Black Ship

by Carola Dunn

  Not merely groundless speculation, but a wild flight of fancy, Alec would say if she told him. Much better not to.

  “What did you say, Daisy?” he enquired, his tone of voice suggesting it was not the first time of asking.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  He raised his eyes to heaven in exasperation but did not press her. “Go on,” he said to Tom.

  “The housekeeper only knew what Enid Bristow had told her, but at least she confirmed the girl wasn’t making it up on the spot for my benefit. There’s no lady’s maid. The nanny’s away, and the daily help ‘don’t know nothin’ about’,’ and doesn’t want to. The others don’t take her into their confidence.”

  “What time does she leave?”

  “Four o’clock. She has children coming home from school and her husband wanting his tea at six. She walks down through the garden, but she would have been too early to see anything yesterday evening. That’s assuming nothing happened before dusk. Mrs. Innes—that’s the cook-housekeeper—and Enid Bristow were busy from five to eight clearing up tea things and preparing dinner. I’m pretty sure neither could have got away without the other knowing about it.”

  “And what about the family?”

  “Ah, now that’s another story, Chief. Comings and goings like a merry-go-round.” Tom put on the wire-rimmed glasses he had recently taken to wearing for reading and took out his notebook. “Let me get this straight. I’ll start with what the servants told me.”

  Alec nodded.

  “First—being neighbours you’ll know this, I expect—the younger son, Patrick Jessup, has been abroad for some time, on his own. He’s always gone with his father before on these buying trips to the vineyards on the Continent.”

  Daisy knew all that, and she was fairly certain she had told Alec. She couldn’t tell from his expression, though, whether he had actually been listening at the time, and remembered.

  Tom moved on to the events of the previous night. “Patrick Jessup came home last night. They’re not sure exactly what time, just that it was after dark. He came in through the kitchen—said he wanted to surprise his parents, and besides he was starving and could do with a bite before dinner. He gave ’em each a kiss, and they agree he had beer on his breath. He said he’d stopped in at the Flask public house for old times’ sake.”

  “We might be able to get a check on the time from the pub, but he was certainly out and about between five and eight.”

  “Only thing is, Chief, he’d left the country before the first time the American turned up. Miss Bristow—Miss Enid Bristow’s sure of that.”

  Alec frowned. “That does rather—No, it doesn’t. They could have met abroad. Possibly their meeting set the whole peculiar business in motion.” He scribbled a note to himself. “We’ll consider it later. Go on.”

  “Patrick Jessup goes on up the back stairs. Next thing they know in the kitchen, before the maid’s had time to lay a place at table for him, is Mrs. Jessup coming down to say not to bother. With Patrick home, Aidan was going to catch the night express to the North.”

  “Great Scott! Were they on such bad terms?”

  “On the contrary, according to what I was told. Not to say there wasn’t an occasional spat. Like, f’rinstance, Aidan didn’t approve of this trip of Patrick’s. Mostly, they got on about as well as brothers can. No, it seems Aidan had been on the fidget for a couple of weeks on account of some urgent business needed doing up north, but his mother—their mother—didn’t want him to go while his brother was abroad.”

  “They’d known about this for a couple of weeks, or they were told last night he’d been fretting to get away?”

  “They knew, though it was a bit of a surprise that he up and left so quick. A cab pulled up and he was off and away before the others sat down to dinner. He was going to get a bite to eat at the station, so as to be sure of not missing the train.”

  “He was in a tearing hurry, wasn’t he! Did you get any further explanation? What his urgent business was?”

  “Yes, Chief.” Tom started to thumb through his notebook.

  “Never mind; when you get to it. Go on with what the servants had to say.”

  “Let’s see, now. Enid Bristow doesn’t serve at dinner. She takes the dishes in and they help themselves, so she only heard bits and pieces when she fetched plates and took in the next course. Mr. Patrick seemed happy to be home, and Mrs. Jessup was happy he was home safe, and Mr. Jessup was pleased with some business he’d done. They all seemed cheerful, ‘cepting Mrs. Aidan, who was in the dumps because of her husband leaving. Leastways, that’s what Miss Bristow assumed was wrong with her.”

