by David Adkins
Solcombe frowned. “The Chief Inspector followed up your evidence personally and found that it was, in his words, a piece of nonsense.”
“Did you go with him?” I asked.
“No, I did not.”
“Then it is Styles I need to speak with.”
“It would not be wise, Mr Coulson to pester him any further. My advice to you, sir is to be on your way.” His words were not said with any malice and I deemed that he was offering me sincerely what he thought was good advice.
“In that case Inspector Solcombe, I will follow your advice.”
I left the police station feeling even more frustrated for I could not seem to make any progress with the enforcers of the law. It occurred to me that my next logical destination should be the bar at Russell Square. Half an hour later I was standing outside the bar which had been my initial source of evidence. Styles had said there was only three staff at Pete’s Bar and so it seemed quite likely that the barman I had spoken with would be on duty. I was in luck and he was.
“A glass of orange squash please,” I said and I could not help noticing the look of dismay on his face when he looked up and recognised me.
“Yes sir.”
“Why did you tell the police that you had not seen Nesterman in your bar with a dark-haired woman? You said you would.”
He hesitated and stumbled over his words. “I don’t know what you mean.”
It was obvious he did. “Did you speak with Chief Inspector Styles?”
He was wary about saying that he had not spoken with the police and he was equally wary about saying that he had spoken with them and changed his story. “I have never seen you before,” he managed.
I laughed. “You plainly know you have. Why did you not tell the police the truth?”
“I did,” he said and then regretted it.
“You told the Inspector that you had seen the dark-haired girl with Nesterman?”
“No, I told him that I had never seen Nesterman or any girl.”
“It is a crime to lie to the police,” I said.
“I didn’t. Look, I have never seen you before and I have customers to serve.”
“No you haven’t,” I said looking around at the empty bar.
“I have never seen you before,” he reiterated unconvincingly.
“Why did you tell the police that you had never seen Nesterman and the girl? Why did you change your mind?”
“I didn’t change my mind, you really must go.”
“Who got at you?”
“Nobody got at me and I will not say another word on the subject.”
“Was it a bribe or a threat?” I persisted.
He remained silent.
“I have not finished with you,” I threatened and walked out of the tiny establishment. My anger was growing with the deception that was continually dogging me. The barman had been persuaded to change his story but by whom and for what reason I could not imagine. I looked at my watch and it was nearly 4.00. What to do next before going to the Gaiety. I thought about going to see the Bruitts but decided that it would be fruitless though I might have got some satisfaction in telling Nathaniel Bruitt and his son, Lester to go to hell. It might be useful to speak with Mr Brady at Bromley’s apartments and see if I could prise any more information out of him but he would probably still be at work at this time. I decided to first follow up a feeling in the back of my mind and go to Somerset House before it closed for the day.
Once again I was searching the birth indices but this time I was looking for Clive Deepdale. I searched the same years as I had for Nesterman for I had been told that they were about the same age. In the last book for 1908 I found the entry I had been searching for. It was the only one in the same twelve year period as I had searched for Nesterman. Clive Deepdale was born in Stoke Newington in late 1908. I went to the black death indices and quickly found the death of Clive Deepdale in the first quarter of 1910. Clive Deepdale had survived for little more than a year. I had followed up a hunch which had been proved correct but what it told me I had no idea.
It was now half past five and I did not relish the idea of travelling back to Russell Square again when I was so close to the Gaiety Theatre. It was likely that Brady would still be at work and it was only an off chance that he might have more information. I decided to have something to eat in a sandwich bar and then go to the Gaiety. I was sure that the rehearsals would probably finish by 6 pm and if they didn’t I would just have to wait. I could see Brady another time and I was eager to see Cassie.
I could not find a way into the Gaiety Theatre for the main doors were closed. I assumed that they only opened when the box office opened. I wandered around until I found a side entrance off a back street. I was challenged as I tried to enter. “I am here to see Cassie Mitchell,” I informed the attendant.
He looked at me dubiously. “What is your name?”
“Steve Coulson,” I replied. “It is a matter of importance.”
“Come with me,” he said and led me into a deserted cloakroom area.
“Stay here until I see if she wants to see you. We have to be careful for the girls have some strange fans.”
“I understand,” I said.
“So don’t wander around and I will be back in a minute.”
I waited about five minutes until the attendant returned with another man. The attendant then returned to the door and left me in the presence of a short, bespectacled, rotund gentleman. “I am Sid Bishop, the general manager,” he announced. “I believe you are wishing to speak with Cassie Mitchell.”
“That is right, Mr Bishop I wanted a few private words with her on an important matter.”
“She did not turn up for rehearsal this afternoon and she has still not appeared. Are you her new boyfriend, Mr Coulson?”
“Yes I am.” I liked to be called Cassie’s boyfriend.
“Well if she does not turn up very soon for the evening performance I am not going to be pleased. I have given her a short solo dancing role and this is how she repays me.”
