by Ruth Edwards
‘And were you friends?’
‘I fail to see the relevance of this, but yes, I should say that Glastonbury and I became friends. None of the others were ever more than friendly acquaintances and frankly, I’ve never taken to Fagg. He’s a bit too vulgar for me.’
‘But you and Mr. Glastonbury were close friends?’
‘Do I detect from your tone, Chief Superintendent, that you think us a couple of queers? What filthy minds the police have. We were and are friends. Before Glastonbury got past it, we used to play a lot of bridge and although he was never a real gambler, he used to enjoy going to casinos with me to play backgammon.’
‘And during the war, sir?’
‘During the war what?’
‘Did you come to the club?’
‘Occasionally. I was at Bletchley most of the time, code-breaking. Used to come up for the odd break. Saw Glastonbury and Fishbane once or twice.’
‘And afterwards?’
Chatterton drained his coffee and shoved the cup and saucer several feet down the table with a practised twirl of the wrist.
‘Went back to Cambridge. Had an undistinguished career as a university lecturer in mathematics. Was a fellow of a mediocre college. Got away from it all as often as possible. You think ffeatherstonehaugh politics are bad? Have you any idea what a Cambridge Senior Common Room is like? They’d murder each other over the choice of curtain fabric if they could get away with it. I was very happy to retire here. We don’t meddle with each other. We run our own parts of the establishment without interference. We were a pretty united and single-minded committee until the Admiral fouled things up. I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry he’s dead. I neither would nor could have murdered him, but I do not regard him as a loss.’
‘So you’ve no light to cast on the murder?’
‘None.’
‘Did the Admiral talk to you at all about your conduct of the wine committee?’
‘Ah! I wonder where you heard about that. From which of my colleagues? Yes, he had seemed to get the impression that something was awry. But that was because he had not attended sufficiently to the constitution of the club and its regulations as introduced by a legally elected committee. Our position was watertight. Not one that bleeding hearts would approve of, no doubt, but we, as the committee, were absolutely within our rights to sell off what we considered to be unnecessary stocks of wine in order to allocate the money to members’ more urgent needs.’
‘Like foreign travel, sir?’
‘Certainly. For those who wanted it.’
‘You weren’t concerned about the conditions in which the servants lived? The kind of food they eat?’
‘Wasn’t my pigeon, old boy. I wouldn’t have cared to live under the rule of Fagg myself, but I can’t say it worried me that these people were getting short rations. There were plenty of other jobs for them to go to if they wanted to. Anyway, the point was that Fagg left me alone and I left him alone. That’s been the rule about sub-committee chairmen for as long as I can remember.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Milton was finding it difficult to conceal his distaste. ‘I’ve nothing more to ask for the moment.’
‘Very good. If you want me you’ll find me close by. I’m not likely to be able to make a run for it. Good morning.’
Pooley got up and opened the door. Manipulating his zimmer with dexterity, Chatterton nodded at them both and left.
‘Get on to his doctor, Ellis. I wouldn’t trust that old wretch an inch. I’d like confirmation that he’s as crippled as he appears to be, because, much as I’d like to, I can think of no way in which a man in his apparent condition could have pulled off this murder.’
‘I’ll see to it, sir. I was just wondering.’
‘What?’
‘The Cambridge connection and all that.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ellis, that’s a bit obvious, isn’t it? I’m disappointed in you. You usually see more unexpected links. If he went to Cambridge, especially if he was homosexual, he has to be the Sixth Man or someone. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we’re in the middle of a nest of spies whom Meredith-Lee was about to unmask. But I wouldn’t put any money on it, if I were you. I think we’re in a nest of greedy, self-centred, corrupt old men, of whom at least one would stick at nothing to preserve his privileges. If you must exercise flights of fancy, I’d much rather you concentrated on working out how Chatterton could have committed murder. Now where’s that damn waiter with the menu? I’m starving.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘How do those old devils get through seven courses?’ asked Milton of Pooley as they ate their grilled Dover sole.