  “She didn’t actually hear it said?”

  “Not in so many words. But after dinner, when she took coffee to the drawing room, Mrs. Aidan asked her to help Nanny pack, because she was going to take the children to visit her sister while he was away. And this morning, off they went, with Patrick along to lend a hand.”

  “Don’t tell me Patrick Jessup’s left town, too?” Alec demanded in dismay.

  SIXTEEN

  “Hold on, Chief!” said Tom. “Patrick didn’t go off with Mrs. Aidan. He just went to the station to see her and the children onto the train. Mrs. Fletcher telephoned the shop, or showroom, or whatever they call it….” He looked at Daisy.

  “I was afraid you might think I ought to have stopped Audrey leaving,” she admitted, “though I really don’t see how I could have. But it seemed to me at least I could find out for you whether Patrick had hopped it, too. I rang up Jessup and Sons and asked for Aidan—”

  “For Aidan!”

  “Because I knew he wasn’t there.”

  “For pity’s sake, Daisy!”

  “Patience is a virtue,” she reminded him severely. “It worked just as I intended. The receptionist said he wasn’t available but either Mr. Jessup or Mr. Patrick could help me. I told her I really needed to speak to Mr. Aidan and asked when was he expected back. She said he was travelling on business and the date of his return was uncertain. So there you are. One flown, one in the bag.”

  “I hope you didn’t leave your name,” Alec said acidly.

  “Of course not, darling. And I put on Mother’s grande dame voice.”

  “Thank heaven for small mercies!”

  “Heaven had nothing to do with it. It was entirely my own notion.”

  “And I suppose the notion didn’t dawn on you to warn me that Mr. and Mrs. Aidan were flitting?”

  “Be reasonable! Last night, not only did I not know Aidan was going; I didn’t even know there was a body in the bushes. This morning, Mrs. Jessup told me only a few minutes before Audrey left that she was departing, and that Aidan had already gone. But I still didn’t know the victim was an American, let alone that he was the Jessups’ mysterious visitor. I had no idea they were any more involved than any of the neighbours. If you’d shown me the passport right away, I could have chained myself to the bumper bar of Audrey’s taxi, like a suffragette. Not that I think for a moment that she had anything to do with whatsisname’s death.”

  “Castellano,” Mackinnon put in, checking his notebook. Both he and Tom seemed to be enjoying the skirmish between Daisy and Alec. “Michele Castellano.”

  “Italian-American,” Daisy exclaimed. “I knew it!”

  “Knew what? What else haven’t you mentioned? And what the deuce do you mean, Mrs. Jessup told you about Aidan leaving? I wish for once you’d start at the beginning instead of dropping bits and pieces here and there.”

  “It all goes back to Lambert’s arrival. And all I have are bits and pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle, half of them pure speculation you wouldn’t have wanted to hear. But the picture is beginning to come together.”

  “Let’s have it.”

  “Only it’s more like a jigsaw than a consecutive story, so starting at the beginning isn’t going to—”

  “Great Scott, Daisy, start where you want, but let’s have the whole of it! Or as many damn bits and pieces as you have.”<
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  “On the other hand, perhaps Lambert is the best place to start,” Daisy said reflectively. Alec looked about to explode, so she hurried on. “No, actually, it was Tommy, not Lambert. Tommy Pearson. Do you remember, he said something about gangs of criminals in America being Irish, Italian, and Jewish? We were worried about the Irish because of their habit of blowing up policemen, but even though Mrs. Jessup is Irish, it looks as if it’s one of the Italians who’s ended up dead on our doorstep.”

  “There are plenty of law-abiding Italians in America. Castellano may even be another Prohibition agent, sent to check up on Lambert.”

  “I said a lot of my picture is speculation. The next bit is Lambert, of course, who came to England to find out who are the wicked Englishmen whose shipments of alcoholic beverages are corrupting the morals of America.”

  “Excuse me a moment, Mrs. Fletcher,” said Tom. “I assume Lambert’s on the up-and-up, Chief? You checked his credentials? He couldn’t be a non-Irish, non-Italian, non-Jewish crook?”

