‘He might.’ Billy himself had been weighing the same possibility in his mind. ‘But it all depends on his alibi. And, like you say, will anyone remember that far back?’
• • •
As Billy entered his office he heard a phone being slammed down, followed by a muttered curse. Joe Grace was sitting at the desk across from his glaring at the instrument.
‘What’s up?’
‘Carrick’s parents aren’t at their house in France. They were until a few days ago. Now they’re driving back to England. But they’re stopping off in Paris and nobody knows what hotel they’re staying at.’
‘Nobody . . . ?’
‘I got hold of the hall porter at the block of flats where they live. They rang him from France a week ago telling him not to forward any more post to them and that they’d be back this week. But they didn’t say when. He gave me the name of their daughter, a Mrs Hill. She lives in London.’
‘And . . . ?’
‘Do you know how many Hills there are in the phone book?’
‘No, and I don’t want to. Keep trying, Joe.’
Billy himself had a call to make, and as soon as he’d sat down at his desk he dialled the number. The phone rang for some time and he was on the point of hanging up when Madden answered.
‘Sorry for the delay, Billy. Alice is moving out today and it’s proving to be a wrench. She’s lived in this house for thirty years, poor old dear. At this moment she’s having a quiet cry in the kitchen. I wish Lucy were here. She’d be better at this than I am.’
‘If it’s a bad time, sir . . .’
‘No, it’s not that. But if I have to break off suddenly it’ll mean the taxi is here. I’m going to take Alice down to Waterloo and put her on a train for Hastings. It’s the least I can do. Tell me—is it something to do with Garner?’
Madden already knew about the meeting Billy and Grace had had with the man the day before. But he was unaware of what Lily Poole had learned in Soho and Billy quickly brought him up to date.
‘It sounds as though Sir Richard was right,’ he said. ‘The Triads have got someone here already looking for Wing.’
‘And meanwhile the executioner’s waiting offstage . . .’ Madden hummed thoughtfully to himself.
‘We’re still in the dark about Garner’s alibi. We might hear something later today, but either way I’m going to talk to him again. He’s hiding something. Grace and I both felt he wasn’t being honest with us.’ Billy paused. ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall when he meets Jessup. Why do you think he wants to see him, sir?’
‘Probably to ask his advice. Sir Richard’s not looking forward to the encounter.’
There was silence between them. Looking across the room at Joe Grace, Billy realised that he, too, had not spoken for some time. The sergeant was sitting with the telephone pressed to his ear. He was writing busily in his notepad.
‘What will he do if Garner confesses to the murder and asks for his help?’
‘He’ll tell him to go to the police.’ Madden’s response was unhesitating. ‘He’ll advise him to make a clean breast of it.’
‘But what if Garner doesn’t take his advice? Will he shop him?’
Madden sighed. ‘I can’t answer that question, Billy. Only Jessup can. But I don’t believe he’d protect him: not if he knew he was a murderer.’
He hesitated.
‘Look, he said he’d call me after their meeting tomorrow evening; Jessup, that is. Why don’t you come up here and have supper with us? We can wait to hear from him.’
‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ Billy began, but was quickly cut off.
‘You won’t. We’ve still got several tins of Aunt Maud’s illicit hoard to finish off, and Lucy would love to see you. She’ll be here. Why not bring Lily Poole with you, too. Angus is always asking me for news of her.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, sir.’ Billy beamed. ‘It’ll be a pleasure. Elsie and the kids are still away. But I expect you guessed that.’
As he hung up he caught Grace’s eye. The sergeant brandished a clenched fist.
‘Yes, Mrs Hill.’ He spoke for the first time in a while. ‘That’s very helpful. And you’re sure of that, are you—the dates, I mean?’
He listened in silence.
‘Yes, I quite understand. There couldn’t be any mistake. We may need a statement from you later. I’ll be in touch about that. And thank you again.’
He put down the phone.
