by Dawn Harris
I clapped a hand against my forehead. What on earth was I thinking? When Johnny came back from America I’d actually hoped they would fall in love. And Johnny had said only the other day that he’d always liked Monica.
But I quickly realised why I’d reacted in that way. They were my two best friends and I didn’t want them to make a mistake. It was far too soon for marriage, and surely they wouldn’t rush into it. Losing Peter was the worst experience of her life, and as if that wasn’t enough for her to cope with, that idiot Superintendent Burns clearly believed Mr. Taverner had had Peter murdered.
If she needed a male shoulder to cry on, there was no-one more understanding than Johnny. But I hoped it would stop there, at least for now. If, in a year’s time, they decided to get married, I would be happy for them. Wouldn’t I? Oh, hell, I thought, why does life have to be so complicated? The truth was, if Johnny married, it would no longer be right for us to go out together as we did now. As it wasn’t right for Jean and Bobby Smythe. People always gossiped, no matter how innocent it was.
Everything, it seemed to me, was going wrong. I was very upset about Jean being blackmailed, I’d failed to find where the Greenes were living, and now Charlie Jones had been murdered I couldn’t see how Mr. Taverner could prove his innocence.
Before Johnny took Monica back to London, I had a quiet word with her. We were sitting in the garden, sipping lemonade, and watching Johnny kicking a ball about with Tim on the grass between the house and the beach. When I offered to help at the fashion show on Tuesday, she accepted gratefully. 'If you’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘I want to be there,’ I assured her. I drank a little more lemonade before saying, 'You and Johnny seem to be very friendly lately.’
She turned to look at me. 'Do you think so? Well, I always did like Johnny. We actually went out together a few times before he went to America.’
I was absolutely stunned. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Didn’t you?’ She seemed surprised. 'We lost touch while he was away and then, of course, I met Peter.’ She put on a brave smile, and her big dark brown eyes gazed deeply into mine. ‘I really like him, Liddy.’
'But........’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘What about Peter?’
‘Peter’s dead.’ Her bottom lip began to tremble and then she lifted her head determinedly, ‘Johnny says life must go on. And he’s right.’
They returned to London that evening and I went to bed early, but I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t really believed it when Jean said Monica and Johnny might make a match of it, but now I had no choice. I hoped she wasn’t going to rush into anything. Still, Johnny wouldn’t let her do that. Would he? But what if he’d wanted to marry her all along and was willing to take the chance? I didn’t know what to think, except that I should be happy for them both, but I wasn’t. What sort of a person was I, I asked myself, begrudging them their happiness because it would change my own life. I wasn’t considering them at all, and I decided, there and then, to stop being so damned selfish.
Al drove us back to London in the morning, and soon after we arrived, Jean rang me. ‘Mr Taverner was arrested this morning, Liddy.’
‘Wha-a-at?’
‘Superintendent Burns charged him with Peter’s murder.’
I let out a loud groan. 'How could he be so stupid?’ And I quickly asked, ‘Where’s Monica?’
'Here at work. Burns won’t let her see her father yet, and she’s determined the fashion show will go ahead tomorrow as planned. I’ll be here all day. I’ll let you know if there’s any more news.’
‘Thanks, Jean.’ I put the receiver down, cursing Burns. ‘Stupid man,’ I burst out loud. And why had he made the arrest? Inspector Nabber was supposed to be back at work today, and I immediately telephoned Scotland Yard, only to be informed he wasn’t there.
‘I thought he was back from holiday today,’ I said.
'He should have been, madam. But he had an unfortunate accident yesterday and is now in hospital.’
‘Hospital?’ I echoed, my heart plummeting at the thought of Burns remaining in charge of the case. 'Is he badly hurt?’
‘A broken collar bone, and badly sprained ankle, I believe.’
'I am sorry,’ I said, relieved that it was nothing more serious. Before he could put the receiver down I asked, ‘Is Detective Sergeant Lane in?’
Luckily he was and I learnt Inspector Nabber had fallen off a ladder the previous day when trying to fix a couple of loose tiles on the roof of his house. The ladder had slipped sideways, striking Mrs. Nabber, who was standing watching, and she was in the same hospital suffering from concussion.
