by John Creasey
“I spent most of the day clearing up the Battersea murder,” he said. “The man Cox had murdered his wife and buried her beneath the kitchen floor of a hovel in Battersea. Oli- phant looked in while I was at the house. The other things were trivial, sir, just detail.”
“Get off home,” Chatworth said. “You’re too tired to think clearly.” He rounded the desk and held out his hand. “Your suspension is lifted, West.” His handclasp was very firm.
“Thank you, sir,” said Roger, stiffly.
“And I’m also sorry,” said Abbott, when they were walking along the passage outside. “I had my work to do, you know that. I thought there was no doubt at all.”
Roger smiled, painfully. “If there was even more evidence than I’ve yet heard, I can’t blame you.”
“I should have kept an open mind,” Abbott said. “I tried to trap you, West — I told you as nearly as I could that I was coming to see you that afternoon, then I sent Martin to shadow you. I expected you to make a call on the way.” The Superintendent broke off. Roger could understand how difficult he found it to make this admission.
“Forget it,” said Roger. “There is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t you detain me?”
Abbott shrugged. “We wanted to give you plenty of rope.”
Roger said : “And you’ve no idea what I was supposed to be hiding?”
“None at all. I hoped we would get information from Leech.” They were walking down the steps of the Yard, then, towards the Embankment; the moon was shimmering on the sluggish Thames and the dark silhouettes of barges were moving down river. One hooted, mournfully. A car-horn sounded not far away and a lorry clattered along the Embankment, a ghostly thing with its faint lights. “You have no idea where to find Malone, I suppose?”
“No,” said Roger. “I wish I had !”
“I’ll drive you home,” said Abbott.
“Not home — Buckingham Palace Gate,” Roger said, and then stopped abruptly, remembering Lois; he had quite forgotten her while he had been with Chatworth. His mind was too clouded, he should not have tried to think, it only gave him a headache and depressed him. He went on : “There’s one other thing you should know. I’ve got the girl who helped Pickerell.” Hastily, he went on : “Oh, I haven’t kidnapped her! She is willing enough to take help, but she won’t make any statement. Pickerell was blackmailing her. I think it would be a mistake to interview her officially.”
Abbott did not answer immediately.
“She might be able to give us a line if she’s treated well,” Roger went on. “But I believe she’s so frightened of the police that she would stay dumb.”
Abbott gave a thin laugh; with a shock, Roger realised that he had never heard the Superintendent laugh before.
“We owe you some licence,” Abbott said.
He did not even ask where Lois Randall was staying. Nor did he get out of the car outside the hotel, but wished Roger good night and then drove off, after promising to send men to help guard the hotel. Roger watched the rear-light fade into the grey pallor cast by the moon, then stepped towards the front door. One of Morgan’s men said : “Good night, Mr West.” There was no night porter and he had no key, but
Legge, a rotund, jolly individual, came to the door promptly. After he drew back bolts there was a noise of chains being moved — Legge was taking no chances.
Roger felt a twinge of alarm.
“Is everything all right ?”
“Why, yes, Mr West,” said Legge. “Why shouldn’t it be? I believe your wife is in the upstairs lounge.” The light in the hall revealed his wide smile.
“Roger!” called Janet. She came to the head of the stairs and into his arms. “Darling, I get the most horrible ideas these days, I’m as touchy as —” she broke off, for he winced when she kissed him. “Roger, what is it ?”
“I — er — I banged into a door,” mumbled Roger.
“I don’t believe it!”
When she saw his face she refused to allow him to talk, although Mark and young Tennant, also in the lounge, were obviously disappointed. Roger said enough to make them realise that he had had another encounter with Malone.
Nothing was clear to him. He did not even realise that Janet sent a lugubrious Mark to an all-night chemist near Victoria Station for some zinc ointment to put on his lips. When he undressed his limbs felt like lead, his head throbbed. He was soothed by Janet, as she helped him, but half-asleep when the salve was rubbed in. Janet’s face was outlined against the electric light, which she had covered with a handkerchief to save his eyes from glare. It made her hair look radiant and her face soft and lovely.
