Accuse the Toff

by John Creasey

  ‘You shouldn’t have given it to them.’

  ‘We won’t have exercises in passing the buck,’ said the Toff thinly. ‘We’ll just face up to the position as it is. If you’re right, any evidence existing against Brett and against your Gerald has been destroyed.’

  ‘Is—is everything gone?’ she whispered.

  ‘From all accounts, yes.’

  He would not have been surprised had she shown some degree of relief because of what it meant to Gerry but her expression did not grow easier; he imagined that she was thinking of the man who had been killed; but it was not altogether that, for she said after a long pause: ‘So Brett will get away with it?’

  ‘Has he done anything to get away with?’ demanded the Toff, ‘or have you pitched another fine story?’

  ‘Oh, you fool!’ stormed the girl. ‘Oh, you poor fool! Of course he’s guilty of a hundred crimes: he ought to be hanged, he ought to spend the rest of his life in prison. And now no one will be able to bring it home to him, no one. And—Gerry,’ she added, and her voice was a sigh. ‘Poor Gerry.’

  ‘I think it’s time I knew a little more about Gerry,’ said Rollison and then went on in a kindlier tone: ‘June, we must face up to the position, we can’t hedge. The police will want to know everything you can tell them and you’ll have to explain your interest in the case. The only effective way will be by naming Gerry.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘You must,’ insisted Rollison.

  ‘I can’t, I won’t! I—but you’ll tell them.’ She broke off. ‘You’ll tell them. Oh, what a fool I was to say anything to you. Why couldn’t I keep my silly mouth closed? I won’t say anything more,’ she added desperately. ‘It’s no use trying to make me!’

  ‘If you don’t, the police will detain you.’

  ‘I don’t care about that.’

  ‘You’ll come to care,’ the Toff assured her quietly. ‘June, have you realised what this means to you? And do you really think that there’s the slightest chance of keeping anything from the police for long? They’ll ferret it all out and, when the truth is known and they realise that you could have helped them and saved a great deal of trouble, they’ll believe there’s a much more involved and discreditable explanation than the one you’ll give. The police are materialistic and hard-hearted. They don’t believe in gallantry and quixoticism for the sake of it. Crime is sordid in their experience and they’ll work on the assumption that this case is, too. You’ll do your Gerry more harm than good by keeping silent and you’ll do yourself untold harm. Be sensible, and tell everything.’

  ‘No!’

  Rollison shrugged his shoulders, stood up and took a cigarette from the borrowed packet. He lit it and flicked the match to the little surround of the gas fire.

  ‘Well, please yourself. It isn’t the first time I’ve found a girl throwing herself away on a useless wastrel but I don’t enjoy the experience any more each time it happens.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If there’s any kind of manhood in Gerry he won’t let it happen,’ said the Toff evenly. ‘It isn’t a habit that a decent man develops, you know. It’s called hiding behind a woman’s skirts and it’s frowned upon.’

  ‘Oh, you fool,’ she flung at him. ‘He doesn’t know.’

  ‘So you’ll defend him at all costs,’ said Rollison with a contemptuous gesture.

  ‘He doesn’t know, I tell you! He’s in the RAF up in Yorkshire and he hasn’t been down here for months. If only you knew what he’s been through! I know that he often wishes he would get shot down when he goes out on raids, he’s always taking chances, he—he’s even got two bars to the DFC. For years Brett has been torturing him, blackmailing him, it’s cost him tens of thousands. Now he’s nearly a pauper, he hasn’t much more than his RAF pay to live on. If he knew what was happening he’d get down here somehow but I was praying that I’d be able to get the case and take his papers out before—before he knew anything about it. He mustn’t know what I’ve been doing!’ she repeated wildly. ‘You can’t tell him, you wouldn’t be such a brute!’

  She had a queerly effective way of touching him, Rollison thought only half-dispassionately; she put such emotion into her words and, while he could not be sure that she was telling the truth, he contrasted her manner now with that of the morning when she had been indifferent, aloof, completely self-reliant. If there were such a man as Gerry, he was in at least one way a lucky man. If only he, the Toff, could be sure of the truth of what she told him, it would help.

