Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
When Alec at last went upstairs, Daisy was already in bed and half asleep.
“Darling, have they decided?” she asked drowsily.
“Decided what?”
“Whether they want your invaluable assistance.”
“They want me, if they can get me. Go back to sleep, love, we’ll talk in the morning.”
For once, she obeyed orders. When, having donned his pyjamas and brushed his teeth, he slipped in beside her, she didn’t stir.
Alec was tired, but questions and concerns swirled in his restless mind.
First and foremost was the super and the AC’s possible reaction to the peculiar predicament he found himself in.
He would have to testify at the inquest as a private person.
If his superiors decided to accede to Buckinghamshire’s request for his services, he might find himself on the stand as a detective officer as well.
The coroner would have good reason to be outraged.
All Alec could do was employ his persuasive powers to convince Crane and the AC that they must send someone else. Surely the fact that the three most obvious suspects were Daisy’s friends would be sufficient.
Wilhelmina Chandler, Vera Leighton, Isabel Sutcliffe: suspicion inevitably fell on them.
Alec was fairly certain they were not responsible for the woman’s death.
He didn’t think that conclusion was influenced by his undeniable bias in their favour.
Years of experience told him anyone was capable of killing, under the right—or wrong—circumstances.
But equally, his experience of judging character made him doubt that any of the three was capable of behaving as she had since the discovery if burdened by a guilty conscience.
Nonetheless, Vera’s emotional collapse and Willie’s refusal to break a confidence would have to be investigated.
As for Cartwright’s extraordinary outburst and Vaughn’s repeated efforts to trace Mrs. Gray—or to pretend to want to trace her, the two men had moved themselves from the periphery to the centre of the case.
Tomorrow … No, no point planning for tomorrow until he heard whether he was to be involved or not. He lay listening to Daisy’s quiet breathing, thankful that the horrendous, laboured wheeze had completely disappeared. If he had lost her as he’d lost Joan—
It didn’t bear thinking of. Holding her close, he fell asleep.
* * *
When the chambermaid tapped on the bedroom door in the morning, Daisy went on sleeping soundly. Alec washed and dressed quietly, then kissed her good-bye. She smiled, mumbled, and turned over. He went down to breakfast, intending to catch an early up-train.
As he ate, he changed his mind and decided to drive up. He hoped Daisy would have the sense to stay in Hampstead once she got home, and he had no idea whether he’d be returning to Beaconsfield. He might need the car for a job elsewhere in the country.
* * *
Daisy didn’t get down to breakfast until the last possible moment before they stopped serving. Isabel was in the dining room, dawdling over a cup of coffee.
Joining her, she asked, “How is your room working out?”
“Not bad. Cramped, but we don’t have much stuff.
Vera said the truckle bed was quite comfortable—Sally put an extra mattress on it for her.
Vera and Willie went to work. Last night, DC Pennicuik brought us Willie’s briefcase and Vera’s papers, and our handbags and some clothes, thank goodness.
He was no end embarrassed about the clothes!
I saw Alec, but just to say good morning before he dashed off. He went up to town?”
“I presume so. I hope the super doesn’t hit the ceiling. No other coppers about yet?”
“Not that I’ve seen. I need to know when they’ll let me get the cellar cleaned. I can’t stand not having anything to do. They won’t object if I go and get some work done in the garden, will they?”
“I doubt it, unless they take it into their heads that another body might have been buried in a flower bed.”
“Daisy! Surely they can’t—Oh, you’re joking. Aren’t you?”
“I was, but you never know.”
“I do hope Alec comes back. Though I was quite impressed with Inspector Underwood. He seems intelligent, especially in comparison with Sergeant Harris. I hope Underwood hasn’t left Harris to guard the house.”
“More likely a constable, who won’t care two hoots if you work in the garden. It’s worth asking, anyway, if you’re dying for something to do.”
“The alternative is to go and try to persuade Mrs. Hedger to take on the cellar.”
“You’re pretty certain she won’t?”
“I don’t know, she might, if I offer her enough money. One thing’s certain, she’ll be offended whether I ask or not. She’ll make sure I realise it’s not part of her duties and go about baleful and tight-lipped for hours, if not days.”
“Tell her she can use as much carbolic as she likes.”
