Only The Ruthless Can Play

by John Burke

  Schroeder’s puffy face seemed to swell, malignant in its spiteful glee. ‘I am afraid I cannot tell you that. It was very odd. There was a dispute between Mr Dampier and myself over the organisation of the timetable, and at such times Mr Dampier makes a point of seeing me personally. He likes to put his views across forcibly — face to face. But on this occasion he sent Miss Rogers. What he did while Miss Rogers was away, I do not know.’

  ‘But I do,’ said Partridge.

  They turned towards him. Schroeder looked hurt. He had built up a nice aura of suspense and did not want it spoilt.

  ‘Dampier was with me,’ said Partridge. ‘He was talking to me about a personal matter.’

  That was that. Partridge’s tone brooked no further discussion. But Andrew, launched on the tide, was in no mood for compromise. With a surprising lack of trepidation he heard himself saying:

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Partridge, but if we’re to continue this enquiry we need all the facts.’

  Partridge went very red. ‘Even in your brainstorm sessions,’ he snorted, ‘you can’t have all the facts.’

  ‘But we ought to have them. Planning a marketing campaign when there are too many unknown quantities is a risky business. Investigating a crime — two crimes — when information is consciously withheld is just as risky. If we’re going to take it seriously, we want all the details we can get. Unless the matter is very confidential, sir, I think you ought to tell us why Mr Dampier came to see you.’

  Again there was a breathless pause. Then the indignation ebbed from Partridge’s face, and he grinned crookedly.

  ‘All right, Flint. I’ll play. Dampier came to see me because someone had put it into his head that he was being watched. Thought there was someone on the Course keeping tabs on him and preparing evidence against him.’

  The suppressed gasp from the class was eerily, faintly audible.

  ‘And was there?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘Of course there wasn’t. He wanted my personal assurance that he was not marked down for redundancy and that we were not trying to catch him out in any way. He got it.’

  ‘Did he have any theory about who it was who was watching him — supposed to be watching him, that is?’

  ‘Yes. He thought it was Western.’

  ‘But he was with you when Western was killed.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Andrew indulged in a moment of wild speculation as to whether Partridge and Dampier had somehow been working together, covering up for each other — or whether Dampier had found something with which he could blackmail Partridge, and Partridge had therefore disposed of him. But even in his present mood of abandonment Andrew realised it was best not to put such speculations into words. Not yet. All he said was:

  ‘Why should anyone have found it necessary to kill Western? What did he know — or what did he see?’ Hornbrook said quietly: ‘We are now taking it for granted that Western was murdered, I observe.’

  There was a tap at the door. A timid girl looked in, and grew even more frightened as faces turned towards her. She took a few steps towards Andrew, then blinked and looked round for someone whose authority she recognised.

  Partridge snapped: ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh. Er, it’s a message, sir. From Mr — er — Mr Marsh.’

  ‘Marsh? Where the devil is he?’

  ‘It was a phone call, sir. He wanted to say that he’s had a breakdown driving in from Maidenhead. He’s very sorry, sir, but he thought he ought to ring up and say what had happened, and he’ll be in as soon as he can, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It was a curt dismissal. The girl scurried out.

  ‘I shall be interested,’ said Schroeder drily and significantly, ‘to hear what Mr Marsh has to say for himself when he gets here. Perhaps’ — he smiled at Andrew — ‘Mr Flint will have some questions ready for him.’

  The brief lull while the girl was speaking had given other members of the Course time for thought. They realised that Andrew had seized the initiative — even, perhaps, that this whole thing was rigged, was all part of the Course itself. It was time they asserted themselves. Three men began to speak at once, and all stopped at once in confusion. Before they could recover, Ames got a word in. Clearly and precisely he said:

  ‘Would it not be a good idea to proceed step by step? I suggest that very quickly we establish where each one of us was at the time of Western’s death, and then where each one of us was when the theft took place. It should be possible to eliminate a large number of suspects in a very short time.’

