by Jim Eldridge
Danvers shrugged. ‘To lay a false trail? At least, that’s how the super might interpret it.’ As they walked through the gates towards their waiting car, he added, ‘Still, that’s two people who think that Lady Amelia is innocent. First Winston Churchill, and now Sir Bernard. Both pretty good character witnesses, I’d say, sir.’
‘Possibly,’ said Stark, although he sounded unconvinced. As they reached the car, he said, ‘Sergeant, you take the car back to the Yard. There’s something I’ve got to deal with.’
Lady Amelia, realized Danvers. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘We need to find out which of the two was the real target,’ said Stark. ‘You can start by digging through records – build up a picture of both Lord Fairfax and Carl Adams. Their backgrounds. People they might have offended.’
‘Like Gallipoli,’ nodded Danvers.
‘It seems implausible after all this time, but you never know,’ said Stark. ‘There’ll be less on Adams. All I could find was the most basic detail, saying that he was from Boston and was here on business accompanying a Mr Edgar Cavendish from Indiana, and they arrived two weeks ago.’
‘Not a lot of time to make enemies,’ observed Danvers.
‘No, but it’s surprising how swiftly some people can upset others. I agree it’s a long shot, but we have to investigate them both. I’ll see you back at the Yard.’
FIVE
As Danvers walked across the entrance hall of Scotland Yard towards the wide marble staircase, he saw that the desk sergeant was hailing him.
‘Yes, Sergeant?’ he asked.
The sergeant handed him a piece of paper. ‘There’s a telephone message for you, sir,’ he said. ‘From your mother. She said it was urgent.’
Danvers took the stairs up to the office he shared with Stark two at a time, his mind racing with dreadful possibilities. For his mother to phone him at work was unheard of. In fact, she hardly ever contacted him at all, letting his sister, Lettie, be the main conduit between him and the family. What had happened? Had something happened to Lettie? Or his father?
He rushed into the office, picked up the phone and gave the operator the number of the family’s Hampstead home. It seemed to take ages for the connection to be made and he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk and muttering a barely silent ‘Come on!’ when the phone was picked up and he heard his mother give the number.
‘It’s Robert,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘It’s nothing urgent,’ said his mother.
‘But you said it was. Or, at least, that’s what it said on the note the desk sergeant gave me.’
‘Yes, well, I wanted to make sure you got the message. The thing is, Robert, I wondered if you’d mind calling on us.’
An awkwardness in his mother’s tone gave him a feeling of unease. ‘Of course not. When? And … is it for anything special?’
‘Not really. Although … it may be.’
‘It all sounds a bit mysterious, mother.’
His mother gave a nervous laugh. ‘I don’t mean it to, dear. And I’m sure it’s nothing, but your father said I should call you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. We’ve just read in the newspaper about this American who was killed at Lord Fairfax’s.’
Immediately, Danvers was alert. ‘Carl Adams?’
‘Yes. That’s the man.’
‘What? Have you got any information about him?’
‘Really, Robert. You’re talking to me as if you’re a policeman.’
‘Mother, I am a policeman.’
‘Yes, but you know what I mean.’
Danvers did his best to hold his impatience in check. He picked up a pencil as he asked, ‘What do you know about Mr Adams?’
‘We’d rather tell you in person. I don’t like talking about these things on the telephone.’
‘Of course,’ said Danvers. ‘I’ll come over right away.’
‘If you’re sure,’ said his mother doubtfully. ‘I don’t want to think of you shirking your duties.’
‘This is my duty,’ pointed out Danvers.
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ agreed his mother. ‘Very well. We’ll see you as soon as you can get here.’
As Stark rang the bell of Amelia’s house in Cadogan Square, he reflected that when he’d left it just a few hours ago, everything in his life had seemed under control. Well, as much as it could be, in view of the difficulties he and Amelia faced. But now, with the arrival of that anonymous letter, everything had fallen apart.
