The End of the Web

by George Sims

  Chapter XI

  At 1 p.m. on Wednesday, 12 September 1973 Ed Buchanan was standing outside Leo Selver’s antique shop in Crawford Street. It had taken him only an hour from the moment he had read Beatrice Selver’s letter to reach the shop, and this included time spent in re-packing the things he had taken from his case in the Swan Walk flat. His decision to go immediately to Bee had been instinctive, and he had acted impulsively as he so often did. On looking into the window of the shop and seeing only a tall thin girl moving an oak chest about, he realized it was possible that Bee was not there but at her cottage in Hampshire. Now he stood holding a battered case, a duffle-bag and two carrier-bags containing all his worldly possessions, feeling rather dubious as to what he should say to the girl. He put the case down and stared into the window while pondering the problem. His eye was taken, rather surprisingly as he had an antipathy to material possessions, by an elegant black leather harness with elaborate silver decorations including a coat of arms in three places. It was the only article in the shop window with an explanatory note by it, in a neat small hand on a piece of white card. The language was so technical and specialized that he wondered who could have written it:

  A SUPERB STATE CARRIAGE HARNESS in fine quality polished black leather: the hames, eyes, buckles, etc, all close silver plated, the drafts and trace ornaments with leafage and scroll-work, the terret surmounted by a marquess’s coronet, the bearing rein pedestal, collar head-plate, quarter and girth straps all bearing the arms and supporters in close plate of the sixth Marquess Trewartha, of Trewartha Place, Cornwall. Arms: quarterly, 1st and 4th sa. on a fesse, between three lions’ heads erased arg. as many mullets of the first.

  ‘Eddy, Eddy!’ Buchanan looked up from the notice on hearing this form of his name, used only by those who had known him as a child and by his ex-landlady in Wapping. Through the window he saw Beatrice Selver standing next to the tall slim girl and waving at him. He picked up his case and moved round to the entrance of the shop, overwhelmed with feelings of depression and inadequacy. There were a few things he knew he could do well but a lot for which he was not equipped. He had no idea what to say to Bee about Leo’s death. It would have been bad enough if Leo had simply died in an accident, but with the circumstances outlined in the newspaper cutting that had been enclosed in Bee’s letter the problem was beyond him.

  Once the glass door was opened and his bags were dumped on the floor, Beatrice made the sad meeting easier by silently putting out her arms towards him. It seemed natural to take her in his arms protectively and say nothing for a few moments. Memories of Bee spanning his lifetime flashed through his mind. He could remember evoking laughter when he was only three by stating his preference to sit on her lap in a crowded car, and as an adolescent her full figure and shapely legs had been the object of occasional lascivious thoughts; now he felt only protective fondness towards her. His warmth of feeling was due in part to memories of Leo as well as of her, for as a child they had acted like additional parents to him on occasions, and those were times he would never forget.

  ‘Knew you’d come. If you could. Knew it…’ Beatrice spoke brokenly and Buchanan did not reply immediately. He was aware that she was on the verge of tears and did not want to provoke them by anything he said.

  ‘Of course, Bee.’ He pressed her shoulders. ‘I only got back from Greece yesterday afternoon and I collected my letters then, but I didn’t start to open them till about an hour ago. I don’t know what to say…’

  Beatrice Selver stepped back. Her face was pale but there was no sign of tears. ‘Katie!’ She waved to the tall girl with carroty hair who had stood silently in the background. ‘Katie—this is Eddy Buchanan—you remember. I told you I had written to him. Katie Tollard’s a friend and she’s running the shop for me.’

  Katie Tollard smiled ruefully at Buchanan, saying, ‘We are running the shop—together.’ She had a thin face under the carroty hair, brown eyes and very white teeth. She was dressed in a dark brown cotton skirt and a short-sleeved cream shirt. She held out a thin strong hand to be shaken. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello.’ Buchanan pointed to his bags. ‘Sorry to clutter up the shop like this. I had the loan of a flat for last night but now I’ve left it—and I wanted to come straight here.’