Isabel laughed. “That’s a notion. I’ll try it. Oh well, it’ll have to be done, but I can put it off until the police give the word.”
Sally Hedger arrived with Daisy’s breakfast. “More coffee, Miss Sutcliffe?”
“No, thanks, Sally. I’m just keeping Mrs. Fletcher company.”
The waitress hesitated a moment, then said, “Mrs. Fletcher, d’you mind if I ask … Was it really Mrs. Gray that was killed, like they’re saying?”
“I don’t know, Sally.” Better not to mention that no one knew as yet. It was the stuff of nightmares. “Did you like her?”
“Her! No, I did not. Married Mr. Gray for his money, she did, and made him cut his son out of his will, they say.”
“A son? He had a son?” Daisy wondered whether Alec and DI Underwood knew.
“Yes, madam. There’s them as says worse of her: She did the old man in. She used to talk to him really nasty, but I can’t believe she was that wicked, to kill him. ’Sides, the doctor said he died natural. Natural causes.”
“Miss!” called a man on the other side of the room. Sally, having dropped her double bombshell, bustled off.
“Gosh!” said Isabel. “Do you believe any of it, Daisy?”
“That Gray had a son, yes. It’s the sort of thing people would know.
About the will: It wouldn’t be surprising if father and son quarrelled over the second marriage.
As for Mrs. Gray murdering her husband, I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.
He was elderly, so the doctor wouldn’t have looked very hard, so he probably didn’t test for poisons. ”
“Couldn’t they exhume his body?”
“With nothing but rumour to go on, I don’t think the police could get permission for an exhumation, even if they wanted to.”
“Not much point, anyway, with her dead.”
“You’re assuming she’s the body in the cellar.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Well, yes. I dreamed last night that it turned out to be someone else and Alec was sent to France to find her and I went with him.…” She sighed. “Too much to hope for. I wonder whether Inspector Underwood is aware of the son. Ought I to tell him?”
“He can hardly fail to find out. The lawyer must know.”
“You’re right. Alec would say it was unwarranted interference. Besides, I haven’t time. I’d better stop talking and finish my breakfast or I’ll have to run for the train.”
* * *
Alec reached the Yard at nine. On his desk was only routine paperwork.
“How’s Mrs. Fletcher, Chief?” his sergeant, Ernie Piper, enquired.
“Much improved, thanks. What’s up?”
“I dotted all the i’s and crossed the t’s in Rutland. Inspector Mackinnon took care of everything that came in here over the weekend. There’s nothing new to hand.”
“That’s what you think,” said Alec, but he didn’t explain. Time enough for that when he found out what his position was. He read reports, signed a few letters, initialed memos, all the while waiting for a summons.
It didn’t come till shortly before eleven. Ernie answered the internal phone. His end of the brief conversation consisted entirely of “Yes, sir.” He hung up. “The super wants to see you, Chief. He sounds unhappy.”
“For once, he has cause.”
Crane’s secretary said only, “Go straight in, Chief Inspector,” but her moue and her eyebrows told Alec to watch out.
As if he needed a warning.
He stepped through the door. As he approached the desk, the super regarded him in stony silence and did not wave him to a seat. Alec remained standing, trying his best not to come to attention.
“Explain.”
Alec explained. His story did not change with repetition, but it sounded more and more unconvincing to his own ears each time he told it. At least the super had no interest in the details, only in the broad picture.
His face brought to mind a dormant volcano preparing to erupt. In due course, he erupted.
“It’s the devil of a mess your wife has dragged you into now!” He grabbed a fistful of papers from his desk and shook them at Alec.
“Sir, she didn’t exactly—”
“Don’t quibble, Fletcher. Her friend’s house. Her friend’s invitation. Her friend’s cellar.”
Alec let the flow pass over him unanswered. It trickled to a halt.
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a pretty kettle of fish! I trust Mrs. Fletcher is back at home with no intention of venturing to Beaconsfield again unless her presence is officially required.”
“I—ah—I’m not sure exactly what her plans are, sir.”
“Dammit, man, she’s your wife! Can’t you control—”
“Sir.” The secretary’s voice came over the interoffice phone. “The Assistant Commissioner will see you and the chief inspector now.”
The AC was not given to lengthy or intemperate speech, and he didn’t put up with it from his subordinates.
