Chapter Nineteen #2
The nearest plate-glass shop window, next door to the Jessups’, displayed five skeletally thin celluloid mannequins elegantly posed in jewel-toned, elaborately beaded silk with jagged hemlines.
They looked to Alec as if sharks had been at them.
Not for the first time, he thanked heaven that Daisy didn’t care two hoots about the latest modes.
In the Jessups’ window stood a rustic pergola with artificial vines climbing it.
The bunches of purple grapes peeping coyly from among the vine leaves looked like trimmings for an Edwardian hat.
Under the pergola stood an equally rustic wooden table and three chairs, and on the table were three wineglasses and two bottles.
It was a most inviting scene, though probably the bottles were empty, with the corks forced back in.
A shop window was not exactly an ideal storage place for wine, and Alec felt sure the Jessups’ vintage wines were stored under ideal conditions.
He wondered what their markup was. Pretty hefty, certainly.
New Bond Street leases must cost a fortune, and the sort of people who shopped there didn’t cavil at high prices.
Pity it was quite impossible to accept Jessup’s offer of wholesale prices, especially now he was investigating the family for murder!
Still, since inheriting his great-uncle’s fortune, he could afford a bottle of good wine now and then. The difficulty was finding time to sit down and enjoy it.
“There’s Piper, sir,” said Ross, nodding towards a 125 bus just coming to a halt nearby.
Ernie Piper swung down and came hurrying over to them. “Hope I’m not late, Chief. I was in the City.”
“Did you notify the City force? You know how touchy they are.”
“Had a word with a mate of mine. All I did was ask a few questions. It’s not like I was looking to arrest someone on their patch. They’ll prob’ly never know, and if they find out, he’ll cover for me.”
“I hope so. Right, you’re going to be doing the search.”
“Single-handed!”
“I want you to start with their papers.”
Piper was extraordinarily good at noting and remembering details and picking up discrepancies, though it wouldn’t do to tell him so too often.
Alec was guiltily aware that he didn’t give the young detective as much credit in that line as he deserved, because he didn’t want to lose him to Fraud.
He justified himself with the certainty that Ernie would hate working in Fraud.
He made sure Ernie knew what he was looking for, adding, “Of course, if you happen to notice a gun among the files, you can abandon them temporarily to let me know. Discreetly.”
“You think they’d be that careless, Chief? Knowing we’re coming?”
“They don’t know about the search warrant. If you’re still at it when we’re finished asking questions, we’ll lend a hand.”
Alec saw a sarcastic “Cor, ta, Chief!” on Piper’s lips. He’d say it aloud if Ross were not there, but Ross, though they had often worked together, was not one of Alec’s usual team.
The glass shop door displayed a CLOSED sign, but it opened to Alec’s push. The clock on the tower of St. George’s, Hanover Square, struck the half hour as the three detectives stepped over the threshold. Alec noted an inner security door, standing open.
It was immediately obvious that this was no ordinary off-licence.
The floor was paved with flagstones. The long narrow room had brick arches along each wall, framing trompe l’oeil vistas of more arches and rack after rack of bottles, row after row of wine tuns stretching into the illusory distance.
A few real racks of bottles added to the illusion.
“Blimey!” said Piper. “Reminds you of that mirror room at the house, don’t it, Chief?”
“Mr. Jessup certainly has an exotic taste in interior decor.” Alec could imagine the younger Jessups at once embarrassed and proud of their father’s exuberant imagination.
Spaced along the walls were several desks disguised as rustic tables, like the one in the window, each with a bottle and a couple of glasses.
No one was there, but opening the door must have rung a bell in the back premises.
Beneath a pergola against the rear wall, the twin of the one in the window, a door opened.
Mr. Jessup came through, and with him his long-absent younger son.
Patrick was taller than his father, and very much slimmer, his leanness not willowy, but fit and athletic. He looked as Irish as his name, with black hair, blue eyes, and a scatter of freckles. He had not, however, inherited his mother’s acting talent: His face was troubled and wary.
So was his father’s, the expression sitting uneasily on Jessup’s genial features.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me here,” said Alec. “I’m sorry you had to close early. Your wife—”
“Moira rang up to explain. It’s we who should thank you. The Bennetts …” He grimaced. “Let me introduce my son Patrick. Our next-door neighbour, Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher.”
