‘What on earth was he talking about?’ asked Rackham. ‘In what way had she been a fool?’
‘That’s what we can’t work out,’ said Jack. ‘Neither George nor I could make head or tail of it.’ He turned to his friend for confirmation but George had stopped a few paces behind. ‘George?’
‘Hold on a minute, Jack,’ called George. They were on the corner of St James’s Street and St James’s Place. The house – a very aristocratic house – had steps up to the front door and a balcony on the first floor. The house was surrounded by elaborate wrought-iron railings and flanked by Portland stone pillars topped by lamp standards. To Jack and Rackham’s utter astonishment, George ran up the steps and, using the stonework for support, scrambled to the top of the railings.
‘What the devil . . .?’ Jack and Rackham walked back. ‘George, get down,’ said Jack.
George smiled at them. ‘It’s all right. I won’t be a tick.’ He frowned up at the underside of the balcony, stretched up a hand and grasped on to the underside of the wrought-iron brackets that curled above his head. ‘This’ll hold my weight, won’t it?’ he asked, frowning at the bracket. ‘I wish my wretched arm was better.’
‘George, get down,’ repeated Jack. ‘You’re making a complete idiot of yourself. You can’t climb up there.’
‘D’you think I’ll need a ladder? I’ll be all right.’
‘George, for God’s sake, get down!’
‘But the cat’s stuck.’
Jack and Rackham exchanged worried glances.
‘There isn’t a cat,’ said Rackham, after a glance at the balcony.
George smiled reassuringly. ‘Of course there is.’ He took a hand off the column to point and wobbled dangerously. ‘Look, it’s there.’
Jack took the flailing hand and pulled him down. ‘There isn’t a cat and even if there was you can’t shin up the railings. What’s come over you?’
‘Nothing,’ said George. ‘I’m fine, Jack, but you can’t expect me to leave the poor cat stranded up there, can you?’ He shook off Jack’s arm. ‘Let me go. I won’t be a moment.’
Rackham interposed. ‘You mustn’t climb up there.’
‘But what about the cat?’
‘There isn’t a ruddy cat,’ said Jack, losing patience.
George tried to get past him but Rackham barred his way. ‘You’re not climbing up there. Apart from being dangerous, I bet it’s against the law.’
‘Leave it, George,’ said Jack. ‘Come on. Are we going for this curry or not?’
Flanked between Jack and Rackham, George was unwillingly shepherded down the street.
They got to the Young Services, George still vigorously protesting. ‘I wish you’d let me help that cat,’ he said, as they went into the lobby.
‘Drop it, George,’ said Jack, handing his coat and hat to the cloakroom attendant.
‘It wouldn’t have taken me long,’ George said stubbornly.
Jack gave a snort of exasperation. He could see how uncomfortable Rackham was feeling and he wasn’t alone. ‘George, listen to me. I’ll grant you saw a cat; I’ll believe that the wretched animal was stuck; I’ll even concede that, given an absence of anything else to do, you might want to save it; but you cannot, really cannot, start porch-climbing in St James’s Place and you are not, really are not, going to dominate the rest of the evening by talking about it. Now, what about this curry?’
They went into the dining room where the subject of cats was thankfully forsaken. They turned their attention to food and, helped by whitebait and hock, followed by curry cooked by the Young Services’ Indian chef, the conversation moved on to safer ground.
‘By the way, Jack,’ said Rackham, looking dubiously at a chilli, ‘how did you get on with your search for a club? Did the fancy dress help?’
‘Not really,’ said Jack, reaching for the bread. ‘It’s not for want of trying. I seem to have done nothing else but dodge in and out of nightclubs. I was hoping to try and find where Culverton had got to,’ he added to George, who was picking at his food in an abstracted way.
‘It beats me,’ said Rackham, seeing that George wasn’t going to respond, ‘how few people seem to have had a motive. I’ve spent days tracing Culverton’s associates – he didn’t seem to have any friends – and as far as I’m concerned, it’s been a complete waste of time. What really annoys me is that we still haven’t got a clue where he went after he left the Mulciber. The man seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth and yet we know he went somewhere.’
