by Ruth Edwards
‘As soon as you can manage it, sir.’
‘Six o’clock then. Do you want me to bring an aged cripple to practise with? Or can you provide your own?’
‘If any aged cripples are necessary, sir, you can rely on us to provide them.’
Their goodbyes were positively friendly. One thing that doctors and coppers had in common, reflected Milton: gallows humour.
***
‘Come in.’
Pooley walked over to Milton’s desk and put a pound coin in front of him.
‘What’s this for?’
‘You bet the zimmer would be clean, sir.’
‘Oh, dear. Cheer up, Ellis. You’re the optimist. Anything new from your reading?’
‘No.’
‘Any thoughts?’
‘I don’t think we’re leaning hard enough on Fagg, sir. We shouldn’t be losing sight of the fact that he’s got the biggest motive of all for keeping ffeatherstonehaugh’s going in the old way.’
‘Fair enough. We’ll go and bully Fagg this afternoon. It’ll get us out of the office. Chatterton we can leave until Mr. Selwood has done his stuff. Ring up and make an appointment.’
***
All the fight had gone out of Fagg. He sat with his head in his hands, pathetic and close to tears, unable any longer to lie about his past. The repulsive brown stains bespattering his garish club tie accentuated his forlorn appearance.
‘I liked living like a gentleman,’ he said. ‘So I had to pretend to be one.’ Pooley trembled visibly, and Milton, seeing him desperate to get a word in, nodded.
Pooley glared at Fagg and in a clipped tone, said, ‘May I remind you, sir, of a quotation from Cardinal Newman. “It is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never inflicts pain.” If I may say so, you did little else.’
Milton scowled at Pooley. This was no time for him to be springing to the defence of his own class. Pooley saw his face and subsided in embarrassment. He had however stirred Fagg up again into action.
‘Don’t you start lecturing me, young fellow, about what a gentleman is or isn’t—like all your bloody stuck-up kind. I was patronised for seven years in the army because of being lower-middle-class. Oh, yes. They’re all fine and romantic about the working class, but there’s something very funny about a butcher from Sevenoaks, especially a small, fat butcher with bad eyesight. And don’t think I didn’t know why they called me the Colonel. They thought it was a great joke. And when Captain Fanning brought me in here and passed me off as his colonel, he was making fun of me more than he was making fun of them and I thought it was bloody clever of me to turn it to my own advantage. I wonder how he’d feel if he knew that I had taken over his club.’
‘Did you start out with that intention?’ asked Milton.
‘No. I just liked coming here sometimes and pretending to be one of them. It was when I was in prison that I decided on a plan. Do you remember Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind?’ Milton and Pooley gazed at Fagg in total astonishment.
‘Er, yes,’ said Milton.
‘There’s a scene when she says, “I’ll never be hungry again.” I always remember that. I might have been common, but I knew about food and drink and every day in jail was a misery to me, more than to most. Best part of two years being locked up for losing my temper with a trollop I never should have married, who only married me for my shop.’
‘So what did you set out to do?’
‘What I did. To turn it into the sort of place that suited me. It was a matter of finding another few people to be partners. It wasn’t that difficult. I was a businessman remember. You could say I was the entrepreneur and people like Chatterton were the expert advisers.’
‘You do realise, don’t you,’ said Milton, ‘that you stand out as having more to lose than any of the other residents of this club?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘You care about it most and you’re the least well off.’
‘So?’
‘Listen, Mr. Fagg.’ Milton’s dropping of his erstwhile title was not lost on the old man. ‘Mr. Chatterton was physically incapable of committing these murders; Mr. Glastonbury has plenty of money; Mr. Fishbane will have sufficient to live in reasonable comfort. You’re the obvious suspect.’
‘I didn’t have the expertise.’
‘Prove it. You could easily have picked up those tricks. You were in the army long enough and you’ve got a record of violence. Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t arrest you, because I can’t think of one.’
Fagg’s eyes bulged. For a moment Milton thought he was going to go into one of his rages, but then he appeared to be thinking. ‘You’re only saying that because you think I’ve no money.’
‘It’s a strong reason.’