‘Wouldn’t you know it?’ Joe’s smile was triumphant. ‘Alibi, my eye! Garner was lying in his teeth.’
• • •
‘How could he think he’d ever get away with it?’ Chubb shook his head in wonder.
‘Well, he did first time around.’ Billy settled himself in his chair. He and Grace had hurried down to the chief super’s office to give him the news. ‘No one was interested in his alibi once Norris was arrested, and especially not after he confessed. Garner had already told Mrs Castleton earlier in the day that he was lunching with a friend in Canterbury and he stuck to the story when the police interviewed him. He was up in Scotland when he learned that the case was being reviewed. He had time to think of who he could name and came up with what he probably thought was the brilliant idea of choosing someone who was dead. I got the impression he wasn’t very bright.’
Chubb turned to Grace. ‘How could this Mrs Hill be so sure after all this time? Tell me exactly what she said.’
‘The whole family was down in France, including Peter Carrick,’ Grace replied. ‘They’ve got a house near Nice. They didn’t hear anything the Sunday Portia Blake was killed, naturally. But the next day she and her brother went into Nice, where they bought the continental edition of the Daily Mail. The story was front-page news, and since they knew Jack Jessup well—their house in Kent wasn’t far from his—they read every line of it. Not only that: Peter Carrick actually knew that Garner was staying there. They’d had lunch together in London shortly before Carrick went off to France and he told his sister he remembered Garner telling him he was going down to Kent that week-end. Carrick was in France the day Portia was killed—there’s no doubt of it—and Mrs Hill is prepared to make a statement to that effect.’
‘So Garner’s put himself right in it.’ Chubb still couldn’t credit what he’d heard. ‘He’s practically handed us his head on a platter.’
‘We still need more evidence,’ Billy responded cautiously. ‘But if his face appears in one of these photographs it’s going to put him into a near impossible position. He’s always denied that there was anything between him and Portia. Wing’s the key to this, though. He may be the only person who can prove that Garner was the killer. But will he do that? If it’s money he wants, he’ll keep us in suspense, at least until Garner coughs up. But if it’s revenge he’s after, which Mr Madden thinks is possible, he could deliver him into our hands. And if Garner knows that, he might decide to act first and confess. It would look better for him if he did. He could claim he acted in the heat of the moment and killed her by accident.’
Chubb pondered in silence.
‘Now that we know his alibi is false, you could arrest him and question him under caution.’
‘I know, sir, and I mean to if he sticks to his lies. But it might be wise to let him have this meeting with Sir Richard first. Mr Madden thinks Jessup will press him to come clean about whatever it is he’s hiding, and he may have more influence on him than anyone else. It only means waiting another day. We can afford to do that. Meanwhile, we can keep looking for both Wing and this Red Pole bloke and tie up any other loose ends.’
‘Loose ends?’ The chief super growled. ‘I don’t want any of those left hanging, not again. What have you got in mind?’
‘If you remember, Mr Madden thought that actress Portia shared a flat with, Audrey Cooper, hadn’t been entirely frank with hi
m. He had the feeling she was keeping something back. I’m going over to Chelsea with Poole this afternoon to question her again.’
18
BILLY GLANCED AT HIS watch.
‘How did she sound when you rang her?’
‘She didn’t seem surprised, guv.’
Lily wound down the window. The two of them were sitting in the back of a radio car that must have been standing in the sun all morning. It felt like an oven. The busy traffic in the King’s Road had slowed their progress to a crawl.
‘In fact, she said she’d been wondering when we’d get around to her.’
‘According to Mr Madden she’s got a sharp tongue. He didn’t care for her. Isn’t this the end of the King’s Road?’ Billy had leaned forward to speak to their driver. ‘Are you sure we haven’t gone too far, Carter?’
‘No, sir, it’s next on the right. . . . Gordon Street.’
Slowing the car as he spoke, he turned across the oncoming traffic, and then braked.
‘Crikey! What’s going on here?’
