The Death of Kings

by Rennie George Airth

  ‘She’s been so strange lately . . .’

  A new note sounded in Pixie’s voice, and Lily pricked up her ears. Up till then the young woman had been locked in her grief, unable to focus on what had happened. Now it seemed as though she were speaking her thoughts aloud.

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since that man came to see her.’

  ‘What man?’ Lily reacted quickly. ‘What was his name?’ And then, as a new thought struck her, ‘Was it a Mr Madden?’

  ‘How’d you know that?’ The girl turned a teary gaze on her. Lily ignored the question.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘What did Miss Cooper say about their meeting?’

  ‘Not much.’ Pixie shrugged. ‘Only that he was a dark horse and that he wasn’t telling her everything. But she began acting funny as soon as he left; she started searching for something, going through the drawers of her desk, talking to herself, saying “Audrey, you idiot!” when she couldn’t find it. But then she remembered . . .’

  ‘Remembered . . . ?’

  ‘Where she’d put it. It was in the box where she kept her jewellery. And when she found it there she seemed really pleased. She said, “Bingo!”’

  ‘Bingo . . . ?’ Lily blinked. ‘Yes, but what was it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Pixie shook her head. ‘She didn’t say. She just took the box with her into the bedroom and when she came back she had her handbag with her and said she had to go out. I was going out myself and Aud said she’d walk with me to the bus stop. It’s in the King’s Road. But she left me there and went on and I saw her go into the chemist. Then the bus arrived and I had to get on so I didn’t see where she went after that.’

  The words were tumbling from her mouth now.

  ‘But after that she started to behave differently . . .’

  ‘How differently?’

  The girl frowned. Her tears had stopped. She seemed to be concentrating now . . . trying to remember.

  ‘You know what it’s like when someone knows something you don’t know and won’t tell you what it is?’ Pixie’s wide blue eyes were fixed on Lily’s face.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘When they’re pleased with themselves about something and can’t hide it?’

  Lily nodded.

  ‘Well, she was like that. She was up to something, I could tell, but she wouldn’t say what it was, and it hurt. I’d thought we were close . . .’

  Tears shone afresh in the blue orbs.

  ‘She did say one thing though . . .’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘It was after she went off one afternoon and didn’t come home till late. When she did, I could see she was even more chuffed. She was like . . . like a cat that had swallowed the cream. “I’ve been to the far north in search of treasure, Pixie,” she said. “I rather think I found it.”’

  ‘To the far north . . . ? And back the same afternoon?’ Lily was baffled.

  ‘That’s how Aud talked,’ Pixie explained. ‘She had this flowery way of speaking, theatrical, I suppose. She probably just took the tube somewhere.’

  ‘And what was the treasure?’

  ‘I asked her that, but all she said was, “I speak in metaphors.”’ Pixie waved her hands helplessly. ‘She said the treasure would come later, and with any luck I’d be able to buy myself some fancy new clothes. “We could take a trip to New York together,” she said. “Or would you rather have a week in Monte Carlo?” I didn’t know what she was on about.’

  The far north . . . ? Lily stared at the slumped figure beside her. Pixie’s words had started a train of thought in her mind. Pieces were starting to fall into place, like bits of a jigsaw puzzle . . . jewel box . . . chemist . . . treasure. As the picture became clearer, Lily pursed her lips in a silent whistle.

  Was that it? Had she guessed right?

  But before she could take her idea any further there was something she had to do. She touched Pixie’s hand.

  ‘You don’t want to be here on your own,’ she told the disconsolate girl. ‘Have you got a friend you could stay with, at least for a day or two? You shouldn’t be alone.’

  While Pixie made a call on the bedside telephone, Lily went next door to seek Billy’s approval for the arrangement she was making.

  ‘They were more than flatmates,’ she told him. ‘And more than friends, too, I reckon.’

  ‘Aye, aye . . .’ Grace, listening in, had winked knowingly, but Billy had simply shrugged.