‘Well, you’re wrong. I wouldn’t be in penury. I’ve stashed some away.’
‘How much?’
‘Maybe half a million.’
‘Where did you get that?’
‘I told you. I’m a businessman. It was all legitimate. I just didn’t tell anyone. I got commission from our suppliers.’
‘Half a million pounds’ worth?’
‘I’ve been chairman of the provender committee for more than twenty years. We get a lot of expensive food. I don’t spend any money. It’s all in a high-yield account. Now are you going to arrest me?’
‘Not today,’ said Milton.
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘No, no, no, no, no, no, no,’ said Selwood. ‘A thousand times no. You have just confirmed that it would be completely impossible to do this job without getting on one’s knees, crawling under the table and then lying on one’s back. Chatterton couldn’t have done that without someone to help him down, push him under the table and get him up again.’
‘No matter how agile he was, sir?’ asked Pooley.
‘No matter if he was a bloody acrobat.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Selwood,’ said Milton. ‘We were just checking.’ He nodded to the DC who had laid on the demonstration and, with Pooley and Selwood, walked out of the committee room.
‘Extraordinary place this,’ observed Selwood, as they climbed the stairs to the ground floor. ‘Oddly enough, my father was a member. Can’t say it was ever to my taste: I’m inclined to respectability. But he loved it. In fact, he sent me Chatterton—years ago, when he broke his leg somewhere abroad.’
‘Friends, were they?’
‘Friendly. There was a little group of them who used to jaw on about the war and all that. When they weren’t gambling.’ He shook his head. ‘That was my old man’s downfall. I wish he’d stuck to wine, women and song.’
Milton was enjoying this unexpected candour. ‘Had your father been in code-breaking too?’
‘Good Lord, no. Man of action. Out in North Africa with David Stirling and all those lunatics.’
‘You mean the SAS?’
‘That’s right. And you know what that crowd were like. A hundred and one ways a boy can kill.’ Selwood laughed merrily. ‘Not surprising that I rebelled by trying to put people back together.’
‘Did he have any other old colleagues in the club?’
‘One or two, I think. Can’t remember any names. But most of his cronies were just chaps who enjoyed listening to that sort of thing—like Chatterton. It’s quite interesting if you’ve got a taste for adventure yarns and all that crap, which, let’s face it, lots of chaps do. Look at all these rubbishy books you get at airports these days. Full of boring stuff about electronic devices and Semtex and computer hardware and software and state-of-the-art military aircraft. Boring as hell if you ask me. Rather read Graham Greene any day—wounded minds rather than bodies, you know. Makes a change. My pater thought me a right wimp.’
They reached the far end of the Saloon and Selwood held out his hand. ‘Right. I’ll be off now, Mr. Milton. Sorry to have dashed your hopes.’
‘It was a very long shot. Thank you again and goodbye, Mr. Selwood.’
‘Goodbye, Sergeant.’<
br />
‘Goodbye, sir.’
‘Goodnight, Master Selwood,’ came Ramsbum’s voice from half-way down the stairs.
‘What d’you mean, “Master Selwood,” Ramsbum? You silly old bugger,’ Selwood said genially. ‘I’m fifty-eight.’
‘You’ll always be Master Selwood to me, sir.’
‘Just as Lieutenant-Colonel Selwood will always be Lieutenant-Colonel Selwood, I expect. Ramsbum, I think you should be pickled, bottled and sold to Americans, but it’s nice to see you all the same. Goodnight.’ He disappeared swiftly into the street.
‘Good man, Mr. Selwood’s father, was he?’ asked Milton.
‘Oh, yes.’ Ramsbum’s eyes went moist. His on-duty accent began to slip. ‘Knew ’ow to enjoy ’imself, did the Lieutenant-Colonel. Many’s the night ’e’d lose ’undreds of pounds to Mr. Chatterton at poker and all ’e’d say was, “Bugger me, I’ve lost again.”’
‘Did he do anything except gamble, Mr. Ramsbum?’ asked Pooley.
‘Well, ’e wasn’t a one for the ladies, if that’s what you mean. Quite right too. They’re a waste of bloody money. Not that Mr. Fishbane would agree with me.’ He chuckled like the father of a much-loved delinquent son. ‘But ’e liked a good chat in the afternoon over the port, reminiscing about old times. ‘’E was a war ’ero you know. Military Cross.’