  ‘Do that,’ Partridge approved.

  Andrew took him up on this without hesitation. He said: ‘Mr Crowther — where were you when Western died?’

  ‘Me?’ Crowther groped immediately in his pocket for his pipe and brought it out as though it were a defensive weapon. ‘Now, wait a minute ‘

  ‘Answer him,’ said Partridge.

  Crowther stuck the empty pipe between his teeth and sucked at it as he spoke.

  ‘I was out,’ he said. ‘I’d gone out into the town for a while.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I felt like it.’

  ‘Can anyone confirm your story?’

  ‘I don’t suppose so. I just felt like a walk. I used to work there, and I went out to see what the old place was like.’

  ‘Which way did you go out?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did you go out of the main gate?’

  ‘What other way would I go out?’

  Andrew said: ‘On one occasion we … I saw you making use of a side entrance — the entrance closest to the building in which Western was killed. You know your way about the place pretty well, Mr Crowther.’

  Crowther’s heavy features lost their bluff brightness and settled into sullenness. He did not reply.

  ‘Did you have any reason for getting Western out of the way?’ said Andrew.

  ‘No.’

  ‘He didn’t perhaps intercept you on one of your mysterious walks — on your way in, or out?’

  ‘No,’ said Crowther, ‘he didn’t.’

  ‘But you are not prepared to tell us where you went and why?’

  ‘I’ve told you.’

  ‘Did you regard Western as a serious rival on the Course, one who must be got out of the way? Or’ — Andrew was enjoying the inquisition, enjoying the liberty he had been given to strike out, to say what he chose, to make them jump — ‘did you think you were being watched? Was there some reason — something to do with your past in Belby — to make you afraid of being watched?’

  ‘You’re a nosy bastard, aren’t you,’ said Crowther flatly.

  Schroeder cleared his throat. He did so with relish, announcing that he had something enjoyable to say. ‘I cannot provide Mr Crowther with an alibi in the sense that I was with him at the time of the death. As I have already told you, I was with Miss Rogers at that time. But I think I can tell you where he went on these evening strolls of his.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Crowther. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’

  ‘It should be put on record,’ said Schroeder, ‘that Mr Crowther not merely spent some of his early days in the factory at Belby, but was in fact a local inhabitant — a local lad, I think they say. When he was young and humble, he married a local girl —’

  ‘This isn’t anyone’s concern but my own,’ raged Crowther.

  ‘Don’t be too sure you won’t need an alibi,’ purred Schroeder. ‘Yes … Mr Crowther married young. Then he started to rise in the world. He soon found that his wife was … how shall I put it? … no great asset. She weighed him down when he wanted to climb.’

  ‘Ah’ve never made any secret about my origins,’ said Crowther, his accent thickening. ‘Never made any secret about where I come from. You don’t find me putting on any side. So that’s a libel. That’s what it is. A libel.’

  ‘A slander rather than a libel. If it were a slander. But I don’t think it is. It’s one thing to flaunt a no
-nonsense accent — the Scots, Yorkshiremen, and my own countrymen all do very well in industry by preserving just enough of their original inflection to show that they are men of great integrity, quite free from affectation — but one doesn’t want to flaunt a wife who is obstinately unsociable, provincial, and unwilling to move away from the semi-detached house which has always been her dream world. So one divorces her — or, rather, makes it worth her while to divorce one. And one marries a more suitable woman. When a rich, well-educated woman with a Roedean voice marries a simple Yorkshireman it makes it clear that he is a man of unsuspected potentialities beneath that rugged exterior, doesn’t it? And when he moves on up the ladder, she helps him up.’

  ‘You’re going to be sorry for this,’ said Crowther.