When he woke up it was nearly ten o’clock.
Janet, in a dressing-gown, came in from the bathroom and the opening door disturbed him. He opened one eye; the other was stuck. He heard her exclaim. He tried to speak but his lips were far too swollen. Only after he had managed to swallow a cup of lukewarm tea and eat some porridge did he feel better in himself. Even then he had to admit that he would not be much good that day.
After twelve o’clock Janet brought in a lotion to reduce the swelling at his eye, which was badly discoloured, and his lips. Abbott telephoned to tell him not to come in. Later, he sent the two five pound notes from the £1,000 which
Morgan had found in his bedroom to the Yard, with a note asking if they could be traced; he might learn something from them.
He kept going over the case of the man Cox, who had murdered his wife and buried her beneath the floorboards of the kitchen.
He persuaded Janet to let him send for the complete file of the December 13th case and spent the afternoon brooding over it. It was sordid, unpleasant and unremarkable. The motive had been greed — the man’s wife had been on bad terms with her husband and had hoarded several hundred pounds in the house. Relatives had first suspected that something had happened to her and the case had followed its usual course — once suspicions were aroused, and the body found, it had been a mere matter of routine. There seemed no possible mistake, certainly nothing which had not been disclosed during the course of the investigation.
Mark Lessing and Bill Tennant went out during the afternoon, too restless to stay indoors. Lois Randall stayed in; during tea, she seemed unable to remove her gaze from Roger’s battered face.
Abbott, showing a solicitude quite out of character, telephoned to say that there was no trace of Malone, who had left his home in Stepney, nor of his men, nor of Pickerell. There was nothing to report from the office of the Displaced Persons’ Society except — Abbott seemed ill at ease when he admitted this — that the offices had not been guarded all the time after the fire and there was evidence that Malone had visited the place and discovered the tape-recorder. The overeagerness of Cornish doubtless explained the lapse, for the office should have been watched. It was reasonably obvious that Roger had been seen to go to Mrs Cartier’s flat, and that Malone or Pickerell had guessed it was her tape-recorder.
In spite of the quiet day, Roger was glad enough to get to bed just after eleven o’clock. His face was much better and Janet said, optimistically, that the scars would hardly be noticeable in the morning.
To their mutual surprise she was right. The lotion had performed miracles and his lips had healed, although he still found it difficult to eat or drink anything hot.
He went round to the Yard and saw Chatworth and Abbott, as well as an enthusiastic Cornish — his eagerness unaffected by the slip at the Society’s office, and an “I-told- you-so-Handsome’ Eddie Day, as well as a number of sheepish individuals who took the opportunity to say that they had always been sure it would all prove a mistake. Chatworth gave him chapter and verse of the ‘case’ against him, including reports that he had been to visit Malone (until then hardly known to the Yard). Joe Leech had given categorical evidence that Malone had boasted that he had West in his pocket. Cornish had assessed Malone merely as a nuisance, before his transfer from the Division to the Yard, and the
Division had continued to make that grievous mistake.
There was a report on the two fivers. Leech’s fingerprints were on them. Leech had often been suspected of handling stolen money.
On two occasions, in the past month Roger had gone to the East End on inquiries which had given him an opportunity to see Malone. On both occasions Malone had come out of the house he had visited after he had gone. Tiny Martin and Abbott had seen that for themselves.
“Oh, there was a case all right,” Roger said to Janet, Mark and Tennant. “Apparently Leech told Abbott that he had heard that Malone was bringing a packet of money to Bell Street and that he was going to put it in the bedroom. Thanks to Winnie Marchant, Pep Morgan had learned of it. The only established fact is that Leech was bribed to lie to Abbott and then killed in case Mark forced die truth out of him.”
“At least I’ve helped a bit,” Mark said.
“Do you think that’s certain?” Janet asked. “I mean why Leech was killed?”