The door was opened by Mrs Walker, who smiled happily when she saw Stark.
‘Why, Mr Stark – my apologies, Chief Inspector …’
‘Mr Stark is fine, Mrs Walker,’ said Stark coming in. ‘Is Lady Amelia at home?’
‘She is indeed. And terribly upset at what’s happened, although she’s trying not to show it.’ She took Stark’s overcoat and hat from him and added, ‘I know she was hoping you’d let her know what had happened.’
With Stark following, she began to walk towards the drawing room to announce him, but Amelia had already heard his voice and come running into the entrance hall. ‘Oh Paul! I’m so glad!’
She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him, and Stark held her tightly, her head buried in his shoulder. He noticed that Mrs Walker made a discreet withdrawal.
‘Was it horrible?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure how much you want to hear.’
‘All of it.’ She pushed herself away from him and took him by the hand. ‘Let’s go into the drawing room.’ Then she raised her voice to call out, ‘Coffee, please, Mrs Walker!’
In the drawing room she pulled him down next to her on a large settee, still clutching his hand. ‘I still can’t believe it!’ She gestured towards a copy of The Times that lay on the coffee table. ‘The stop-press edition. They say he was poisoned. Is that right?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Stark.
‘How? How had someone been able to poison him? Was it this other man they said was with him? This Carl Adams?’
‘No,’ replied Stark. ‘They were both tied up, tied to chairs. Someone poisoned them both.’
‘How?’
‘It looks as if someone forced the poison down their throats.’
‘Was it … painful?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid it was.’
She let go his hand and put it to her face. ‘Poor Johnny,’ she said quietly. ‘He was brave. Dying never seemed to worry him when he was a soldier, but I don’t think he would have wanted to die that way.’
‘No,’ agreed Stark.
‘Who did it? Do you have any idea?’
‘No,’ admitted Stark. ‘We need to look into his life, see who might have anything against him.’
Amelia gave a bitter laugh. ‘You won’t find a shortage of enemies, I’m afraid. There were the women he abandoned. And political enemies, of course.’
‘I had a visit from Churchill. He suggested it might have been revenge for what happened at Gallipoli. An angry relative. Thousands died.’
‘But that was years ago!’
‘Some people have long memories. In Ireland they still want revenge for what Cromwell did at Drogheda. And that was nearly three hundred years ago.’
She fell silent, then asked, ‘So where do we start?’
‘With everything you can tell me about him. You were married to him; you’d know him better than most.’
She gave a rueful sigh. ‘I’m not sure about that,’ she said. ‘He was dashing and gallant when we met, every inch the handsome hero soldier. My parents didn’t like him – thought he was too flashy. My parents and I didn’t get on. Sometimes I think I married him just to upset them.’
She stopped as Mrs Walker came in bearing a tray with coffee in a silver pot, cups, sugar, cream and a plate with assorted biscuits.
‘Thank you, Mrs Walker,’ said Amelia.
Mrs Walker gave a little bob o
f a bow and left. Amelia poured the coffee, added cream to hers and settled back into the settee holding the cup and saucer, her face showing her sadness as she lost herself in memories.
‘Are you sure you want to hear all this?’ she asked. ‘After all, it’s my ex-husband we’re talking about. And you’re my … well, my lover.’
‘Would you feel happier talking to Sergeant Danvers?’ asked Stark.
‘Bobby? Good God, no!’ She sipped at her coffee, then said, ‘It would be like talking to some infant relative. I knew him when he was just a child.’
‘He’s a very intelligent infant,’ commented Stark.
She shook her head. ‘There’s only one person I can talk about this, and that’s you. In fact, sometimes I feel you’re the only person who knows the real me. The only person I’ve ever met who does.’ She fell silent for a moment, lost in thought, then she asked, ‘So, what exactly do you want to know? If it’s about what Johnny’s been up to recently, I’ll have to disappoint you. We were divorced in 1914, the year the war started.’
