‘There is no enquiry, sir. Not yet.’
‘Or charge him with disrupting the peace at this café, where he’s spying on this Meggie Albanesi woman…’
‘He’s just drinking tea, sir.’
Lovelace flapped his hands and turned crossly from his Sergeant, calling out to a man Posie hadn’t clocked before, standing in the shadows further down the alleyway.
‘McCrae! I need you to get the car. Pronto. Bring her out front, Constable. We’re off to…now where did you say, Sergeant?’
‘Wait a bit,’ said Dolly, stepping forwards and jabbing the air with her cigarette holder, a fresh cigarette already loaded. ‘You said he’s spying on Meggie Albanesi just now?’
‘That’s right, my Lady. What of it?’
Dolly checked her tiny and priceless Cartier wristwatch which sparkled with diamonds as she moved it in the darkness, a bauble from Rufus.
‘Well, it’s coming up for a quarter to ten, and Meggie Albanesi is in The Lilies of the Field just now over at the Ambassadors. It’s a long-running bestseller, so she’ll definitely be performing tonight; it’s doing so well that the cast and crew are not even having Wednesdays off, which is almost unheard of. They’re about the only show making any money this year!’
‘And, my Lady?’
‘Well, it would make more sense to get on over there. If this stalker fellow wants to get up close to Meggie Albanesi he’ll be queuin’ by the stage door, waitin’ for her to come out. She’ll be out at about ten minutes past ten. Betcha! You’ll have more of a chance to grab him there in the nice quiet darkness than at Ciro’s, which is where she goes on afterwards. That place is like a goldfish bowl. I know it, and you’ll have about a hundred spectators.’
The Chief Inspector smiled approvingly. ‘Nice work, my Lady. It seems you are a veritable mine of information. Hear that, McCrae? The Ambassadors Theatre, pronto.’
The man disappeared into the darkness.
‘Shall we come too, Inspector?’ asked Posie dubiously. She was genuinely interested in taking a peep at the odd Mr Mallow, but somehow she had the feeling, more than ever now, that Hector Mallow was a red herring. It was far too neat, somehow. Come to think of it, hadn’t it been Brian Langley, of all people, who had mentioned Hector Mallow in the first place as posing a danger?
Posie frowned, lost in her tangled thoughts again, as Richard Lovelace nodded at her.
‘Of course you should come. A nice neat end to a bally strange day’s work for you, eh?’
Suddenly the policeman, McCrae, was back, running.
‘What is it, Constable?’
He reached them, panting a little. ‘A police post boy, sir, from Scotland Yard. Brought you this message. He was waiting like a wee young idiot outside that great door there. I’ve given him a cuff around the ear for being so slow.’
He passed it across. Lovelace read it and groaned, pocketing the message. ‘It’s from your pal, Posie. Brian Langley.’
‘He’s no pal of mine, I can assure you.’
‘Well, he evidently wants to involve us now. Make this a proper police case. Officially.’
‘Why?’
‘He telephoned in. Apparently Silvia Hanro has gone missing.’
****
Twenty
As they belted up the Strand with Constable McCrae at the steering wheel, Chief Inspector Lovelace was thinking aloud to Posie and Dolly, whom he was squeezed rather uncomfortably between on the hard back seat. The large Gamages bag and Binny’s canvas hold-all were crushed right up against Posie’s knees. The smell of petrol was strong and filled the inside of the car, which was close and stuffy.
Posie rolled down a canvas blind and took in deep breaths of London’s thick night air, which was treacly on the lungs at the best of times.
‘Of course, there’s nothing we can do just now about her having gone missing,’ Lovelace said decisively, but a touch defensively. Posie could tell he was actually quite worried.
‘We’ll get on over to Worton Hall tomorrow, at first light. Chances are she’ll have shown up by then.’
‘Work is due to start again at nine o’clock tomorrow. If I know anything about Silvia Hanro, sir, it’s that she’s punctual. She’ll be there at nine if she can help it.’
Lovelace nodded. ‘Thanks, Posie. Besides, a missing person, even a movie star, isn’t officially missing until she or he has been gone for twenty-four hours.’
‘Even now, in the circumstances, sir?’ trilled Binny from the front of the car.
