Brune laughed. ‘I’d advise him to think again.’
Peron said sharply: ‘Weren’t you remanded in custody? You were
in hospital and then in jail! How did you get out?’
Nari was almost on the point of collapse. He swallowed hard
and said in a voice made louder this time by his panic: ‘He says
– Arun Jiva says the police would like to know all he knows about
Stephanie Locke! …’
Brune turned back from the window. ‘ If he tells them what he
knows about Stephanie Locke he’ll be in worse trouble than on a
drugs charge.’
Peron had come up behind Nari. ‘How did you get out? Who
sent you here? How did you ever see Arun Jiva if he’s been arrested?’ ‘I was released on bail, sir,’ said Nari, and then remembered his last line. ‘Well, I have given you his message, sir. I can do no more.’
Peron grasped his arm. ‘ What the hell are you doing here? Tell me that? Who sent you?’
‘Arun Jiva,’ said Nari, improvising. ‘I – I saw him in court … Sir, I will be going now. I have a waiting taxi at the door.’
The two men hesitated, looking at each other. Then Brune shrugged slightly and turned away.
‘Show this man out, John. He’s wasting our time.’
‘If I may differ, sir,’ said John Peron with a courtesy that did not ring true. ‘If I may differ, sir, I don’t trust him. I suggest we take him upstairs, lock him in a room and ask him a few questions. He may well be working for the police.’
‘No, sir, not at all!’ gasped Nari. ‘ I would never …’
The grip on his arm did not relax.
‘He may have been a police spy from the beginning; the way he turned up at Arun’s door just as he was leaving; then conniving with the Locke man to refuse the ambulance.’
‘If you please, sir, that is not truth at all! I am terrified of the police. I will not go near them at any price! I am assuring you!’
Peter Brune was the coolest of the three. He came towards Nari, stared closely into his face. Nari smelt some antiseptic on his breath.
‘Tell me this, Prasad. Why were you given bail?’
‘I – don’t know, sir.’
‘You were not discharged? You were given bail.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘After being two weeks in custody?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘On such a serious charge? Who is putting up the bail money?’
‘I am not knowing, sir. I must go now.’
Peron said to Brune: ‘He’s a spy! Good God, it stands out a mile.’
‘I don’t see it. No one would ever send him here – except Jiva. The police have no reason to suspect anyone in this house.’
‘Unless Jiva’s talked.’
‘Nonsense, he wouldn’t dare. But take this man upstairs if you want to. He doesn’t look as if he would be difficult to break.’
‘Who sent you?’ Peron demanded.
‘No one! I cannot stay! I have a taxi waiting!’
Brune’s sardonic face creased again. ‘Ah yes. You have a taxi waiting … Tell Angie to go out and pay the taxi off, John. Say Mr Prasad has accepted an invitation to lunch and that we’ll send him back in a car later. Give the taxi man ten pounds. There shouldn’t be any difficulty then.’
IV
‘Hell!’ said the man in the radio car, parked in a lay-by where the road was not far from the house. ‘They’re keeping him.’
‘Never mind,’ said his companion. ‘He did well! We’ve got a fine tape. They’ll be delighted.’
‘Leave it on,’ said the first man. ‘There may be more transmitted before they discover he’s wearing it.’ After chewing on his thumb for a moment he added: ‘All the same, I feel sorry for the poor little bugger.’
The second man raised his binoculars. ‘ The maid’s paying Joe off now. There’s nothing he can do about it. There’s nothing we can do about it – short of a search warrant, which we certainly haven’t got. Too bad. Never mind, I’m not going to be a crybaby. He’s fulfilled his purpose in life.’
The receiver crackled but so far there was no further speech.
The first man said: ‘I’ll ring the station.’
‘They won’t know the first thing about it,’ said the second man. ‘Try this number. It’s direct to Hampton.’
Chapter Four
I
Detective Inspector Foulsham said: ‘Well, as I was in the area I thought I’d call and see you again, Mr Locke. I know I should have rung up, but after all the help you have been giving us …’
James said: ‘Sit down. Let me see, you take coffee, don’t you?’
‘Very kind of you,’ Foulsham said, as James pressed the bell. ‘Whenever I call here I always admire your garden.’
‘The weather’s been pretty kind this year.’
Foulsham sat down. ‘That must have been an interesting trip to Corfu. Were you on holiday?’
‘It was just a long weekend.’
‘But with considerable results!’
‘Most of it was luck on the way home.’
‘That certainly! But your time in Corfu, I gather, was not ill-spent. At least according to your friend, Colonel Gaveston.’
‘Afraid I found nothing but rumour and counter-rumour.’
‘The police often work with that before they can collect the concrete evidence.’
At this stage Mary arrived with the coffee. James was glad of the interruption. He had, of course, been entirely frank with Henry, but neither he nor Henry could be entirely frank with the police. Especially there must be no possible mention of photographs.
‘Do stay if you’d like, Mary,’ James said. ‘ I’m sure the Inspector and I have no secrets.’
‘Thank you, no,’ she said, ‘if you’ve everything you want.’
‘Mrs Aldershot has just agreed to become my wife.’
