The Cold Light of Dawn

by Graham Ison

  ‘What about Penny?’ Gaffney prompted him gently.

  ‘She knew I was still seeing her, and she told me that she was a photographer’s model in her spare time, and that she was a stripper.’ He shook his head, unbelievingly.

  ‘You sound surprised.’ Gaffney paid a silent and grudging tribute to the thoroughness of the South African security machine. He was now certain that Webster, Penny’s neighbour at Mexico Road, had been part of that machine.

  Wallace looked up, as if bewildered to see the policeman there, intruding on his spoken thoughts. ‘Well no, I suppose not really. I’d often wondered about some of the photographic work she did. I was a bit suspicious that she might have been doing the odd provocative pose — not exactly Page Three stuff, that would be too public, particularly as she was working at the Foreign Office, but more private stuff. Anyway this Eva told me that she would sometimes go to very select private parties and do a strip — and she hinted that she might do other things as well. That made me pretty mad, I can tell you. I was almost tempted to slap her face. And she could see I was annoyed too, hut she just smiled. The bloody woman just sat there and smiled.’

  Gaffney had been flicking through the murder docket as Wallace had been talking, and finding the place, looked up. ‘But you knew she did poses of that sort — you took some of her yourself.’

  ‘But that was different — that was private, just for me.’

  Gaffney was always mildly amused when people took him for a fool. Wallace had lived with Penelope Lambert for six months and had continued the affair after his own marriage. If he didn’t know what she was up to he was deliberately closing his eyes to it. But he did. His statements to Harry Tipper were open in front of Gaffney at this very moment, and the video tapes confirmed that the affair had continued. It was almost certain that Eva van Heem had given him a copy of the one in which he starred.

  ‘Then she spelt it out,’ Wallace went on. ‘She suggested that I could help her. She said she was connected with the Anti-Apartheid movement, and that they were very concerned about what would happen to the blacks if sanctions were imposed. I told her there was no chance of my doing anything like that, but then she asked me, very quietly — the pub was starting to fill up — what the Department would think if they found out that I was seeing Penny, and if they found out that she was nothing more than a high-class prostitute. And what would my wife think? Then she went on to tell me what I knew already. That I was in debt, and that I couldn’t afford to lose my job. I was stunned. Nothing had ever happened to me like that before.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She didn’t say anything for a bit. Well actually she got up and went to the bar — bought some more drinks. She didn’t ask me what I wanted — just got me a large Scotch. I suppose she thought I needed it after that.’ He looked straight at Gaffney. ‘She’s a very strong-willed woman, you know. Used to getting her own way.’

  ‘Obviously,’ murmured Gaffney.

  ‘Course she tried to sweeten the pill a bit. She said that they wouldn’t be ungrateful; there were quite a few people — people of influence and wealth — who would like to see the South African government brought down, and that they would be quite prepared to pay.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I told her I didn’t believe her — about Penny, I mean. So she told me about a specific party that Penny’d been to — someone called —’ He stopped, searching his memory. ‘Jacob — that was it — Richard or Reginald, some name like that; and she said why didn’t I ring this bloke up and ask him — or ask Penny.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Wallace miserably. ‘And I wished I hadn’t.’

  ‘You mean you rang up this Jacob man?’

  ‘Oh Christ no. No, I had it out with Penny.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She admitted it.’ He sounded incredulous, even now. ‘She bloody well admitted it. She said it was none of my business if she wanted to take all her clothes off and pose nude for men to take photographs — or do anything else they wanted. I didn’t really believe her — I think she was just saying it to annoy me. But she said she wasn’t married to me, and if I wanted to have a say in what she did, then perhaps I ought to give her some money, so she wouldn’t have to do things like that. Well she knew I couldn’t afford that, and like I said, we had a terrible row — that nosey bloody woman downstairs must have heard it.’

  ‘And that was that, presumably?’