  Beatrice said, ‘Let’s take them through to the back then. We were just going to have a cup of coffee. I’ll make it while we talk.’

  Katie said, ‘I’ll have mine later, Bee. You two talk. I must straighten up the mess I’ve made here and then phone Grantham about old Manny’s Saddleworth jug. Okay? Just yell if you want me.’ She tugged at the oak chest again as she spoke. She had a brisk, business-like manner that matched her slim athletic figure and practical-looking hands.

  Beatrice led the way from the large front room, sparsely decorated with pieces of antique furniture and several large clocks, into a smaller one at the back which was much more cluttered. This room had a slightly claustrophobic atmosphere for Buchanan who had definite ideas about the things he didn’t want, which included the whole range of antiques; all the expensive junk in the world could be wheeled in front of him without evoking any interest.

  There was a large desk in the small room. Beatrice slumped down in one of the two black leather armchairs beside it, sighed and shook her head. ‘Leo didn’t kill that girl, Eddy. You know it’s impossible—you know he couldn’t have killed anyone. You remember what he was like. All the time I knew him I never saw him hit anyone. How could he have done it?’

  ‘I know, Bee. It was an enormous shock—your letter and that cutting you sent. It seems incredible. That girl…’ Buchanan hesitated—if he were to say anything apart from just agreeing with Beatrice, if he were to make any intelligent contribution to the conversation, he was going to have to raise painful matters. ‘The girl Judy Latimer—did you know her?’

  ‘No, I didn’t—hadn’t even heard her name. Of course he must have been having an affair with her. No doubt about that. But the fact that he had been sleeping with her doesn’t mean he killed her. I can’t bear that people should think that of Leo. What could have happened quite easily—though the police don’t seem able to absorb this—is maybe she had some other man friend who found them together.’

  Buchanan nodded, feeling annoyed with himself for his inadequacy in this situation and also for the fact that his facility for critical observation continued to function even with dear old Bee in these tragic circumstances, noting that she had more lines round her mouth and eyes since he had last seen her, and that a well-cut dark blue frock could not disguise her growing plumpness. His encounter with the thug at 106 Rushcroft Road had left him in a puzzled and perturbed state of mind—having the tragic news of Leo’s death on top of the Mr Quentin mystery seemed to have disorganized his thinking so that he could not say anything sensible, but still his mental note-taking of appearances continued automatically.

  He was grateful when Katie Tollard came into the room, saying, ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Bee. I’ll make the coffee. Grantham was useless about Manny’s jug. He wouldn’t say yes and he wouldn’t say no. I think he’s frightened we may make a cup of tea out of the deal.’ She looked across at Buchanan, directly into his eyes. He felt that their brief exchange of glances had some mysterious significance, like a sympathetic signal between them much more important than a long exchange of words.

  Buchanan waited till Katie had opened a door at the back of the room into a scullery and then asked Beatrice: ‘What happened at the inquest?’

  ‘Adjourned till—oh, about two weeks from now.’

  ‘Six weeks? That means they didn’t see it as being an open-and-shut case then. What have they said to you?’

  ‘Hardly anything. Of course they asked a lot of questions. A Detective Chief Superintendent Lucas is in charge I think. I suppose it’s natural that they wouldn’t take much notice of what I said.’

  Buchanan had enough experienc
e of detective work to know the kind of boot-faced response there would have been to Beatrice’s protests that her husband was incapable of killing anybody.

  Katie looked through the scullery door while pouring coffee from a jug and said, ‘Lucas doesn’t seem to have done much since the first time we saw him. It’s a Detective Inspector Machin…’

  ‘Bumper!’ Buchanan exclaimed.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes—if it’s Detective Inspector Charles Machin—I certainly do. Bumper is just a nickname from his days of football fame. Great soccer player. Good-looking chap, about three inches shorter than me, brown curly hair, fair complexion? Geordie accent?’