  ‘Now listen, June,’ he said paternally. ‘I can imagine how you feel but getting excited won’t help you. You aren’t being sensible, you know, and—’

  ‘Sensible!’

  ‘It always pays,’ the Toff assured her. ‘Ibbetson is being sought all over the country, as well as his men, one of whom has been murdered. That means that the police won’t let anything rest; when it’s a case of murder they go all out and there isn’t a chance of standing out against them. Peveril has been arrested on suspicion of the murder and he isn’t a man who will keep silent for long. One or the other of them knows about your Gerry and if you don’t talk, they will. Get in on the ground floor and show some faith both in Gerry and in getting a fair deal from the authorities.

  ‘But he killed a man,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Who had been blackmailing him or helping to.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘Extreme provocation is a strong plea in court,’ Rollison assured her. ‘You tell me that Gerry has been and is being blackmailed by Brett and that he hasn’t a penny to bless himself with, that he’s flying without any real heart and hopes that he’ll be brought down. What kind of a life is that? If he did commit murder in the face of extreme provocation, and proof against Brett and his late secretary will be reasonable proof of the provocation, it isn’t likely that he’ll be found guilty of murder. I don’t know the circumstances but I’ve known murder charges reduced to manslaughter because the police see the strength of the provocation and know that no jury will bring in a verdict of guilty on a murder charge. I’ve known lawyers get the accused off scot free with a defence of justifiable homicide. And I’ve also known the lives of men and women ruined completely by a refusal to come into the open.

  ‘Don’t keep this to yourself any longer,’ Rollison went on. ‘Bring it out and fight all you know. If you’ve told me the truth now and Gerry can prove that he was more sinned against than sinning, I’ll help you all I can and I’ll brief the best men in the country for you. Money needn’t be an obstacle. The only obstacle is obstinacy and a belief that there’ll be disaster if you tell the truth. There won’t. The only chance you’ve got of getting out of this with any degree of happiness for either of you is to tell everything to the police. I’m not persuading you for the sake of a cheap success,’ Rollison added quietly, i mean all I’m saying and if you do the wise thing I know you’ll feel a hundred times happier in the morning than you do now.’

  He paused and waited, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. He did not seriously doubt that she felt for Gerry as deeply as she declared: he believed that she had come to the end of prevarication and smoothly-told plausible stories. Quietly he went on: ‘If you tell me everything else now, I’ll pass it on to the police so that you’re not worried tonight or until you feel better. And don’t think that, because the black case has been destroyed, all the evidence has gone completely. Your evidence and Gerry’s will be strong enough to enable the police to start working against Brett and, once they start, they’ll uncover the rest. You’ve told me that Brett has hundreds of victims. You might be the source of saving them all from further torment and further suffering, If you’re right, if Brett is the rogue you’ve made out, then the right thing to do is to fight to prove it.’

  When he stopped, the room was very quiet.
She did not close her eyes but stared at him expressionlessly, the colour gone from her cheeks again, her eyes lack-lustre. He saw that her hands were clenched over the bedspread and thought that she was grinding her teeth. He fought against a temptation to add more persuasion, waiting for a long time without moving.

  Then she said very slowly: ‘Will—will you tell Gerry what you’re going to do, first? If I give you his name, will you promise me that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rollison unhesitatingly.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘All right. I expect you’re wise, it’s been a dreadful time. But Gerry—I don’t know what he’ll say. I don’t know whether he’ll think it’s worth it.’

  ‘He will,’ the Toff assured her, with quiet assurance. ‘He’ll see the sense of it, June, and he’ll see the chance of laying a ghost. Now, what’s his full name, his station and the name of his CO, if you know it?’

