Black Ship

by Carola Dunn

  As she spoke the last few words, the dining room door opened and Alec came in, with DC Ross on his heels.

  “Who could be another victim?” Alec asked sharply.

  “Lambert. He’s disappeared, darling!”

  “Not exactly disappeared,” Ardmore protested. “We found his lodgings, sir, and it’s true he didn’t come home last night, but his landlady said he often goes away for a few days.”

  Alec sat down at the table and motioned to Ross to do likewise. “Lodgings?” he said. “A private house, not a flat or a hotel?”

  “A furnished room, sir, let by the week. He’s paid up to the end of next week.”

  “What’s the landlady like?”

  “Uh, fiftyish, grey hair—”

  With an impatient gesture, Alec said, “Her character, Constable! Is she likely to allow you to search Lambert’s room without a fuss? And preferably without telling all her neighbours.”

  “Yes to the search, sir. She was quite friendly and helpful. About the neighbours, I dunno. She didn’t seem like the gossipy sort, but you never can tell with women. Oh, she did say she was glad I wasn’t in uniform, because she wouldn’t want people to know she’d had the police in the house.”

  “Right-oh. Do your best to impress upon her that it’s best to keep quiet, and also that we have no reason to suspect Lambert of any wrongdoing. We’re just concerned for his safety.”

  “Oh, darling, do you really think—?”

  “You’re the one who started this hare, Daisy. We have to chase it.”

  Ardmore stood up. “So you want me to search his room, sir? What’m I looking for? A gun?”

  “Great Scott no! At least, I sincerely hope not, but if you find one, you’ll confiscate it, of course. No, see if he’s taken his toothbrush with him. If he has, we can stop worrying.”

  “And if he hasn’t?” Daisy asked.

  “Then we’ll start worrying. Ardmore, give Piper the name and address, if you haven’t already, then off you—No, come to think of it, a few more minutes won’t make much difference. You’d better stay and hear a bit more.”

  Ardmore sat down again.

  “Chief,” said Tom, “can you tell us a bit more about Mr. Lambert? Why we may be worried about him? Mrs. Fletcher decided she shouldn’t, as you hadn’t.”

  “How uncommonly discreet!”

  “Don’t be beastly, darling. He did make a point of telling us in confidence. If he’s missing, though …”

  “You probably remember a good deal more of what he said than I do. Why don’t you explain.”

  Daisy gave him a suspicious look. He was actually inviting her to get involved? It was true she knew Lambert much better than he did.

  “Right-oh. Shall I start with New York?”

  “Great Scott no! All that need be said about New York is that when you met him there, he was an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “And a very enthusiastic one, but hopelessly incompetent. When he turned up here—or rather, in St. John’s Wood—we weren’t a bit surprised to find out he’d lost all his papers and his money. He said he’d transferred from the FBI to the—What was it, darling? Something to do with money.”

  “Treasury.”

  “That’s it. Though why they should put the Treasury in charge of enforcing their law against drinking is more than I can understand. Still, they did, and Lambert was working for them.”

  “Over here? Not trying to stop us drinking, I hope, Mrs. Fletcher?” asked Mackinnon, only half joking. “The English might stand for it, but the Scots, never.”

  Four English detective constables glared at him in outrage. Whether they were outraged by the idea that the Americans might try to keep them from their pints, or by the suggestion that they wouldn’t fight as hard for those pints as the Scots would for their drams, or both, Daisy didn’t wait to discover.

  Hastily, she reassured them, “No, they couldn’t do that.”

  “They better not try,” muttered Warren.

  “Lambert was sent to try to stop the export of alcohol from England—Britain—to America.”

  “Single-handed?” Tom asked dryly.

  “Well, that’s the thing. Surely they must have sent more than one agent. Suppose the dead man was another? What if a bootlegger unmasked both him and Lambert and murdered both of them?”

  “What would a bootlegger be doing over here, Mrs. Fletcher?” asked Piper.