‘Very impressive,’ said Milton. ‘Where did he win it?’
‘North Africa. He was with them SAS. Ooh! Must of killed dozens in unarmed combat.’ He stopped and considered that statement. ‘And dozens more in armed combat. And that’s what he talked about. Ooh, yes! Sometimes he’d show ’ow it was done. Call up a servant to practise on. Did it to me a few times. It was a privilege.’
‘What exactly did he do?’
‘Well, ’e’d show ’ow he could break your neck in four different ways with the side of his ’and. Kill you with one blow of the fist to your chest. You know. The usual.’
‘Oh, I know the sort of thing, Mr. Ramsbum,’ said Pooley. ‘My dad used to go on about it,’ he added mendaciously. ‘How to get a sentry from behind and chuck him over the edge of a roof, a sea wall, that kind of thing.’
‘Yes. Yes, ’e was good on that. I remember…’ Ramsbum stopped suddenly and gazed in deep suspicion at Pooley. ‘What are you on about?’
Pooley tried to look innocent. ‘Just comparing notes, Mr. Ramsbum.’
‘You gettin’ at something? I know what you’re thinking. Trueman. That’s what you’re thinking. Well, you listen to me, you young smartypants. I said I saw him jump and I’m sticking to that.’ He turned his back on them and stalked downstairs. ‘Hell!’ said Pooley. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I blew that.’
‘Too fucking right you blew that. The old bastard won’t say another word now about who was in the admiring group. You’ve got to learn to control your impulsiveness.’ Milton sighed with exasperation. ‘Oh, stop looking suicidal, for God’s sake, Ellis. It’s all right. We’ve got a lot to chew on. Now we should really talk to Chatterton, but I can’t do it. The Commissioner’s called an emergency meeting for seven o’clock to review progress. Apparently there’s been some bitching from the Ministry of Defence. They’re taking it personally that the Admiral’s murderer hasn’t been found yet. Come on. We’ll have to go.’
‘I’ve got a couple of ideas, sir.’
‘A commodity you’re never short of, Ellis.’ Milton sounded slightly acid. ‘But run with them by all means.’
***
‘Easiest thing in the world, old man,’ said Pooley’s old school friend.
‘For a geriatric?’
‘Certainly for a geriatric. You have to get them to lean over, then you grab them by the heel, flick of the wrist, Bob’s your late uncle.’
‘Would you be able to do this if you were dependent on a zimmer?’
‘Now that you mention it, Ellis, it’s not a matter I’ve given any thought to. The SAS don’t usually put people into action when they’re crippled, though perhaps with all the defence cuts, that may become necessary. But since you ask me, no. I think the minimum requirements are to be able to stand up steadily on your own two legs and have the use of your arms. If you can manage both those things and you’ve got the know-how, you could probably do it when you’re a hundred.’
‘And the other trick? The one with the magazine?’
‘A doddle, if you know how. Even your zimmered friend might be able to manage that, if he were sitting down at the right angle to his prey.’
He chortled. ‘I must say I’m looking forward to hearing which of our old boys can still do his stuff so efficiently in his twilight years.’
‘Well, it’s not necessarily one of your old boys, Dominic. It looks as if someone might have picked up some tricks from one of them in sessions at the club.’
‘Forget it, Ellis, You don’t pick this sort of thing up. You’ve got to have been trained, and trained, and trained, and done it, been there. Learning it is hard. After that, it’s like riding a bicycle. You don’t forget. If you’re not looking for one of ours and it sounds as if you are, then you’re looking for some other kind of trained killer. Take your choice.’
‘Thanks. You’ve been a big help.’
‘Think nothing of it. I always feel the only justification for sending people to Eton is that they will never have to pay for advice. Good luck.’