“Malone was afraid he would crack under Mark’s interrogation,” Roger said. “Malone knew Leech well — so did most people in the East End. We at the Yard had rarely found him to lie to us. He’s been a reliable squealer, otherwise
Chatworth wouldn’t have acted as he did. But when Leech told a categorical story it made ‘em sit up and take notice.”
“We know one or two other things,” Mark pointed out, sitting back in a. winged armchair, gaily loose-covered, his austere face set in concentration. Tennant looked at him curiously. “Pickerell is not even in authority over Malone, but Malone isn’t running the whole thing. Whoever is, knows him.” He startled Tennant by beaming at him. “Any ideas ?”
“Never was an ideas man,” declared Tennant. When Roger and Janet laughed, he went on : “What’s so funny?”
“Not funny — refreshing,” Janet hastily rejoined. “It’s a relief to meet a man who doesn’t pretend that he knows everything ! I suppose”—she looked very thoughtful—”Lois didn’t say anything that might help?”
“Nothing at all. When I discovered how badly she was feeling I had the shock of my life.” Tennant stood up and stepped restlessly across the room. “This doing nothing is getting me down,” he went on. “If I could get at the beggars and put the fear of death into them it wouldn’t be so bad.” He was troubled as well as impatient. “If only I knew why Lois is so scared ! I can’t understand it at all. She’s got no close relatives, and as far as I know she hasn’t any close friends. But if Pickerell was blackmailing her, she must have —” he broke off.
“How long have you known her?” asked Roger.
“Just over a year. She was running a mobile canteen for the NAAFI.” Tennant ran a hand over his curly hair. “She seemed as happy as could be.”
“What part of London?” Janet asked.
“Battersea,” Tennant answered.
Roger sat up. “Battersea? Are you sure?”
“Roger, you’ve got Battersea on the brain because you were there on December 13th,” Mark said. “Forget it, old man.”
“Did Lois live in Battersea?” Roger inquired.
“At the time, yes,” said Tennant, colouring. “As a matter of fact, I persuaded her to leave her digs — oh, it would be about six months ago now. I didn’t like the people she lodged with. He was a pretty nasty customer and he and his wife were always rowing. It’s a district where neighbours don’t worry about what happens in the house next door. She moved to the flat at St John’s Wood, and I think she likes it better.” He frowned, for Roger was eyeing him with a peculiar expression. “Well, what have I said wrong now?”
“Nothing,” Roger assured him, “nothing at all.” His voice was strained. “Did she lodge at a house in New Street?”
Tennant gaped. “Why, yes, how did you know?”
“Was the man’s name Cox — Benny Cox ?”
“Yes ! What do you know about him ?”
Roger spoke very gently, Mark’s eyes were startled, Janet stood up quickly, obviously guessing what was coming.
“Benny Cox was hanged for the murder of his wife,” said Roger in the same strained voice. “I was at New Street on December 13th, looking around the house. That can’t be simply a coincidence!”
CHAPTER 18
One Mystery Solved
“YES,” SAID Lois. “I knew.”
She stood by the dressing-table of the room which she shared with Janet. She had been sitting reading and had not undressed. Her hair was untidy and she had not made up — she looked pale and in her eyes was the familiar gaunt, distraught look. Her hands were clenched. The book she had been reading was on the floor by her feet.
“You mean you knew that Mrs Cox had been murdered,” Roger said.
“Yes.”
“Listen, Lois,” said Roger. “I’ve tried to help you and I’ve given you ample time to think this over. I’ve used my influence at Scotland Yard to save you from being officially questioned, all this on the assumption that there was a strictly personal reason why Pickerell and Malone were able to force you to work for them.”
“I didn’t say it was,” said Lois.
In the other room, probably close to the door, were Mark and Tennant. Janet sat at the foot of the bed.
As he looked at the girl, Roger wondered whether he would not have been wiser to have left this to Mark; probably she was more frightened of him because he was a policeman.