‘Good heavens.’ It was impossible not to smile; the picture he drew made it sound like a cartoon. 'Do tell me Sergeant, was he very annoyed?’
The Sergeant laughed. ‘Hopping mad, he was. Well, he would have been, if he’d been able to hop. He hates hospitals.’
'Have you been to see him then?’
‘Last night, but I shan’t go again. Took me over an hour to get to Willesden. And he’ll be home in a day or two, anyway. But not at work, and he won’t like that either.’
'No, I can imagine. I was hoping to speak to him about Mr. Taverner....’
'Superintendent Burns is dealing with that case.’
'Yes, I know. Are you involved?’
Regrettably he wasn’t, which left me no choice, I had to speak to Burns. When my call was put through, the stupid man refused to discuss Mr. Taverner’s arrest, informing me in his usual pompous manner, ‘I have conclusive proof of his guilt, Mrs. York. Evidence that will see him hang.’
'What evidence?’
‘I cannot tell you that, but believe me it is utterly damning. If you have any influence over Mr. Taverner, I suggest you advise him to make a full confession.’
‘I will do no such thing. He’s not guilty. This whole thing began with Greene's arrest in Sussex. That’s at the bottom of it all.’
‘Greene? The man charged with attempting to steal George Crawleigh's wallet? I’ve looked into that. Crawleigh died in an accident. He’d had too much to drink and fell asleep at the wheel of his car. An open and shut case. He was not murdered, I can assure you of that.’
'Can you really?’ I retorted, too angry to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. 'If you truly believe that you will send an innocent man to the gallows.’ And, shaking with rage, I slammed down the receiver. How could he be so dim-witted? Most murders might well be committed by unintelligent people with an obvious motive. His mistake was to assume this murder was in that category. He was wrong. And he would never solve it. He didn’t have the brains or imagination.
Inspector Nabber was far more intelligent. He, too, had considered Mr. Taverner a possible suspect, insisting he had to look at all possibilities. I believed he genuinely would do that. Burns clearly had not.
Now Monica’s father had been charged there was no time to waste. If the jury brought in a guilty verdict, execution would follow within weeks. The Greenes had to be found before it was too late.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I decided it was time I faced the facts. I’d started on this business because I was certain Peter Crawley had been murdered by mistake. Inspector Nabber had not agreed, but said he always kept an open mind; unlike Burns. Everything I’d learnt while the inspector was away convinced me I was right, and I believed he’d agree with me when he heard what I’d discovered about the Greenes.
It was true, I thought ruefully, that I’d suffered some merciless teasing from my father and Johnny at times, about always thinking I was right, especially on the odd occasion when I got something wrong. But this was different. I was absolutely certain I was right. There simply was no other possible explanation. Nothing else made sense. The only thing that niggled at me was that Jean didn’t seem bothered about being blackmailed.
That was odd, still what concerned me most right now was time. Something Harold Taverner had very little of, unless his innocence could be proved. T
he police had the manpower and resources to find out what I had failed to learn, but Burns refused to listen. Chief Inspector Nabber was my last hope. The police wouldn’t give me his address, but thanks to Sergeant Lane I knew he was in hospital at Willesden, and I decided to call in during visiting time that evening.
After lunch I left Tim with Connie and went to see Monica in Bruton Street. Peter’s last collection was being shown to the public tomorrow, and everyone was rushing around in such frantic last minute activity that I stayed to help. Monica’s eyes had great dark rings round them and when I asked how her father was, she blurted out, ‘This morning they questioned him non-stop for four hours, then Superintendent Burns let me see him for half an hour. Daddy’s scared, Liddy. He actually clung to me. I--- I think he was afraid he’d never see me again.’
Jean added, 'Burns said he had evidence connecting Mr. Taverner with Peter’s murder and that of Charlie Jones.’
The scorn in her voice told me that it was obvious to her, as it was to me, that Burns hoped Monica’s distress would persuade her father to confess, and I asked, 'What evidence?’