‘Well, he didn’t go to the Frozen Limit, the 1920, the Gargoyle, the Hesperides, the Crow’s Nest, the Good Intentions or the Why Don’t You? Oh, and you can rule out the Rainbow’s End as well. That’s not an exhaustive list, just my haul over the last few nights.’
‘It sounds exhaustive to me,’ said Rackham. ‘You must be stonkered.’
‘I am beginning to feel it a bit,’ agreed Jack. ‘But, although I yearned for vice as ardently as an early Roman emperor, the result is a complete lemon. For all that the papers write about nightclubs being haunts of sin and depravity, full of shameless, flaunting women luring fresh-faced boys to hell to the wail of the saxophone, as the Chronicle put it the other day, all those I’ve been to have been as innocent as Sunday school picnics.’
‘So no shameless, flaunting women?’ said Rackham with a grin. ‘Bad luck.’
‘They haven’t flaunted themselves at me,’ said Jack with feeling. ‘Well, a couple – actually more than a couple – have, but their minds were obviously running along the lines of lobster mayonnaise, a pearl necklace or two and a cosy weekend in the country, not enticing me into dens of iniquity.’
‘What about the dance hostesses? Haven’t they tried to entice or lure you?’
Jack shook his head regretfully. ‘They haven’t lured, they haven’t flaunted, and they haven’t enticed, just charged me a quid a time and the price of a bottle of warm champagne for the privilege of a dance and a chat. D’you know it’s seventy-five bob a bottle in some places? This is costing me a fortune.’
‘Look on it as a little extra something on your tax bill,’ said Rackham unfeelingly. ‘Mind you, our people haven’t turned up anything either. Still, there’s a lot of clubs in London.’ He turned to George. ‘How’s your curry? What did you have? Chicken?’
‘They called it Kari de Volaille on the menu,’ put in Jack.
‘I feel sorry for the poor creature,’ said George, putting down his knife and fork and staring at his plate.
‘What, the chicken?’ asked Jack.
‘No, idiot,’ said George. ‘The cat. The cat on the balcony, I mean.’
Jack sighed dangerously. ‘George, there wasn’t any wretched cat. Was there, Bill?’
‘I couldn’t see one.’
‘But it was there!’ protested George. ‘It was a one-eared ginger tom. You must have seen it.’
Rackham coughed. ‘You’ll excuse me for mentioning it, Lassiter, but it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve seen things. For instance, there was the cat in the factory.’
‘There was a cat in the factory,’ said George in surprise. ‘Of course there was.’
Rackham tried another tack. ‘Well, there was the girl in the kitchen.’
George flushed. ‘Come on. You can’t count that.’
‘You did say how real it all seemed though,’ pointed out Jack.
‘Well, it did seem real,’ countered George. ‘It wasn’t like a dream, where everything’s jumbled up, it seemed real. Even now . . .’ He shook his head and picked up the lime chutney. ‘It was the detail which was so convincing,’ he said, spooning the chutney on to the side of his plate. ‘I know I must have imagined it, but I can remember the pattern on her dress and what they said to each other and so on. One said, “We’re safe. He’s having a bath and she’s listening to the wireless,” and then, after the girl had collapsed, they didn’t react properly. One of the men said, ”It’s what you wanted. It’s what both of you want
ed. A perfect death. You’ve got it.” It was so creepy. That bit was like a nightmare. It was completely different from seeing that poor cat,’ he added, applying himself to his curry once more. ‘You must see that, Jack.’
Jack didn’t seem to hear him.
‘Wasn’t it?’ prompted George. ‘Different, I mean.’
‘Yes, it probably was,’ agreed Jack absently. He shook himself and smiled. ‘Look, never mind about cats. What d’you think of the curry?’ He led the conversation on to other topics and the evening – an oddly uncomfortable evening in some respects as far as Rackham was concerned – came to an end.