  She told him that he was Gerald Paterson and gave him the other information. She also solved a problem that had been worrying him; the man who had taken her from her work in a car was a neighbour and always gave her a lift. She seemed listless and very tired when he finished and he believed that the effort, the shock and the fierceness of her fight against him had completed the effect of the immersion and exposure; now she would sleep. While she slept he had much to do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Flight To The North

  Pondering the girl’s reaction after her decision, Rollison left the room, not surprised to find Mrs. Mee in an upstairs room; the light there was on and he caught a glimpse of the woman’s back, assuming that she had been doing all she could to eavesdrop. He made no comment but said quietly: ‘Didn’t the doctor advise a sleeping draught?’

  ‘Why, yes, sir. I put it in her coffee.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Rollison, relieved that the draught was causing June’s apparent listlessness but startled because she might have submitted to its influence before he had gained the information. ‘That’s good. I’m going next door to see whether my uniform is dry yet. There’ll be a policeman on duty in the house all night, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Lawks!’ exclaimed Mrs. Mee. ‘I’ve never ’ad—but if it’s to help the young lady, sir, that’s all right, o’course it’s quite all right.’

  ‘Good, thanks,’ said Rollison. ‘I’ll see you again tomorrow.’

  The uniformed man was standing in the porch and Rollison exchanged a few words with him, to be interrupted by the sergeant who had transmitted his earlier message to Grice. The sergeant had instructions, it seemed, to make sure that no one involved in the canal incident was allowed to escape police observation, although Mr. Rollison had not been included in that general order. The sergeant, therefore, promised to see that the girl was watched and then said: ‘I inquired for Mr. Jolly, sir.’

  ‘Yes?’ Rollison’s voice grew sharp.

  ‘He was there,’ said the sergeant and Rollison’s fears abated. ‘I sent one of my men who isn’t well known, sir, and pretended that there was a message waiting for him at his home.’ The constable smiled although the darkness hid the fact from Rollison. ‘Mr. Jolly took it up very quickly and mentioned casually he had only just managed to rent a flat nearby, so I don’t think anyone thought much about it.’

  ‘Good,’ said the Toff. ‘Where is Jolly?’

  ‘Still at the pub, sir. He asked me to tell you that he thought it would be worth staying there for an hour; he got talking to several people who were there when young Jameson got tight the other night.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Toff slowly. ‘That should work out all right. What kind of reputation has The Bargee got?’

  ‘Not a mucher,’ he was assured. ‘They’re a funny crowd that rents it but they do good business. I’ve left a man outside, just in case of accidents. From what the Superintendent told me this is going to be some case and if it’s connected with what that young Jameson’s charged with that’s not far out.’

  ‘Did you know Jameson?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir, fairly well. He hasn’t lived ’ere long but he was a nice young fellow; the last thing I could have expected was for him to get a brainstorm and do anything like that.’ On the ‘that’ he lowered his voice and then went on: ‘Will one man be enough at the pub, do you think?’

  ‘I’d make it three at least,’ said the Toff. ‘Oh, sergeant. When you’ve strengthened the watch there, telephone Mr. Grice for me, will you? Tell him that I’ve had to go north in a hurry but that I hope to be back tomorrow with some news of importance.’

  The sergeant assured him that he would do that at once and Rollison returned to the first house. The plump little woman, so much more genuinely hospitable than Mrs. Mee, assured him that she would not dream of letting him have his uniform: he would catch his death if he put it on. Wouldn’t he stay the night? She could easily make up a bed and he’d be much better for it.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ smiled Rollison, ‘but I most go now. I’ll come and see you again,’ he added, before saying au revoir to George and the others who had played a part in the rescue and going into the blackout to find the taxi driver waiting patiently.

  ‘It’s a bit nippy aht ’ere, sir, ain’t it? Where to?’

  Rollison went to his flat, donned a fresh uniform and then was driven to the Whitehall building. He dismissed the cabby with a fiver and, with the man’s warm thanks echoing in his ears, went up to the office.

