Black Ship

by Carola Dunn

  Bessemer—at least Daisy had a name now. She recognised that she was losing the argument, though. What chance had she against a lawyer, trained to keep a dispute running for years? Just look at Bleak House!

  “All right,” she said crossly, “but you’ll have to explain why I want to speak to Audrey privately. You can’t expect me to barge into the house of people I’ve never met and drag their guest away from whatever she’s doing.”

  Even a lawyer could scarcely argue with that.

  Daisy hadn’t realised how stiff she was till she stepped out of the car, nor how cold and hungry she was until she stepped into the warm house and smelled lunch. The Bessemers and Audrey were, in fact, in the middle of their midday meal. The newcomers were welcomed without overt curiosity, and places were quickly set for them.

  Vivien Bessemer and her husband indeed seemed genuinely incurious about the reason for the unexpected arrival of her father and her sister’s friend. Audrey, however, was very much on edge, and she pushed her food around her plate without, as far as Daisy could see, eating more than the odd morsel. Daisy ate well, not so much to postpone the distasteful task she’d landed herself with as to fortify herself for it.

  At last, she and Audrey were settled in a small parlour with their coffee.

  “What’s wrong?” Audrey asked at once, leaning forward, her hands clasped in her lap. “What’s happened?”

  At least Daisy didn’t have to announce the fact of bad news. Audrey was obviously expecting it.

  “I’m afraid Aidan has been injured—”

  “I know that much. I thought he was all right, though, just a bit of a headache. The policeman who came this morning, that Scotsman, didn’t mention anything else.”

  “There have been some aftereffects,” Daisy said vaguely. “He’s being properly taken care of. Don’t worry. Why don’t you tell me about that evening, the evening before you left, so that I don’t go repeating what you already know.”

  “I already told the policeman.”

  “It’s not for the police I want to know, Audrey. I came as your friend, to try to help. It’ll be easier if I have a better idea of what happened, and DS Mackinnon’s not likely to tell me.”

  “Oh, right-oh. Everyone was excited about Patrick coming home. They’re a very close family, you see. Usually, I feel very much a part of it. I wouldn’t want you to think they shut me out in any way. No one could have a dearer mother-in-law than Mama Moira. But … I suppose—I’m afraid, looking back, I was a little jealous. I didn’t tell Mr. Mackinnon that. I’m so ashamed of it.”

  “It seems to me perfectly understandable, and none of the police’s business.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like Patrick, but they were making such a fuss about his return.”

  “Mrs. Jessup had been pretty worried about him, hadn’t she?”

  “Yes. It was stupid of me to feel that way. Anyway, Aidan and his father came home early the day Patrick was expected. Aidan said he was going to go out to walk about and get a spot of fresh air and see if he could spot Patrick’s taxi arriving. It wasn’t even a pleasant evening! I went up to the nursery. I don’t know how long I was there—you know how time passes when you’re playing with the children.”

  “Like a flash,” Daisy agreed.

  “Then Mama Moira came in—all the servants would have been busy with preparations for dinner—and she asked me to go down. She didn’t say why. I assumed Patrick must have come in, but I didn’t ask because she seemed … well, rather upset. We didn’t go down to the drawing room as I expected. She took me to our bedroom—Aidan’s and mine—and there was Aidan with a plaster on his head, right on top. He said he’d had an accident and bumped it.”

  “Didn’t you ask how?”

  “He just said he’d been careless and slipped. I didn’t ask for details because then he told me he’d decided he couldn’t put off his trip to the North any longer and he was going to wait to welcome Patrick home and then catch a train. And Mama Moira said she was sure I’d want to make the best of my time and leave in the morning to come here, to stay with Vivien. I felt as if I was being rushed, but they both seemed a bit peculiar, so I didn’t like to make a fuss. It was all … strange. I did wonder if perhaps Aidan had met Patrick and they’d quarrelled …?”

  Her voice rose in a question. Daisy said, “I’m pretty sure you needn’t worry about that.”