‘Even now, Sergeant.’
‘So we’ll pick you up early tomorrow at your flat, Posie? Seven sharp?’
‘Mnnn.’
Posie was thinking of the apricot-clad figure she had seen melting away inside the café on the Aldwych earlier. Chances are that it hadn’t been Silvia, but Posie had had a good look inside on the way back to the car anyhow. Of course, by then the string of cafés were completely empty, shutting up for the night, their glittering crowds of revellers moved on to nightclubs further on into the town.
Posie thought of Silvia at the Royal Oak pub earlier, drinking incognito. Had that been the start of a night out alone, unaccounted for? And was that so unusual or surprising?
Why did Brian Langley think Silvia had gone missing, anyhow? It wasn’t exactly late, so why was the Producer worried enough to make it an official police matter? Did Silvia usually stay in all night at remote Worton Hall, like a wallflower, learning her lines?
Maybe tonight was different for some personal reason? Maybe the girl was celebrating the end of the movie in her own way? Or celebrating something else entirely.
Posie’s thoughts were interrupted by her friend.
‘Can I come too tomorrow, Inspector?’ asked Dolly in a cheerful, helpful way. ‘I can make myself jolly useful, you know.’
‘Well…’
‘So I’ll stay with you tonight, Posie, if you don’t mind? Then we can travel out together, can’t we?’
Posie frowned. It seemed that everything was being decided for her just now.
‘Only if you telephone Rufus when we get to the theatre, or call your Butler at home,’ she said in a resigned voice. ‘Go inside and call from the foyer. I promised Rufus I’d send you straight home. Tell him I took you to the theatre as a treat.’
‘Fine. Thanks, lovey. Although I ’ave seen this show at least three times; not that he’ll remember.’
They jerked onto West Street, which was brightly lit and full of cafés and smart restaurants, just off the Charing Cross Road. The Ambassadors Theatre was up ahead of them, the name of the play, The Lilies of the Field, picked out in silver spotlights.
‘Here we are, sir!’ called McCrae with a dash of excitement. It was coming up for ten o’clock.
There was already a small crowd of perhaps ten or fifteen people gathering at the side exit, at the stage door. Others were joining them steadily. Some people were holding scraps of paper for signing, or bunches of flowers for their favoured star.
‘Park up here on the kerb, McCrae. We’ll lurk here just now, Posie and I. Lady Cardigeon, you go and make your telephone call, and take Sergeant Binny with you: pretend you’re a couple, if you don’t mind. As you go in and out of the theatre check out which one of those chaps could be our fella Mallow. When you find him, tell him to come over here for some nice friendly questions in the back of the car. So ditch that homburg and trench coat, Sergeant: nothing says “policeman” more than those.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ said Binny, a bit ruffled. He shook himself out of the offending articles and turned around.
‘There are several men over there, sir. Have we got any clue what he looks like?’
‘You’ll have to use your gut instinct a bit more when you’re an Inspector, you know, Binny. If you get made an Inspector, I mean.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘Hector Mallow disguises himself often,’ chipped in Posie, keen to help. She remembered Reggie Jones’ description. ‘But I do know that just thr
ee days ago he had dyed black hair and a pencil moustache. And he’s quite short, in his forties.’
Lovelace nodded appreciatively. ‘That’s quite a description, Sergeant. Certainly enough to be going on with.’
‘I’ll find him, Inspector,’ said Dolly, desperate to get going. ‘I think I can see a chap from here who fits the bill.’
‘Wonderful, my Lady. And McCrae, I want you to stand by the car, and get ready to run if you have to: our fella Mallow might make a wild dash for it if he’s feeling a tad overwhelmed.’
When the three of them had got out of the car, Posie watched Dolly trotting towards the lights, back in her world. She held onto Binny’s arm as easily as if he really were her husband. Posie groaned.
‘What’s up?’ said Lovelace, his eyes never leaving Binny and Dolly for a moment.
It was obviously a night for the spilling of confidences, and Posie found herself telling the Chief Inspector about Rufus and his worries about a plot against his wife, how she had promised to keep Dolly safe.
The Inspector turned quickly to Posie in disbelief before staring out again. ‘Goodness, you really are spreading yourself thinly today, Posie. You think there’s anything in it?’