  ‘Yes it was. I slapped her face — and she slapped mine. Then I left, and I never saw her again. And now she’s dead.’ The last few words were almost lost as Wallace buried his face in his hands and started to sob violently.

  Gaffney sat back and waited for him to regain his composure, or stop acting — he wasn’t sure which. He lit a cigarette, fighting back the contempt he felt for this immoral and unsavoury little man opposite: not little physically; he was well-built — a squash player he’d said, the kind of macho image the Wallaces of this world tried to create — but insignificant, fighting all his life to be a somebody, when in fact he was a nobody. Until now. If nothing else he would hold centre stage at the Old Bailey for a day or two, before disappearing, once more, into obscurity.

  ‘And so you co-operated.’ It was not a question, but Wallace took it as such.

  ‘Yes. What option did I have?’ He looked up, seeking acquiescence in the other’s face; there was no sign of it.

  Gaffney could have told him, as he could have told so many before him, that both the Security Service and Special Branch would have been sympathetic to the blackmail that so often forms a part of the dirty world of espionage. They would have handled it, monitored it, and his wife, his girl-friend, and possibly even his career, would have been untouched by it. But it was always too late. They never believed it. He glanced across at Wallace; he probably wouldn’t have believed it, even now.

  ‘What you have been telling me has been tape-recorded,’ said Gaffney, ‘and a statement will be prepared from the transcription which you will be able to read. You will be able to alter anything you wish, or add to it, and I shall expect you to sign it.’ That would make it nice and neat; Gaffney didn’t bother to tell him that it didn’t matter, whether he signed it. ‘Then I shall want another statement from you.’ He glanced across at Toogood, still sitting silently in the corner. ‘Another statement which will list exactly what you have passed over to Eva van Heem.’ He paused as a thought occurred to him. ‘Did you ever have any dealings with anyone else — anybody other than van Heem?’

  ‘No.’ Wallace shook his head resignedly. ‘I don’t know about Mallory though.’

  Toogood was suddenly jerked out of his reverie. ‘Mallory? What about Mallory?’

  Gaffney flashed a sharp look of annoyance at the Security Service officer. It said that if he wanted to take part he must be prepared to give evidence at the trial.

  Toogood held up a placatory hand. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered, as though trying to erase his outburst.

  ‘Well? What about Mallory?’ Gaffney repeated Toogood’s question.

  ‘Eva van Heem wanted to know about him.’

  Gaffney leaned back in his chair with a sigh, glanced at the ceiling and folded his arms. Then he levelled his gaze onto Wallace’s face. ‘What did she want to know?’

  ‘This was some time later. About our third meeting, I suppose. She asked me if I knew a chap called Mallory at the Foreign Office.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I told you. I get stuff from him from time to time — that for instance.’ He pointed at the report which still lay on the table.

  Gaffney could have said that he was just testing but he said nothing; it was never a bad idea to let the opposition think that you weren’t too bright. ‘Why did she want to know about Mallory?’

  ‘I suppose — thinking back on it — that she probably wanted to try the same routine on him as she’d done on me. She knew that Penny was his secretary, for instance — whic
h is more than I knew, at least at the time. And then she asked if I knew that Penny was having an affair with him.’

  ‘And was she?’

  ‘I don’t know. After our row, I’d’ve believed anything of her, but I didn’t see her again, so I couldn’t ask her — didn’t care by then to be perfectly honest.’

  ‘What happened? D’you know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did you tell her about him?’

  ‘Nothing. There wasn’t anything I could say. I really only knew of him by reputation. I’d spoken to him a few times on the telephone, but that was all. I’ve never even met the bloke.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Gaffney. ‘In fact, I suggest to you that you were actively involved in blackmailing Mallory, together with Penny.’ Wallace remained silent. ‘And Jimmy Webster.’

  ‘Webster? Who’s Webster? I’ve never heard of him.’

