‘I know.’
‘Has he been along to shout at you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought he might have. He was drunk, of course.’ Often Jack was able to drink and not show the effects. If anything, it made him a more pleasant companion, and in many ways he was an enjoyable person to be with. Indeed, it was hard to dislike Jack even when he was at his wildest. Or so it had always been in the past. ‘It’s the murder. He knows all the stories that are going round and he’s frightened.’
‘He ought to be frightened for you.’
‘That too,’ said Kate sadly. ‘Although he doesn’t admit it. He does love me, you know. Annie too. They love each other when they let go.’
‘You don’t have to tell me. I know that.’
Wellington Yard was an attractive place to live now, although it had not always been so. Had it once been an old builder’s yard or belonged to a brewery? The locals told different stories. Annie, who was rich, had started with a gallery and an apartment above it, but she now owned the premises next door where she kept a self-contained flat for guests and a large studio. Kate, the apprentice architect, had designed the interior so that it was full of large, white, empty spaces with a cantilevered staircase. The walls were hung with the contemporary art that Annie collected and dealt in.
Charmian drove in and parked outside Annie’s. Two large bay trees in red tubs marked the front door. The colour of the tubs changed with Annie’s mood; she went out and slapped the paint on herself. They had been red for some weeks now.
Red was a bad sign and meant anger in the home.
Kate’s face was peering through the glass panels of the door: that was another bad sign.
She opened the door at once. ‘Thank goodness.’
‘Where’s your mother?’
‘Upstairs breaking crockery.’ Kate started to lead the way through to the lift which Annie had installed in a flamboyant gesture, saying it was for her old age. The Cooper family did go on to a great age: Annie’s mother was still alive and living in Florence.
‘Wait a minute.’ Charmian held Kate back. ‘I want to talk before we go up.’
From above, Annie called hoarsely, as if she had been shouting: ‘Char? Come on up.’
‘Coming. Just taking my coat off.’
She turned to Kate. ‘About the gun, Kate. It wasn’t your gun, was it?’
‘No.’
‘Good. I thought not. You never got a gun in India. You’ve never had a gun for self-protection or anything.’
‘No,’ Kate gave a small smile. ‘ I’m a karate black belt. Well, that’s not true. But I did take a course. I prefer self-help to guns.’
This was the authentic Kate talking.
‘So, whose gun? Don’t tell me, I can guess. It belonged to Jack.’
‘Yes, it was his gun.’
‘And why did you take it? Don’t tell me again, let me guess. Because he’d been shouting his mouth off about me and Dolly and anyone he was angry with at the moment. Including probably the Pope and the Prince of Wales.’
‘Yes,’ Kate gave a relieved grin. ‘ Especially the Prince of Wales. You are taking it well.’
‘I’m taking it well because there is another hot suspect for killing Nella Fisher. But don’t think you are off the hook. Nor Jack.’
Charmian got into the lift and pressed the button. It shot up. Things always moved with speed in Annie Cooper’s house.
‘That coat took a bloody long time to get off,’ called Annie as the lift rose.
The next half-hour was not an easy one, but Charmian succeeded in calming Annie. They were old friends and could manage each other. This time it took some soothing words of authority.
‘I’ll see that there’s a discreet search made for Jack, but I can’t promise anything.’
Annie accepted this and calmed down. Charmian could see she was now more frightened about Jack’s disappearance than angry. ‘He hasn’t got any money,’ she kept saying. ‘ How will he manage?’
‘Lack of money has never stopped Jack before,’ Charmian reminded her.
‘I should have been more generous to him,’ mourned Annie.
‘Remember that when he comes back,’ said Charmian.
She let Kate see her to the car. ‘ Kate, did your father have more than one gun?’
Kate did not like the question but she answered it. ‘ I think so. One of his pub pals had a small collection and Jack bought them off him when he was short of cash.’
‘With ammunition too, I take it?’
‘I expect so, but Dad knew where to get some, anyway. Another drinking pal keeps a gun shop.’
‘And no licence, I suppose?’
Kate shook her head. No need to answer that one. Jack was a permanently unlicensed person. Almost on principle, you might say.
‘That’s a hefty fine at the very least,’ said Charmian tartly. ‘You’re all mad.’
As she got into her car, she remembered one last question: ‘Kate, is your father smoking much these days?’
‘Well, he gave it up. But I think he’s gone back. Just the odd cigar.’
The Incident Room was in the church hall behind the row of shops in Merrywick, not far from the undertakers and even nearer the mortuary. The street in which it lay was not particularly near the Thames although it was called River Walk, but the developer of Merrywick had had a taste for romantic names that advertised well. The building was new and warmly heated which endeared it to Inspector Elman who felt the cold even more than the damp. The Incident Room was set up with the skill that Fred Elman usually deployed. He prided himself on it. A well organised MIRIAM is the mark of a good investigation, he said. Fall down on that and you’ve lost yourself at the very beginning of a case. He was right, of course. And lucky to have a Force behind him that was provided with all the computers, word processors, fax machines and telephones that he needed. A lot of funds had been spent on that sort of equipment lately and Elman used them to the full. He was a man who liked his work.