‘Oh?’ Inspector Foulsham’s bright eyes went from one to the other. ‘May I congratulate you both!’
‘Thank you,’ said Mary, who had coloured. She smiled stiffly and left them. James busied himself with the coffee.
‘Let me see, where were we now?’ said Foulsham. ‘Oh, yes, your trip to Corfu, sir.’
‘Colonel Gaveston will have told you about it.’
‘Something, yes. But it’s good to hear it in your own words.’
James cursed himself for not having prepared for this situation.
‘Oh, a few tongues wagged. But then they are always wagging – especially in such a small community.’
‘I hear there’s some talk of your suspecting the existence of a drugs ring operating from the island.’
‘Indeed? Do you know Corfu, Inspector?’
‘’Fraid not, sir. My daughter went last year but it was simply on a package deal.’
‘Well, there’s a quay on the south of the island which can take thirty-ton vessels that may or may not ferry illegitimate consignments. Who am I to say? And there’s a titled Englishman who has a large villa in the north of the island who may or may not be involved. Guesswork at the worst. Plain unsubstantiated guesswork. And at the best, only hearsay.’
‘Only hearsay …’
‘Yes.’
Foulsham’s white hair was silhouetted against the bright day.
‘Well, seeing Dr Arun Jiva was not hearsay. The information that he was returning to England was of the utmost value to us.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Jiva was arrested on Wednesday, and documents on him, pieced together with papers found in his house, point to a direct connection between him and an important man – also a titled man – who we have recently – that is, since Colton’s death – had some suspicions of, but not a vestige of proof. All that has now changed, and we very much appreciate your assistance in the matter.’
‘Delighted I was of help.’
‘You will be, of course.’ When James raised his eyebrows
Foulsham added: ‘Then there was the young Indian, Naresh Prasad. Had you not brought his plight to our notice it’s pretty clear he would have disappeared without trace. We still haven’t found the ambulance, by the way.’
‘Pity, that … It just seems I have twice been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time.’
‘Only twice?’ Foulsham said.
James looked up. ‘As far as I know, yes.’
‘Tell me, Mr Locke, when you were in Corfu, did you look up the first Mrs Colton?’
Curse Henry. Had he let this out, or was the policeman guessing?
‘I suppose you could look on that as another lucky coincidence. She was a waitress at a restaurant I visited.’
‘Did you go there on purpose?’
‘Actually it was an embarrassment, meeting her,’ James said, dodging the direct question.
‘Embarrassment?’
‘As you know, I had been on bad terms with Colton.’
‘So what was your purpose in meeting her?’
‘I thought she might be able to tell me how Colton first became involved in the drugs trade.’
‘Presuming he was … And did she?’
‘No. I think she was too scared.’
‘What was her reaction to her husband’s death?’
‘Not much obvious grief. Chiefly concerned whether her allowance would continue. And she wanted her daughter back.’
‘Did she say who she thought might have murdered her husband?’
‘I didn’t ask her. But I don’t think she had any idea.’
Foulsham sipped his coffee and then stared into the cup as if seeking wisdom.
‘We have ideas, Mr Locke, I must tell you that, but as yet there is insufficient proof.’
‘I wish I could help you,’ said James.
‘I wish you would,’ said Foulsham.
There was a rather long silence. James nursed his ankle.
Inspector Foulsham said: ‘Have you ever heard of the Locard principle, sir?’
‘No.’
‘In effect it’s a principle much used by the police these days – the theory being that when a person enters a room he brings something in with him that he leaves behind, and when that person leaves that room he takes something away with him that he did not have when he entered.’
‘Interesting.’ James pressed his button and the chair took him to the coffee table. ‘How would it apply?’
‘Well, if a murder is committed the chances are that the murderer has brought something in and taken something away – it may be a dog’s hair, foreign dust, fingerprints, footmarks, threads of tweed or cotton or wool, saliva, mud, biro marks, chalk, sweatstains. When the murder has involved a struggle it is still more unusual for it not to have occurred.’
‘More coffee?’
‘Thank you, no, Mr Locke. I must be on my way.’
‘Am I right in supposing that in the case of the murders of Colton and Smith, the Locard principle has not worked?’
‘Not so far.’
‘But you’re still hopeful of an arrest?’
‘Investigations which are still proceeding may help us to find the culprit. Perhaps someone will come along who will be as helpful as you have been in this other criminal activity.’
‘Don’t you think they are connected?’
‘Maybe. Tell me your reasoning, sir.’
‘Oh, I haven’t got as far as that. But Errol was in the drug trade, Errol was connected with Jiva. If –’
‘Why d’you say that?’ Foulsham’s voice was suddenly sharper.
‘What?’ James breathed out slowly. ‘That Errol was connected with Jiva? Well, weren’t they?’
‘You are telling me that they were. How do you know that?’
Having put his cup and saucer down, James brought his chair round to face his visitor.
‘On the afternoon when I found Naresh Prasad waiting for an ambulance he told me, as you know, that he had been given Errol Colton’s name by Jiva as the man who was going to help him.’
‘You didn’t mention this in your first statement to Sergeant Evans.’