‘I don’t know. I always thought I had a good appetite, but I remember being at a college feast once at Cambridge, where they had seven or eight courses and the elderly dons seemed to have less trouble than anyone else getting through it. I suppose it’s what you’re used to.’
‘Well, the standard of the cooking is certainly impressive,’ said Milton. ‘I haven’t had fish as good as this in months. How come you’ve got a decent chef?’ he asked Amiss, who at that moment entered the room.
‘Because of course the chef is well paid—as are his immediate underlings. The Colonel doesn’t begrudge an artiste his due. At least not when his creations are going down the Colonel’s own digestive tract.’ Amiss flung himself into an armchair. ‘God!’ he said. ‘It’s absolute chaos out there. Twice as many members as usual have come in and poor old Gooseneck’s trying to manage with half his usual staff. He’s very decent though. Sunil offered to give up his lunch-time seminar and help out, but Gooseneck wouldn’t hear of it. “My dear boy,” he said, “the choice is between feeding your mind or their bodies: I give priority to the former.” So I’d better not hang around here much longer. I should go and do my stuff. D’you want anything more? We’ve got roly-poly pudding today with jam and custard.’
‘I’ll pass, thanks,’ said Milton. ‘I’m not robust enough for that. Just coffee, please.’
Pooley’s eyes glistened. ‘Oh, I’ll have the pudding, Robert. It’s years since I’ve had roly-poly pudding. And coffee too, please.’
‘I’ll get you an especially big helping, Ellis. Incidentally, they’re all still being careful about alcohol. I was trying to ply Fagg with extra claret and he almost bit my head off.’
‘But he’s always biting your head off, isn’t he?’ said Pooley.
‘Not today, other than just now. In fact, he grunted something complimentary about it being dashed public-spirited of me to come back so soon. I nearly fainted. Glastonbury was nice of course. He always is. But Chatterton and Fishbane were pretty civil as well.’
‘You should get blown up every day,’ said Milton absently. ‘Were any of them off their food?’
‘What? You mean stricken with remorse or grief? Absolutely not. Guilt does not seem to be gnawing at the vitals of any of these old fuckers. However, self-preservation is definitely operating—hence the relative abstinence.’
‘I suppose it does indicate that they’ve got something to hide.’ Pooley sounded hopeful.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake! We know that, Ellis. Even they know that the way they’ve been running the club is hardly likely to gain them a good press. Anyway, I can’t stand around here chatting all day. I’ve got work to do.’
‘On second thoughts, Robert,’ said Milton, ‘make it roly-poly pudding twice. I think I need to build up my strength for this afternoon.’
***
Colonel Fagg obviously believed that attack was the best form of defence. ‘Disgraceful, disgraceful,’ he said. ‘You’re wasting our time and yours when you should be hunting down those IRA swine.’
‘There is absolutely no evidence, sir, to suggest IRA involvement.’ Painstakingly, Milton once again explained the reasoning which had led the police conclusively to dismiss the likelihood that terrorists were responsible.
‘That’s all my eye and Betty Martin,’ said the Colonel. ‘It’s a scanda
l, that’s what it is, a scandal. You’re letting these bombers out of jail every day of the week instead of locking them up. It’s plain as a pikestaff. The bloody Hun-lovers were trying to blow this club up because it represents all that is best about England.’
Milton let pass that slur on his country. ‘“Hun-lovers?”’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.’
‘On the side of the bloody Germans during the war, weren’t they? Treacherous beasts, all of them. We should have invaded. Then we wouldn’t have all that trouble we have now. Shoot the ringleaders, that’s what I say. That’s the only way to deal with the enemy.’
‘Ireland was neutral in the last war, sir.’
‘Huh! Neutrality is as neutrality does.’
‘Be that as it may, sir, I’m here to ask you some questions about Sir Conrad’s death. I’m sure you will be as anxious as we are to have the matter cleared up quickly. After all, you don’t want the good name of the club dragged through the tabloid press indefinitely, do you?’