  Strangely enough, Gaffney believed that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gaffney’s small office at New Scotland Yard was crowded. Apart from Toogood, there was the desk officer, Charles Monk, John Andrews — the leader of the watchers, and Harry Tipper. Sitting on an upright chair awkwardly placed at the corner of Gaffney’s desk, was Terry Dobbs, the Detective Chief Inspector who had arrested Wallace at the airport.

  ‘It’s really a question of what we do next,’ said Gaffney.

  Toogood looked nervously at Tipper; he was always unhappy about the presence of people who had not been positively vetted, as though that process cloaked them with a magical integrity. ‘I’m still not very sanguine about Mallory,’ he said.

  ‘Neither am I,’ said Tipper. ‘I still think he’s got to be a front-runner for my job.’

  ‘Front-runner?’ Toogood looked puzzled.

  ‘Prime suspect for the Lambert murder.’ Gaffney translated for him.

  ‘Oh, I see. Well I think that we should deal with our aspect of the matter first.’

  ‘Which is what?’ asked Tipper. ‘After all, murder is still regarded as a fairly serious matter — even these days.’

  ‘As far as I can see,’ said Gaffney, acting as middleman, ‘the evidence against Mallory is not very strong, either for the murder or for our OSA job.’

  ‘But he did meet Eva van Heem,’ said Monk. He spoke in an apologetic tone, as though sorry that he had to mention it.

  ‘That’s true,’ said Toogood. ‘And we still don’t know why. The only supportable theory so far is that Wallace got the impression that van Heem was trying to enmesh him as she had apparently trapped Wallace himself.’

  ‘She may have succeeded,’ said Terry Dobbs. ‘We do know that he’s having an affair with Kate McLaren.’

  ‘His secretary? I didn’t know that,’ said Tipper.

  Toogood shot a nervous glance at Gaffney.

  ‘It came out of the observation,’ said Gaffney, impatient with Toogood’s constant concern about protecting his sources.

  Toogood was not prepared to let it all go. ‘We only know that he went to her flat on a couple of occasions.’

  ‘And stayed an hour,’ Gaffney reminded him.

  ‘But that doesn’t mean that —’

  ‘A judge once said that if the opportunity for adultery could be proved, it’s presumed to have occurred,’ said Tipper with a rare flash of legal knowledge.

  Gaffney laughed. ‘Quite right, Harry. But you won’t get a warrant on the strength of it.’ He looked round at the others. ‘But it still doesn’t help us to determine what to do next.’ He was always impatient with conferences; they rarely achieved anything — in his experience, anyhow.

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be much point in maintaining the surveillance,’ said Toogood. ‘Wallace’s arrest — and more to the point Eva van Heem’s — will be in the papers tomorrow morning.’

  ‘It’ll be in this evening’s,’ said Gaffney unhelpfully. ‘He was at court this morning.’

  ‘Well, yes — of course. Either way it’s going to put Mallory on the alert — make him much more difficult to follow. Frankly, I don’t see that there would be much profit in it anyway.’

  ‘He might panic — do something out of character,’ said Dobbs.

  ‘But what? What can he do? I think he’ll probably lie low. He must be reckoning — if he has committed an OSA offence — that if we’d had anything on him, he’d have been arrested at the same time. He must have assumed that he’s safe.’

  ‘If he’s done anything at all.’ Gaffney had had dealings with the Security Service many times before, and he always had to keep pulling them back to earth. Policemen tried to make molehills out of mountains — not the other way round. ‘So we take the surveillance off-yes?’

  *

  There had been another half-hour of desultory discussion before the conference had decided to discontinue the observation on Mallory. They also decided, somewhat reluctantly, that he should be interviewed, but none of those present had been very optimistic about the result. Mallory was known to be a self-confident, pompous, and rather over-bearing individual. Gaffney was able to deal with people like that, but was experienced enough to know that little was likely to be obtained from them. Dobbs had pointed out that Mallory would have to be seen in any event, to furnish a statement proving that the report that had been passed to Eva van Heem was the one that he had sent to Wallace. It was unlikely that the Director of Public Prosecutions would allow it to be put in evidence, but it was necessary and a quite legitimate device for getting to see Mallory.