‘How long were you married?’
‘Six years. 1908. A whirlwind romance. I was twenty-two, he was forty. As I said, I think I did it as much to upset my parents as because of any feelings I had for him.’
‘You must have loved him at one time,’ murmured Stark.
‘I’m not sure,’ admitted Amelia. ‘When we’re young, we do things, feel things, and we put labels on them. Love. Hate. Rebellion. But half the time we don’t know the real meaning of the words. They’re surface emotions. When you’re young, they can change overnight. Or, in my case, over a few months. I realized that the dashing hero-type that Johnny presented to the world was all there was, and suddenly I found myself wanting some depth in a relationship. That wasn’t Johnny’s way. Thinking, emotions – these were anathema to him. He was Mr Action. Daring, tests of physical courage. That’s why the army suited him so well, as long as there was a war on somewhere he could get involved in.
‘I know he was terribly upset that they wouldn’t let him go into action when the war started. That was Churchill, of course. He wanted someone like-minded with him at the War Office. An old soldier.’
‘So he didn’t see action?’
‘I think he did, but not as much as he’d have liked. He managed to persuade the War Office to let him inspect how the action was going, and – knowing Johnny – I’m fairly sure he did his best to put himself right at the front. He was like Churchill in that respect. Remember how, after the debacle of Gallipoli, Churchill went into the trenches?’
And made sure everyone knew he’d done it, thought Stark. A very public penance, seeking to resurrect his reputation with the great British public.
‘I know many people blamed Johnny for Gallipoli as well. But he was the junior in any decision-making at that time. It really wasn’t his fault.’ Then she added sadly, ‘But then again, the kind of full-frontal assault the Allies made at Gallipoli was exactly Johnny’s style. Straight into the action and caution be damned.’
‘Did you see much of him during the war?’
‘No. Nor after it. By then I’d got deeply involved in socialist politics, votes for women, fighting for better conditions for the poor and the vulnerable. All the sorts of things that were like a red rag to a bull as far as Johnny was concerned. He was fiercely anti the Red Menace as he called it.
‘Our paths would cross occasionally, at social gatherings, but I didn’t really know what he was up to. We had nothing in common.’
‘But it was you that his valet telephoned this morning.’
Amelia hesitated, then said, ‘He still had a soft spot for me. And, I must admit, I did have fond memories of our time together at the beginning. There had to have been something there. And I know that Johnny did remark now and then to mutual acquaintances that he wished we could get back together.’ She gave a light laugh. ‘I don’t think he really meant it, and I’m sure he only said it when he’d had a few too many brandies and got a bit misty-eyed about the past.’
‘He didn’t marry again?’
Amelia shook her head. ‘He said I’d been his destined one.’ She shrugged. ‘If you ask me, he just used that because he preferred to live a life of unfettered bachelorhood. Women still flocked to him.’ She gave Stark a sad smile. ‘I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. I’m sure you’ll be able to get much more information about his social life from Redford.’
‘Yes,’ Stark said. He finished his coffee and stood up. ‘I’d better get back to the Yard and see what Danvers has come up with about the other man, Carl Adams’
Amelia got up. ‘Will you come back tonight?’
Stark hesitated. This was really why he’d come. Finding out from Amelia about Lord Fairfax had been important, but they were facts, and a lot of those facts he could pick up from Lord Fairfax’s social circle. Especially as Amelia and Fairfax hadn’t been together for some years, and it was possible that the motive for the murder might lie in recent events. No, he’d come to tell her the bad news, and he wasn’t sure how she’d take it. No, he did know how she’d take it, and it wasn’t going to be good.
‘There’s a problem,’ he said.
‘Stephen?’
‘No. This.’ He took the envelope with the anonymous letter and gave it to her.
Puzzled, she took the letter out and read it. As she did, a flush of anger spread over her face. ‘What the hell …’
‘That was sent to my boss, Chief Superintendent Benson, this morning.’