‘Didn’t I? Well, no, I must have forgotten.’
‘Do you think, Mr Locke, that your daughter could have been in any way involved with Colton or Jiva or both in their trade in drugs?’
‘I do not.’
‘You seem sure. Young people –’
‘I’m very sure.’
For the first time in their several meetings Foulsham heard steel in James Locke’s voice. It made more sense of police suspicion.
‘Just so. Just so … Well, we may be able to persuade Dr Jiva to tell us more about his involvement with Colton. So far as Colton’s death is concerned, it could have been a revenge killing and with Smith more or less accidentally involved.’
‘Revenge?’
‘It’s a good motive.’
‘Nietzsche had something to say about that.’
‘Who, sir?’
‘Nietzsche. I think he said that revenge was the sign of a noble mind.’
‘I hadn’t heard. I can’t say I agree with him. Was he a Frenchman?’
‘A German.’
‘Ah, well, there you are. We’re all entitled to our views, aren’t we. Except when we take the law into our own hands. There’s all the difference between thinking and doing. Are you a religious man, sir?’
‘No.’
‘Nor L But I was brought up right. I was taught that it was almost as wicked to think evil as to do evil. As a policeman I have had to disregard those teachings. There’s all the difference in the world of law between wishing a man dead and killing him.’
James smiled.‘And I suppose there’s all the difference in the world of law between suspecting a man of a crime and finding evidence
to prove it.’
‘Just so,’ said Foulsham. ‘But we shall keep on trying.’
II
When he had gone Mary Aldershot put her back to the door and said: ‘How dare you! What possessed you? How could you tell him such a thing?’
James looked at her, his head on one side. ‘ It was an impulse.’
‘An impulse indeed!’
‘A double bluff, if you get my meaning.’
‘Not at all!’
‘The police suspect me of the murders but they’ve little or no evidence. They see me as the most likely suspect but they know they could be wrong. I think they look on me as a fairly honourable man driven to distraction by his daughter’s death. An honourable man does not ask someone to marry him if he thinks his new wife is likely to become the wife of a man arraigned for murder. It seemed to me a way of confusing them, of throwing them off the scent. “ He must be innocent, or sure of the lack of evidence, or completely around the bend, to make such a proposal.” D’you see what I mean?’
‘I think you are completely around the bend,’ Mary said.
‘Well, thank you.’
‘You could equally be marrying me because my testimony as a housekeeper could incriminate you, whereas as a wife I could not be compelled to testify.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘I thought, perhaps,’ said Mary, ‘that you were thinking of that!’
‘The unkindest cut! Why d’you so resent what I have said?’
‘Because,’ she said, ‘ because if it were ever even to be a possibility, the motive would have to be quite different.’
James thought this out. ‘Oh, I could make the motive very different. Pity, for example.’
‘Pity for me?’
‘You know very well what I mean! A healthy youngish woman and a crippled elderly man.’
‘You’re talking of my motive now, not yours.’
‘Well,’ James said after a moment, ‘there could be a joint motive, common to us both. A selfish motive, seeking affection, companionship, mutual interests, even love. But you turned me down once, five years ago. It can’t be any more of an attractive proposition now.’
M
ary moved from the door, opened it again and looked out. The police car had gone.
She said: ‘I don’t think last time you mentioned love.’
Chapter Five
I
That evening the guest of honour was the last to arrive.
‘Very sorry,’ Peter Brune said to the Principal, smiling as he shook hands. ‘An urgent telephone call at the last minute from Hong Kong. It’s always difficult to refuse a call when someone has taken the trouble to ring you in the middle of the night – their night.’
Crichton beamed to hide his constraint. ‘Let me see, do you know everybody here? Herbert Norris, the member for Lewisham. I’m not sure …’
‘We’ve met,’ said Brune. ‘At a memorial service in Cambridge, for the Master of Caius.’
‘Yes, yes. Three years ago. Certainly.’
‘Norris, as you know, is Shadow Minister for Education.’
‘There’s room for improvement, isn’t there?’ Brune said.
‘Well, we certainly feel so.’
‘You don’t, I think, know Martin Goodbody, whose subject is Medieval History. Henry Gaveston, of course –’
‘Very well,’ said Brune.
‘James Locke, whom I believe you met once.’
‘Briefly,’ said Brune.
‘Briefly,’ said James. When you carried a stick it wasn’t difficult to ignore the half-extended hand. They stared at each other, eye to eye, for a long moment. It was like a clash of swords.
Alistair took his guest by the arm, not touching Brune’s hand for his own were sweating.‘Of the others, Lord Caterham …’
‘Yes, of course. How d’you do. Are you going to Ascot this year?’
They went round the remaining guests. Brune seemed to know what each of the others did, where they had met before, what would be a subject of particular interest to mention.
Everyone talked amiably for a few minutes. Among the guests was Bruce Masters, Stephanie’s personal tutor. He shook hands with James silently, and looked as if he would like to say something but did not know quite what. They had met twice since her death, though briefly.
James suddenly said, in a voice Henry could overhear: ‘ Tell me, Mr Masters, you dealt with Stephanie’s work?’
Stephanie Page 27
