by David Adkins
“He did have a slight accent,” she offered.
“What sort of accent?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps it was a European accent of some kind.”
Cedric Bromley looked puzzled. “I never noticed that.”
“It was only very slight,” she added.
“Did Nesterman also have an accent?” Cassie asked.
“I don’t think so,” Mrs Bromley replied.
“Is there anything else you can remember?” I encouraged them.
They both shook their heads.
“Now do you mind if we speak with Mr Brady and Mr Ramsden?”
“Of course not,” Bromley agreed.
Mr Brady was not in but we did speak with Mr and Mrs Ramsden and it proved fruitless. They had virtually never spoken with Nesterman or Deepdale despite being neighbours. It seemed that the Ramsdens were private people as were Nesterman and Deepdale. Their description of events that fateful evening matched Bromley’s account and they had nothing to add and I left the apartment block feeling that once again I had achieved nothing. It was getting very frustrating.
There was a public house a few doors along from the apartment block and we entered it and went to the bar. “A half of bitter please,” I smiled at the barmaid and looked at Cassie.
“And a gin and tonic,” she added.
“Did you know the gentleman from a few doors down who was murdered?” I asked casually.
“I didn’t know him,” she answered a little suspiciously.
“He never came in here for a drink then?”
“I don’t think so. Are you a reporter?”
I laughed and handed her my card. “No, I am not.”
“I can’t help you,” she said. “I do not even know what he looked like.”
We took our drinks over to a corner and sat down. Cassie took her coat off and displayed a figure-hugging pale blue jumper that matched the jeans. I studied her with undisguised admiration. She was quite a tall girl, almost as tall as me, slim with a supple and delicate figure but also with seductive curves. Her lips were expressive and her mouth was a cup of delight. I knew that you had to be beautiful to be a chorus girl, but Cassie took it one step further.
“Stop staring at me,” she laughed.
“I can’t help it,” I admitted. “I bet you are used to it.”
“I know men often find me attractive,” she admitted. “Now. Tell me all that has happened in the past few days and what progress you’ve made.”
I then went over it all. I told her of my visit to Max Lucas and then of my visit to Lester Bruitt. I told her of my excursion to Somerset House followed by a visit to every bank in Kingsway. I also told her of my first visit to the apartment block.
She listened intently, hanging on my every word. “So now you know Max is innocent but you can’t prove it,” she reiterated.
“Yes that just about sums it up,” I agreed. “Do you know if Max was involved in anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was he involved in any criminal activity?”
“No, I’m sure he wasn’t, though he did like to gamble. I think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time that night.”
“Was he in debt from his gambling?”
“Not that I know of,” she shook her head.
“You and Max both told me that he was broke. Where did he get the money to pay in advance for high market accommodation like that apartment? This is an expensive area.”
“I don’t know that either but he could have won some money from his gambling.”
“Where did he gamble?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I was never interested, so I don’t know where. I think he played poker though.”
I sighed. “Drink up Cassie, I know it is a very slim chance but we have more bars to try. Most people enjoy a drink near where they live and I do remember his picture was in the newspaper.”
“If we buy a drink at each place we will both be drunk before we have finished,” she laughed.
“You will be if you keep drinking gins.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Steve?”
“Now there is an idea.”
She laughed again.
“Perhaps we ought to keep it to soft drinks until we reach the last establishment,” I suggested. “I do feel obliged to buy drinks if we expect to have our questions answered.”
“Let’s go then.”
We made our way around Russell Square in an anti-clockwise direction stopping for a short while at every bar and coffee shop including those situated just off the square. We were getting nowhere and I was aware that Cassie was getting fed up with a search that was obviously unlikely to produce a result. I asked the same question and, though a few seemed interested for it was still a local news story, I was continually met with blank faces.
We then entered a small bar next to the underground station which had only stools to sit upon and was badly lacking in space. By then I had just about given up hope of achieving anything. I went up to the bar with Cassie on my arm and once again asked the same old question. “Did you know the gentleman who was murdered in his apartment on the other side of the square?” I used my casual voice yet again.
“I did not exactly know him,” the well-built bartender replied.
My ears pricked up at this unexpected but welcome response and I felt Cassie pull on my arm. It was not totally positive but it was the most promising reaction we had had so far. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“He was in here the night he was murdered.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes I am certain for I saw a picture of him in the Evening Standard the next day.”
“What time was this?”
“Erm… probably between 9.30 and 10.30.”
“That was little more than an hour or so before he was murdered,” I observed.
He shrugged. “Was it?”
“Was he on his own?”
He thought for a second or two. “He was with a young woman.”
I felt Cassie pull again at my arm. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes, I am quite sure. I have a good memory for pretty women like you. I remember thinking that she was a good twenty years younger than him and yet she seemed to be hanging on his every word.”