“Be seated, gentlemen. Mr. Crane, I have received a brief wire from the chief constable of Buckinghamshire requesting the ‘informal’ assistance of Mr. Fletcher in a murder investigation. Please explain.”
“Mr. Fletcher was visiting friends, sir, with his wife.” The super kept his tone even, but the AC winced perceptibly at the mention of Daisy.
“He discovered a body hidden on the premises, so he is a vital witness. Nonetheless, the detective inspector in charge has been treating him more like a colleague than a witness, let alone a suspect.”
“You confirm that, Fletcher?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And has the inspector good reason not to regard you as a suspect?”
“I’ve never in my life been near the house before, sir, nor met the ladies.”
“Ladies?”
The super fielded that one. “Three spinsters sharing lodgings, I gather, sir.”
“These surplus females turn up under every stone,” the AC commented.
Alec held his peace, with a mental apology to the ladies in question.
“In the circumstances,” said Crane, “Buckinghamshire hesitates to put in an official request for DCI Fletcher specifically. But as he’s already familiar with the case, they won’t have to waste time briefing him.”
“True.” The AC thought for a moment. “Mrs. Fletcher is also a witness, I take it?”
“Yes, sir,” Alec admitted reluctantly. “I doubt she’ll be called at the inquest, though.”
“And does the local chap consider her a suspect?”
“Not seriously, sir, I’m pretty sure. He can’t disregard her altogether. She was in Beaconsfield for a week, and had previously called on her friends. I can’t see how she could be suspected of the murder itself, but accessory after…”
Simultaneously, Crane and the AC sighed.
“You’ll have to go,” said the AC. “As unofficially as I can manage it, which means the local man remains in charge and you are helping him, not running the investigation. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
“See to it, please, Mr. Crane.” The AC nodded dismissal.
Alec felt he’d got off lightly. At least they hadn’t openly blamed him for Daisy’s involvement, though, in spite of the evidence of the past, they appeared to harbour a lingering feeling that he was able to control her.
Walking at his side, the super said, “I didn’t think he’d go for it. You’re going to have to watch your step, Fletcher. This Bucks DI may think he wants you holding his hand or looking over his shoulder, but don’t count on it lasting. Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir.” Recalling Underwood’s blushing baby-faced detective constable, he ventured: “I’d like to take my sergeant if I may. He’s good at the sort of detail work provincial forces often can’t cope with, and the sooner I get this business cleared up, the happier we’ll all be.”
“Piper? I suppose so, as the villains seem to be quiescent for a change. Mind, if anything blows up I might recall him. Might recall you, too, come to that. If they want it unofficial, they shall have it unofficial. Mrs. Fletcher all right, is she?”
“Yes, thanks.” Or so he assumed. He should have wakened her and asked her plans. He didn’t even know whether she was staying in Beaconsfield or had come home.
First things first: he went to tell DS Ernie Piper to prepare for an out-of-town assignment.
“Train or car, Chief?”
“I’m not sure yet. It’s an easy journey by train, but the local inspector doesn’t have a motor assigned to him at present, so it might be useful. Get me my house on the phone, would you? Daisy, if she’s there.”
In his brief absence, another stack of papers had appeared on his desk. He started looking through them while Ernie put the call through.
“It’s DS Piper, miss. The Chief would like to speak to Mrs. Fletcher if she’s at home.” He listened a moment, then covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Mrs. Fletcher’s just leaving, Chief. Halfway down the front steps.”
Alec picked up his receiver. “Elsie?” he said to the parlourmaid. “Ask Mrs. Fletcher to come back, please.”
“She’s in a bit of a hurry, sir, but I’ll tell her.”
A moment later, Daisy was on the line. “Darling? I can’t stop to chat. I promised Mr. Turnbull I’d meet him at Marylebone.”
“Who?”
“The rector.”
“What? Why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Are you being sent back to Beaconsfield?”
“Yes. I hope you’re staying here.”
Daisy laughed. “I got a day return.”
“You don’t have to use the return half.”
“They’re expecting me. I can’t let them down. Nor Mr. Turnbull. Oh, by the way, did you know Mr. Gray had a son?”
“Daisy, how the—”
“I must run, darling. I’ll see you at the Saracen. Toodle-oo!”