Rackham was able to say what was on his mind when, having accepted Jack’s invitation to join them for a nightcap back in his rooms, he was briefly alone in the lobby with Jack, waiting for George.
‘Look, Jack,’ said Rackham earnestly, keeping his eye on the cloakroom door for Lassiter’s reappearance, ‘I think you should be concerned about him. Really concerned, I mean. If there was a cat on that balcony tonight, I’m a Dutchman.’ He put his hands wide. ‘I said this before but I mean it. I think he needs a doctor.’
Jack sighed reluctantly. ‘You might be right, Bill. It’s worrying, isn’t it? But if he is seeing things, the poor beggar can’t help it. Go easy on him, will you?’ He gave him a warning look as George joined them. ‘Shall we go?’
Once back in Chandos Row, Jack let them into the house with his latchkey and led the way up to his rooms. He put his key in the lock but the door was open. ‘That’s funny,’ he said to George with a puzzled frown. ‘I’m sure I locked it.’
They went in. The light in the little hallway was on and, from the sitting room, they could hear a noise, the sort of noise a man makes settling into an armchair.
‘There’s someone in there,’ said Rackham quietly.
Jack opened the door. David Lassiter, who had been sitting in the armchair, stood up as they entered. He looked worried and ill at ease.
‘Hello,’ said Jack in surprise. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. Er . . . What can I do for you?’
David Lassiter ran his hand through his hair. ‘This is difficult, very difficult.’ He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. ‘I didn’t know what to do so in the end I thought I’d tell you. Your landlady said I could wait here. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not in the least,’ said Jack easily. ‘Why don’t you sit down again? We were going to have a nightcap. Will you join us?’
David Lassiter shook his head. ‘No, no, I won’t do that. It wouldn’t be suitable, you know?’ He ran his hand through his hair once more. He looked at Rackham and George. ‘I hoped you’d be alone. I should have expected George, I know, but I didn’t think Inspector Rackham would be with you too. Perhaps it’s just as well.’
‘What is it?’ asked Jack patiently.
David Lassiter took a deep breath. ‘I can’t pretend any more. I thought I could but I can’t. It’s been hell, watching you get nearer and nearer.’ He swallowed. ‘I want to get it over with. It’s all for the best.’ He looked at Jack with an indefinable expression. ‘God knows what Peggy will think but I can’t carry on any longer. It’ll be better for her this way. You see, Haldean, I want to confess.’ He looked at them with tired, defiant eyes, then shrugged hopelessly. ‘There’s no easy way to put this. I killed Alexander Culverton.’
Chapter Twelve
Rackham made a choking noise in his throat. ‘You did what?’
David Lassiter nodded. ‘I killed him. I can’t stand it any longer. I knew you suspected me.’ His voice wavered. ‘I could feel you getting closer and closer. I was like an animal in a trap. I knew it was only a matter of time.’
David Lassiter, thought Jack, looked weary to the point of exhaustion. ‘Why don’t we all sit down?’ he said quietly. He looked at Rackham. ‘Bill? Is that all right?’
‘I’d better hear what Mr Lassiter has to say,’ agreed Rackham. He took off his coat and, laying it over the back of the sofa, sat down. ‘Mr Lassiter?’
David Lassiter sank into an armchair. ‘I don’t know where to start.’
George Lassiter, who had hardly moved since they had walked into the room, stepped forward to face his uncle. ‘It’s not true,’ he said, his eyes blazing. ‘Why are you doing this? Think what you’re doing to us all. There’s Anne, there’s Grandfather, there’s Mrs Culverton. We all trust you. I don’t know what you’re doing but it can’t be true.’
David looked at him and the years between them seemed to lengthen visibly. ‘It is, George. I’m sorry to let you all down but it’s true enough. I’m only human and God knows, I’d reached the end of my tether. Please, will you sit down?’ George sank unwillingly on to the sofa. ‘That’s better.’ David Lassiter looked at Jack. ‘You’re an odd chap. I spoke to Anne about you earlier on. She didn’t suspect a thing. I nearly told her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Anyway, I said then that you were someone I’d like beside me in a tough place.’ His mouth straightened in a thin line. ‘There’s nothing you can do but I hoped you’d understand. You’re trustworthy, I think. And about as dangerous as a rattlesnake. I knew you were on to me.’
