Chapter Sixteen
SIXTEEN
“Hold on, Chief!” said Tom. “Patrick didn’t go off with Mrs. Aidan. He just went to the station to see her and the children onto the train. Mrs. Fletcher telephoned the shop, or showroom, or whatever they call it….” He looked at Daisy.
“I was afraid you might think I ought to have stopped Audrey leaving,” she admitted, “though I really don’t see how I could have. But it seemed to me at least I could find out for you whether Patrick had hopped it, too. I rang up Jessup and Sons and asked for Aidan—”
“For Aidan!”
“Because I knew he wasn’t there.”
“For pity’s sake, Daisy!”
“Patience is a virtue,” she reminded him severely.
“It worked just as I intended. The receptionist said he wasn’t available but either Mr. Jessup or Mr. Patrick could help me.
I told her I really needed to speak to Mr. Aidan and asked when was he expected back.
She said he was travelling on business and the date of his return was uncertain.
So there you are. One flown, one in the bag. ”
“I hope you didn’t leave your name,” Alec said acidly.
“Of course not, darling. And I put on Mother’s grande dame voice.”
“Thank heaven for small mercies!”
“Heaven had nothing to do with it. It was entirely my own notion.”
“And I suppose the notion didn’t dawn on you to warn me that Mr. and Mrs. Aidan were flitting?”
“Be reasonable! Last night, not only did I not know Aidan was going; I didn’t even know there was a body in the bushes.
This morning, Mrs. Jessup told me only a few minutes before Audrey left that she was departing, and that Aidan had already gone.
But I still didn’t know the victim was an American, let alone that he was the Jessups’ mysterious visitor.
I had no idea they were any more involved than any of the neighbours.
If you’d shown me the passport right away, I could have chained myself to the bumper bar of Audrey’s taxi, like a suffragette.
Not that I think for a moment that she had anything to do with whatsisname’s death. ”
“Castellano,” Mackinnon put in, checking his notebook. Both he and Tom seemed to be enjoying the skirmish between Daisy and Alec. “Michele Castellano.”
“Italian-American,” Daisy exclaimed. “I knew it!”
“Knew what? What else haven’t you mentioned? And what the deuce do you mean, Mrs. Jessup told you about Aidan leaving? I wish for once you’d start at the beginning instead of dropping bits and pieces here and there.”
“It all goes back to Lambert’s arrival. And all I have are bits and pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle, half of them pure speculation you wouldn’t have wanted to hear. But the picture is beginning to come together.”
“Let’s have it.”
“Only it’s more like a jigsaw than a consecutive story, so starting at the beginning isn’t going to—”
“Great Scott, Daisy, start where you want, but let’s have the whole of it! Or as many damn bits and pieces as you have.”
“On the other hand, perhaps Lambert is the best place to start,” Daisy said reflectively.
Alec looked about to explode, so she hurried on.
“No, actually, it was Tommy, not Lambert. Tommy Pearson. Do you remember, he said something about gangs of criminals in America being Irish, Italian, and Jewish? We were worried about the Irish because of their habit of blowing up policemen, but even though Mrs. Jessup is Irish, it looks as if it’s one of the Italians who’s ended up dead on our doorstep. ”
“There are plenty of law-abiding Italians in America. Castellano may even be another Prohibition agent, sent to check up on Lambert.”
“I said a lot of my picture is speculation. The next bit is Lambert, of course, who came to England to find out who are the wicked Englishmen whose shipments of alcoholic beverages are corrupting the morals of America.”
“Excuse me a moment, Mrs. Fletcher,” said Tom. “I assume Lambert’s on the up-and-up, Chief? You checked his credentials? He couldn’t be a non-Irish, non-Italian, non-Jewish crook?”
“No,” Alec said regretfully. “It would have given me great pleasure to extradite him to America.”
“He lost his papers,” Daisy reminded Tom, “and it took forever to get them replaced, but he did. Which makes me wonder: You didn’t find similar papers in Castellano’s pockets, presumably.
If he was an agent, he would have had them, and if his passport wasn’t stolen, it seems unlikely his credentials would have been. ”
“Good point, Daisy. It doesn’t prove he was a gang member, however.”
“Don’t forget the shoulder holster, sir,” said Mackinnon.
“A shoulder holster!” said Daisy. “What else haven’t you told me?”
“You’re supposed to be telling us,” Alec reminded her. “You’re right, though, Mackinnon. With or without a gun in it, it’s significant. We’ll take it as a working hypothesis that Castellano was up to no good. Go on, please, Daisy.”