  The night staff in some departments were on duty and he telephoned a colleague who acted as liaison officer between his department and its equivalent at the Air Ministry. The liaison officer was on duty and led off by saying that he thought Rollison was taking French Leave.

  ‘Only more or less,’ said the Toff. ‘Tim, if you can perform miracles, here’s one waiting for you. I want a man, at the Bedloe Station in Yorkshire, stopped from operational duty tonight if he’s briefed for it and released to come down for a few days on urgent private matters.’

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Tim.

  ‘Also, I want to get up to Bedloe to see him tonight,’ continued the Toff. ‘There’s bound to be a ’plane going north with something on and it won’t make a lot of difference if I’m dropped at Bedloe. Can you do it?’

  ‘Of course I can’t,’ said Tim, and abruptly: ‘What’s the urgent private matter? Life and death?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Toff emphatically.

  ‘Hm. I might get him released,’ said Tim. ‘I know one or two men who’ll pull what wires they can but I can’t guarantee anything. And I certainly can’t get you a seat on a ’plane going north. Damn it, man, do you know what you’re asking?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m not joking,’ said Rollison quietly. ‘You can arrange it if you exert yourself. I don’t want to waste time going further upstairs.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Tim gruffly. ‘I’ll ring you back.’

  He rang off and Rollison pushed the telephone away and contemplated the files in which the day’s correspondence was locked. He was not thinking of the correspondence but his justification in having reached a compromise with June and also for trying to get to see Gerald Paterson by air. Strictly speaking there was no justification for the latter and he was using his official position for essentially private purposes. It did not weigh on him heavily for he believed a talk with Paterson would do much to help him assess the situation. He was troubled, too, because earlier in the case an RAF officer had been mentioned. He could not remember in what connection.

  The telephone rang as he was pondering the position so far reached and he did not think Tim could have made contact with the Air Ministry so quickly. Nevertheless it was Tim who said gruffly: ‘Is that you, Rolly?’

  ‘What’s the bother?’ asked the Toff.

  ‘Just what is this show about?’ demanded Tim. ‘I’m bound to be asked.’

  ‘It’s an official request
from me,’ said Rollison, burning his boats completely, ‘and it’s on official business.’ That at all events was a half-truth, if police counted as officials, and he added: ‘I’ll answer any questions that are put to me but for the love of Pete get going quickly; an hour might make the difference between life and death.’

  He put that touch in for the sake of impressing Tim and not because he believed that it would make much difference – except to the peace of mind of a girl and possibly Paterson. He did not know that from a house in London, where Ibbetson had made a detailed report to his employer, two men had started out by road with instructions to persuade Gerry Paterson to leave Bedloe at once to come to London.

  ‘All you want is to get Paterson off the aerodrome,’ the man told them. ‘You can’t handle him when he’s there but you can soon get at him when he’s on the road. It doesn’t matter how you do it but get rid of him.’

  ‘Just why are you worried by Paterson?’ he was asked.

  ‘Because his blasted girl and Rollison are together and Rollison will get the story from her,’ said the man who had ordered the journey. ‘Rollison and Paterson mustn’t meet, d’you understand? It’s as much as our lives are worth. They mustn’t meet and Paterson mustn’t be interviewed by the police. He’s close to breaking point and he might break down into talking too freely. Get off and hurry. Make a good job of it.’

  ‘And then what?’ one of the men demanded.

  ‘It will soon be over,’ he was assured. ‘You won’t have to worry afterwards but get rid of Paterson and don’t waste time.’

  So the two men started for Bedloe in the blackout and were three hours on their way when Rollison sat at his desk and waited for the telephone call from Tim. To while away the time he unlocked the ‘Correspondence Awaiting Reply’ drawer of a cabinet and glanced through it. Several letters had been set aside for his personal attention and he pencilled notes on them. Half an hour passed but did not drag too slowly, although it would have seemed much longer had he known of the car forging along steadily just beyond Northampton on the road to York. He had finished a scribbled note when the telephone rang and Tim’s voice sounded eagerly in his ear.