  “No,” Alec said regretfully. “It would have given me great pleasure to extradite him to America.”

  “He lost his papers,” Daisy reminded Tom, “and it took forever to get them replaced, but he did. Which makes me wonder: You didn’t find similar papers in Castellano’s pockets, presumably. If he was an agent, he would have had them, and if his passport wasn’t stolen, it seems unlikely his credentials would have been.”

  “Good point, Daisy. It doesn’t prove he was a gang member, however.”

  “Don’t forget the shoulder holster, sir,” said Mackinnon.

  “A shoulder holster!” said Daisy. “What else haven’t you told me?”

  “You’re supposed to be telling us,” Alec reminded her. “You’re right, though, Mackinnon. With or without a gun in it, it’s significant. We’ll take it as a working hypothesis that Castellano was up to no good. Go on, please, Daisy.”

  “Right-oh. Next was finding out we were moving in next to a wine merchant. Lambert was instantly on the qui vive. Asinine, because there must be hundreds of wine merchants in the country who have nothing to do with bootlegging, but these were convenient for him to keep a watch over. And—let me see—after that, I discovered the younger Jessup son was abroad, not with his father as always before, but on his own. I can’t remember what made me suspect he’d gone to America. No reason at all, really, just being mixed up with Lambert and his obsession.”

  “Do you know now for a fact that Patrick was in the USA?”

  “No, actually. That’s one thing that made me wonder: the way no one ever mentioned where he’d gone for such a long time. That and Mr. Irwin’s jitters at the prospect of a policeman moving in next door to the Jessups. Mr. Irwin is Audrey’s father, and a solicitor,” she explained to Tom and Mackinnon, “so it seemed probable something a bit fishy was going on.”

  “Tom, did you by any chance ask Mrs. Jessup where Patrick had come home from?”

  “‘Fraid not, Chief.”

  “What I canna understand,” said Mackinnon, “is what Castellano was here in England for, assuming he was a gangster, if Mr. Patrick had gone over there on that verra same business of codes and such. It doesna make sense to me.”

  “No, it’s odd,” Daisy agreed.

  “We’ll be able to tell from Patrick’s passport if he was in the States,” Alec pointed out. “Daisy, let’s get back to your jigsaw puzzle.”

  “Where were we?”

  Mackinnon consulted his notebook. “Mr. Irwin,” he said.

  “Oh yes, his having the wind up was a small piece. So was Mrs. Jessup’s anxiety. In general, she seems such a calm, practical person, but she worried about Patrick, and why should she if he was just across the Channel, where he’d been often before with his father? Then we have a murder in our quiet, secluded garden, followed by the news that Patrick came home and Aidan went off the very evening it took place. And then”—she glowered at the three men—“much later, I’m shown a photograph of the victim and recognize him as … Well, you know that bit. There’s definitely a picture emerging, but it has too many holes left to make out what it is.”

  “The one part that’s clear as a bell,” said Tom, “is that square in the middle of your picture are the Jessups.”

  “However,” said Alec, “we’ve no proof that Daisy’s picture bears much relationship to reality. It’s made up of a few facts and a lot of inference and sheer guesswork. Tom, did Mrs. Jessup tell you anything you didn’t already get from the servants?”

  “She explained Aidan’s rush to leave. Seems he usually visits some of their customers up north at this time of year. The customers expect him. In particular, one gentleman, a Mr. Dalton, rang up to say his shooting party had depleted his cellar. He wanted to place a big order but wouldn’t do it without the personal guidance of Aidan, on the spot. He telephoned several times and they were afraid he’d take his business elsewhere if Aidan didn’t get there pretty quick.”

  “At least we know exactly where he went today, then.”

  “Mrs. Jessup didn’t know the address. We’ll have to get the details from the shop.”

  Alec looked at Daisy. “I don’t suppose …?”

  “Of course I didn’t ask, darling. I didn’t want them to know who was calling, remember? Or that I had any connection with the police. In fact, I didn’t even know Mrs. Jessup hadn’t given Tom the information.”

  Tom gave his rare rumbling laugh. “You see, Chief, it doesn’t pay to keep Mrs. Fletcher in the dark!”