  “I didn’t really believe it. They’ve always been such good friends. Anyway, Mama Moira helped me pack for Aidan and start to organise my own packing. Nurse wasn’t to be told till after the children were asleep, for fear of them getting overexcited.”

  “Miranda and Oliver aren’t old enough yet to be excited about things that haven’t happened yet.”

  Audrey smiled at that. “They will be, all too soon!”

  “No doubt. You started to pack….”

  “Then Patrick arrived and we all had Champagne to celebrate, in the mirror room. But it was all frightfully artificial somehow. It’s hard to explain. You know Mama Moira was an actress. It was as if everyone was acting, including me. I was desperate to know what was wrong, but I just didn’t quite dare to ask. Then it was time to change for dinner. That’s when Aidan left. He kissed me, just as if he was going off to work on an ordinary day, and he told me not to worry, but how can I help it? And now my father’s come all this way, and you …” Her voice failed.

  “Only because Mrs. Jessup decided a telegram would be too upsetting. She’d have come herself—”

  “Thank heaven she didn’t! Travelling in a car makes her frightfully sick. She’d have been half dead and in need of nursing. You said Aidan’s getting proper care. What’s wrong, and where is he?”

  “I don’t know very much. We tried to ring up the hospital—”

  “Hospital!”

  “He was taken ill at his hotel, and they couldn’t keep him there. You know what hotel people are like, always worrying about what the other guests might think. Aidan just needs rest and absolute quiet and someone to keep an eye on him. It was too early to speak to anyone at the hospital when we rang up this morning, but I dare say he’s perfectly all right after a good night’s sleep.”

  “I must go to him, of course. Vivien won’t mind keeping the children.”

  “Your father intends to take you.”

  “You’ll come, too, won’t you, Daisy? I love Father dearly, but …”

  “If you really want me,” said Daisy, but what she thought was, Try to stop me! For one thing, she had no desire to attempt what sounded like a wretched train journey back to London. Luckily, Audrey didn’t seem interested in why she had come in the first place. It would be hard to explain that she’d let herself be dragooned into doing something she really wanted to do.

  “Oh, I do!” Audrey hesitated. “Daisy, is all this something to do with … all those policemen in the garden?”

  “You saw them?”

  “They were hard to miss! The morning after Aidan was hurt—but Aidan couldn’t have anything to do with that. It’s just a coincidence. It must be.”

  “The most extraordinary coincidences do happen.”

  Audrey took a deep breath and visibly braced herself. “Daisy, I don’t know what they were looking for, and I don’t think I want to know, but your husband isn’t going to arrest my husband as soon as he’s well enough, is he?”

  “As far as I’m aware,” Daisy said with careful precision, “Alec hasn’t yet worked out exactly what happened in the garden. He’s hoping Aidan may have some information that will help him find out.”

  Which was the truth, as far as it went. Daisy had no desire whatsoever to be the one to enlighten Audrey about the murder in the garden and the indisputable connections between the Jessups and the murdered man.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Before going to Aidan Jessup’s room, Alec had a word with the matron herself. That formidable figure, once convinced of the necessity, assured him that Patrick would not be allowed access to his brother u
ntil Alec had finished with him. Hospital visiting hours, though stringent for ordinary patients, were usually relaxed for private patients, but it would be easy to delay the young man. Fortunately, he had slept late and was still breakfasting when Alec received word that Aidan was awake and coherent.

  As an added precaution, Alec beckoned the Manchester DC out of the room and posted him outside the door.

  “How is he?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Fair addled,” said Peters succinctly.

  Alec raised an eyebrow.

  “In his right mind,” the young man elaborated, “but no lawyer worth his salt ‘d agree he’s fit to make a statement.”

  “Thank you. I won’t take a statement, then, just try to get enough out of him to know what questions to put to his brother. Who is not on any account to be allowed to interrupt.”

  “Got it, sir.”

  “I take it he hasn’t said anything of interest?”

  “Nowt but asking for a drink o’ water, sir, which I gave him. He seemed to think I were a hospital orderly, and I didn’t set him straight.”