“In that case you probably remember what she looked like.”
“As I said she was pretty with long black hair and a slightly foreign appearance. Mediterranean, maybe? She had an accent that I didn’t recognize. It was much stronger than his accent though.”
“He had an accent too?” I was surprised for nobody had given up that information previously though Mrs Bromley had said his friend Clive Deepdale had an accent.
“It was very slight and hardly noticeable at first but as he drunk more the accent became more pronounced.”
“Did he have a lot to drink?” I asked.
“Yes he did,” he smiled.
“Are you sure this was the murdered man?” I was getting excited at this sudden piece of luck.
“I still have the newspaper article. I kept it. Hold on and I’ll get it. Hold the fort, Sally,” he called out and dashed off.
He returned a few minutes later clutching a page from the Evening Standard. “Here it is,” he said, spreading the page on the counter. “A picture of the murdered man, Rupert Nesterman, and this is definitely the man who was in my bar that same night.”
“May I keep that page?” I asked.
“Who are you?” he inquired.
I gave him my card.
“Ah you are a lawyer.”
I did not contradict him. “Why did you not tell all this to the police?”
“They did not come round asking and anyway I read they had the culprit. I understand it was a burglar who was interrupted during the robbery and turned violent.”
“Would you be willing to tell the police what you have told me?”
“Of course, if they ask.”
“I will make sure they ask,” I assured him. “Thanks, you have been a great help.” I turned to Cassie. “This has been an amazing piece of luck.”
“We were due some luck,” she smiled. “Let us go back to the first bar and discuss it. That was much the nicest place and I need to talk with you, Steve.”
I looked at my watch. “Goodness, it is nearly nine already. Alright let’s go back to that pub.” We retraced our footsteps to the first public house we had gone in close to the apartment block. I ordered a whisky and another gin and tonic for Cassie. We sat down at the same table as we had sat at earlier.
“Do you think this will help get Max off?” she asked.
“I will go and see Chief Inspector Raymond Styles first thing in the morning. He cannot ignore this bit of news and he must reopen the case. Max said he saw a young, pretty, dark-haired woman in Nesterman’s apartment. This is partially collaborated by the fact the barman saw Nesterman with a young, pretty, dark-haired woman just an hour before he was murdered. It does not prove Max is not the murderer, but in my view it blasts the case wide open.”
“That is wonderful. I could not let Max hang for I knew he was not a murderer. It means we have made progress. Thank you for all you have done so far.” She reached across and kissed me on the cheek. My face tingled from the touch.
“There is still much to do,” I reminded her. “We need to find Clive Deepdale and this woman but I am assuming the police will now help.”
“Steve, we need to talk about something else.” She sounded anxious.
“What is it, Cassie?”
“I have seen the way you look at me.”
“With admiration,” I smiled.
“Yes that is so but I have been looked at this way before and so I know how badly you are smitten.”
“What are you saying?” I was feeling strangely fearful.
“I know you want me but I am not ready.”
She was, of course, right for I was desperately hoping that I would not have to return to Lewisham after this drink. I was hoping I might be going to a flat in Tottenham Court Road. It seemed my hopes had just been dashed. “There is no hurry,” I found myself saying.
“Last year I had three relationships. The last was with Max and as soon as it had ended he was on a murder charge. Before that my boyfriend had become obsessed with me and before that…”
“Before that he put his newspaper on the dining table and stifled conversation,” I interrupted.
She laughed. “I am just not quite ready for another full on relationship. Do you understand? I know you have been most kind and I am most grateful.”
“I understand.” It was hard to hide my disappointment. “It comes with the territory, I suppose.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t get on the London stage as a chorus girl without being very beautiful. I imagine being beautiful has its advantages but some disadvantages too such as unwanted men falling at your feet.”
“You are certainly not an unwanted man and I hope we continue seeing each other. All I am asking is can we go at a gentle pace for now until I feel a bit stronger. Is that alright?”
“Of course it is.” I would have agreed to virtually anything.
“Thank you, you are a gentleman.”
“Is that good?” I asked.
“Yes it is. Chorus girls do not always meet gentlemen.”
I wanted to walk her home but once again she insisted it was not necessary. We parted company at Russell Square underground station where I would begin my journey back to Lewisham. The evening had been a reasonable success in one respect but in another it had been disappointing. However, there was still the prospect of a favourable result in both my enterprises.
Chapter 4
Monday 12th February
It was nearly 10 am before I arrived at Charing Cross Station, much later than usual because I had uncharacteristically slept in. I had not succeeded in getting much sleep because I had been continually turning things over in my mind. There was, of course, the case of Max Lucas to think about, but what most occupied my mind was Cassandra Mitchell. Cassie had advised that we should slow things down but to my tortured mind we had hardly got started. Despite my strong feelings for her, which I could not for sure identify as to being love or lust, I knew that I would have to respect her wishes. That would be difficult but I would continue to see her and I would also try and concentrate on saving Max from the gallows.
