‘Is he a bit mad?’ Molly asked as they heard the front door slam. She got up to clear the table.

  ‘Eccentric and quite brilliant. I’ve told you before, he loathed Dermot.’

  ‘Enough to kill him?’

  ‘With the right provocation.’

  ‘He didn’t know where Dermot was. He said so.’

  Treasure gave a dismissive grunt. ‘He only had to follow Jane.’

  ‘A lot of people could have done that. Bob himself. Even Mary Ricini as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Oh? Why Mary?’

  ‘Something Rosemary Hackle said. When we were alone. It didn’t seem important. Not until just now.’ Molly opened the dish-washer. ‘Tim, that’s the Hackles’ little boy, told his mother last night that he saw his father with a ginger-haired woman on Sunday afternoon. At Heathrow.’

  ‘He told her this after they knew Dermot was dead?’

  ‘Mmm. Up to then, Tim had promised not to tell her. Promised his sister and Mary. It was to save Rosemary’s feelings.’

  ‘Mary knew though?’

  ‘Yes. He told her yesterday afternoon, just before Rosemary got home with the daughter. Mary left soon after to go back to the office. Said she wouldn’t be long. But it was after seven when she got back. Rosemary told me all this when we were just making conversation. Rather difficult conversation in the circumstances. She was saying what a help Mary had been all week, in so many ways. That she must have had to neglect her important work.’