  Her duty done, Lily watched as the police car drove off, and then went back up the stairs. She was ready to share her thoughts with her two male colleagues now.

  She just hoped she had it right.

  • • •

  ‘So Miss Cooper found something in her jewel box which she thought was worth a few bob.’ Billy scowled. ‘But how do we know it had anything to do with Portia Blake?’

  ‘Because she started looking for it the minute Mr Madden left. He must have said something that got her thinking. And all they talked about was Portia and that Wing bloke.’

  While she waited for her guv’nor’s reaction, Lily looked about her. The sitting-room was starting to empty. The work of the specialist squads sent over from the Yard was over. The crews were packing up their gear and preparing to leave. Still waiting to do their job, a couple of ambulance men stood by ready to load Audrey Cooper’s remains onto a stretcher for transporting to the mortuary at St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington, where the post mortem would be carried out. Mingled with the musty smell of tobacco and old cigarette butts there was another odour, one Lily had learned to recognize: the metallic scent of blood.

  ‘How’s the PC who was stabbed?’ Lily asked. She had joined Billy and Joe Grace in the corner, where they stood observing the proceedings.

  ‘Stable, according to the ambulance blokes,’ Billy told her. ‘That lady did a good job tending to him. We ought to send her a note of thanks. You just missed the pathologist,’ he went on. ‘He confirmed that Miss Cooper had her throat cut. She also had wounds on her hands, which suggest she tried to defend herself. She must have realised he was going to kill her: that could have been when she screamed. Joe and I have been trying to work out whether this was random, or if it’s linked to the Portia Blake murder. You’re telling us now that it must have been Wing who killed her. Why?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, according to Sir Richard Jessup, he carried a knife in the past. And he wasn’t afraid to use it. But mostly because Miss Cooper had something he wanted.’

  ‘Which was . . . ?’

  ‘The photographs . . . or rather the negatives . . . the ones Portia had taken of herself and the bloke in the bed, who we think could have been Garner.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Billy’s eyes bored into hers. ‘Up till now we’ve been working on the assumption that it was Wing who had possession of those photos.’

  ‘Yes, but what if we’ve been wrong, guv? What if Portia showed them to Garner in the wood, and when he tried to take them from her they fought and he ended up killing her in a rage? He would have destroyed the pictures, naturally, but there were still the negatives. Maybe Wing didn’t find them when he went into her room later because Portia had left them behind in London as insurance. That’s how they could have come into Miss Cooper’s hands. She could have gone through Portia’s things after she heard about the murder. There wasn’t much love lost between them. She might have put them aside and forgot about them until Mr Madden showed up that day.’

  The two men stared at her. Grace’s narrow features were knotted in a scowl—of disbelief, perhaps. But Billy’s expression was harder to read. He seemed to be at least considering the idea.

  Lily took a deep breath.

  ‘If Wing really had found the photos when he went into Portia’s room, why did he go home to Hong Kong? Why didn’t he put pressure on Garner
right away? Strike while the iron was hot? It doesn’t make sense him leaving the country, not if he had evidence pointing to the real killer.’

  ‘What about the pendant?’ Grace broke in. ‘He had that, all right.’

  ‘Did he?’ Lily looked at him. ‘We don’t know that it’s the same one, Sarge. All we know is it looks like it. Whoever took the photographs off Portia’s body must also have taken the pendant. Nothing else makes sense. But how can we know that Wing didn’t go back to Hong Kong and have another one made just like it, with the same sort of flaw? Even if he witnessed the murder, even if he knew Garner was the killer, he needed to concoct some evidence before he could put pressure on him. But instead the war came and everything changed, particularly for him. Now he’s in deep trouble, near the end of his rope. He’s desperate. He comes back to England hoping to put his blackmail scheme into operation again, but he’s got precious little to back it up with; only that pendant. He sends it to Mr Derry along with a letter, and when that gets no reaction he writes to the editor of the News of the World. He’s trying to whip up interest in the case, but he’s out of ammunition. Then a miracle occurs—at least from his point of view. That first photograph appears in the Mirror—and not with a typed note, by the way; this one was written by hand—and Wing knows instantly who must have sent it. It can only be Audrey Cooper. If Portia didn’t have the negatives with her in Kent, she must have left them behind in London, and somehow Miss Cooper had got hold of them. So he came calling . . .’