  *

  ‘A most unfortunate business,’ said Mallory. ‘A great shock too, when I read it in the paper — first I knew of it, of course.’

  ‘You knew Wallace well?’ asked Gaffney.

  ‘Oh hardly at all — never met the fellow. Of course, he was only a principal, but it was expedient to pass stuff to him direct. Just goes to show, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Goes to show what?’

  ‘That you never know. I suppose that’s why we’re so much more selective in the Foreign Office …’

  Gaffney felt like deflating this arrogant functionary by mentioning people such as Burgess and MacLean. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. He took the report in its plastic sleeve, out of his brief-case and laid it on the desk just out of reach. ‘Perhaps you’d look at this, Mr Mallory, and tell me if this is the document you passed to Wallace.’

  Mallory extended an elegant and manicured hand to draw the report closer. He studied it for some moments before looking up. ‘Exactly so,’ he said. ‘Or perhaps I should say, it appears to be identical. That’s the sort of statement you police chaps like, isn’t it?’

  ‘More or less,’ said Gaffney casually. ‘If we haven’t got it right, the DPP will soon tell us, and then we’ll take another statement. You realise, of course, that it’s what you say in court that’s important.’ He waved a dismissive hand across the desk. ‘A statement is taken to give the prosecuting counsel some idea of what you are able to say — it’s not evidence in itself, at least not in a case of this magnitude.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I did know that, Superintendent,’ said Mallory patronisingly.

  Gaffney let that pass, too. The demotion that Mallory had accorded him was unimportant set against what he was trying to achieve. ‘Did you ever meet Eva van Heem, incidentally?’

  There was not a trace of reaction, not a flicker of emotion on Mallory’s face as he answered. ‘Who?’

  ‘Eva van Heem — the South African diplomat who was detained when Wallace was arrested.’

  ‘Oh — her. Good Lord no. There would have been no occasion, and, of course, contact with the South Africans is discouraged — quite actively discouraged. It would be most unwise for anybody in the Foreign Office to …’ He allowed the statement to wane unfinished.

  ‘I’ll need to include that in your statement, too,’ said Gaffney, pushing a little further, just to see what happened.

  ‘Whatever you wish.’

  *

  For several hours that
afternoon, Gaffney sat in his office reading through the papers in the case of The Crown v. Wallace, and also the docket on the enquiries which had been made about the death of Penelope Lambert, otherwise Gaston — which, he noted, a search at the General Register Office had proved, unsurprisingly, to be her maiden name.

  Then he made a telephone call.

  *

  The call came to fruition twenty-four hours later with the arrival in his office of the senior fingerprint officer.

  ‘Well, Sid?’

  ‘We’ve scored, sir — you were right. There are only two sets of fingerprints on the plastic sleeve: yours and Mallory’s. His — Mallory’s — also appear among several sets on the report itself, and Wallace’s of course.’

  ‘Well go on.’

  ‘And Mallory’s match the fingermarks on the letter of resignation, in the flat …’ He paused dramatically. ‘And the partial on the camera.’

  ‘Ah!’ Gaffney leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘Well, well. Now there’s a thing.’

  ‘Mind you,’ said the fingerprint officer cautiously, ‘it’s not proof. Until we obtain a formal set of prints from Mallory I can’t swear to it. Incidentally, what made you put a new plastic sleeve on the exhibit before you went to see him?’

  ‘I don’t know really. Just thought it would be a useful thing to do — to acquire a set of his dabs. I’d actually forgotten I’d done it until I came back here and was going through the murder papers. All those unaccounted-for marks in her flat worried me, and then I remembered. Thought I’d give it a run.’

  ‘Well it’s a good thing you did, guv’nor. You came up trumps. What are you going to do now?’