‘But … but this is nonsense! Absolute nonsense!’
‘I know.’
‘But at least you showed it to me,’ she said, giving him the envelope back.
‘I had to because of what it means.’
‘I can see what it means! It states it in simple terms. It accuses me of having murdered Johnny!’
‘I meant because of what it means for us. Until we crack this case, we can’t be … together. You and I. As lovers.’
Amelia stared at him, stunned. ‘What? Why?’
‘Because, as far as Scotland Yard are concerned, you are a suspect. And I’m the officer investigating the case.’
‘This is ludicrous! We became lovers when you were investigating a case that I was involved in!’
‘That was different. You weren’t a suspect.’
‘You didn’t know that!’
‘I did.’
‘So you’re saying that you suspect me. That you think this letter might be right?’
‘No …’
‘For God’s sake, Paul, we were in bed together all last night. What do you think happened? That I crept out in some way without you knowing …’
‘No, of course not!’
‘Then what?’
‘Even if I stood up and told people where you were last night, that you were with me all night, suspicion would still fall on you, suspicion that you might possibly be involved. At worst I could get demoted; at best I’d be taken off the case and replaced by another DCI – someone who might take this ridiculous allegation seriously. I can’t let that happen. I have to protect you.’
‘By abandoning me?’ she demanded bitterly.
‘It’s only until we solve this case,’ he said.
She shook her head, her face flushed with anger now. ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I know what this is really about. It’s because I said I wouldn’t marry you.’
‘No!’ he protested.
‘You can’t fool me, Paul Stark! You’re getting rid of me because I said no.’
‘That is ridiculous!’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes! For God’s sake, Amelia, I love you! The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but this situation—’
Abruptly, she stood up. ‘Get out!’ she said, and he could tell she was doing her best to hold her fury in check.
‘Amelia, please, calm down …’
‘I said get out!’ she repeated, and this time she said it through teeth clenched tightly in anger.
‘No need,’ she almost spat at him. ‘Sergeant Danvers can keep me informed.’
‘If that’s what you wish,’ said Stark.
‘That’s what I wish.’
Stark hesitated, then headed for the hallway. He hoped all the time that she’d rush after him, or at least call him back, but she didn’t.
He collected his hat and coat from the hallstand, put them on and let himself out. He cast one final look back towards the drawing room, but Amelia had gone.
SIX
Danvers sat in his parents’ drawing room, a cup of tea balanced on a saucer in his hand, and studied them, concerned. Despite his mother’s insistence that everything was ‘perfectly fine’, the fact that she perched stiff-backed on the edge of her chair, and his father stood by the fireplace, staring moodily into the flames as they flickered around the hot coals, told Danvers that they were both worried.
‘You said you wanted to talk about the American who was murdered. Carl Adams.’
‘Yes,’ nodded his mother. ‘Yes, we do.’
‘Did you know him?’ asked Danvers.
‘No, but Lettie met him.’
‘When?’
‘About a week ago. She told us about him.’
‘Why did she meet him? Was it an arranged meeting?’
‘No, no, nothing like that,’ said his mother. ‘A social gathering.’
‘It was through this character Edgar Cavendish,’ said his father, speaking for the first time. ‘To be honest, that’s why I asked your mother to call you. I don’t like Cavendish, and if there’s any suggestion that he may be involved in what happened to this Adams and Johnny Fairfax, then we have to nip it in the bud before it gets too messy.’
‘Nip what in the bud?’ asked Danvers.
‘Your father means Lettie,’ said his mother. ‘She seems to have got herself rather … involved with this man Cavendish.’
Involved? thought Danvers. Did they mean …?
‘If you ask me, she seems to be obsessed with him,’ grunted his father unhappily, and he moved away from the fire and began to pace backwards and forwards before it, deliberately avoiding looking directly at his son. ‘She can hardly have a conversation without waxing lyrical about him, as if he’s some sort of demi-God.’