‘I don’t know. It’s unusual for Rufus to be paranoid, though. He seems quite pipped about it all.’
They watched Dolly and Binny dip inside the theatre foyer.
‘For what it’s worth, I heard his father’s dying.’
‘I heard that too, sir.’
‘Maybe Rufus isn’t thinking quite clearly at present. Imagining things?’
‘Maybe. It’s odd though.’
‘If it makes you feel easier, I’ll get McCrae to stay over at your flat at Museum Chambers tonight, Posie; to keep an eye on Lady Cardigeon. You don’t mind putting him up on a sofa? Or he could sleep outside the front door, I suppose?’
Posie breathed a sigh of real relief. ‘He can have Alaric’s room. That would be wonderful, sir. You seem to like him, McCrae? He’s new, isn’t he?’
‘He is.’ Lovelace nodded approvingly. ‘Down from Glasgow. A poor boy done good. Bright and helpful and as resourceful a chap as you’re ever likely to meet. He’ll become my next Sergeant if I can help it, at the end of the year. When Binny goes his own way as Inspector, I mean.’
‘He’ll definitely get it, then, sir? Only, you seem to be casting doubts on it every now and then. That’s all.’
The Chief Inspector grinned. ‘Of course he’ll get it. He’s got no family to distract him, not like Rainbird. Poor Binny’s spending days and nights studying his socks off. But even so, it doesn’t hurt to keep the fella on his toes, does it? Look sharp, what’s this?’
Dolly had rounded on someone in the crowd by the stage door who was out of their line of view, and she was earnestly chatting away, clutching at a programme she must have grabbed in the foyer. She was looking animated, flicking through it. Binny was hanging a little behind, looking a tad embarrassed. Then, Posie saw Dolly grab at Binny’s arm and nod certainly. A second later he had looped his arm tightly around a small dark man who was now in full view. McCrae went bounding over, although Hector Mallow hadn’t shown any sign of wanting to run, wildly or otherwise. Instead, he looked bemused, blinking from Dolly back to Binny, and then to McCrae.
Within seconds the man was being frogmarched over to the car, the two policemen on either side, Dolly tripping along behind, taking deep drags on a cigarette. The man put up no resistance.
Lovelace and Posie got out of the car. They were standing in a small pool of light from the nearby street lamp, but it was still dim. And still stifling hot. Overhead Posie thought she heard a crack of thunder, but it could have been a passing Underground train.
‘Evening, sir. Care to answer a few questions which are bothering me?’ said the Chief Inspector, nodding at Hector Mallow in a friendly manner and leaning against the car, before crossing his arms authoritatively.
‘What the deuce is this all about?’
The small man seemed nervy, but there was a self-righteous defensiveness about him, too. He was fumbling with a large canvas hold-all which he eventually put down at his feet. A large straw hat was squashed into it.
A strange waft of sweat and something even more rancid – formaldehyde or formic acid, perhaps? – drifted across from the man to Posie and she swallowed hard, trying not to look as if she minded. The smell must have met the Chief Inspector’s nostrils too, for he made no more mention of getting inside the car and stayed put.
‘I take it you are Hector Mallow, morgue technician at the Middlesex Hospital and sometime admirer of the movie star, Silvia Hanro?’
‘That’s right.’
When Hector Mallow spoke it was with a good, educated, middle-class accent, but he wheezed on the last breath of each sentence, as if he were consumptive.
‘What’s the problem? You are the police, I take it?’
He looked over at Dolly and then took in Posie with some surprise and a hint of scorn. ‘So who are these lovely pair of lassies?’
‘New Scotland Yard, and our associates,’ said the Chief Inspector, indicating towards Posie, before stating his name and rank. His tone carried a tiny undercurrent of menace, and Posie saw Hector Mallow visibly wince. But Mr Mallow didn’t seem afraid: didn’t seem like the sort of man who had been caught doing something illegal.
‘The Yard? What have I done to warrant that sort of attention? Are you hounding me? What is all this?’
He was still being held tightly by either arm.