'Daddy doesn’t know,’ Monica said.
Jean said, ‘I think they’re just trying to frighten him.’
I looked at Monica. ‘When are you seeing him again?’
Before she could answer she was called to the telephone, and Jean told me. 'Burns said they’d be questioning him tomorrow morning, but she could go tomorrow afternoon.’
Outraged, I spluttered, ‘Doesn’t Burns know that’s when the fashion show is?’
‘Of course he does. I told him myself. Mr. Taverner won’t make a confession, that’s what it’s about.’ She was right, it was just the sort of thing Burns would do. ‘When Monica told Burns she couldn’t go in the afternoon, he shrugged and said it might be days before she’d get another chance.’ Jean was practically breathing fire. ‘I could have hit him.’
‘I wish I knew what this evidence was.’
Jean lit a cigarette, smoking it through a long, elegant, expensive holder. ‘I doubt they have any. They’re just trying to break him. I hope to God they don’t succeed, Liddy.’ But as I soon learnt, they did have evidence. And, as Superintendent Burns had said, it was utterly damning. Or appeared to be.
There was nothing any of us could do now except get on with things. First, there was the dress rehearsal for the show, and that put everything else out of my mind. I gazed in admiration as the models showed off the beautiful clothes Peter had designed. Formal evening gowns, cocktails dresses, afternoon frocks, and outfits for town, country and special events. All the models were pretty, but one stood out above the rest. ‘Who is that?’ I asked Jean, indicating the girl starting down the catwalk in an evening gown of shimmering sky blue.
'Oh, that’s Emily.’ Her voice filled with warmth. 'She's a real find. This is her first show and she’s going to be a sensation.’ Watching Emily, I did not doubt it for a minute. She had a natural flair. 'She's such a nice girl too. No airs and graces with her.’
Eighteen and totally unaffected, she stood talking to me while a minor adjustment was made on that particular gown, relating the antics of her younger brothers and sisters with a good deal of animation. When I asked how she came to be a model, she giggled. 'I've been ever so lucky. I worked in the office here for about six months, filing and making tea. I can’t tell you how pleased I was to get that job. After a bit, Mr. Crawley asked if I’d ever thought of modelling. Well, of course, I hadn’t. I thought you had to be posh, but he said that didn’t matter and I had the right sort of figure.’ Her cheeks grew a little pink at the memory. 'He asked if I’d like to give it a try. That was a few weeks before he—he---’
She stopped, glanced towards Monica and I intervened, 'After Mr. Crawley died, Miss Taverner wanted you to continue?’
Throwing me a thankful glance, she nodded. 'My parents are ever so grateful.’ With the adjustment finished she went back to the rehearsal and I stayed until my assistance was no longer needed, promising to be back early in the morning to help with the actual show.
Cook, as asked, had prepared me a cold meal, and as soon as I’d finished I kissed Tim goodnight and left Connie to put him to bed, while I drove to the hospital to see Inspector Nabber. He was in a small room on his own talking to his son, who soon had to leave to catch his bus. I told the Inspector how I’d known where he was, and that I wanted to talk to him about Mr. Taverner’s arrest.
He shook his head at me. 'It’s not my case Mrs. York. I can’t interfere.’
‘Not even to save an innocent man’s life?’
He gazed at me from under his brows. 'You really believe he’s innocent?’
‘I know he is. You’d believe it too if you’d seen him when he heard Charlie Jones was dead.’ I described Mr. Taverner’s reaction in detail; how he’d paced up and down, wringing his hands, convinced the police would never believe him now. ‘And he was right, wasn’t he?’
The Inspector didn’t answer, but shifted himself a little as if he was uncomfortable. He accepted my offer to plump up his pillows and once he’d settled again, I went on, ‘Mr. Taverner is far from perfect. He rants and raves when he’s angry, and it’s true he didn’t care how Charlie Jones recovered those bad debts, but he would never have had Peter killed. He cannot bear Monica to be unhappy. She means everything to him.’ The Inspector frowned and I glanced at the clock, which told me I had fifteen minutes left before visiting time ended. ‘May I tell you what I’ve discovered?’
