Chapter 18
“Mrs. Walker’s alibi is exploded,” Alec told the two sergeants and Ernie Piper. He explained how he had trapped Miss Crouch into contradicting herself.
“Cor, that was neat, Chief.”
“Listen and learn, lad,” said Tom. He was wearing the sober dark suit he had donned to impress the Army and Navy Club.
It made him look less bulky and more formidable than his usual loud checks.
He always swore villains were so stunned by the latter they didn’t realize who was wearing them until he’d clapped on the darbies.
“Listen and learn,” he repeated sententiously.
“I do, Sarge. Even to you.”
“Tom, did you get anywhere at the Army and Navy?”
“The major ate lunch there all right, Chief. The club secretary showed me his signed chit. It’s dated, but there’s no time on it, as you’d expect. They serve lunch till half two.”
“So he could easily have followed his wife to the house at one o’clock, done Talmadge in, and turned up in the club dining
room in plenty of time to eat. Anyone remember him?”
“Not a soul, not to swear to. I spoke to the porter and the waiters but they have five Major Walkers and hordes of members who look just like my description of our Major Walker. They were extra busy that day, too, because there was some sort of reunion in the evening and a lot of members came up from the country.”
“Damn!”
“No better luck with the errand boy, neither. I sent DC Ross to ask him about the astrakhan coat Mrs. Fletcher described. The lad thought he might’ve noticed, but then again he might not.”
“Your veiled lady could still be either Mrs. Walker or Mrs. Talmadge, then.”
“Or someone else entirely, Chief.”
“Or someone else entirely,” Alec agreed gloomily. “What about you, Mackinnon?”
“I went to the Dixons’ flat, Chief, but the charwoman wasna there.
I couldna think of any way to trace her wi‘out getting in touch with the Dixons, so I telephoned the Henley police to send someone out to their cottage. But it seems it’s on the wrong side o’ the river so they had to ring up the Berkshire police—”
“Ah yes, I remember, three counties meet there.”
“Well, after a deal o’ havering, I ended up wi’ Mrs. Simpkins’s address in Islington.
I took the Tube there, but she wasna at home.
Her neighbour said she was at work, but she didn’t know where.
” Mackinnon apparently wanted to prove himself by describing all his difficulties and how he had overcome them.
“I take it you found her?” Alec said.
“Aye, Chief, in the end. She only does for the Dixons two mornings a week. When she left their flat that day, at one o’clock, she opened the door of the sitting room to say she was going.
She saw the gentleman sitting with the lady in his lap, crying on his shoulder.
She backed out in a hurry without speaking, so they might not have seen her. ”
“Even if they’d jumped up the moment she left,” said Alec, “they’d have had to rush to get to St. John’s Wood and back. Ernie?”
“No sign of a taxi taking one or both of ’em there or back, Chief, or there and back.
I covered pretty well all the possibles.
I talked to the other two cabbies, too. It was our two for sure that was taken from Bond Street to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, and his lordship that was taken to the theatre. ”
“And the Bentley?”
“I found the garridge where his lordship keeps it. There’s a group of toffs keep their motors there and they pay a bloke to keep ’em filled up, and polish ‘em and do minor repairs and gen’rally keep an eye on things.
He checks the oil and water and petrol whenever someone brings one back, and keeps a log to bill ’em. ”
“There’s a bit of luck!” said Tom.
“’Fraid not, Sarge. The Bentley’s not in his log for that day, but it could mean it went out but didn’t go far enough to need filling. He’s pretty sure it wasn’t taken out, but not prepared to swear to it.”
“St. John’s Wood and back wouldn’t take much petrol,” observed Mackinnon.
“It wasn’t parked near the alley, anyway,” said Piper. “I asked DC Ross, seeing he was going to talk to Sarge’s errand
boy, to ask him about it. It’s the sort of car any boy couldn’t help noticing, and he didn’t. He’s going to ask around his friends, though.”
“Good work, Ernie. I think we’ll leave it at that for the moment, wait and see if anything turns up.
It would take more manpower than the AC’s likely to allow me to do a door-to-door in both Marylebone and St. John’s Wood, though it may come to that.
However, my feeling is that those two were not involved in the murder.
I don’t want to waste time flogging a dead horse. ”
“So we concentrate on—” The ‘phone on Tom’s desk rang and he stopped to answer it.
“DS Tring … Yes, put her through, please … . Hello, Mrs. Fletcher. Do you want to speak to the Chief? … Go ahead.” Still listening, he reached for pad and pencil and wrote.
“Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher … . Yes, I’ll give them to him, and he can decide whether they’re worth following up … . ’Bye.”
“Well?” Alec asked impatiently.
“She forgot to give you these names, Chief, but they’re probably not worth much, she says.”
“What names?”
“Ladies who passed on rumours about Talmadge and Mrs. Walker to the ladies who passed them on to Mrs. Fletcher. She asked them where they’d heard the story in hopes of tracking down a source.”
From the corner of his eye, Alec saw Piper and Mackinnon exchange grins and nods that said as clearly as words, “Mrs. Fletcher does it again!”
“We’ll have to talk to them,” Alec said with a sigh. “I’m pretty sure Mrs. Walker was Talmadge’s mistress but until we have more to go on than rumours and guesses, we’re
hobbled. I’m going to talk to her again. Tom, as you’re wearing your best bib and tucker, you can deal with the ladies Daisy’s named.”
“Right, Chief.”
“Mackinnon, I’m putting you onto the Walkers’ cook-housekeeper, Bates.
See if you can get a line on where she goes on her day off, whether she has any particular friend she might have gossiped with about her mistress.
Without more evidence I prefer not to question her officially yet.
There’s probably a cleaning woman, too, and a gardener, possibly another maid.
Find out. Ernie, you stay here and go through all the reports.
See if you can spot any discrepancies, anything we’ve overlooked, any obscure connections. ”
“Have a heart, Chief!”
“Sorry, but you have the best eye for details. I’ll be back a bit before five to see if you’ve come up with anything.
At five I have to report our progress or lack thereof to Superintendent Crane.
Tom, Mackinnon, if you find out something worth telling the super, telephone here before my appointment.
Otherwise we’ll meet here at six to exchange news. ”
On his way out, Alec was buttonholed by a colleague who had taken over one of his less urgent cases when the murder became his first priority.
When at last he managed to tear himself away, he drove straight to the Walkers’.
He parked a little way down the street. If Mrs. Walker was not at home—and he prayed she was there as he was now somewhat pressed for time—she might recognize his car and turn tail if it was right outside her house.
Like last time he stood on that doorstep, he was left there for several minutes after ringing the bell. This time the door was opened, just as he was about to ring again, by a
short, wiry woman in a flowered overall and carpet slippers. Wisps of henna’d hair peeked out from beneath a purple paisley headscarf knotted in front. In one hand she bore a mop, the regimental standard of her profession.
“Nobody’s home, ducks,” she announced.
Though there was no reason the Walkers should be home waiting for him, Alec was annoyed. Their absence typified the investigation, which seemed to consist so far of one petty irritation after another. As yet he had not even succeeded in eliminating a single suspect.
“When are Major and Mrs. Walker expected back?” he asked.
“Dunno ‘bout madam. Nora—that’s the cook-housekeeper, Nora Bates, it’s ’er ’alf day—she left tea things out for the major’s tea, so I specks he’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll come in and wait then,” Alec said authoritatively. “I’m a police officer.” He showed her his credentials.
“Coo, that’s nice!” she said, admiring the seal. “You read it to me, ducks. I left me glasses at ’ome.”
Can’t read, Alec interpreted, amused and appalled. “Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, CID, Metropolitan Police,” he told her gravely, though for all she knew it could have read “Sewer Inspector” or “Confidence Trickster.”
“Ooh, that’s Scotland Yard, innit? Well, I never! Come on in, ducks, and sit yerself down in the front parlour ‘ere. I was just goin’ to make meself a cuppa if you fancy one. Awready put the kettle on.”
“That sounds good, but I’ll come along and save you a step or two.” He might as well try and get her talking about her employers.
“To the kitchen?” she said dubiously. “Well, I s’pose it’s
all right. I’ve always been respectable, ain’t got nuffink against the rozzers. And I don’t mind if I get the weight off me bunions for a bit.”
Sitting down at the kitchen table, Alec knew himself in this situation less capable than Tom Tring.
By now Tom would be laughing, teasing, maybe flirting a little, certainly calling the woman by her christian name.
Alec didn’t even know her surname yet. His visit to the kitchen was regarded as condescension, not because of his rank—a chief inspector was after all still just a rozzer—but because of the way he spoke.
Still, though she had ushered him towards the sitting room, she had called him ducks, not sir, so maybe there was hope.
“This is very kind of you, Mrs … ?”