  With a nod of approval, Alec went on into the room. It was Spartan but very clean and neat, a haven from the public wards for those who could pay a little for privacy but could not afford a private nursing home. Aidan lay flat on his back, his arms at his sides on top of the tightly tucked-in covers, a model patient. A nurse must have tidied him back to hospital standards since Peters gave him a drink, Alec assumed.

  Aidan turned his head on the pillow as Alec entered. His eyes appeared to focus with difficulty, but he recognised his visitor.

  “Mr. Fletcher.” His voice was slightly slurred. He didn’t seem surprised to see Alec, whether because he was as yet incapable of experiencing surprise or because he had half-expected him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Jessup. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better. My God, it was awful! I’ve had a concussion before—playing rugger, you know—but nothing like this. It was like being drunk as a lord and having a frightful hangover at the same time.”

  Alec moved the room’s one chair to the bedside and set it so that he could see Aidan’s face. “I’m afraid I have to ask you some questions.”

  “I know. I can’t remember much, though.”

  If he pleaded amnesia, no one would be able to prove otherwise. It was a common symptom of severe concussion. He might be tricked, though, if he were lying about it.

  “I’m not taking a formal statement at this time,” Alec said, “but if you want a lawyer—”

  “My father-in-law? No thanks!”

  “Or someone else.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “All right, then, tell me what you remember of the evening you left London.”

  “I’ve been lying here thinking about it—I’d sit up, but my head still gets a bit swimmy. As I say, I’ve been thinking about it, and I still don’t see what else I could have done. We were expecting Patrick home, as I’m sure you know by now. We weren’t sure exactly when he’d arrive, but Father and I left work early so as to be there when he came. I got fed up sitting there waiting, and it had stopped raining, so I decided to stroll down to the corner. If I didn’t meet him, at least I’d have had a breath of fresh air and stretched my legs.”

  “You were very keen to see him.”

  “Well, he’d been away a long time, and on his own for the first time. And there were business reasons why we were eager to hear his news.”

  Also, thought Alec, there was a good deal of brotherly affection between them. Though Aidan was no public school boy, he had absorbed enough of the ethos not to mention it, but Alec had a hunch that their mutual fondness played a considerable part in the whole affair.

  “You went out of the house….”

  “And crossed the street. I expected Pat to come by taxi. The quickest way from our house to the street exit from the Circle is across the garden—though, come to think of it, he could have been driving round the Circle while I cut across. Anyway, it was getting dark and I was nearly at the fountain before I realised that the chap coming up towards me was Pat. And a moment later, that damn Yankee popped out of nowhere—”

  “Out of nowhere?”

  “I don’t know if he’d been hiding behind a tree or if he just happened to come around the Circle and see me walking down, and followed me. He suddenly appeared beside me and started the same old jabber. He had a business proposition for the firm, it would be worth our while, we’d regret it if we didn’t listen to him, and so on. Father wasn’t interested. I brushed the fellow off, as per usual. Next thing I knew, he was pointing a gun at Patrick!”

  “You’re sure of that?” Alec snapped.

  “Sure as you’re a copper,” Aidan said wryly. “I didn’t get into combat during the War—they put me to running an officers’ mess, because of my experience in the trade—but I saw plenty of firearms. Well, I reacted without thinking. I’m still a pretty useful rugger wing forward, you know, or was until this.” He touched the top of his head. “I tackled him, as if it were the ball he was holding. I hit him pretty hard and we both went down. The paving was wet, slick, so we started to slide. I don’t remember the next bit. I was out. Pat says we both hit the rim of the fountain head-on.”

  “The missing weapon!” The other missing weapon. What the hell had become of the gun? The Jessups would have had no conceivable reason to dispose of it.

