Chapter 16
Alec reached his office a few minutes early for the meeting he’d set up. Tom Tring was already at his desk, reading the pathology report.
“Any luck, Tom?”
“If you’re talking about the canteen coffee, Chief, no.” He waved a disgusted hand at the disgusting dregs in the mug at his side. “If it’s them cheeky buggers I’ve been after all day you mean, well, in a manner of speaking.”
“Stop being oracular.” Alec sat down at his desk, on which reposed several discouragingly large piles of papers. “You’ve been at it all day. What have you got to show for it?”
“Have a heart, Chief. I managed to nab eleven likely lads that use the shortcut, and there’s a few more I’ve heard about but didn’t get ahold of. It’s like trying to catch minnows with your bare hands.”
“And?”
Tom grinned. “And one of ‘em saw a veiled lady going in through the Talmadges’ back gate at about one o’clock.”
“A veiled lady? He’s sure of the time and place?”
“Sure of the time, within a few minutes either way. He’d just delivered a pair of lamb cutlets and got a wigging because it was too late to cook ’em for lunch.
And sure of the place because I took him to the alley and he picked out the right gate.
But he couldn’t see her face because of the veil on her hat, and all he can say about her hat and coat and shoes is that they were sort of brown. ”
“So near and yet so far,” Alec groaned. “Tall, short, fat, thin?”
“He was in a hurry, being late back to the shop, too. He remembered her because it was unusual to see a lady in the alley and because of her surreptitious behaviour—acting sneaky, he called it. He particularly noticed the veil because it added to the impression of furtiveness.”
“Watch it, Sarge,” said Ernie Piper, coming in, “your fancy vocab’s showing.”
“That’s vocabulary to you, young whippersnapper. Like constabulary.”
“‘When constabulary duty’s to be done, to be done,’” Piper warbled, “‘the policeman’s lot is not a happy one.’”
The divisional sergeant entered behind him.
“Evening, Mackinnon,” Alec greeted him. “You’re very full of yourself, Ernie.”
“It’s the only thing I am full of, Chief. No time for tea, the sergeant and me.”
“You ought to go on the music halls, you ought,” said Tom, reaching for his telephone. “All right if I ring down to the canteen for sandwiches, Chief?”
“Do. Are you starving too?” Alec thought guiltily of his rago?t and jam pudding.
“Not me. I stopped in the canteen before I came up, not
that their steak-and-kidney pud’s worth a farthing compared to the wife’s.”
“All right, Ernie, your stomach’s empty, but I hope your brain’s full. What have you got?”
“Three cabbies, Chief. Leastways, I only talked to one of ’em, but I checked the logs of the other two that they turned in to the company at the end of their shifts.
One picked up a couple in New Bond Street around twenty past twelve and took them to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, Old Marylebone Road.
The other took one person from the rank in the Edgware Road to the New Theatre, leaving at five to two. ”
“And the one you talked to?”
“Took a lady in a veil from the Edgware Road rank to the Talmadge house. Left at seven minutes to two, arrived ten past. The lady was put in the taxi by a tall thin gentleman with a monocle and no chin, who gave him a fiver. He’d not likely forget that!
Blimey, Chief, I reckon I’m in the wrong business.
Some bloke offers me a fiver, I have to arrest him. ”
“Talk to the other two tomorrow and make sure it’s our pair, though there seems little doubt. Good work, Ernie, and quick work.”
“But I never found whoever took ’em there and back in between,” said Piper disconsolately.
“Try again tomorrow, but there’s another factor. Creighton owns a very nippy three-litre Bentley, royal blue. He wouldn’t want to leave it in New Bond Street, but suppose he always intended the stop at the Dixons’ flat and then, perhaps, to take Mrs. Talmadge for a spin in the country.”
“He could have driven it over earlier and parked it in one
of those side streets,” said Mackinnon, catching on at once. “With that, he’d have plenty of time to dash over to talk to the victim and finish him off.”
“What about my veiled lady?” Tom demanded.
Piper and Mackinnon stared at him.
Alec gestured to Tom to explain. When he finished, Piper said thoughtfully, “So either Mrs. Talmadge did take a taxi, in which case I’ll find it, or she can drive. But it don’t seem likely, somehow, that he’d lend her the car to hurry home and murder her old man.”
“Ah,” said Tom, “but he might have driven her there—not gone in himself—so she could tell hubby it was all off and she was going to run off with his lordship. It’s always looked like a spur-of-the-moment job to me.”
“Me too, Tom,” Alec agreed. “We’ll have to see if we can trace the car. Ernie, add that to your taxi-tracing chores.”
“Right, Chief.”
“Before we discuss any further, let’s make sure we all know all there is to know or we’ll be talking at crosspurposes. Mackinnon, let’s hear from you. Tell them about the interview with Creighton, and then report on the Dixons’ flat.”
Skimming the relevant reports on his desk as he listened to his men, Alec gathered together the threads of the investigation. Unfortunately, they showed no sign as yet of entwining in a knot.
The pathology report held no surprises. Talmadge had died of a combination of the suffocating and toxic effects of breathing pure nitrous oxide. Any pressure marks caused by his being bound and gagged had disappeared before the autopsy. However, traces of isinglass and benzoin were
found around his mouth. Also, the lab confirmed moustache hairs on the sticking plaster from the waste bin and an exchange of fibres from his white coat with those of the bandages and chest strap.