“Right-oh. Next was finding out we were moving in next to a wine merchant. Lambert was instantly on the qui vive. Asinine, because there must be hundreds of wine merchants in the country who have nothing to do with bootlegging, but these were convenient for him to keep a watch over. And—let me see—after that, I discovered the younger Jessup son was abroad, not with his father as always before, but on his own. I can’t remember what made me suspect he’d gone to America.
No reason at all, really, just being mixed up with Lambert and his obsession. ”
“Do you know now for a fact that Patrick was in the USA?”
“No, actually. That’s one thing that made me wonder: the way no one ever mentioned where he’d gone for such a long time.
That and Mr. Irwin’s jitters at the prospect of a policeman moving in next door to the Jessups.
Mr. Irwin is Audrey’s father, and a solicitor,” she explained to Tom and Mackinnon, “so it seemed probable something a bit fishy was going on.”
“Tom, did you by any chance ask Mrs. Jessup where Patrick had come home from?”
“‘Fraid not, Chief.”
“What I canna understand,” said Mackinnon, “is what Castellano was here in England for, assuming he was a gangster, if Mr. Patrick had gone over there on that verra same business of codes and such. It doesna make sense to me.”
“No, it’s odd,” Daisy agreed.
“We’ll be able to tell from Patrick’s passport if he was in the States,” Alec pointed out. “Daisy, let’s get back to your jigsaw puzzle.”
“Where were we?”
Mackinnon consulted his notebook. “Mr. Irwin,” he said.
“Oh yes, his having the wind up was a small piece. So was Mrs. Jessup’s anxiety.
In general, she seems such a calm, practical person, but she worried about Patrick, and why should she if he was just across the Channel, where he’d been often before with his father?
Then we have a murder in our quiet, secluded garden, followed by the news that Patrick came home and Aidan went off the very evening it took place.
And then”—she glowered at the three men—“much later, I’m shown a photograph of the victim and recognize him as …
Well, you know that bit. There’s definitely a picture emerging, but it has too many holes left to make out what it is. ”
“The one part that’s clear as a bell,” said Tom, “is that square in the middle of your picture are the Jessups.”
“However,” said Alec, “we’ve no proof that Daisy’s picture bears much relationship to reality. It’s made up of a few facts and a lot of inference and sheer guesswork. Tom, did Mrs. Jessup tell you anything you didn’t already get from the servants?”
“She explained Aidan’s rush to leave. Seems he usually visits some of their customers up north at this time of year.
The customers expect him. In particular, one gentleman, a Mr. Dalton, rang up to say his shooting party had depleted his cellar.
He wanted to place a big order but wouldn’t do it without the personal guidance of Aidan, on the spot.
He telephoned several times and they were afraid he’d take his business elsewhere if Aidan didn’t get there pretty quick. ”
“At least we know exactly where he went today, then.”
“Mrs. Jessup didn’t know the address. We’ll have to get the details from the shop.”
Alec looked at Daisy. “I don’t suppose …?”
“Of course I didn’t ask, darling. I didn’t want them to know who was calling, remember? Or that I had any connection with the police. In fact, I didn’t even know Mrs. Jessup hadn’t given Tom the information.”
Tom gave his rare rumbling laugh. “You see, Chief, it doesn’t pay to keep Mrs. Fletcher in the dark!”
“Mackinnon, go and ring the shop. This is official. You’re a police detective and you want to know the whereabouts of Mr. Aidan Jessup today and his planned itinerary.
Make sure you speak to Mr. Jessup himself, though.
There’s no need for his staff to know what’s up.
While you’re about it, tell him I want—no, make that ‘would like’—to speak to him and to Mr. Patrick at home.
” Alec checked his wristwatch. “Half past six this evening. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. A command disguised as a polite request.”
“Exactly.”
Mackinnon went out.
“Tom, anything else from Mrs. Jessup?”
“I asked what time the gentlemen generally came home from work. She said it varies. The shop closes at eight. The Jessups generally leave at five-thirty or six, but quite a few of their better customers like a private appointment later on. Whichever of the Jessups stays on to deal with them sometimes goes in late or comes home early the next day, depending on how busy they are. Yesterday, though, both Mr. Jessup and Aidan came home earlier than usual because they were expecting young Patrick. Mr. Jessup went in early this morning to make up.”
So much for that hurrying figure that had so alarmed Daisy! She wasn’t going to tell them about that.
“They knew what time Patrick was coming home?” Alec asked.
“Not exactly. He sent a cable from the steamer as it approached the Liverpool docks—”
“Liverpool!” Daisy exclaimed. “So he was in America.”