  “It was something about codes, wasn’t it, Alec? I don’t remember exactly what Lambert said. Something about the Prohibition people intercepting the rumrunners’ radio messages, so the gangs are sending men here to arrange codes with their suppliers.”

  “Gangs!” Ardmore exclaimed. “Don’t say they’re exporting their gangs now!”

  “Not wholesale, and just visiting, I gathered.”

  “And the enthusiastic but incompetent Lambert is supposed to stop them?” Tom enquired in a tone of deep interest. “By shooting them?”

  “Heavens no! He’s supposed to identify them and follow them to see which English wholesalers they get in touch with. Oh, and try to find out what ships they use to deliver the stuff. You can imagine he was quite thrilled when we moved in next door to a wine merchant.”

  “The Jessups,” said Tom.

  “The Jessups,” Daisy confirmed. “He used to watch them through binoculars, believe it or not. Then, after he moved out, I’d see him lurking in the undergrowth, presumably still spying on them.”

  “You never told me that, Daisy!”

  “You were so relieved when he left. Besides, I couldn’t swear it was him. I never came face-to-face with him. But he’s such a rotten lurker, I’d catch glimpses now and then. It reminded me of the old days in New York.”

  “We’ll have to find out if he’s been seen ‘lurking’ around the homes or business premises of any other large-scale licensed victuallers. Piper, that’s a job for you. Get a list of all the major wine merchants in London for a start, and call on them.”

  “Right now, Chief?”

  “Yes, let’s get cracking on this. Lambert’s been lurking in the bushes, Castellano’s body was found—”

  “Castellano?” said three or four voices simultaneously.

  “Michele Castellano,” said Alec, trying to be nonchalant but looking smug. “The chap at the British Museum read the name in the passport without the slightest difficulty.” He spelt it out and all the detectives wrote it down in their notebooks. “You’d better take his photo, Ernie, and make enquiries about him, too. He may have nothing to do with the booze trade, but we might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Right, Chief.”

  “Ring up now and then to see if there have been any developments you need to know about.”

  “Uh … where?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Alec ran his fingers through his hair. Dark, thick and springy, it showed no signs of depredation. “Uh, Daisy,” he said reluctantly, “would it be very disruptive if we used this room as our headquarters, just until we finish our enquiries in the immediate area?”

  Daisy quickly changed a burgeoning grin into a frown. “I haven’t planned any dinner parties for the next few days,” she said—she seldom did, never knowing when Alec would be home. “We could eat in the office or the kitchen, I suppose. It’ll mean extra work for the servants, though. They’re sure to kick up a dust.”

  “I suppose it wouldn’t work—”

  “But I expect I can talk them round,” Daisy interrupted before he could dismiss the idea out of hand, the last thing she wanted. “In fact, with half a dozen policemen in the house, perhaps Nurse Gilpin will stop declaring that the murderer will have to climb over her dead body to get at the babies. If she carries on much longer, she’ll end up giving them a complex. All right, darling, I should think we can manage.”

  And just let them try to keep her out of her own dining room!

  FIFTEEN

  Ernie Piper and Ardmore departed, the latter w
ith instructions to search Lambert’s room for anything that might connect him with Castellano, as well as for his toothbrush and other overnight necessities.

  Alec turned back to Daisy. “Any more revelations about Lambert?” he asked.

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Can you, by any chance, remember how he found out that the Jessups are in the wine trade?”

  “It was when they invited us, him and me, for cocktails. I’m sure I told you. He was helping me go over the house and decide what to do. It was an awful mess when Alec inherited it,” she informed Tom and the others in an aside. “Mrs. Jessup sent her maid to ask us over for a drink, under the impression that Lambert was my husband.”

  “The Jessups knew Castellano, too, Chief,” said Tom, his voice carefully neutral. “Mrs. Fletcher recognised him.”

  “What? Great Scott, Daisy—”

  “I told you they had an American visitor, an unwelcome visitor. You just said so did we, and that it’s not against the law.”