Daisy had got it exactly right.
Ernie Piper had gone through Talmadge’s personal and business accounts, all very orderly.
He had found nothing to suggest blackmail or gambling or any other irregularity.
Scanning his list of female patients from eighteen to forty, Alec saw many names of people he knew.
It wouldn’t be needed, though, unless Gwen Walker was definitively eliminated.
Either she or Daphne Talmadge was almost certainly Tom’s veiled lady. Alec was going to have to go down to Denham to check the old-school-friend alibi.
As for Mrs. Talmadge’s alibi, Mackinnon had not had to sneak into 6J to study the possibilities.
When he knocked on the door of the flat below, to ask if the resident had seen or heard anything at the relevant times, he was invited in.
The elderly widow, delighted to have a visitor, had assured him the flats were all identical in design and shown him around her own.
Though there was no back door, the rooms all led off a passage and the cleaner could easily have left without seeing Creighton or Mrs. Talmadge.
“You’ll see her tomorrow, Tom,” said Alec. “Mrs. Simpson, isn’t it, Mackinnon?”
“Simpkins, Chief.”
“That’s it.” Another good mark for the sergeant. “On second thoughts, you can deal with her. I want Tom to tackle the Army and Navy Club. If Major Walker lunched
there, he probably signed a chit. Times may be more difficult to establish.”
“What’s he look like, Chief?” Tom rumbled. Alec gave a description. “Ah! Sounds like ninety per cent of retired army officers that go on calling themselves by their rank.”
“I’m afraid so. You’ll have to hope he’s well-known at the club. Any questions or ideas, anyone?”
The discussion continued for another half hour or so, without any new facts or insights emerging.
Alec sent the others home. He stayed on for just long enough to flip through the pile of papers marked Urgent, concerned with other cases and general directives.
Deciding to come in early to deal with those that really were urgent, he went home.
Daisy was still up. As he hung up his hat and coat, she came out of the sitting room and into his arms. He kissed her. “Any luck?” he asked.
“Well, in a manner of speaking, darling.”
“Don’t you be oracular, too!”
“Too?”
“That’s exactly what Tom said when I asked him if he’d learned anything from his errand boys.”
“And what did he say next?”
“One lad saw a veiled lady going through the back gate in a furtive manner. He’ll swear to the time, but didn’t see her well enough to recognize her. He was in a hurry.”
“Oh dear, Daphne was wearing a veiled hat when she arrived home. Cocoa, darling? Or a whisky?”
“Cocoa, please.” He followed her to the kitchen and sat down at the scrubbed wood table. “What else was Mrs. Talmadge wearing?”
“A fawn coat with astrakhan trimmings.” Daisy fetched a bottle of milk from the larder and took down a small pan with a lip from its hook.
“General description: brownish?”
“Good enough, though I’d have thought he’d at least notice the contrast of light cloth with dark collar and cuffs.”
“Yes, he’ll have to be asked about that. I should have found out from you yesterday what she was wearing. What’s your news?”
“Another rumour about Gwen Walker and Raymond Talmadge, a new one. They were seen having breakfast together at a hotel in Brighton. No mention of who saw them, I’m afraid, or when, or which hotel, and it may be pure fantasy or even a deliberate fabrication.
But I do think it’s significant, as it’s not just repeating the Soho story. ”
“Watch the milk!”
“Oh, blast!” The froth had risen in the pan and bubbled over the sides.
Daisy snatched it from the flame before too much spilt, but a smell of burning permeated the kitchen.
“Oh dear, I don’t think I shall ever be frightfully good at domestic things, darling.
There’s enough left for half a mug each. ”
“Fill mine up with cold. I don’t mind it lukewarm as long as it hasn’t got a skin on it.”
“Right-oh. Did you see Gwen Walker this evening?”
“Yes. Naturally she denied any more than a casual acquaintance with Talmadge. Not convincingly.”
“Here, try this. Here’s the sugar if you want more. You believe she was involved with him, then?”
“Delicious.” A vast improvement on canteen coffee, at least. “I’m working on the assumption that such is the case. I’ve got to go down to Denham tomorrow morning to check her alibi.”
“I bet she has a hat with a veil, too, if she’s been sneaking around seeing Talmadge on the sly. And everyone has a brown coat. I was going to ask you about the major, but Tom’s veiled woman must have done it, mustn’t she?” Daisy gulped the last of her half cup of cocoa and smothered a huge yawn.
“Seems likely. I’ve got Tom checking the major’s alibi tomorrow, and Creighton’s not altogether out of the running yet. Come on, love, time for bed.”
They went upstairs. Alec popped into Belinda’s room.
His daughter lay sprawled on her back, her loose nighttime braid gleaming redly against the pillow by the light from the landing.
Her arms were flung every which way in utter abandon, her face relaxed in a slight smile.
Tucking her arms under the bedclothes, he recalled a time when her freckled face in repose had contrasted with her usually anxious expression.
Nowadays there was not much difference. Since Daisy moved in, Bel had found less worry and much more fun in her young life.
Dropping a light kiss on her forehead, Alec wondered how he was going to persuade his mother to move out—without her realizing she was being persuaded.