  Lily paused for dramatic effect. She could see that what she was saying was finally having an effect on one of her listeners. Billy Styles was rubbing his chin; he looked thoughtful.

  ‘Joe found that jewel box,’ he said. ‘It was on the floor near her body with some stuff beside it . . . a bracelet and some beads and other odds and ends. I had it dusted in case the killer left his paw prints on it. What happened to it, Joe?’

  ‘It’s on the table over there.’

  Grace crossed the room and returned with the item in question.

  ‘What I don’t see is how she could have missed whatever she was looking for, how she had to go searching for it.’ The sergeant’s scowl was back. ‘All she had to do was open the flipping lid.’

  ‘Yes, but when we found it there was a drawer sticking out of the bottom.’ Billy examined the object. ‘What happened to that?’

  ‘Search me.’ Joe shrugged. ‘The fingerprint lads must have shut it. I can’t see how it opens.’

  ‘May I, guv?’ Lily reached for the box. ‘I’ve seen one of these before.’ She ran her fingers along the bottom rim. ‘There should be something here. . . . Yes, there it is. There’s a spring or something. . . .’

  She pressed with two fingers on either side of the box. A shallow drawer slid out.

  Grace grunted. ‘It’s empty.’ He frowned. ‘There’s nothing there.’

  ‘But there might have been,’ Lily insisted. ‘If it was open when you found it, then maybe Wing took whatever was inside.’

  ‘You couldn’t hide much in there.’ The sergeant was unimpressed. ‘There’s no room. A letter, maybe . . . ?’

  ‘Or a bunch of photos.’ Silent up to now, Billy spoke up. ‘But why do you think they were negatives?’ He put the question to Lily. ‘They could have been another set of prints.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ she agreed. ‘But right after Miss Cooper found what she was looking for she went out. She walked Pixie as far as the bus stop in the King’s Road and then carried on down the street. Pixie saw her go into the chemist.’

  She paused. The two men were looking at her.

  ‘Well . . . ?’ Grace growled.

  ‘Well, apart from buying medicine, what else do you go to a chemist’s for?’ Lily was grinning.

  ‘To get your negatives developed.’ Billy supplied the answer. ‘All right, Lil, you’ve made your point. And we can easily check it. They’ll certainly remember handling a set like that. What about the “far north,” then? What does that mean?’

  ‘It’s only a guess, guv . . .’

  ‘Did you hear that?’ A glint had appeared in Joe Grace’s eye. ‘She’s guessing. She must be human after all.’

  ‘Go on, Lil.’ Billy smiled.

  ‘Well, Pixie said Miss Cooper was exaggerating, the way she always did. She reckoned she’d probably just gone somewhere on the tube—probably to north London. I was trying to think what was there—what might have interested her—and then I remembered the newspaper library at Colindale. That’s right near the end of the Northern Line.’

  ‘And what do you think she was doing there? Go on. Tell us.’ It was Grace who was egging her on now.

  ‘Again, it’s only a guess, but what if she was trying to identify that bloke in the photographs. If she had all the photos, it’s odds on his face must appear in some of them. But she probably didn’t know who he was. Garner may fancy himself as a lady’s man, but his face isn’t known to the general public—at least not to me, and probably not to her. It’s possible she wanted to check the newspapers published at the time of Portia’s murder. All the guests who were at Jack Jessup’s house that week-end were named and most of the papers carried photographs of them. She would have seen Garner’s face, and compared it with the photos she had. I’m betting she had the same idea as Wing: to put the squeeze on him for money in return for the photos. She told Pixie they were going to be flush soon. She was talking about them taking a trip to New York.’