  ‘That’s him. Not much of an accent but I thought he was north country.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a Geordie.’ Before meeting Bumper Machin, Buchanan had known hardly anything about the north-east of England, thinking of it just as the home of pigeon-racing, flat powerful ale and Andy Capp. Serving with Machin he had learnt a lot more and could still remember a snatch of a song Machin used to sing:

  Keep your feet still

  Geordie hinny.

  Let’s be happy

  through the neet.

  For we may not be

  so happy through the day…

  This association of Buchanan and Machin seemed to have aroused Beatrice temporarily from her sad absorption in Leo’s death. ‘When was this?’ she asked. ‘Is he a friend of yours?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for some time. But we were friends—well, it was a funny kind of relationship. We were good pals and then we both fell for the same girl. She chose Bumper—they got married—and I left the force. The first time that is—you remember, Bee—that was when I was a cadet.’

  ‘You were in the police yourself then?’ Katie inquired as she entered carrying a tray with three gaily coloured mugs of coffee.

  ‘Twice!’ Buchanan said. ‘That’s an admission of failure all right. My old man was in the Metropolitan force all his working life and had a reputation as a good copper and thief-taker. I joined as a cadet, left the force, then joined again some years later. I was allowed to do that mainly because of Pop’s record. Then I left again—resigned, in fact, at the beginning of this year. I’m not cut out for the job. But Bumper is. He’s a belt-and-braces man. Very hardworking and efficient. He’s not going to tell you what he’s thinking but he’s always thinking. You can rely on it.’

  ‘Would you see him for me, Eddy—could you do that?’ Beatrice asked. ‘I’ve got some information—some odd facts that have puzzled us. He would probably take more notice if you talked to him. The strange thing is that I know Leo must have wanted to see you. He didn’t keep a diary or a notebook, just wrote any notes and reminders down on scraps of paper. I found two notes about your address being care of the Bathwick Mews garage, and they must have been written recently because one was on the back of a card for the Bristol Antiques Fair that only took place in July.’

  ‘Yes, I know he wanted to see me. Ken Hughes, who owns the Bathwick set-up, told me that only this morning. He phoned to say that two men had called in and asked for me—and one of them was Leo.’

  ‘You see? There’s no doubt in my mind that something was worrying him for weeks past, months in fact. I also found among his scraps of paper the card of a private-detective agency called Alpha Security—he’d scribbled down a time and date to call there so he must have actually talked to them. And another strange fact is that a friend of Leo’s, a business friend called Sidney Chard—well it seems as if he left the country the very day Leo died. He went off in his car and hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘Nora, his wife, says that Sid went abroad,’ Katie volunteered. ‘But I know a girl who works for him. He’s got an antique furniture shop in Camden Passage. This girl says she’s quite sure that Sid hasn’t gone abroad. Apparently he kept his passport in the office and it’s still there.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Eddy’—Beatrice Selver spoke in a hesitant voice—‘wondering if you might be willing to go to the Alpha Security people too and find out why Leo went there. I hate to bother you and don’t know if you can spare the time, but it’s the kind of thing I’m sure the police wouldn’t do. Would you? This private-detective business puzzles me so and I can’t stop thinking about it.’

  ‘Of course, glad to do it. Time’s no problem for me. At the moment I’m unemployed. Whether the Alpha people will talk to me is another matter. They’re usually very strict about such things being confidential—they should be of course. But I’ll go. Where is it?’

  ‘Holborn I think. But I didn’t mean now. I was also wondering—would you like to use our flat in Welbeck Street Mews? I shan’t be staying there—Katie’s putting me up while I’m working here, till I’ve decided what to do about the shop. So the Mews flat is empty and it seems a pity for you…’

  ‘That’s a very kind offer, Bee—I accept, thank you. Frankly I hope it won’t be for long—I want to find a job soon and live out of London—but meanwhile yes, thank you very much.’

  ‘One final offer,’ Katie added. ‘Have you had lunch? I know it sounds a funny time for it just after coffee but I missed mine, and as you said you came here in a rush I think you may have missed yours. Can you stand vegetarian food? There’s a first-rate place just round the corner.’