‘Cheers.’ Pooley put down the phone, jumped up and began to walk round and round and round the office, oblivious to the sneers and sniggers of his colleagues. Half-way through his sixth tour of the perimeter, eyes focused on the floor, hands in fists, he straightened himself and rushed back to his desk. It took him a couple of minutes to find the file he needed and three more to race through the forensic details. He dropped the papers and made a short and unsatisfactory phone-call. Slamming down the receiver with a curse, he banged his fists together with frustration. Then he thought for a moment, crossed over to Sammy Pike’s desk and began to plead.
***
‘Dominic. It’s me again, I’m afraid.’
‘Not at all. Delighted to hear from you. Any progress?’
‘I won’t know for another half-hour or so, but I’ve had another thought. You know the bomb I told you about? The straightforward one?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would one of your old boys have easy access to dynamite?’
‘Depends when he left us. You see, lots of them make off with supplies.’
‘What sort of supplies?’
‘Ammunition, detonators, dynamite, firearms. Whatever they can get away with.’
‘What for?’
‘A rainy day. Our chaps tend to be pretty far along the right wing of the political spectrum. Even, dare I say it, paranoid. Bit like your chaps I suppose.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘With ours it takes the form of expecting the IRA to invade the mainland or the proles to riot at any moment. They like to be prepared and they feel a lot more secure if they’ve got a few weapons to hand in their bottom drawer.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t keep dynamite in your bottom drawer, would you?’
‘I think I’d prefer to keep it in my potting shed. But if it’s wrapped up properly, say in tarred oilskin, that kind of thing, you could keep it for a very long time.’
‘How long is very long?’
‘Maybe ten years.’
‘What about topping up supplies?’
‘One ex-SAS man can always get help from another.’
‘Bit like Old Etonians.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Thanks again.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
***
Milton had just flung himself into his chair and yawned heavily when there was a knock and Pike and Pooley came in. Wearily he noted that Pooley was in eager mode.
‘I think I’ve got it, sir. I mean, got him. Well, nearly.’
‘Sit down. Both of you. Now go gently with me, Ellis. I’ve just had a very, very hard mee
ting and I don’t want my hopes raised and dashed. Be circumspect and begin at the beginning.’
Pooley took a deep breath and explained about Dominic. Milton listened, first with amusement and then with growing interest.
‘And then?’
‘I saw nobody seemed to have fingerprinted the shoes.’
‘I’m getting a bit dizzy, Ellis. Which shoes?’
‘Trueman’s shoes, sir.’
‘Oh, sorry. Of course.’
‘So I asked Sammy to make them do it immediately. They wouldn’t do it for me.’
Pike smiled that slow, solid smile that always made Milton feel secure. ‘I’m afraid they kicked up a bit of a fuss, sir. Got a lot on. But I thought young Ellis was on to something, so I took your name in vain.’
‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense.’
‘Lovely set of prints around the heel of his right shoe. Glastonbury’s.’
‘Glastonbury’s!’ Milton shook his head. ‘Gimme a break, Ellis. Surely they could have got there innocently, perhaps when he was kneeling by the corpse.’
‘But he didn’t. It was Fagg and Blenkinsop who knelt by the corpse. By the time Glastonbury got downstairs Trueman had been declared dead. Blenkinsop ushered Glastonbury back upstairs to spare him the horrid sight. That’s in Blenkinsop’s and Fagg’s evidence.’
‘This is too much for me. Ellis, are you now going to tell me Glastonbury was a devil of a chap in the SAS?’
‘I don’t know if he was a devil of a chap, sir. But he was in the SAS.’
‘How come we’ve only just found that out?’
Pooley looked at the floor. ‘Er, it was an oversight, sir. It’s entirely my fault.’
‘Oh, come on, Ellis,’ said Pike. ‘It wasn’t your fault at all. I’m afraid DC Pierce mucked it up, sir. He was the one doing the donkey work on Glastonbury. And when he found a B. Glastonbury in the Scots Guards invalided out of North Africa in early forty-one, he thought that was that.’
‘But he’s not B. Glastonbury, is he? Surely Boy has to be a nickname?’
‘That’s right, sir. He’s “C” for Cyril.’ Pooley was at ease now that somebody else had done the sneaking. ‘So when I re-checked this evening, there he was. Transferred to Eleventh Commandos and in there at the formation of the SAS. He was invalided out in December nineteen forty-two.’