  “And forgot about it,” Alec admitted ruefully.

  “No one showed me Castellano’s passport, not until Tom showed me a copy of the photo after lunch. How was I supposed to know it was the same man?”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Not absolutely. I didn’t get a really good look at his face. I wouldn’t swear to it in court, but if I wasn’t pretty certain, I wouldn’t have mentioned it.” Or rather, she wouldn’t have let Tom wring it out of her.

  “How do you know he was unwelcome? Did they tell you so?”

  “No, I overheard him trying to bully Mrs. Jessup. I wasn’t eavesdropping. I happened to be leaving and couldn’t help passing the door of the room where they were.”

  Alec gave her a sceptical look but didn’t comment. “What was he bullying her about?”

  “I didn’t hear much. I gathered he wanted to see Mr. Jessup, who was travelling on the Continent. He seemed not to believe that Mrs. Jessup didn’t know exactly where he was or when he was due to come home. He gave up while I was still in the entrance hall, and I caught a glimpse as he left, but he’d already put on his hat and turned up his collar. He didn’t look at me, so, as I said, I didn’t get a good look at his face.”

  “Tom?”

  “You want the lot, Chief, or just the Jessups? Not that there’s much else.”

  “Apparently we’re going to be concentrating on the Jessups, so let’s get the rest over with first. Mackinnon, did you get anything of interest?”

  “Not a bite till I got to the Bennetts, sir. And then nothing actually useful, just a hint that they might have seen something.”

  “You couldn’t get it out of them? They’re usually only too ready to spread stories.”

  Mackinnon explained about Miss Bennett’s absence and Mr. Bennett’s evasions.

  “I’d better have a word with him myself,” Alec said with a sigh.

  “Darling, you’re not going to believe anything they say, are you? They’ll concoct a story just to make trouble. They’re utterly poisonous!”

  “I know, Daisy, and I promise I’ll take their claims with a pinch of salt, but the fact is, they have the best view of the garden of anyone but us and the Jessups, and they’re notorious for keeping an eye on what’s going on. It’s just conceivable they actually did see something.”

  “Then why wouldn’t he tell? Why did she go off with her mythical school friend?”

  “Is the school friend mythical?”

  “I don’t know,” Daisy conceded. “I’ve never heard of her before, but I don’t exactly go out of my way to chat with Miss Bennett.”

  “Mackinnon?”

  “I talked to the servants first, sir, before I talked to him. They told me she had gone to meet an old friend. When he told the same story, it never dawned on me that the friend might not exist.”

  “No, why should it?”

  “Well, sir, Mrs. Fletcher had warned us about the Bennetts not being entirely reliable.”

  “She did, did she?” He glared at Daisy.

  “Be reasonable, darling. I couldn’t let him walk into their lair assuming they were nice, normal people.”

  “All the same, I should have—”

  “Never mind, Mackinnon. It was natural to believe them, and it may even be true. But someone in the Circle may know if she exists. Ross, I’ll leave that to you. Ask the Bennett servants first whether they have heard of her before, or seen her. If not, go round the Circle, asking the ladies of the house whether Miss Bennett’s ever mentioned her. We may not get an answer, but it’ll give them all something to think about.”

  And distract attention from the Jessups, Daisy hoped. The situation was beginning to look pretty black for them.

  “I’ve got it, sir,” said Ross. “Right away?”

  “Yes. It’s probably just a distraction, so let’s clear it out of the way. You can skip the Jessups, at number five. Report back here.”

  Ross went out. Alec gazed thoughtfully at the remaining DC, Warren, whose cheeks were still fiery red from the flaming umbrella. He had had a hard day. His shoulders were slumped, and if it weren’t for the scorching, his eyebrowless face would probably be pale and wan, Daisy thought. He straightened under Alec’s gaze.

  “How are you feeling, Warren?”

  “A bit sore, sir, but I can carry on all right.”

