Fifth Member

by Claire Rayner

  Gus quirked his eyebrows and Edward seemed to accept the question.

  ‘Brussels. I spend a certain amount of time there in the EU offices. I’m involved on the agricultural side. Part time, but I probably get more done in the few hours I put in than this lot here’ – he made a scornful movement of his head that took in both chambers of the building in which they stood – ‘get done in a whole session of Parliament.’

  ‘Not if you count the hours you spend travelling,’ Richard murmured. ‘You seem to spend more time in the air and on trains than at the desk.’

  ‘And I need more time at home running the place than you can spare, so I can’t see that –’

  He stopped suddenly and took out a handkerchief and blew his nose with a certain amount of flourish. Displacement activity, thought George. There’s a real argument here between them and he nearly gave it away. I wonder what –

  Gus pulled her thoughts away. ‘Brussels, eh? Must be very interesting?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ Edward said, brusque again. ‘Very boring. But it’s becoming the place where things get done. And I like to get things done, as I say. Can’t be doing with inefficiency. Now, if you’ll forgive me. I have to take my brother away. We really do have to discuss something that’s come up. A matter of some urgency. Dick?’

  ‘Excuse me, Superintendent,’ the Earl murmured. ‘We can speak again later perhaps.’ And he followed his brother to the side of the room where they stood head to head, the shorter one talking at some length, with sharp, almost agitated little gestures. After a little while Richard nodded and followed Edward, who led the way to the door. Clearly they were leaving, and Gus followed them, seeming casual in his movements, but going in such a way that he would be near the door when they reached it; he’s on an eavesdropping trip, George thought, and followed him in her turn.

  But the two men were too quick for Gus. They were out of the door by the time he got there. He stopped and watched them go.

  Lord Durnell, who had moved away from his position as greeter, was standing very close as George came up and he too was watching the brothers. ‘You’d never think they were twins, would you?’ he was saying to Gus as she reached his side. ‘And supposed to be identicals, what’s more. But the shorty one looks like he’s got the thin end of the pudding spoon, doesn’t he?’

  ‘It happens with twins,’ George said. ‘One gets less nutrition in utero than the other and never manages to catch up. And even identicals are changed by their life experience. I guess the Earl’s had a better time than Edward has. He certainly looks a lot more cheerful.’

  ‘He won’t now,’ Durnell said. ‘What with his brother being one of your cases and now his sister-in-law playing up.’

  Gus cocked an eye at him. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I gather from the grapevine that she’s made a suicide attempt,’ Durnell said. ‘Hadn’t you heard?’

  ‘No.’ Gus sounded angry. ‘No, I hadn’t. Why didn’t they call and tell me? And how did you hear?’

  Durnell winked at him. ‘I always like a gossip with the lads at the gate when I come in. One of ’em heard it on the radio, I gather. It’s natural they should all be agog with fellas from the Other Place as well as here getting done in! I’d ha’ thought someone’d have told you by now.’

  Gus glowered. ‘So would I.’ He reached into his pocket for his phone. ‘I’ll call the nick, see what’s going on.’

  He turned away to the corner to use the phone and George said, ‘What sort of man is this Earl? Does he do a good job?’

  Durnell looked at her and grinned. ‘Good job? Where? His real job, do you mean, or here in the House?’

  ‘What’s his real job?’

  ‘Running his estate,’ Durnell said. ‘He’s got a great chunk of Warwickshire to call his own, and he farms a fair bit of it himself. Well, up to a point himself. He’s got a good man who does the really heavy stuff. And of course Edward’s very involved. I’m told, some ways he works even harder on the place, but he’s the younger son, of course, so there’s not a lot in it for him. Not that he does all that badly, I imagine. He’ll get some sort of salary and Richard’s got an eye for money, by all accounts, so it could be a good screw. He’s almost doubled the place’s worth since his father died, I gather, what with guided tours of the house – he owns Durleigh Abbey – and putting in golf courses where they used to grow wheat. And market gardening too. It doesn’t leave him a lot of time to come here, but he does when it’s something that affects agricultural policy or things like this.’ He waved his hand vaguely. ‘Sees himself as a sort of protector of the traditional ways, I suppose. It made life tricky for him with his brother, of course.’