It was a few minutes after 10 that having made my way along the Strand cogitating like a modern day philosopher I entered the premises of my employers, Butler and Robinson. I had informed James on Thursday that I was taking a few days off but that I would be back in the office on Monday morning. I decided that it was only polite to call in and ask for some more time off and explain a little of what was going on before going to see Chief Inspector Styles at Westminster Police Station. It was also likely at some time in the near future I would have to ask James for his help.
I walked into the general office to find James Butler in conversation with my deputy. He looked up. “Ah Steve, I have something I have to talk to you about urgently. Come into my office, please.”
“I need to talk to you as well,” I replied.
“I think I had better go first,” he said. “Jenny, would you please go and tell Victor that Steve is here and we are in my office.”
I followed James into his untidy office and took a seat. A few seconds later Victor joined us looking slightly irate. They both sat down opposite me and I felt like an internee who was just about to be subjected to an intense interview. Victor Robinson was approaching sixty five. He was a very experienced lawyer but he was looking forward to his imminent retirement. He was a little overweight and completely bald and at times presented an outward image of incompetence but I knew he was still a very capable lawyer. He was ostensibly the senior partner but in reality James was his equal and even took on the greater responsibilities. James Butler was a friend and we had often gone for a drink after work. He was in his mid-thirties and still an athletic man who played many sports. It was he I would look to for help with the Max Lucas case.
James opened the conversation. “On Friday afternoon Victor received a phone call from Nathaniel Bruitt about a case his son Lester was working on. The case was the impending trial of one Max Lucas, who has been charged with murder. Victor did not have a clue what he was talking about and so passed him on to me thinking that I might know about it. Of course I did not have a clue either.”
“I will explain,” I said, feeling a bit like a naughty schoolboy.
“Let me continue first,” James insisted.
“Bruitt senior made it very clear to me that he did not want Butler and Robinson getting involved in a case that had nothing to do with them. He said it was not our business and I should call off our office manager.”
I sighed. “This is what I wanted to speak with you about.”
Victor Robinson interjected. “Nathaniel Bruitt is a very powerful man. He is a most respected lawyer. He walks in the corridors of the great and good and I must tell you Coulson that I am in favour of doing as he asked. I think you have stepped out of line but James talked me out of it against my better judgement for I have a feeling Bruitt could crush us if he wished.”
“What did he ask?” I inquired.
“That we should sack you,” said James. “I did not comment on that demand but I did say I would speak with you. Now tell me what is going on, Steve.”
I was furious at the nerve of the Bruitts to try and get me sacked but I stayed calm. I then gave them both a brief description of all that had happened since the previous Tuesday leaving out the evolving relationship between me and Cassie.
“Do you intend to continue your investigation?” asked James.
“Yes I do,” I confirmed.
Victor jumped up. “I am leaving and I wash my hands of this. I do not want to hear any more.” He walked out of the office.
“He t
hinks the company he has worked for over the years is being put in jeopardy,” said James by way of explanation.
“Is it?” I asked.
“I doubt that very much,” he assured me.
Jenny poked her head around the door that Victor Robinson had left open. “There is a Mr Smith to see you Steve.”
I was puzzled. Smith was a common name but I knew nobody called Smith. James stood up. “You can see him in my office but we need to speak again afterwards.”
I nodded agreement. A few seconds after James had left the room Mr Smith walked in and closed the door behind him. “Good day Mr Smith, have a seat,” I invited.
“Thank you Mr Coulson, you are most kind.”
Mr Smith was a tall man who I estimated was also in his thirties. He was well over six feet and had a powerful frame. In fact he was a daunting looking specimen but he was also well spoken and obviously intelligent. “How can I help you?” I asked.
“You are obviously weighing me up Mr Coulson as I am you. I will get straight to the point. You are making investigations into the case of the thief Max Lucas who murdered a respected member of our community when he botched a robbery. The police have this in hand and so I will put it simply to you that your investigation has to stop.”
I could not believe it. I was being warned off again, twice in one morning. “Are you a policeman?” I asked.
“No I am not.”
“Then who are you?”
“Who I am does not matter,” he responded. “Look, Mr Coulson if you give me your word now to halt this foolish investigation then we can avoid much unpleasantness.”
“I cannot do that Mr Smith, if that is your name.”
“That is a pity Coulson.” His tone had changed slightly. “You do not understand that this is not a request.”
“What is it then?” I asked.
“When a man involves himself in things that do not concern him he can get hurt and if he persists it might be even worse than that.”
I was horrified. “Are you threatening me?”
“It is more than a threat, it is a promise.”
