Chapter Ten #2
But his neighbours were no lords and ladies, merely wealthy cits, in the idiom of the eighteenth century, which Alec had studied at university. Tom Tring could cope perfectly well with interrogating nobs as long as he wore his best suit, not one of his checked monstrosities.
Could Mackinnon? He didn’t know him well enough to count on it. “I’ll want DS Tring, sir, and DC Piper. They’ve worked well before with the S Division detective sergeant on the job.”
“Done. And you’ll have the report by noon?”
“I said that before you dumped this case in my lap, sir! I need to discuss it with Tring and Mackinnon so that they can get going. And the American embassy will have to be notified.”
“What? What?” Crane demanded wildly. “The American embassy?”
“Yes, sir. The victim was a U.S. citizen.”
“Are you sure?”
“Passport in his pocket. The photo and description match.”
“If the divisional chappie had known that, he’d have handed it over to us anyway.” The superintendent sounded slightly mollified.
“No doubt. Come to think of it, sir, I’d like your permission to get in touch with the New York police, and perhaps the FBI.”
“FBI?”
“Federal Bureau of Investigation, sir. In Washington.”
“Oh yes, those chappies you gave a helping hand to over there. Why? Do you suspect he was a wrong ‘un?”
Alec chose his words with care. “Let’s just say there are aspects of the case that point to the possibility.
Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it wouldn’t surprise me.
” It dawned on him that the holster might equally well mean the man was an agent, like Lambert.
Like Lambert, he could have had his gun confiscated by Customs—but then he’d have had no reason to wear the holster.
Alec didn’t have time just now to think it through, what with Crane panting on the other end of the line. “Would you like details?”
“No, no. Go ahead and cable whomever you need to.” This time, his sigh expressed long-suffering rather than relief.
“I’ll try to explain to the AC why he won’t be getting the report for a while.
If you can possibly spare me a moment, you might pop in and tell me what you’ve learnt so far about your Hampstead murder.
By the by, how is Mrs. Fletcher holding up?
She sounded pretty chipper when I spoke to her just now, but it must have been a shock to her, finding yet another body. ”
One cannot tell one’s superior in the police force that sarcasm does not become him. “She didn’t actually find this one, sir,” Alec reminded him. “She hasn’t actually seen him.”
“I dare say, Fletcher, but it is, to my recollection, the first to be found on—I beg your pardon—practically on her own doorstep.” With that, he rang off, which was just as well, as the retort that sprang to Alec’s lips was most improper.
Alec arranged for Ernie Piper to come out to Hampstead to help with the search, and for Tom Tring to meet him and Mackinnon at the Yard.
He had to get copies of the passport photo made, and some good photographs of the entire passport to show at the U.S.
embassy and to send to the NYPD and FBI.
In the meantime, he could cable the passport number to them.
He went down to the kitchen, where Daisy and Mrs. Dobson were presiding over the consumption of tea and flapjacks. “You can go up and ring your station,” he said grumpily to Mackinnon, “but I can tell you what your super’s going to say: He’s talked mine into handing over the case to me.”
“Good!” said Mackinnon. “I mean, I’m sorry you’re being troubled with it, but I’m glad to be working with you again, sir.”
“DC Piper’s coming to give your men a hand. You and I will go to the Yard.”
“Yes, sir.” Mackinnon went off to telephone.
“Ardmore, Warren,” said Alec, “off you go to see if you can find that weapon before Piper arrives.”
There was some scurrying about while boots and a rake were procured for the fountain-fishing expedition; then the two detective constables departed, carrying a couple of thermos flasks and flapjacks wrapped in wax paper for the uniformed men. Alec sat down at the kitchen table.
“Darling, you’re not going to have to interrogate the Jessups, are you?” Daisy poured him a cup of tea. “And the Whitcombs and everyone?”
“I sincerely hope not. Initially at least, the others can do it, but if it turns out any of them are involved, then all bets are off.” He helped himself to a flapjack, chewy and still slightly warm from the oven. A large bite effectively stopped his mouth, allowing Daisy to have her say.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that. We shan’t dare poke our noses outside the door, Mrs. Dobson.”
“Not to worry, madam,” said the cook-housekeeper, clearing cups and plates and sweeping away crumbs. “You know how it is. There’s some as’ll blame you no matter what, and others that’ll know it’s none of it your fault. That’s how you tell your true friends.”
“Very true. Come to think of it, Alec, you can give the Bennetts the ‘third degree’ with my goodwill. Do you have any reason to think one of the neighbours may be involved?”
“I can’t talk about it here.”
Mrs. Dobson drew herself up, her hands on her hips. “If it’s because I’m here, sir, I take leave to tell you there’s many and many a secret I’ve known that’s never crossed my lips, and I’m sure I never gave you cause—”
“Of course not.” Harassed on every side, Alec tried to sound soothing. “I just meant that at present it’s a matter to be discussed only with my colleagues in the police.”
“Hmm.”
“I suppose you won’t tell us who he is, either,” said Daisy.
“I don’t know his name. If I did, you’re right, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Mackinnon came in. “All settled, sir,” he said cheerfully. “I’m to take my orders from you, and I don’t even have to give my super a report until we’ve made an arrest.”
“Assuming we do. Let’s get going. There’s one good thing about crime on the doorstep, Daisy, I should be home on time for dinner, if not before.”