  Aidan smiled crookedly. “Were you looking for the traditional blunt instrument? It’s there, in plain sight, though I presume any blood Pat failed to clean up has been washed away by the rain. I was out for nearly five minutes, Pat reckoned. He was beginning to get really worried. He started splashing water from the fountain in my face—ugh!—to try to bring me round. Maybe it worked, who knows. At any rate, I started to show signs of life. Then it dawned on Pat that he’d better check on the other chap. He turned—”

  “Could you explain your relative positions?”

  “It’s all a bit vague….” Aidan frowned in concentration. “Pat was kneeling between us, so somehow the American and I got separated. Perhaps we rolled apart when we hit the fountain. I suppose I let go of him when I was knocked out.”

  “More than likely.”

  “Pat turned away from me to—What’s his name? I can’t go on calling him ‘the American.’ ”

  “He never introduced himself?”

  “Neither Father nor I ever let him get that far. We have a long-standing and satisfactory arrangement with our American customer and we just weren’t interested in changing.”

  “Castellano. Michele Castellano. Though there’s some question about whether that’s his real name, as his passport was faked.”

  “He looked Italian. He was a thoroughly objectionable type, but I didn’t mean to kill him. I couldn’t let him shoot my brother in cold blood, could I?”

  Silently, Alec cursed. A confession, and he couldn’t use it! But having spoken the words, Aidan would find them difficult to retract in circumstances more useful from a police point of view. He was no hardened criminal.

  “Tell me exactly what happened,” Alec urged.

  “Pat said something like ‘Oh hell, he’s still out. He can’t have as thick a skull as yours.’ And then he said—he sounded a bit panicky—‘He’s not breathing. I don’t think he’s breathing!’ I said, ‘Feel his pulse,’ or perhaps Pat said, ‘I’ll feel his pulse’—I’m not awfully clear which. I was still a bit groggy. Does it matter? What it comes down to is that there was no pulse. Castellano was dead.”

  So much for the confession. If Aidan was telling the truth, he was implicating his brother, unaware that the blow to the victim’s head was not the cause of death. While Aidan lay unconscious, or semiconscious, Patrick had compressed Castellano’s arteries until, starved of oxygen, the brain stopped sending signals to the lungs to breathe, the heart to beat.

  “I still don’t see what I could have done differently,” Aidan said dully, “except not to let the othe
rs hustle me away. I wasn’t thinking straight. I should have stayed to take my medicine. It wasn’t exactly self-defence, but I was defending my brother.”

  “What reasons did they give for your leaving in such a hurry? You’re speaking of your parents and your brother? Your wife?”

  “Not Audrey! She was in the nursery, thank heaven, when I came in bloody-headed. Before she came down, Mother had patched me up and we’d decided I should go. Why? It’s all a bit of a blur, but there seemed to be a dozen reasons. Patrick swore he’d hidden the body so that it wouldn’t be found for days.”

  “When did he do that?”

  “While I was sitting holding my head, wondering whether I could make it back to the house. If I’d been able to think, I wouldn’t have let him, but he always was impetuous, and once it was done, it was done. He said if I stayed away until my head healed, there be no reason for anyone to suppose I had anything to do with it. Then he buzzed off to create an alibi for himself.”

  “At the Flask.”

  “Yes, he really did go there. Luckily, the servants hadn’t seen him arrive. If it was luck.”

  “That remains to be seen. So far, your only reason for having left is that your brother hoped to get away with it.”

  “He was, naturally, grateful that I’d prevented Castellano’s shooting him,” Aidan said vehemently, “and he didn’t see why I should suffer for protecting him.”

  “What other reasons?”

  “Mother was terrified that I’d go to prison. You’ve got to remember that she’s Irish and an actress, and she has enough temperament for both, though she hides it well most of the time. Father, naturally, was concerned about the effect on the business. And there were Audrey and the children to consider. I suppose I’m bound to go to prison now? It’s going to be a terrible shock for Audrey, and awfully hard on all of them.”

  Alec wondered how much Daisy would reveal to Audrey. She was perfectly capable of being discreet if it suited her ideas of what was right. However, he had never quite fathomed how her mind worked in that regard. In fact, he wasn’t at all sure she’d be able to explain it if she tried.