'You should tell Superintendent Burns.’
'I've tried. He won’t listen. He thinks he knows best.’
The Inspector gave a chuckle. 'That makes two of you.’
It was impossible not to smile. ‘Perhaps, but at least I’m willing to listen to reason.’ He grunted in what sounded like agreement, so I told him what Colonel Barrington had said about Ginger, and that he wasn’t very bright, as he’d given the Sussex police his real address in Half Moon Street.
‘Half Moon Street?’ he echoed, taken aback. ‘In Mayfair?’
‘Indeed. And the day after Ginger was released the Greenes cleared out of their apartment, without leaving a forwarding address.’
‘How do you know that? Did you go there?’
‘I did. I spoke to their charlady.’ I repeated everything she’d said, and urged eagerly, ‘If we knew where Ginger was buying his father’s sugared almonds, the shopkeeper might have his address or telephone number. So, if your men could check all the sweet shops.....’
A faint smile hovered on the Inspector’s lips. 'If I was back in Abergavenny,’ he said wistfully, the Welsh lilt, as always, being more pronounced when he spoke of his beloved Wales, 'it would be easy. But it’s quite different here. Do you know how many sweet shops there are in London?’
‘Hundreds, I guess. But this could be our only chance of finding the Greenes.’ I explained how we’d seen Ginger in his blue Lagonda and lost him thanks to the policeman on point duty, and that the yacht club official said the Greenes had sailed for the south of France two weeks ago, but I’d found the yacht hidden at Hamble. I related what George Crawleigh’s friends had said, and I was speaking about what had happened in Hyde Park, when we were interrupted by the bell informing us it was the end of visiting time.
I hurried on, without revealing the woman was Jean, merely describing her as being attired in a green silk dress and matching hat. I had reached the point where I’d recognised Ginger after he’d picked up the letter, when a nurse came bustling into the room. I stood up to leave at once and the inspector promised to think about everything I’d said. Gazing forlornly at the gardens outside, he muttered, 'It’ll keep me occupied. There’s nothing else to do in here.’
I hadn’t had time to mention my blackmail theory, but I was quite sure he’d work that out for himself, so I got to my feet and told him I couldn’t come back tomorrow on account of the fashion show, and the celebration afterwards, but suggested, ‘I could look in on Wednesday?’
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br /> ‘By all means. I’m told I won’t be going home before Thursday.’
I’d driven to the hospital in my Austin, and on the way home my main feeling was one of relief. My talk with Inspector Nabber had confirmed my initial opinion that he was an honest policeman, who believed in nailing the right culprit. I had faith in him. I did feel guilty at not telling him about Jean, but I was absolutely certain she wouldn’t be able to help him. I’d thought it all through very carefully, and everything that had happened so far told me Edward Greene was far too clever to give her the slightest clue concerning himself or Ginger.
He’d even made sure Ginger was disguised, so that if she did go to the police her description of him would include the spectacles and moustache. The threats would have come by letter or telephone; probably the latter. A menacing voice had more effect; besides a letter might be traced. Jean always faced facts, and would see at once that she must either tell Arthur the truth, or pay up. She’d chosen to pay up.
Jean wouldn’t be in Hyde Park tomorrow because of the fashion show, but then the Inspector was still in hospital, and couldn’t do anything about organising a watch to be kept. In any case, payments might not be weekly.
By the time the Inspector learned the woman was Jean, and my friend, I prayed the Greenes would be in custody and Mr. Taverner would be out of prison. He’d understand why I didn’t want to mention her name. Some instinct did warn me it might not be as easy as that, but having made my decision I put that thought out of my mind.
In the morning, aware I’d be out all day at the Dorchester, where the Fashion Show was being held, I suggested to Connie that she and Al take Tim down to the beach house, as the weather was fine. I gave Tim a great big hug and drove off in my Austin runabout, arriving soon after Monica and Jean. I’d hoped Johnny would be there, but he wasn’t, and I had only just taken my coat off when Jean saw Emily coming through the door.
‘Goodness,’ she said. 'She’s early.’