  ‘Edward?’

  ‘No, David. The dead one. He was always banging on about reforming the House of Lords, the way young ones do, though he was a bit long in the tooth for it. I used to think it was the right thing to do when I was a lad. But now I’m here, I can see the good of it.’

  ‘Really,’ George said, not wanting to be sidetracked into a political discussion. ‘What did Richard do about him then? David, I mean.’

  Durnell looked amused. ‘Do? What could he do? Got himself on the same Committee, on the Right to Inheritance Bill. It’s a label that covers a whole lot of stuff, one of which would be to put an end to hereditary seats here. They’d all have to be like me – it’d be the biggest bleedin’ quango in the country.’ He laughed fatly. ‘Then maybe we’d get some real work done. It’s a great help not having to worry about elections – you can concentrate on what’s really right and what’s really wrong when you don’t have voters breathing in your ear’ole all the time.’

  George nodded politely. This wasn’t really answering her question. ‘And I take it the Earl didn’t agree?’

  ‘And the rest! They were at loggerheads all the time over it. So that’s the answer to your question about whether Durleigh is good at his job. He does a good job on that Committee here, but that’s about it. Just lobby fodder for the Tories, otherwise. He turns out when they put the whip on and sometimes just to be obliging, as long as there isn’t something more important going on in Warwickshire.’ He shook his head as Gus at last came back, tucking his phone away in his breast pocket. ‘He’s a canny bugger. Got himself out of cattle ten years ago. Reckoned there was trouble coming over that business of mad cows and how right he was! Though to be honest, it wasn’t his idea entirely. It was Edward. He doesn’t just work on the estate with his brother. He knows what’s what in Brussels with this short-term Commission job of his and though they argue a bit over this and that, they’re pretty close.’

  ‘Well, twins,’ George said. ‘They often are. Are they married?’

  ‘Not to each other though sometimes you’d think they were. Where one is the other one tends to turn up.’ Durnell laughed again. ‘Edward isn’t married. Not the marrying type, you get my meaning?’ He leered a little. ‘Got a friend what he lives with, I gather. A chap. Still, I suppose it takes all sorts. And these days it’s more’n your life’s worth to criticize his sort, so there you go.’

  ‘And Richard?’ George said, not allowing herself to make her usual retort about people who judged others’ sexuality. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Oh, yes – and no.’ Joe Durnell anticipated her next question. ‘No children yet. They’ve only been married a little while, just a matter of weeks, so I dare say they’ll get round to it soon enough. The gentry don’t waste time over such things, do they? Though Richard’s taken his time to settle down – they have to be well past forty, those two. But now Richard’s found his Countess, he won’t hang about. He’s been sowing his wild oats cheerfully for years, but the time’s come when he has to have an heir. And a spare too, if he can. That’s what the Royals aim for, so the aristocracy do too.’

  ‘Joe, you’re as much of an old woman as you ever were. Thank God!’ Gus said. ‘Where would we be without you?’

  ‘Well, it’s what you came for, isn’t it? A bit of backgro
und? Is there anything else you’re after?’

  ‘I can’t stop now to talk any more. I’ll call you. What about you, George? Speak now or forever hold your whatsits.’

  She smiled at the old man; for all his occasional flashes of prejudice he was a good contact, and pleasant enough. ‘Not right now. But if I think of anything, may I call you?’

  ‘Of course. Are you part of the investigating team for A MIT then?’

  Gus looked uncomfortable. ‘Like hell she is,’ he said, taking George’s elbow. ‘She’s the pathologist, but try and keep her out of the rest of it. It’s like trying to carve mercury. It’s safer to take her around with me to keep an eye on her. And she’s useful sometimes, of course.’ He looked wickedly at George then. ‘And I know the hell I’ll get for that comment later on. Come on, George, we have to go. I’m needed at the nick.’

  ‘Why George, by the way?’ Joe asked as they turned away. ‘Georgina are you? Or Georgette?’