I was slightly alarmed that Cassie had not arrived at the theatre for I knew how much her career meant to her. “There must be a very good reason,” I assured him.
“There probably is but I wish she had rung and let me know what it is.”
“Are you Steve?” The question was asked by a pretty brunette who had just joined us.”
“I am,” I answered.
“This is Marsha, a friend of Cassie’s,” volunteered Bishop.
I nodded to the girl.
Bishop continued. “Please tell Cassie when you see her to contact me as soon as possible. Tell her I am not happy and want an explanation.” He turned on his heel without waiting for my reply.
“I will tell her,” I called after him.
“Cassie mentioned you. You sounded like a more sensible and reliable type than her previous boyfriend.”
“You mean Max Lucas,” I said.
“That’s him. As you probably know, he worked here and now he’s been arrested for murder.”
“You knew him then? Do you think he was capable of theft and murder?”
“He was a bit of a chancer and liked the ladies. He was in his element working here and had the gift of the gab to go with it but do I think him capable of theft and murder?” She thought for a few seconds. “No I don’t think that, but who knows these days. He was often short of money.”
“Have you any idea where Cassie is?” I inquired.
“I have no idea and I am a little worried. There is no way she would have missed today’s rehearsal.” She looked at her watch. “Now probably the performance too and she was so pleased to have her new dancing role. There must be something wrong.”
“I will go to her flat and find out. She may just be unwell and it is nothing to worry about.”
“Do you know where she lives?” she asked.
“I do.” She started to walk back to rehearsal, but I called out, “Thanks, Marsha.”
�
�Tell her to get in touch, please Steve,” she called over her shoulder.
I walked out into the chill February evening air feeling concerned. I was sure Marsha was right and she would not have missed the rehearsal without good reason. I was not really thinking too clearly when I decided it would be quicker to walk to her flat in Tottenham Court Road rather than get the underground. I hurried along the Strand passing by the Lyons Tea House and into Charing Cross Road past Cavell House and the police station. I continued as I rushed past the theatres, clubs, bookshops and restaurants that decorated Charing Cross Road until I quickly crossed Oxford Street and entered Tottenham Court Road.
Cassie’s flat was only a short walk from Oxford Street and situated over one of the many electrical shops that were now beginning to take a foothold in this more seedy part of Central London. I knocked at the door which was at the side of the shop and it was opened by an elderly plump lady with grey hair and a squeaky voice. “Yes, who are you?” she asked a little nervously.
“My name is Steve Coulson and I am here to see one of your tenants Cassie Mitchell.” I assumed she was the landlady.
“Cassie told me she had a new boyfriend called Steve. You had better step into the hall out of the cold, Mr Coulson.”
It seemed I had become famous and once again Cassie had referred to me as her boyfriend. “Thank you.” I was grateful for it had turned cold.
“Cassandra left at about lunchtime today, Mr Coulson.” It was the first time I had heard anyone call Cassie, Cassandra.
“When do you expect her back?” I asked.
“You do not understand. She is not coming back. She has left permanently. She wanted her deposit back and she was lucky I had it on the premises and then she left in a rush.”
I was taken aback. “She has left permanently?” I had to get my head around this. “Did she say where she was going?”
“No she did not volunteer that information and I did not ask, for it was not my place to do so. She was in such a hurry. It is a shame to lose her for she was a pleasant young woman.”
“How did she seem?”
She shrugged. “She seemed flustered. Now I have to find myself a new tenant though I may take the opportunity to have the place painted.”
“Did she say anything that gave a clue as to why she left in a hurry or where she was going?”
“No, like I said, she said nothing. It was all so unexpected.”
I left Cassie’s landlady in peace for it was obvious she could not help any further and I started to make my way back down Tottenham Court Road towards Charing Cross. My head was a bit of a mess with all that had happened during the day. Cassie had left her flat for good at just the time she was supposed to be meeting me for lunch. I was worried about Cassie and concerned with the way the Lucas case had gone. First there had been the attitude of the police and the lies of the barman and finally the disappearance of Cassie. This was all on top of the threats of Bruitt and Smith the previous day. I felt alarmed for I needed to find Cassie and put my mind at rest that she was fine. Deepdale and Tintree would have to wait until I found Cassie but the problem was I had no idea where to look. I thought about calling into the police station as I passed, but I knew that would be a waste of time for she had hardly gone missing.
I arrived home at just after nine and as I opened the door I could hear the phone ringing. It was close by in the hall and so I rushed in and grabbed it.
“Steve Coulson,” I gasped slightly out of breath.
“Steve, where have you been? I have been calling you all evening.” I felt relieved for it was Cassie’s voice though she did sound a bit distressed.
“I have been to the Gaiety and your flat looking for you,” I explained.
“Oh I see. Steve, you must forget about Max and stop your investigations.” She sounded strange.
I was aghast at what she had just said. “I am now positive that he is innocent. How can I drop it? Where are you?”
She ignored my question. “Please Steve just drop the investigation and go back to your proper job.”
“How can I when I know an innocent man is likely to hang?”