At the moment, though, his feelings were mixed. Murder was murder, a major enquiry demanding all his skills, but he couldn’t help wishing that he had been investigating the theft of the Duchess’s jewels instead. Now that was a case with promotion prospects if you scored. (And he would have taken pains to see that he did score. Some villain would have gone down for that, if he killed himself.)
But Arthur Franklin was coming down from the Met, he was a specialist. Must remember to find out if the Daniels woman knew him, she seemed to know everyone, and could tell them about his little ways. It paid to find out. Elman liked Daniels, in his careful way, but it was as well to know about the other side of Daniels too. She’d killed a man once, you always had to remember that about her. In the way of duty, naturally, but still, she had done it.
On her way to River Walk, Charmian drove past the Keyright Employment Agency and remembered that she would be asking about Nella there. If the case wasn’t closed, and maybe even if it was. There was something about Nella that nagged at her so that she wanted to know more. The girl deserved an obituary.
The moment she walked into the Incident Room, she was noticed, and she was aware of it. Not everyone looked at her, but a current ran through the room. They were all there, she observed: Chief Inspector Father, Inspector Elman and Sergeant Bister. They were grouped around a table in the far comer of the room.
Chief Inspector Father came forward. She had never got on Christian-name terms with him before, but he seemed about to start it. ‘Charmian, nice to see you. We’re just having some coffee.’ He had a sheaf of papers in his hand which he looked down at and then gave a grimace. ‘I gather you are totally in the picture about our little problem? Yes, Barstow said she’d spoken to you Silly girl,’ he shook his head. ‘But she’ll survive. We’ll have to see about the other one.’
‘Foggerty?’
‘Our Marg,’ he said heavily. ‘Who’d have believed it? Well, we will have to speak to her.’
‘
But you haven’t yet?’
‘It’s coming.’ He was clearly embarrassed and reluctant to talk to her, local dirt should be washed locally, but Daniels was an important lady and almost certainly coming to work in this Force. He had had no confirmation of the appointment but his sources were good and it looked almost certain to him that he was speaking to the new head of a new unit to beat crime. A new powerbase, in short. A pity, in his opinion, to give it to a woman, it ought to be a man, but that was the way society was going.
So he smiled. ‘We’re checking things out, Jake Henley among them. He was picked up in Cheasey this morning.’
‘Good.’
‘I gather you’ve had a bit of trouble yourself?’
Charmian shrugged. ‘I’m not sure if there is a connection with all this, but there could be.’
‘We’ll be looking into it, I promise you. And you’ll have extra protection in Maid of Honour Row.’
A duty patrol car at regular intervals taking a look? ‘I’m not sure if I want that.’
‘Better be safe … By the way, Bister’s got something to tell you.’
Sergeant Bister cleared his throat. ‘You’ll be glad to know, ma’am, that the gun I took off Miss Cooper is certainly not the gun that killed Nella Fisher. She’s in the clear there.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Thought you would be,’ and he smiled, revealing excellent white teeth and a pleasant expression. ‘Mind you, she should have had a licence.’
And there was Jack, out in the countryside with more than one unlicensed gun, thought Charmian.
Father broke in. ‘We’ll give her a slap over the wrist for that, but probably not take it any further.’
‘She got it off her father,’ said Charmian bluntly. ‘ He has other guns.’
‘A gun collector, eh? One of those. Unlicensed every one, I bet. Well, we’ll take it up.’ He looked at Elman. ‘Your job, Fred.’
Elman nodded. ‘ Wellington Yard, isn’t it?’
‘You won’t find him at home. He does take off sometimes. He has now.’
‘Lucky fellow,’ said Father. ‘Never managed it myself. Fred will land him. Any idea where to look?’
‘I don’t think he’s far away. Try the bars in Windsor and Slough. Or Cheasey. He might be there.’
They talked for a short while, going over the details of the case with all the complications of threats and double-dealing. Nella Fisher, Jake Henley, Dolly Barstow and Kate Cooper together with Jack and Annie, these were the characters in the story, but Margery Foggerty now had the leading part.
Margery Foggerty had been centre-stage ever since declaring herself to be on the spot, near to Nella, almost at the time of the killing, and in a manner that certainly did look like a confession. Lots of criminals, in the end, wanted to be heard, Foggerty might be one such. On the whole, little as he liked the idea, Father wanted the case cleared up quickly. He did not want another suspect.
After Charmian left, with expressions of goodwill and cooperation all round, Chief Inspector Father said:
‘We’ll have to call in Foggerty.’
‘She’s had a day off,’ said Elman. ‘I checked. Personal leave. I think she just wants to get her hair dyed.’ It had been showing a bit at the roots.
‘Get her in tomorrow. See what she’s got to say.’ Father shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe it of Marg.’ They had all known her a long time, known her former husband, thought him a brute but liked her. Sad.
In the late afternoon of that October day, Charmian drove towards what was, for her, the most important appointment of the day. Important to her anyway. Might be a matter of life and death.
‘Although I certainly trust not,’ she told herself as she parked her car near Wimpole Street. She took it as a good sign that she had found a slot and a parking meter.