  ‘No,’ said George with some force and the old man lifted his eyebrows.

  ‘It was her grandfather,’ Gus said quickly. ‘He didn’t reckon women, but had just one daughter and said he’d only leave his money to the baby she was expecting when he was dying if it was named after him. This is what was born, so her mother called her George. Simple, really.’

  ‘Yes,’ Joe said and laughed. ‘Is she as strongminded as her mother?’

  ‘Hey!’ George said. ‘Stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here!’

  ‘You see what I have to put up with, Joe?’ Gus bent and kissed George’s cheek. ‘But I’m learning to change my nasty male ways. Thanks, ol’ man. I’ll be in touch, or maybe Dudley will. One or other of us anyway. G’night.’

  ‘G’night,’ Joe said. ‘And come and have lunch here sometime, George. The food’s not wonderful, but the gossip’s the best.’

  ‘Thank you,’ George said. ‘I think I will. When I’ve got rid of this one here.’ And Joe laughed and watched them go.

  14

  ‘Just let me check up on this Marietta business,’ Gus said, as he steered the car past a massive articulated lorry from Holland which was trundling noisily up the middle of the Embankment. ‘And then we can go home to bed. Or, if you like, you can take the car and I’ll come home in a cab.’

  ‘No need,’ George said. ‘I’m as interested as you are. What’s happening?’

  ‘It’s clearly the same thing that made the brothers go off in such a rush. It’s Marietta, David CWG’s widow. She’s been tucked away in a nursing home, but it isn’t a secure unit, no one’s locked in, and apparently she’s taken off. I don’t know the details, but she left a note of some sort. So I have to get there.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! And you stood there gassing on with Joe? Why didn’t you say it was urgent?’

  ‘Because it isn’t. Hinton’s on the case, and half the local force in Harrow are out searching for her. I’ll be told soon enough when there’s anything to tell.’

  As though on cue the phone in his pocket rang; he pulled it out and she took it from him. ‘You concentrate on driving, I’ll transmit any messages,’ she said.

  ‘Bossy boots.’ But he made no sign of really minding and she put the phone to her ear.

  It was Mike Urquhart, much to her relief. It had suddenly occurred to her that it might be Dudley, and if it were, he would probably have refused to tell her what he had to say, insisting on speaking only to Gus. But Mike had no such qualms.

  ‘Tell the Guv’nor they’ve not found her yet, but they’ve had a couple of sightings so it shouldn’t be long. The woman’s out in a nightdress and barefoot, for pity’s sake, so she’s hard to miss. But there’s something more important …’ He hesitated. ‘It mightn’t be anything, but there’s been a nine nine nine call from a caretaker in a building in Creechurch Lane. The squad’s on the way but I didn’t want to waste any time.’

  ‘Oh?’ George said, looking sideways at Gus. ‘Where did you say?’

  Mike sighed softly. ‘It’s sort of parallel to Mitre Square,’ he said. ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s another killing, of course.’ But George ignored that and opened her eyes wide as she turned urgently to Gus.

  ‘Gus, there’s some sort of panic on near Mitre Square –’

  He grabbed the phone from her hands, swerving slightly as he did so and shoved it to his ear. ‘More,’ he said and listened. And then nodded. ‘On way,’ he said crisply and flicked the phone off and back into his pocket.

  ‘Gus, tell me, tell me!’ George cried. He sighed deeply, not taking his eyes from the road.

  ‘I suppose if this turns out to be a true bill I’ll never hear the last of it from you. The caretaker in this office building called nine nine nine, was hysterical but said something about someone being hurt. Mike was in the incident room doing some catching up on his paperwork when the call was relayed in – at least they remembered to report all suspicious cases in the City directly to us instead of just following the usual routine – and Mike remembered what you said about Mitre Square. All right? Now tell me what else he said to you.’

  She told him about the progress of the search for Marietta, trying not to sound exultant. It was dreadful to be so pleased, she told herself, if this latest call was another mutilated body found close to where she said it would be. A murder victim was not something to celebrate, for heaven’s sake. But at the same time there was the excitement of deduction and being proven right; it didn’t bear thinking of, she told herself firmly and turned back to Gus.