  “Mackinnon, go and ring the shop. This is official. You’re a police detective and you want to know the whereabouts of Mr. Aidan Jessup today and his planned itinerary. Make sure you speak to Mr. Jessup himself, though. There’s no need for his staff to know what’s up. While you’re about it, tell him I want—no, make that ‘would like’—to speak to him and to Mr. Patrick at home.” Alec checked his wristwatch. “Half past six this evening. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir. A command disguised as a polite request.”

  “Exactly.”

  Mackinnon went out.

  “Tom, anything else from Mrs. Jessup?”

  “I asked what time the gentlemen generally came home from work. She said it varies. The shop closes at eight. The Jessups generally leave at five-thirty or six, but quite a few of their better customers like a private appointment later on. Whichever of the Jessups stays on to deal with them sometimes goes in late or comes home early the next day, depending on how busy they are. Yesterday, though, both Mr. Jessup and Aidan came home earlier than usual because they were expecting young Patrick. Mr. Jessup went in early this morning to make up.”

  So much for that hurrying figure that had so alarmed Daisy! She wasn’t going to tell them about that.

  “They knew what time Patrick was coming home?” Alec asked.

  “Not exactly. He sent a cable from the steamer as it approached the Liverpool docks—”

  “Liverpool!” Daisy exclaimed. “So he was in America.”

  “Or Ireland, Mrs. Fletcher. You said Mrs. Jessup was Irish. Patrick could have been visiting relatives, or maybe calling on breweries and distilleries.”

  “Or talking to Irish Republicans about bombs,” she said darkly.

  “Not impossible,” said Alec, “and I’ll keep it in mind, but I’m inclined to believe your original notion was right, Daisy.” He grinned at her look of triumph. “I think Patrick was in America, on business concerned with outwitting their forces of law and order. Tom, if he was still on board when he cabled, the Jessups didn’t know what train he’d catch?”

  “No. The men came home about four o’clock, she said, which agrees with what the servants told me. Just in case Patrick disembarked and got through Customs quickly, to be there to welcome him.”

  “Or—I wonder—to meet Castellano? I’m assuming Castellano refused to go to the shop because he knew Prohibition agents were over here on the watch. Suppose Jessup had at last agreed to talk to him at home, to find out what he
wanted? And when they found out, they didn’t like it.”

  “But they wouldn’t kill him,” Daisy protested, “not deliberately.”

  “Pending the autopsy report, I’m afraid we’re virtually certain he was killed deliberately. I’m not yet prepared to swear he was killed by one of the Jessups, but with the information we have, I have no choice but to work on that basis. I realise it’s no earthly use trying to tell you what to do, but I hope you’ll steer clear of the family, all of them, until we have this sorted out. And while we’re on the subject, how did you happen to be chatting to Mrs. Jessup this morning?”

  Tom, who in the middle of this peroration had gazed up at the ceiling as if trying to pretend his considerable bulk was elsewhere, returned his attention to the proceedings.

  “She came round,” said Daisy, feeling somewhat subdued but on the whole heartened that Alec seemed at last to have grasped that he couldn’t order her about. “She told me Audrey was just leaving to visit her sister, and before she went, she wanted to know what was going on in the garden.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I couldn’t enlighten her because you never tell me anything.”

  A muffled snort emerged from the depths of Tom’s moustache.

  Alec visibly relaxed. “Good. What did you make of her manner?”

  Daisy thought back. “As far as I remember, she seemed perfectly relaxed. Or at least as relaxed as one can be with hordes of policemen quartering the neighbourhood. But don’t forget, darling, she was an actress.”

  “Ah, was she now?” said Tom. “Then it’s no good reading anything into her reactions.”

  “How did she seem to you, Tom?”

  “Just the right amount of concern if there’s hordes of policemen quartering the neighbourhood and you don’t know what’s going on and one of them comes to ask you nosy questions about your family’s movements. And you can’t give satisfactory answers, and you have to admit you recognise the victim. I wish I’d seen her on the stage. She must have been pretty good.”

  “Or else she doesn’t know what’s going on,” Daisy suggested.