“What Roger means,” Janet said, “is that since he knows this he can’t stop the other police from questioning you much longer. You’d be much wiser to tell him what’s worrying you. He’ll help, you know, and the police aren’t ogres. They’ll take into account the fact that you’ve had such a bad time.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lois said.
“I don’t want to have to send for a colleague,” Roger said. “If you tell me the whole truth I’ll do everything I can to make sure that they don’t hear every detail. I really shouldn’t make such an offer, but I’ll keep my word if you’ll tell me what you know.”
She said : “You won’t. You’re like all policemen, as soon as I’ve told you, you’ll use it against me.” She stopped, drawing in a deep breath.
“You think I’ll charge you,” Roger said. “I won’t. I’ll give you this firm undertaking — if what you tell me means that you ought to be charged and arrested, I’ll have Mark Less- ing and Bill Tennant get you away from here.”
The girl’s eyes were clouded as she looked at him, but Roger thought there was a glimmer of expression in them, as if hope were being reborn.
“I — I don’t believe you,” she said, but her tone suggested that she wanted to.
“You should, dear,” Janet said.
Lois swung round on Roger.
“I knew you’d worm it out of me. I knew someone would have to know, but — oh, don’t lie to me ! Don’t try to pretend that it doesn’t matter, that the police won’t take any action. Let me know the worst. I can’t bear the suspense any longer !”
Roger could hardly wait for her to go on :
“I — I’ve worked for Malone,” she said. “I knew he was a thief, and dealt in stolen goods. Do you see that?” She held up her hand, where the single diamond scintillated in the bright light. Her face was drawn and almost haggard. “I always said it was my mother’s. It wasn’t, I stole it from a shop after a fire. I don’t know what came over me, I—”
She paused, then said in a steadier voice :
“But what’s the use of lying? The jeweller’s shop had caught fire. I happened to be passing, and this was almost at my feet. I picked it up and put it on. The fire engines were making a terrible noise, there were flares over the building, it was a devil’s light and all the fire in the world seemed to be in that diamond. I told myself that I would give it up the next day, that I only wanted to wear it for a few hours, but I knew I was lying to myself, I knew I meant to keep it!”
She paused again but neither of the others interrupted her.
She went on : “I d
idn’t know that a man had seen me. It was Benny Cox, the man who owned the house where I lodged. He didn’t tell me at first but a few days afterwards he started admiring the ring, and I realised that he knew where I’d got it. I thought he meant to try to bargain for his silence — he was a beast of a man, always with different women. Instead, he told Malone.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Roger.
She did not seem to hear him.
“Cox worked for Malone although I didn’t know it then. Malone came to see me. You — you know what he’s like. He frightened me. I was so scared that I don’t think I could have refused him anything. He didn’t stay long, just said that if I wanted nothing said about the diamond I must do whatever Benny Cox told me to. I’d got the job with the Displaced Persons’ Society, and we have regular collections of jewellery for the funds. It was easy to keep valuables at the office. Benny was always bringing me things, sometimes jewellery wrapped up in paper, sometimes furs, oh, dozens, hundreds of different things! I hid them among our collection of cheap jewellery. There was always another helper with me, of course, and several times — on Benny’s instructions — I handed a trinket to the police, to make out that I was being honest. The only thing I’d taken was the diamond, I wasn’t given payment for what I did. I stayed at New Street and Benny made no approaches to me. He wouldn’t talk about Malone although I knew he worked for him. Then a year ago, Malone came again. He told me that someone was looking for a girl who could speak languages. I know French, Dutch and Flemish, that’s why I got the job. Pickerell was the manager, but I didn’t know for a long time that he was also involved. I thought it was a spy organisation, but soon I found that it wasn’t. I had to take messages to different people and sometimes to Malone. I knew that there was a lot of stealing. I had to take packages to different men, sometimes to jewellers. I realised that the Society was used as a distributing office. Mrs Cartier didn’t know, only Pickerell did.