The narrow street in front of them was blocked by a small crowd, which even as they watched was being added to by people spilling out of doorways on either side of the road. They were gathering around a spot where a blue-clad figure could be seen lying stretched out on the road surface.
‘Jesus!’ Billy grabbed for the door handle. ‘He’s one of ours.’
Lily already had the door on her side open. Springing out of the car, she raced down the street and forced her way through the crowd.
‘Stand back . . . police . . . !’
The constable was lying on his back. A young man, his eyes were wide and staring, and as Lily went down on her knees beside him she saw his mouth open and close as though he were trying to speak. A man wearing a postman’s uniform and cap was kneeling on the other side of the prone body. He was trying to get the buttons of the officer’s jacket undone. A stain darker than the blue material surrounding it showed beneath the rib cage.
‘I think he’s been stabbed.’ The postman was out of breath. ‘I saw it happen. I was just behind him.’
‘Has anyone sent for an ambulance?’
Billy barked out the question. He had arrived on Lily’s heels and was crouching down beside her. Lily had taken over the task of undoing the injured man’s buttons. When she pulled his blue jacket open they saw the spreading red stain on his white shirt.
‘Not as far as I know,’ the postman panted his reply.
‘Carter . . . !’ Billy shouted over his shoulder to their driver. ‘Call for an ambulance . . . on the double. And tell dispatch we’ve got a PC down injured here and we need some officers on the scene.’
Lily was searching through her pockets and her handbag.
‘I need a cloth or a scarf . . . anything.’
She called out to the crowd. After a moment a handkerchief was thrust into her hands, then another. Folding them into a pad, she tugged the blood-stained shirt open and pressed the makeshift dressing against the narrow wound oozing blood, which she could see in the young man’s stomach.
‘Anyone here had first-aid training?’
Billy shouted the question, and a voice answered.
‘Yes. Me.’
The crowd parted and a woman appeared, elbowing her way forward. Middle-aged and stocky, she wore a confident look.
‘I drove an ambulance during the Blitz,’ she announced. ‘I know what to do.’
Kneeling down beside Lily, she took hold of the makeshift pad from her, keeping it pressed firmly to the wound. ‘Edie . . .’ she yelled over her shoulder, and a young voice answered. ‘Run into the house and fetch me two clean hand towels from the linen cupboard; fast as you can.’
Billy rose to his feet. The postman followed suit. His leather satchel had been resting on the ground beside him and he hoisted it onto his shoulder.
‘What did you see?’ Billy asked him. ‘How did it happen?’
‘I was walking down from the King’s Road a few paces behind this officer when we heard a scream.’
His words brought an answering murmur from the crowd. A voice called out: ‘That’s right. We all heard it.’
‘The officer stopped. He wasn’t sure where it had come from; neither was I. Then that door there opened’—he pointed to a nearby house—‘and a man came running out. The constable shouted to him to stop, but the bloke tried to run past him, and when the officer grabbed him he hit him in the stomach. At least that’s what it looked like.’ The postman winced. ‘But your chap went down at once clutching his gut and the other fellow ran off that way.’ He pointed in the opposite direction to the King’s Road. ‘I don’t know what happened to him after that. I saw your man was hurt and I thought I’d better stay and help him.’
‘Can you describe the man who stabbed him?’
The postman shook his head. ‘I didn’t really get a look at his face. It all happened so quickly. Dark hair—that’s all I saw.’
Billy bent down.
‘Can he talk?’ he asked Lily.
‘I wouldn’t advise it.’ It was the woman who was tending to the injured man who answered. ‘He’s in shock. Best to leave him quiet for the moment.’
Billy beckoned to his driver, who was standing by the police car. He came running.
‘I got through to dispatch, guv. There’s an ambulance on its way. And they’re sending more officers. There should be a Flying Squad car here any moment.’
‘We’re going into that house. Someone in there may be hurt. Wait for the other officers to arrive. Tell them what happened. Lil . . .’ He touched her on the shoulder. ‘Come on.’