Up close and under the lamplight Posie could see that Hector Mallow was distinctly pug-like. He had very dark round eyes, set too far apart, peering out from a pale moon face. The eyes were accentuated by his too-black moustache and patchy hair on either side of his face which had been dyed the same colour. On top he was completely bald. He had small hands and little fat fingers which moved ceaselessly against his trouser pockets. His fingernails were too long, and curling, and dirty, and Posie shuddered, remembering his job.
His clothes, a dark blue flannel suit and what had once been a good-quality white shirt, were shiny with age. The hot weather obviously didn’t agree with him, either, for he was soaked in sweat. He gave off a distinct scent of weakness along with the embalming chemicals.
‘Tell me, do you have any evidence against me for anything?’
Posie knew that Lovelace had a difficult job ahead of him; with no criminal case or real evidence against Mallow, all he could do was question the man. Lovelace stayed very calm, almost friendly.
‘You’re an admirer of Meggie Albanesi, I hear?’
Hector Mallow shrugged. ‘Nothing wrong with that, is there? Many fellas admire her. You going to question all that lot over there queuing for autographs too? You lot were onto me only last week, and you went away empty-handed then. So what’s changed now?’
Posie felt the lack of any good answer hanging heavily in the air between them all. Suddenly Dolly came right up, nodded at Mr Mallow and then asked, as if she were really interested:
‘They’re quite different, aren’t they, these two actresses you favour?’
‘What do you mean, Miss?’ Mallow sniffed, uncertain.
Dolly flapped the programme she had procured. ‘Well, little Meggie Albanesi here is small and dark, and sort of nimble; known for dancin’ and jitterin’ and such like. And yet, Silvia Hanro is quite another kettle of fish: blonde and big and like a real screen Goddess. Besides, I’ve never seen her dance. She looks like she belongs on the prow of one of those great big ocean liners!’
Posie smiled: she liked Dolly’s description of Silvia. It was very apt.
‘So?’ wheezed the little man, frowning at Dolly. ‘Is this any of your business?’
‘Usually a fella likes the same type of girl. He’s consistent. Or not you, Mr Mallow?’
After a few seconds of silence Hector Mallow shrugged again. ‘A man can change his mind, can’t he? I’ve admired Miss Hanro for months now, years even, but
that was before Miss Albanesi became famous. Have you seen her on stage? She’s really quite something. Mesmerising. The deuce of a thing! Very now. About to go into films, in a big way. Done a few already.’
‘So you only stalk women who are fashionable, or newly-famous?’ interjected Lovelace with a note of scorn in his voice. ‘Does that mean we can safely assume Miss Hanro’s star is on the wane?’
‘Yes.’ Hector Mallow sniffed. ‘She’s rather old news, actually. And she’s getting on a bit now, too. Almost thirty if she’s a day!’
Posie scowled: before this she had found the man slightly comical, almost an object of pity. But the truth was, the jibe about the age cut deep. Posie was a year older than Silvia Hanro, at least. Now anything resembling sympathy went right out of the window and she found herself hardening her heart against Hector Mallow.
‘A glory hunter!’ said Dolly decisively, and with a snip of derision in her voice. ‘That makes sense.’
‘Call it what you will,’ said Hector Mallow, wheezing. ‘I don’t do anyone any harm.’
Posie frowned. She edged closer, less keen on being an impartial bystander in the discussions. ‘But you were at Worton Hall on Sunday, Mr Mallow,’ she said sharply, commanding instant attention. The small man turned and stared at her, and she continued:
‘You were seen, and escorted off the premises.’
Hector Mallow started. ‘Eh? How the deuce do you know that, old top?’
He looked over at Lovelace and smiled a strange, slow smile which went from ear to ear. ‘Got yourself a pretty little policewoman doing your dirty work for you, have you, Chief Inspector? Unconventional. But a nice little arrangement, I’m sure.’
Posie ignored him, as did Lovelace. She ploughed on:
‘So you still thought something of Miss Hanro then? On Sunday? She wasn’t quite old news, then? You can’t deny that, surely?’
The man shrugged. ‘No point denying anything, is there, old top? Yes: I was there. Old Jonesy spotted me and turfed me out of the place. Good thing too, as it happened. He saved my bacon.’
Posie frowned, she didn’t follow him. Hector Mallow stared at Posie intently with his goggly black eyes. He sniffed and continued:
Murder of a Movie Star Page 19