  ‘Sorry? As sorry as you’ve been over the years — as guilty as you have felt?’ Schroeder shook his head. His tone remained scientific and detached. ‘It still makes you uneasy to think about that baffled little woman who never knew what hit her — who gave you your divorce without understanding why it should have happened to her. And you couldn’t resist going to see her while you were in Belby, could you? A friendly call … to see that she was all right … to flagellate yourself, and at the same time to get her to say that she was perfectly happy and it didn’t matter at all.’

  ‘You’re making all this rubbish up.’

  ‘I don’t think so. You carry the past round with you, Mr Crowther — not just in little notes and opinions on your personal record file with the Company, but in your face. And plenty of people in Belby still remember you.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Andrew said: ‘We’ve rather got off the point. The second question, Mr Crowther—’

  ‘I’ll answer no more questions.’

  ‘Where were you this weekend, when the theft took place?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Crowther. ‘My wife will confirm that I reached home late on Friday night.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘My second wife,’ growled Crowther. ‘And on Saturday night we had friends in. I played golf on Sunday morning with one of ’em. So that lets me out, doesn’t it?’

  Andrew had to accept this for the time being. ‘Well, who’s next?’

  ‘What about yourself?’ It was Ames again, his tongue dabbing excitedly against his upper lip.

  There was a ripple of laughter. Andrew recognised it as the laughter of approval. ‘All right,’ he said quickly. ‘What about me?’

  Ames stood up, fancying himself as a prosecuting counsel, and tweaked at the edges of a non-existent gown. He said:

  ‘Several of us observed considerable antipathy between yourself and the late Philip Western. You are an ambitious man and probably none too scrupulous. Also you have been indulging in — ah — some kind of relationship with Miss Rogers — ’

  ‘How the hell … what right have you to say that?’

  There was a boom of delight from Crowther. ‘Now look who’s squirming!’

  ‘It is not for me to guess at the exact nature of the relationship,’ said Ames primly, ‘but certainly there were indications of a warm friendship between you. And Miss Rogers, as permanent secretary for all the Executive Courses, would know a great deal about the layout at Belby. She is used to handling confidential files. She would know how to get at those at Belby, and how to interpret them for you. What did she find out on your behalf, Flint? What information did she give you?’

  ‘Miss Rogers gave me no information whatsoever.’

  ‘Where were you,’ said Ames, ‘at the time of Western’s death?’

  There was no danger here. Andrew said: ‘I was in the bar, talking to Hornbrook.’

  ‘True,’ said Hornbrook, almost with regret.

  ‘And at the time of the theft?’

  At the time of the theft. Oh, then I was in bed with Jessica Rogers. Andrew heard the sentence so clearly in his head that he was afraid he might inadvertently have said it aloud. But Ames was staring hopefully at him and waiting.

  ‘Well?’ said Ames.

  ‘I was in London. You saw me on the train yourself, when we came down.’

  ‘You could have turned round and gone back.’

  If the charges were pressed home he might sooner or later have to answer. That would finish his chances on this Course. There might be laughter and even some envious congratulations. But the fact that he had been to bed with Jessica Rogers would tell against him in the final summing-up. It was ironical: they had kept it so quiet for so long, and now that the affair was ended there was a danger of the whole world hearing about it.

  He said: ‘I didn’t go back.’

  ‘Did you spend the weekend at home? With your wife? Did friends come in — and did you play golf?’

  There was no one here with the legal authority to demand an answer. But Andrew knew what a refusal to answer could mean. He was the one who had started this dangerous game, and they would expect him to play according to his own rules. Partridge would certainly hold it against him if he didn’t.

  He was saved by the door opening.

  David Marsh came in.

  Partridge said: ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Sorry about this. I decided to drive into town this morning, and had a spot of bother on the way. I hope I haven’t missed anything.’

  It was hardly an apology. Young Marsh appeared to be laughing to himself. There was a wild gleam in his eye, and the corners of his mouth kept twitching with amusement. Pleased with himself, thought Andrew: full of it, bubbling over with it, no end of a fellow because he’s got Jess on the rebound. The two of them, laughing in bed and laughing on their way up this morning, not giving a damn about being late, not giving a damn about anything. It wouldn’t last. It would soon wear off. And in the meantime David Marsh would have finished himself so far as Intersyn was concerned.