  Buchanan got up smiling. He found it very easy to smile at Katie. ‘Sold!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m starving. What about you, Bee?’

  Beatrice shook her head. ‘No, you two go. I had a sandwich and a Danish pastry at twelve I’m afraid.’

  Chapter XII

  No sooner had they left the shop than Katie popped back into it again to pick up her purse. Buchanan gingerly probed one of his capped teeth with his tongue. The crown felt slightly loose and he mentally cursed whoever it was that had arranged for him to go to Brixton. He knew that his mild case of Franco-phobia stemmed not from the time he had been shot in the back by a French thug but the earlier occasion when he had been gypped over the crowns by a French dentist. With difficulty he stopped brooding on the possibility of more expensive dental work and finished reading the notice about the harness.

  2nd sa. a chevron between three spears’ heads arg., the points embrued; 3rd gu. an inescutcheon, vair between eight cross-crosslets or. Supporters: dexter, a griffin sa. beak and claws gu.; sinister, a lion rampant or, each gorged with a collar arg. charged with three mullets sa. Motto: FORTUNA FAVET AUDACI.

  ‘Who wrote that note?’ Buchanan asked Katie when she reappeared. He felt easy in her company, as if they had by-passed the preliminary getting to know each other and could talk about anything that came into their heads.

  ‘Guilty. I wrote it, but with a lot of expert help. I did a good deal of that sort of thing for Leo. He had this fantastic flair, you see, that often wasn’t backed up by knowledge. He would just feel something was really good of its kind, or valuable, or unique, and buy it. Then I did the research.’

  ‘Would that harness be valuable?’

  ‘We think so. It’s a fine example and in such marvellous nick, probably never used. Leo went to a sale in some remote part of Cornwall near Bodmin Moor, oh, about Easter time—I know it was held on an inconvenient date just before or after the holiday, and the weather was terrible, so hardly anybody turned up for the sale. Leo had a field-day there. The Trewartha family seems to have been an extremely odd bunch, turning out eccentrics every so often. The last marquess was a bachelor and a recluse for about thirty years—a very strange bloke indeed—groceries were left at the gates of the estate for him to collect, that sort of thing. Anyway he died last winter in a fire which gutted most of the house. Firemen saved some of the things downstairs, in the hall and so on.’

  ‘Poor Bee. I still can’t get over what a shock it must have been for her. I understood, reading the cutting, that Leo died of a heart attack. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. The police d
octor reported “a massive coronary occlusion”. Do you think that Bee is foolish to press for more inquiries?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s difficult for me—you see, I’ve known Leo all my life. My parents lived next door to the Selvers and they made rather a fuss of me when I was a kid—particularly before their son was born. Leo was always very nice to me. He used to make me laugh. I can’t help remembering all sorts of good things about him. But it would be different for Bumper—he would just see a middle-aged chap under some kind of stress having it off with a girl half his age. During the night there’s some kind of trouble—something abnormal sex-wise.’

  Katie said, ‘Listen—with sex what’s normal?’

  ‘I know. But with a chap of his age…perhaps she taunted him. I mean, it’s possible, something like that, and then he could have lashed out.’

  ‘You didn’t read a full report of the killing. That girl’s head was smashed in with a brass candlestick, a ferocious blow. Not the sort of thing anyone normal would do in a flash of temper.’

  Buchanan absorbed this unpleasant information silently as they made their way into the vegetarian restaurant. He found it hard to believe that Leo was capable of such a murder, no matter what provocation there had been.

  Katie had reached the front of the short queue to the restaurant’s counter. ‘Mm—great!—the vegetable curry is on. It’s specially good. I usually have it with mounds of raw mushrooms, tomatoes, cucumber—practically everything they have to offer in fact.’

  Buchanan followed suit by having his plate piled similarly high. When they were seated Katie said, ‘I’m rather intrigued by the girl who turned you down for Inspector Machin. Why did she do that?’