“How do you do, sir?” Patrick didn’t hold out his hand, relieving Alec of the eternal quandary of whether shaking hands with a suspect was appropriate.
“I’m sorry to make your acquaintance in such circumstances.”
“Believe me, so am I. It’s not exactly the homecoming I was looking forward to.”
“These are my assistants, DCs Piper and Ross. Mr. Jessup, I’d like to have a word with you first. Is there somewhere we can go—”
“Can’t you ‘have a word’ with both of us at once, and save time?” Jessup asked, the first sign of annoyance or impatience he had shown.
“I’d prefer to see you one at a time,” Alec said firmly.
“Oh, very well. We’ll go upstairs. We each have an office up there. Patrick, lock the street door before you come up. This way.”
He led the way through the door at the back.
It opened into a room furnished like a gentleman’s den, with comfortable leather chairs and an antique writing table, but with wine racks where one might expect bookcases.
On the desk, the usual blotter and a brass inkstand were supplemented with a tantalus and a tray of gleaming glasses of various shapes and sizes.
On the right-hand wall hung a Cézanne still life featuring a bottle, a glass, and a bunch of grapes.
Straight ahead, a solid-looking door with bar and bolt as well as a lock probably led to a yard or alley.
The left wall had stairs going up and a door that, no doubt, opened on steps down to the cellar.
This must be where favoured customers were invited to consult the Jessups about the replenishment of their cellars, or the provision of drinks for wedding breakfasts and other parties.
“This will do very well,” Alec said, stepping behind the desk, to Mr. Jessup’s obvious displeasure. He turned to Patrick. “Would you be so kind as to take DC Piper up to the offices? Do you have keys to any locked desks, cabinets, or cupboards?”
“Yes, but …” The young man looked to his father.
“And the safe?” Alec cut in before Jessup could respond. “I assume you have a safe?”
“What the deuce is this?” Jessup demanded. “What business do you have going through our papers? This is a private partnership!”
“Have you something to hide?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Then I may assure you that anything DC Piper may see will remain entirely confidential. Your son may stay with him and make sure everything not pertaining to our enquiries is left just as it was found. Until he comes down to see me, at which point you can go up.”
“Oh, very well!” Exasperation changed to gloom as Jessup added to Patrick, “Your mother’s already told Mr. Fletcher about our sales to America.”
“Which, as you need not remind me,” Alec said tartly, “are not against English law.” In one way, it was a relief not to have to serve the warrant.
It would undoubtedly have engendered ill feeling—more ill feeling.
On the other hand, Jessup’s acquiescence to the search after a brief and natural protest suggested they would find nothing useful here.
Alec nodded to Piper, who preceded Patrick up the stairs.
Alec sat down behind the desk. Jessup hesitated, then reluctantly subsided into one of the armchairs facing him. Ross had unobtrusively brought in a straight chair from the main shop. He set it near the door, behind Jessup, where he could take notes without being observed.
“Tell me about Castellano,” Alec invited.
“Castellano? That’s the man you say has been murdered?”
“Mrs. Jessup didn’t tell you his name?”
“She didn’t catch it when you mentioned it to her. She told me she recognised the photograph you showed her as an American who came to the house and was extremely unpleasant to her. He didn’t give his name at that time, or subsequently.”
“He returned, then. To the house, or here?”
“To the house. In view of his rudeness, I had given orders that he was not to be admitted. If he wanted to do business with the firm, he went the wrong way about it. Had he been an emissary of my American customer, I’d have been notified in advance of his intention to visit us.
As it was, I did not meet him, nor had I any intention of doing so. ”
“Tell me about your transactions with America, and why you sent your son there.”
“There’s really nothing in it. The firm has been dealing for many years with a chap in Boston, the owner of a drinking establishment.
Not our usual sort of customer, admittedly, but we simply continued the relationship with his son.
The fact that it’s now against the laws of his country is his lookout.
I see no harm in supplying superior products to the wealthy elite of America when their alternative, I gather, is what they call ‘moonshine.’ I’m sure you’re aware that improperly distilled alcohol can be deadly. ”
“Yes, indeed. I can see that, regarded in the proper light, you’re a public benefactor,” Alec said with only the merest hint of irony.
Unexpectedly, Jessup grinned. “That’s a good line. I must remember it.”