“Just do it Steve. I am telling you to drop it. Will you not just do as I tell you?” She was shouting down the phone at me.
I was almost rendered speechless. “Cassie, what is going on? Where are you?”
She ignored both my questions. “Please Steve, just do as I ask.” She was crying. I heard a click and realized she had put the phone down.
I sat stunned and not moving in my hallway. I had heard from Cassie but now I felt even more worried and alarmed and I still had no idea where she was. I sat waiting to see if she would ring again but the telephone remained ominously quiet. Why on earth would Cassie tell me to drop the case when she had been so adamant that Max was innocent and she so badly wanted to save him? The thought that she may have been coerced into it frightened me even more. It was another night that I did not sleep well and the phone tormented me with silence.
The next morning I felt a wreck. I had not come up with a coherent plan for the day ahead despite the hours that I had spent awake. I was nibbling at my breakfast when the phone rang and I rushed to answer it hoping that it was Cassie.
“Steve here,” I said.
There was a pause. “Is that Mr Coulson?” It was a female voice but it was not Cassie’s voice.
“Yes Steve Coulson.”
“I would like to speak with you as a matter of importance.”
“What is it about?” I inquired.
“It is about Max Lucas.”
“And who are you?”
There was another pause. “My name is Jenna.”
“Jenna who?” I asked.
“That does not matter Mr Coulson. May I visit you today?”
I felt a little apprehensive after all the events of the past few days. I had wished to search for Cassie but I had no idea where to begin. I had also thought about going to London for a return visit to the police. “Do you mean you will come to my home?” I asked.
She ignored my question. “You live alone, correct?” Her matter of fact tone was a little unnerving.
I realized, “You know where I live.”
“I do Steve.” She had reverted to my first name. “How about 1 pm?”
“And will you be alone?” I asked.
“I will be alone and I hope we will have a conversation that will benefit both of us.”
I thought about asking for some details but decided to wait until 1 pm. “I will see you at one o’ clock then.”
“Yes,” And she was gone, leaving me once again puzzled and apprehensive.
I wondered who on earth my mystery caller could be. I would have to wait four hours until I found out. What could be to my benefit with regard to Max Lucas? Could it be new evidence to help prove his innocence or better still some information on the whereabouts of Cassie? I would have to wait and see.
*
The time passed slowly as I waited for my visitor. At exactly 1 pm there was a knock on the door.
I opened the door and looked at the face of a pretty, young woman with long dark hair. I wondered for a moment if this was the woman from the night of Nesterman’s murder, though such a description would obviously fit so many young women. “May I come in, Steve?” she said as I gaped at her.
I opened the door wide and ushered her in. “Please come into the sitting room.”
She was of average height and slim of frame. She was olive skinned and very attractive with dark compelling eyes.
“Thank you, you almost seemed to recognize me,” she smiled.
“I recognized a description. Would you like a drink?”
“No thank you, I will not stay for long.” She placed her coat and bag on the sofa and then sat down next to them.
“You suggested we might help each other,” I said sitting on my armchair. “How might we do that?”
“Good, you are getting straight to the point. You can call me Jenna by the w
ay.”
I realised she was speaking with a slight accent. “Alright Jenna, how might we help each other?”
“We both know that Max Lucas did not kill Rupert Nesterman. With you it is probably more of a gut feeling but with me it is a certainty.”
“Because you were there Jenna, you are the girl in Max’s account of what happened.”
She smiled. “Let us say, for argument’s sake, that I killed Rupert Nesterman. In fact I am admitting to you that I killed him.”
“Did you?” I was aghast because it seemed there might be a killer sitting on my sofa.
“Nesterman deserved to die, but Lucas does not deserve to die for a crime he did not commit. You have been trying to prove his innocence and so I am admitting to you my guilt.”
“Why did Nesterman deserve to die?” I asked.
“It is best that we do not go into that.” Her tone was so matter of fact. “I spent the evening with Nesterman before I went back to his apartment with him.”
“Before you killed him?” I was still not sure whether she had actually done the deed for I knew there had been another person present.
“During the evening we went to a restaurant and then to a bar. There was an incident in the restaurant and I am sure the staff on duty that evening will remember us. Here is a picture of Nesterman so ask around at the restaurant.” She handed me the same newspaper cutting that I already had.
“I have that Evening Standard picture,” I said.
“The restaurant was the Food Basket in High Holborn.”
“And then you went to Pete’s Bar next to Russell Square Station.”
“I think I may have underestimated you Steve. I am beginning to think my visit here is unnecessary.”
“I still need more evidence,” I assured her. “Your visit is necessary.”
She nodded as if understanding my words. “Get the proof that I attended a restaurant and a bar with Nesterman. Tell them that you have met with me and I admitted my guilt to you. Tell them that you believe I was German and don’t forget the wound on the back of Max’s head. Do whatever it takes to get the case reopened. Go to whoever it is necessary to go to. With all this evidence they cannot ignore you.”