The Colonel’s wrath subsided slightly. He plopped himself down on the nearest chair. ‘Muck-raking guttersnipes,’ he said. ‘Showing those disgraceful dirty pictures. Gives completely the wrong impression.’
‘Well, the club does have a certain reputation for frankness in sexual matters, sir. Presumably that was why permission was given to the young lady to pose suggestively within the club’s portals.’
As the Colonel began to swell up with rage, Pooley caught Milton’s eye and shot him a warning glance. Milton reined himself in from giving any further vent to his attack of mischievousness. ‘I can see you didn’t approve, sir,’ he said in a soothing voice.
‘I should damn well think I didn’t approve. Never could find out who was responsible for letting that trollop in. Of course I fired a couple of the likely suspects immediately, but I’m still not certain that we nailed the villain.’
‘The likely suspects were, sir?’
‘A couple of dago waiters. Those Mediterranean types, you know.’
It wasn’t the occasion for a discussion of the English notion of innocence until proven guilty. Milton was developing a certain respect for the Colonel’s ability to get him off the main point of the interview. There was a terrible temptation to follow the old buffoon down his byways of prejudice.
‘To get back to Sir Conrad, sir, and taking as a working hypothesis that he was murdered by an insider, I would welcome your advice on what might have been the motive.’
‘Motive, motive. There’s no motive for this kind of random killing. Psychopaths, psychopaths. They’re all around us these days. What are these chaps called who go around murdering lots of people they don’t know?’
‘Serial killers, sir.’
‘Well, if it’s not a terrorist, it’s probably one of those chaps. We’re all going to have to be very careful. Hope you’re going to give the staff a good going-over. Especially the Indians. Very violent streak they’ve got, you know. Remember the carry-on after that communist fool gave them independence in nineteen forty-five?’
‘Mr. Attlee, sir?’
‘No. The Hun…that fellow Mountbatten.’
Milton caught himself opening his mouth to defend Lord Mountbatten’s right to be considered an Englishman, but he stopped in time. ‘Rest assured, sir, that we shall be checking the movements and background of everyone in the club. However, at this moment I am addressing myself to the question of motive. Can you please tell us which members of the club might have had a specific motive for wishing to get rid of Sir Conrad?’
‘How would I know? Hardly knew the chap. What’re you suggesting? I don’t go in for gossip. Tittle-tattle is for women and servants.’
Milton’s temper was fraying. ‘Since you had yourself a very good motive for murdering him, I should have thought that you would wish to help me identify anyone else who had.’
‘How dare you, sir!’
Milton and Pooley noted with interest that anger was actually making a large blue vein throb on the left of the Colonel’s forehead. ‘I’ll ring my lawyer and have you sued for libel.’
‘I think you mean slander, sir: I haven’t written it down yet. As you very well know, Sir Conrad was determined to reform the club in a lot of ways which you didn’t like. You would not, for instance, had he had his way, have been able to go on running the provender committee in the disgraceful way you did.’
This sally produced a blustering but largely inarticulate monologue from which the words ‘MP,’ ‘head of Scotland Yard,’ ‘no respect,’ ‘outrageous,’ ‘appalling,’ ‘risked my life in the service of my king’ and ‘don’t know what the world’s coming to,’ cropped up from time to time. At the end of his tirade he seemed curiously tired, and emptied of invective. There was a long silence.
‘Oh, very well then. Yes, of course I thought he was an interfering shit. Not enough to murder him, mind. I’m a good law-and-order man myself. All for hanging. You’ll find people in favour of capital punishment don’t go round murdering people.’
Milton chose to ignore this dubious proposition. ‘Go on, sir.’
‘Well, I wasn’t the only one. Nobody on the committee liked what he wanted to do. But we’d have stopped him, the proper way. The members trust us. They don’t want a club full of namby-pamby bleeding hearts.’
‘Surely only Mr. Chatterton had as much to lose as you, Colonel Fagg?’
‘Oh, you know about the wine sales and all that do you? Perfectly legitimate of course. Like everything I did myself. But yes, I grant you that might have seemed a bit odd to the members if it hadn’t been explained properly.’