She had chosen a physician who had his practice in London, not too far from her office. Experience had taught that it was better to have a doctor who did not live in the same neighbourhood. In her profession it was wiser. This particular doctor had bees thoroughly vetted by Security and could be trusted.
He had one other virtue: he never kept his patients waiting. Appointments were honoured on time. He had no bedside manner or charm as such, but he listened. She valued that.
Now he took in what she had to say about her symptoms, before answering in a gentle, quiet voice. Behind his professional voice he had the remains of a South London accent, and she liked this, too. Someone who made his own life.
‘Just a quick examination,’ he murmured.
He had an agreeable examination room with a middle-aged nurse whom Charmian liked. They had met several times when she had been recovering from an attempted murder and rape. She had killed her attacker, and had taken longer to get over the backlash than she liked to admit.
When the examination was completed, and not much in it and nothing to fear, her doctor suggested an appointment with a specialist.
‘I think it’s nothing more than an aberration of the ovaries. But perhaps we should check. Peskett’s a good man. So is Dunkeld. We trained together at Tommy’s.’
Charmian thought about it. Then she heard herself say: ‘I think I’d prefer a woman.’
No successful, intellectual career lady should say such a thing. You should go for the best in the field, sex did not matter.
But suddenly, for her, it did. Threats on all sides, she thought. Jake Henley, the vitriol, Jack and his guns. Perhaps a woman
was safer with women.
Except that Nella Fisher might not have been safer with Sergeant
Margery Foggerty.
Chapter Nine
Wednesday, October 11
Margery Foggerty returned to her flat in Merrywick Parade after her visit to the hairdresser’s with her hair neatly coiffed and tinted her usual pale beige but not happy.
Her father had been in the Guards so she knew the tradition that you died with your boots clean. She had been right to have her hair done, but she had the miserable feeling she was about to face professional suicide. Or worse.
Might easily be worse. Well, you took what you wanted and you paid for it. She had taken holidays in Spain, had a nice little bank balance, even a few investments, in return for passing over information that alerted Jake Henley – which was what he called himself lately, although she knew of other names – to police activity that was coming his way.
She thought she would have gone unsuspected for ever if she hadn’t been seen by that bloody girl, Nella. Something of a blackmailer, that girl, and they often had short lives. Of course, there was always Barstow, but she thought she could have dealt with Barstow. Loyalties still counted for something.
One of her troubles was that she had liked Jake. Had even fallen in love with him a bit, which had obscured her vision, usually so refined and sharp, of what was right for Sergeant Margery Foggerty. Not seriously in love, of course, just as far as she could fall in love, which was not a lot, but enough to make her a bit silly.
Drinking with him in The Grey Man had been silly. Only the once, but that once, as the girl said to the soldier, was enough.
She was an old and wily enough police officer to have picked up the first faint signals of caution towards her on the part of her senior officers. She was ceasing to be old Marg whom they had known for years and treated as part of the furnimre, and becoming Sergeant Foggerty, doubtful character, keep your distance from her because dirt sticks.
She was a kind of disease now, the Foggerty virus, she was catching. No one was nastier than one’s peers and equals when it came down to it. Only to be expected.
And I’m not the only rotten apple in their barrel, she told herself with grim amusement. There was the one they called Red Rick.
Now there was this message that Chief Inspector Father wanted to see her. Tomorrow, please, in his room in the Datchet Road station, 11 a.m. sharp.
Probably she wouldn’t go. She had cash that no one knew about. She had taken
the precaution of opening a bank account in Jersey. Her passport was in order.
She would pack a bag, take a train to London and melt into the big smoke. Only she wouldn’t, she would take the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow and fly out to drain her bank account.
After the hairdresser’s she had popped into Eddie Dick’s employment agency in Merrywick to use his fax machine to get in touch with the bank in St Helier. Eddie had been welcoming as usual. He had nice manners which you had to take with a grain of salt because they might not mean much, His office was busy as ever, even a queue of young women and lads waiting to be interviewed, all nicely dressed; he had attracted the best people in Merrywick. He came round to the alcove where she was using the fax machine to greet her.
‘Little bit of business done, Marg?’ He had watched her keenly, of course.
It was always a ‘little bit of business’ with him if you were a woman. His way of implying that a woman couldn’t be important, He would probably have said it to Mrs Thatcher. ‘Had a nice little day in the House of Commons today, Prime Minister? You’ve been doing some nice little things with the trade unions.’ She would have laughed at him inside, just as Foggerty did, but politely and with a straight face, not letting him know.
She had returned to her house in central Merrywick – a bit hard to abandon it since it was a nice piece of property, but it carried a big mortgage and she hadn’t paid off all that much of the purchase price. She could leave it behind. So she started to gather together those possessions she wished to take with her.
Then she made a pot of tea and smoked a cigarette before getting on with the task.
She finished her packing, taking only what she liked most. With any luck she would have time and money to buy a bit of stuff once across the Channel. No one knew, but she had a small fiat in Spain. She would head for there, and under another name. Possibly no one would come looking for her. It depended what evidence they had. Jake Henley would not talk.
Footsteps in the Blood Page 10