  Andrew wondered how long it would be before Jessica slipped apologetically into the room. She would allow a reasonable length of time to elapse, and then come in with some other glib story. He glanced at the clock. He would time her. And he would let her see that he, at least, knew the truth of the matter.

  Schroeder said: ‘We are in the middle of a brainstorm session, Mr Marsh.’

  ‘Sorry I’ve missed it.’

  ‘You have not missed it. It is unusual to allow new entrants in the middle, but in this case I think you can join us without difficulty.’ Without waiting to see if Partridge or Andrew had anything to say, Schroeder gave a brief outline of what had happened. Marsh grinned boyishly throughout. Evidently he found it vastly entertaining.

  When Schroeder had finished, Partridge spoke. He said:

  ‘Since you are here, Marsh, you can be the next subject for questioning.’

  David Marsh smiled. ‘What about yourself, Mr Partridge?’

  It was the question Andrew had wanted but not dared to ask. Now this young fool, bumptious with the memory of Jess’s responsive body, was stamping cheerfully on.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody impertinent,’ said Partridge.

  ‘Since Western was one of your own men ‘

  ‘That’s enough, Marsh. I don’t have to answer to you.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you do.’ David Marsh was deadly behind his smile. ‘You’ve got a lot to answer for to me.’ He strolled towards Partridge and stood above him, languid yet purposeful. ‘Western was one of your protégés. He was on this Course because you put him on it. It could be that he found something he ought not to have found — something which embarrassed you.’ The young man tossed this off as though he did not take it seriously but wanted to goad Partridge into some other admission. ‘You might have decided it was necessary to get rid of him. And in order to remove incriminating documents from the files, you might have staged a deliberately clumsy burglary, to draw suspicion away from yourself.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ said Marsh. His recklessness and volatility were disquieting. ‘All the same, something incriminating did d
isappear from those files, didn’t it? Something you wouldn’t want other people to see.’

  Partridge unexpectedly relaxed. He sat back with something amounting almost to satisfaction, tinged with an odd sadness. He said:

  ‘So it was you. I thought it must be.’

  David Marsh did not reply at once. He looked down reflectively at Partridge. He might have been debating where to plunge the knife in.

  Andrew glanced at the door. It must surely open soon. It was time Jess appeared. Was she going to stay in her office all day, pretending to be ignorant of everything that was going on?

  Marsh said quietly: ‘What was Western doing on the Course, Mr Partridge? Will you tell the class that?’

  ‘Dampier had the idea that Western was watching someone,’ contributed Blackwell from the back row, nervous but eager.

  ‘Who was he watching?’

  Partridge returned Marsh’s steady gaze and said: ‘He was watching you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we were afraid you would do something stupid. We wanted to protect the Company and certain of its employees against any misguided behaviour on your part.’

  ‘You wanted to protect yourself,’ said Marsh. ‘You wanted to stop me getting too close to the truth.’

  ‘We didn’t want a scene,’ said Partridge doggedly. ‘We didn’t want a scandal.’

  ‘But you’re going to get one. You do realise that now, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Partridge, ‘I realise that.’

  David Marsh said: ‘Will you tell our friends here why you were so horrified when you learnt I was on the Course — why you set one of your top men to spy on me — why you’re so worried about the things that may be missing from Belby? Tell them particularly about my father’s notebook.’

  ‘You murdered Western,’ said Partridge; ‘and you ransacked our files. Do you deny that?’

  ‘I took certain interesting items from your files,’ said Marsh equably. ‘Would you like me to tell the class what they were?’

  Partridge stood up abruptly. His sheer physical presence was enough to make the younger man step back a few paces. Partridge came on like a bulldog, his head down, his shoulders swinging meatily.