  ‘Are we going straight there?’

  ‘Of course. They’ll let me know about Marietta, and there’s nothing specially odd about that anyway. The woman’s off her rocker, so … Right, here we go.’ He reached into the glove compartment for the blue light and siren he used when he was in his own car, as now, and opened the window to thrust it out on to the roof. The noise and flashing opened a path before them as though by magic, and he went careering along at well over sixty miles an hour, clearly enjoying it hugely. For a moment both he and George were supremely happy people, however ashamed both might have been to admit it.

  It took Gus and his outrageous driving just seven minutes to reach Leadenhall Street, where he pulled the car round to the left with a screech of tyres and joined the mêlée in Creechurch Lane. There were three squad cars, and even though it was getting late and this part of the City was sparsely populated after office hours, a few starers had collected to see what was happening. More to the point Gus spotted a group of newspapermen with cameras and swore loudly as he threw himself out of the car, George on his heels.

  ‘How did those buggers find out what was going on here?’ he shouted at the first uniformed man he saw.

  ‘Sorry, Guv, but they were outside the nick. They just followed us when we came out. They’ve been hangin’ about there all the time since the first case. We couldn’t get rid of ’em.’

  ‘Bloody freedom of the press, and bloody tripehounds who abuse it,’ Gus said loudly enough for them to hear him, but the press people ignored the comment, only taking it as their cue to move closer, as he went rapidly to the entrance of the building ahead of them, where most of the action seemed to be. George trotted after him, keeping close.

  The press pack clustered round them like a little flock of hungry birds and Gus flapped his hands much as he might have done if they had been. ‘I shan’t have anything to say till I’ve been in and had a look round. And I doubt I will even then.’ He stopped. ‘Look for the PR girl – she’ll be over here from the nick, I imagine – and get out of my bloody way.’

  ‘Must be another body, you’ve got the pathologist with you!’ one of them shouted. ‘Come on, Super, give us a break. Is it another MP? Has the Ripper struck again?’

  ‘Ripper, my arse,’ Gus said sharply. ‘Stop putting the words into my mouth.’

  ‘Don’t need to when you use such ripe ones all on your own,’ someone murmured and Gus glared.

  ‘Will you let me get on with my
job?’ he roared. ‘I told you, get out of the way!’ And he pushed them aside and went into the building, dodging a camera and the furry business end of a stick microphone, with George close behind him.

  It was an office building, which, George saw as she spotted the long noticeboard at one side, offered shelter to a great many tenants. Gus saw the board at the same time and growled deep in his throat. ‘Christ, checking all that lot’ll take for ever. And mark my words, no one’ll know anything or will have seen anything. Hello, Roo-Rupert. What’s up, then?’

  Dudley detached himself from the group of plainclothes men standing near the open door of a lift. A frightened-looking man in the uniform of a guard was standing with his finger on the ‘Door Open’ button and watching them all with wide eyes. Dudley spoke directly to Gus, managing to ignore George completely even though she was standing looking at him over Gus’s shoulder.

  ‘Same again, Guv,’ he said in a low voice. ‘In the basement, by the central-heating boiler, it seems, though I’ve not been down there yet to see. Something was up with it, the fella went down to check and found it.’

  ‘Same MO?’ George asked. ‘Throat, viscera and so forth?’

  Dudley had to look at her. ‘From what the fella said, it could be, but I don’t know. Like I said, I was just on my way down to the basement when you arrived, so I can’t be sure. Seemingly there’s a lot of blood. The caretaker who found it said something about a cut throat.’ He spoke unwillingly, as though the words were being pulled out of him with pliers. ‘So you’ll be –’ He stopped and switched his gaze back to Gus.

  ‘If you were about to say I’ll be pleased with myself, I’m not,’ George said. ‘I feel a bit …’ She shook her head. ‘Sick, I suppose.’ And she did. The sense of triumph the phone call had created in her had quite evaporated now. That someone else had been killed and mutilated gave her no satisfaction at all. Then she said, almost without realizing she was going to say it, ‘I wonder when the fifth will be …’