  Lily went silent. She’d said all she had to say.

  Joe was still looking at her—but in unfeigned wonder now.

  ‘Do you know what?’ He turned to Billy with a wide grin. ‘She’s a bleeding marvel.’

  19

  ‘JUST TELL ME ONE thing—are we getting close? That’s what I want to know. More to the point, it’s what the commissioner wants to know. Are you certain that this latest murder is connected to the case you’ve been reviewing? It sounds to me as though there’s a lot of guesswork involved. Above all, can you assure me that at least we’ll be spared the sight of another photograph of Miss Portia Blake with no clothes on splashed across the front page of the Daily Mirror?’

  Eustace Cradock fixed his two listeners with as fierce a glance as he could muster. A small man with little to mark him out—his most prominent feature was a pointed nose that had a tendency to redden in moments of stress—the assistant commissioner had appeared initially to have grown several inches since their last encounter, and it was only after Billy had stolen a glance beneath his desk and twigged that he was perched on a particularly well-stuffed cushion that morning that the mystery had been resolved.

  ‘Yes, on both counts, sir.’ Chubb offered his reply in the blandest of tones. ‘We’re now certain that this fellow we’ve been looking for, Stanley Wing—the man connected to the Blake murder—was Audrey Cooper’s killer. Confirmation of that was obtained this morning. I’ll let Inspector Styles explain.’

  The chief super turned to Billy, who was seated beside him in front of Cradock’s desk. The two of them had been summoned to appear together, and as luck would have it Billy had received the information he was seeking only minutes before the call came.

  ‘The Chelsea police have gone door-to-door down Gordon Street, where she lived, and also along the street at the bottom of it, which is where the man who stabbed the constable ran off to,’ Billy began. ‘They found three people—a man and two women—who got a good look at him as he went past, and all of them agreed that he was Chinese, or at least an oriental. I sent DS Grace over there this morning with a copy of that photograph Sir Richard Jessup supplied us with, and one of the women made a positive identification. She saw the man face-to-face as he ran towards her and she’s ready to swear it was Wing.’

  ‘That means we can give his picture to the newspaper now along with his name. We can start a hunt for him. That would be something at least. Do I ne
ed to keep reminding you that the commissioner wants action?’

  Cradock glared at them both.

  Chubb coughed.

  ‘Yes, sir, but doing that would create a new problem—two, in fact. Not only would it tip him off that we’re onto him, it would tell these Chinese gangsters who are out for his blood that he’s definitely in London. Wing will be aware of that and it might just be enough to persuade him to drop his blackmail scheme and flee the country. In which case we’d be left with an unsolved murder—Miss Cooper’s, I mean—and one of our PCs lying in hospital with a stab wound. I can’t see the commissioner being pleased about that. Also, if we keep Wing’s name out of the papers for the moment there’s a chance the press won’t link Audrey Cooper’s murder to the Portia Blake case; at least not at once. I don’t recall that anything was made of the fact at the time that they were flatmates. But give the press Wing’s name now and we could be letting ourselves in for a three-ring circus.’

  Cradock made a noise difficult to interpret: not one of approval, certainly, but possibly a sign of grudging acceptance.

  ‘As for the other point you raised, sir—about the photographs of Miss Blake that have been appearing in the Mirror—we’re confident that won’t happen again. Grace was also able to get confirmation from a chemist near where she lives that Miss Cooper had given them a batch of negatives to be developed. They weren’t happy at having to handle them and told her they wouldn’t accept any more of the same kind. They included the pictures of Miss Blake and that man that have appeared in the Mirror as well as others, some more explicit. There’s no doubt that Miss Cooper was the person who sent them to the paper, and since she’s dead . . .’ He spread his hands in silent explanation.