With a last glance at the young constable, Lily got to her feet and followed Billy along the pavement towards the house the postman had indicated. She stopped when she saw the number on the door.
‘Guv, look.’
Billy followed the direction of her pointing finger.
‘Number eight. This is where she lives: Audrey Cooper. Her flat’s on the first floor.’
‘Christ!’
Billy was up the steps and through the door, which had been left standing open, in a flash. Lily stayed on his heels. A narrow hallway, empty apart from a bicycle leaning against the wall, led to a flight of stairs. When they reached the first landing they found yet another door standing ajar. Billy stuck his head in.
‘Anyone home?’ he called out.
There was no reply.
He led the way inside and the two detectives found themselves in an untidy sitting-room, carelessly furnished, and with the chairs and settees, most of them showing signs of age, strewn with discarded items of women’s clothing. When Lily half stumbled on something and looked down, she saw it was a pile of what looked like play scripts. The air was sour with the smell of stale cigarette smoke.
Spotting a door open at the back of the room, Billy hastened to it.
‘Miss Cooper . . . ?’ he called out her name. When there was no reply, he disappeared through the doorway.
Lily went to the other side of the room, where there was a large picture-window overlooking the street. A big purple sofa, splitting at the seams and stained with wear, stood away from the wall. Nearby was a small writing-desk. Its drawers had been pulled out; one of them was lying on the threadbare carpet at her feet. As she bent down to pick it up, her eye was caught by the sight of a broken vase and some strewn flowers on the floor near the wall. She also spotted something else protruding from behind the sofa.
It took a moment before she realised what she was looking at: it was a bare foot encased in a slipper.
‘Guv . . . !’ she yelled out. ‘In here . . . !’
Billy was back in seconds. He found Lily down on her knees and peering behind the sofa.
‘What is it?’
‘Miss Cooper, I reckon.’ She glanced up at him. ‘And there’s b
lood, too . . . lots of it.’
• • •
Lily felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up. A burly PC was standing there holding out a cup of tea. She took it from him with a nod of thanks.
‘Drink this.’ She offered it to the young woman sitting beside her on the bed. ‘You’ll feel better.’
The girl showed no sign of having heard. She sat with her blonde head bowed and her arms hugging her chest, sobbing quietly.
‘Who’d do a thing like that . . . ?’
Lily barely caught the muttered words.
‘Come on, Pixie.’ She spoke more sharply this time. ‘You can’t go on like this. I need to ask you some questions. Have a sip of this tea.’
The girl sniffed. She accepted the cup and saucer offered her, but made no move to drink it, and after a moment Lily took it back and put it down on the bedside table. Pixie Du Pre was the name the young woman had given her, and only after being pressed by Lily had she admitted that she had adopted it for the stage and that her real name was Gladys Wainwright. Escorted upstairs by a bobby posted in the street outside, she had entered the flat almost unnoticed. The forensic squad and fingerprint crew summoned from the Yard had been hard at work for half an hour. They had moved the sofa farther away from the wall, giving the pathologist, also called to the scene, room to examine the body, which was stretched out on the floor. The carpet had absorbed a lot of the blood, but there was still a large pool of it standing untouched on the bare boards where the actress’s head lay. Pixie’s shriek, uttered as she took in the scene from the doorway, had made everyone jump.
Seemingly unable to speak, she had screamed in hysterics for several seconds until Lily had taken hold of her shoulders and shaken her, and when that proved ineffective, she slapped her on the cheek. Quietened finally, she had allowed herself to be led through the sitting-room to one of the two bedrooms at the back of the flat, where she had identified herself as Audrey Cooper’s flatmate and, like her, an actress. She had gone out that morning, she said, to do some shopping, and after lunching with a friend near Covent Garden she had taken part in an audition for a new musical at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. She had no idea what her flatmate’s plans for the day were, but as far as she knew she had not been expecting any visitors.
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