  “Good man. Go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Dobson to give you some more ointment for that burn; then I want you to ring up the Yard and tell them to transfer calls to this number. Stay by the phone—there’s a chair beside it—ready to answer if anyone rings. We don’t want the parlour maid going on strike.”

  Alec, Tom, and Mackinnon remained—and Daisy, who wondered if she was about to be ejected.

  Alec subjected her to the same thoughtful gaze he had turned on Warren. She, too, felt the urge to straighten her shoulders. She resisted it.

  “You know the Jessups quite well, don’t you?” he said.

  She nodded. “As well as one can after being next-door neighbours for a few weeks.”

  “You’d better stay. But you are not to pass on to them a single word of anything that’s said here.”

  “Of course not, darling.”

  “Tom, Mackinnon, as I’m sure you realise, I’m caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. The Jessups are my neighbours, and I’ve no desire to have to move out. The connection with the victim is not proof that any of the family had any hand in his death, even if he was here because of that connection. I’m not saying we will in any way compromise the investigation. I’m saying tread gently, and above all, don’t talk about the case to anyone outside this room.”

  “Right, Chief.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, Tom. Your turn.”

  “Nothing of interest at numbers one to four. No one recognised Castellano’s photograph; no one had seen or heard anything. Three of the men had gone to work, and one housekeeper was out at the shops, so we’ll have to go back, but I doubt we’ll have any luck there.”

  “All the ladies were at home?”

  “Every one of ’em, Chief, and dying to know what’s happened. Miss Bennett leaving like that, it’s not natural.”

  “Alec, you don’t suppose Miss Bennett could have killed Castellano?” Daisy asked.

  “Highly unlikely. It must have taken considerable strength to move the body.”

  “But if he helped her—”

  “Then why didn’t he scarper too?” asked Tom.

  “He’s verra arthritic and not a big man,” Mackinnon commented.

  “We’ll keep them in mind, of course, Daisy, but don’t get your hopes up.”

  Daisy was afraid he guessed that not only would she be happy to dispense with the Bennetts as neighbours but she was also doing her best to provide an alternative to the Jessups as chief suspects. Whenever she “interfered” (as he put it) in one of his cases, he accused her of trying to protect someone she was fond of, even to the extent of ignorin
g evidence against them. It wasn’t true. She never ignored real evidence, and he himself was always telling her hearsay and speculation were not evidence. It wasn’t her fault if sometimes it was not clear which was which.

  Tom was continuing his report. “Before I reached number five, Mrs. Fletcher had a look at the photograph and recognised the victim, so I already knew he had visited the Jessups. Their parlour maid, Miss Enid Bristow, identified him at once. She didn’t know his name—she said he had terrible manners and never gave it to her—but she’d admitted him to the house twice, before she was ordered not to. A smart girl, that.”

  “Our maid’s sister,” said Daisy.

  “Ah. I thought I detected a resemblance.”

  “So you should. You’re a detective.”

  Impatiently, Alec asked, “Did she know Castellano’s business?”

  “Not much more than what Mrs. Fletcher happened to hear. He wanted to see Mr. Jessup and got pretty shirty when Mrs. Jessup wouldn’t tell him where her husband was.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t go to the shop and talk to Aidan?” Daisy muttered. Then she wished she hadn’t.

  Suppose Castellano had known Aidan—or, more likely, had known something about Aidan that he was going to report to Mr. Jessup. What was it Alec had mentioned as a possible reason for the Jessups and Mr. Irwin to be nervous of a policeman moving in next door? Evasion of duty on wine and spirits, that was it. Aidan was in charge of the financial side of the business. Suppose he had been paying the tax money to himself instead of the government? Aidan was Mr. Irwin’s daughter’s husband, so if the solicitor knew, he’d have every reason to be worried sick.

  What a gift to a blackmailer! He could threaten Aidan with telling his father and threaten Mr. Jessup with telling Customs and Excise, which would probably ruin the business.

  But how on earth could Castellano possibly have found out?