‘I should think the amount of money spent subsidising the residents would have seemed rather odd to members as well. It would be hard to justify living as well as you do while paying only a pittance for the privilege.’
‘Lot of fuss about nothing. I suppose there might have been a bit of unpleasantness. Soon have won them over.’ Fagg was shifting uneasily.
‘But the other committee members were in the clear compared to you two really, weren’t they sir?’
‘Like hell they were. All decisions taken by one of us were ratified by all the others in committee. One for all and all for one, eh. The Four Musketeers. Well, I suppose the five if you include Pinkie Blenkinsop.’
‘What would you have done if the Admiral had won the day and put the club on a sound financial footing?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I mean that presumably you would have been required to pay for your bed and board in the normal way without subsidy. In other words, as happens in other clubs.’
‘Oh, dare say we’d all have found the money somehow.’
‘D’you have any income other than your pension?’
‘Can’t see what business that is of yours. I have enough, enough. I’d have a lot more if it wasn’t for bloody death duties.’ The remembrance of past wrongs seemed to strike him hard. He reached into his right-hand pocket and pulled out four snuffboxes. ‘D’you mind?’ he enquired, with unaccustomed civility.
‘No, no, sir. Go ahead, please.’
Milton and Pooley had had this ritual described fully to them, graphically and with actions, but it still held great fascination. From the other pocket emerged no fewer than ten further receptacles. There were round ones, oval ones, rectangular and square ones, made of silver, gold and pewter. To Milton’s relief, the Colonel did not investigate the contents of all of them: there was, apparently, a system. With considerable care he selected four, returned the others to his pockets, opened the chosen ones and sniffed in a discriminating fashion. Three more lids were shut and boxes returned home and finally a large pinch of the selected substance was taken to the right nostril, another to the left. Then after a hearty sneeze, Fagg appeared ready to resume his duties as interviewee. From the point of view of the audience, his appearance was not improved. He had managed to acquire a brown mark on his right cheek and in the centre of his chin, and a dark smear had appear
ed on the front of his shirt: this he had made worse by diligent rubbing. Another sneeze dawned and he reached yet again for his handkerchief, an object which Milton felt was about as disgusting as anything he had ever seen outside the occasional severed head in a motorway accident. When the sneezing fit was over, Milton resumed.
‘Do you consider any of your colleagues on the committee to be capable of setting up a dynamite booby trap, sir?’
‘No.’
‘Would you have been capable of doing it yourself?’
‘Dare say fifty years ago, when I was a second lieutenant. Though can’t say I ever had call to.’
‘Surely some of your colleagues, like you, have distinguished military records?’
‘Stuff and nonsense. There’s only Pinkie really. Oh, Fishbane did a bit. Others were all backroom boys. Nowhere to be seen when the shrapnel was flying. Suppose Meredith-Lee was the most active of all of them. Maybe he did it himself.’ This appeared to tickle what Colonel Fagg would no doubt have described as his sense of humour. The laughter abruptly changed into sneezes and the handkerchief routine was gone through again. This time he had to wipe away tears and the handkerchief left an intriguing and almost symmetrical pattern below the deep, black bags under his eyes.
‘You have no further information that might be of any assistance, sir?’
‘No. Sorry, Superintendent, or whatever you are. Absolutely nothing. Have to count me out, I’m afraid. All very mysterious. Quite sure that you’ll find in the end that I’m right and it was set up by murdering bog-trotters. Always keep them out of the club myself. Very strict recruitment policy here I can tell you. The thing about the Paddies is that some of them can pass as English if they’ve been brought up here. Bear that in mind when you’re going over the staff with a fine-tooth comb.’
‘Virtually all the staff appear to be foreign, sir, other than what one might call the old retainers.’
‘Huh! Well, I don’t know. There’s that new chap, Robert. Check him out. You never know.’
‘He was injured by the bomb, sir.’
‘Exactly. My point, exactly. Chap might have just set the bomb and been taken unawares when it went off a bit early. Check it out, check it out.’