Jack didn’t disagree but it wasn’t actually the case. He had wondered about David but only because the man had a motive, a motive which, he reminded himself, he’d tried to conceal. Having said that, David possessed the Lassiter temper in full measure and, yes, he could be violent. His history showed that. ‘Will you tell us why you killed him?’ he asked.
‘Peggy,’ said David. His expression grew softer. ‘It’s because of Peggy. If she’d been happy with Culverton it would have been different, but she wasn’t.’ He linked his hands together. ‘He was monstrous. He was a big man, fleshy and gross, and so bloody fussy about his appearance. God damn it, he used scent. His eyes were chilling. I’ve never seen such cold eyes in any man. I guessed – it was obvious enough – that Peggy disliked him but I never knew she was terrified of him until that evening when Anne telephoned me and I went round to Peggy’s flat in Kensington.’
‘Can you tell us what happened the evening Culverton was killed?’ asked Rackham.
David leaned his forehead on his hand. ‘Peggy was scared. She knew it wouldn’t take Culverton long to find out where she was and she was frightened that he’d force his way into the flat.’ He looked at Jack. ‘Did you ever meet him?’ Jack shook his head. ‘That’s a pity,’ said David, more to himself than to them. ‘You’d understand then. Behind his sophisticated exterior, there was always violence. He enjoyed watching anything or anyone squirm. I’ve seen that for myself. He was a frightening man. I sensed it. I was always careful not to cross him but then, when Peggy was so scared . . . I knew that the only way she would find peace was if he was dead.’ He shrugged, his voice trailing away. ‘And so I killed him.’
Rackham coughed. ‘How exactly did you do that, sir?’
David Lassiter roused himself. ‘How? I . . . I hit him. I saw him leave the Mulciber and I followed him. He went to the Embankment and it was there, by Cleopatra’s Needle, I killed him. He fell over and cracked the back of his head on the wall. I meant to kill him. No one saw us. I hit him with a brick. Again and again.’ He looked bewildered. ‘I don’t think I was quite rational. I wanted to make sure he was dead. He deserved to die. I took his clothes off and threw them in the river. I thought it’d be safer that way. I hoped no one would ever know who he was. Even now I’m glad I did it. Peggy’s free of him for ever. But I didn’t realize what it would be like afterwards. I couldn’t stand it.’
‘What time was this, sir?’
‘Time? When I killed him, you mean? It was before midnight. I heard Big Ben strike afterwards. Does it matter? I’ve said I did it.’ He looked helplessly at the three men in the room. ‘What happens now?’
Rackham got to his feet. ‘I think I’d better take you to the Yard, Mr Lassiter.’
David Lassiter gave a death’s-head grin. ‘I might as well get it over with.’ He stood up. ‘Shall we
go now?’
Rackham was about to reply when Jack interrupted. ‘There’s no need to hurry, Mr Lassiter.’ He took out his cigarette case and offered it to Lassiter. Lassiter looked at it as if uncertain what to do, then took a cigarette with an unsteady hand. ‘What was the weather like that evening?’ asked Jack. ‘I know it had been raining earlier but it cleared up later on.’ He glanced at Rackham. ‘I remember mentioning it to Isabelle as I saw her home from the theatre.’ He looked at Lassiter again. ‘Had it started to rain when you were out?’
David Lassiter looked puzzled. ‘I can’t remember. It was fine, I think. Yes, fine.’
Jack pulled on his cigarette, frowning. ‘Did Mr Culverton walk directly to the Embankment?’
Lassiter nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘He didn’t get a taxi or go anywhere else from the Mulciber? He didn’t call in anywhere?’
David Lassiter shook his head. ‘No. He just walked to the Embankment. He knew I was following him after a while. I think I frightened him. I hope I frightened him. I told you, I followed him and I caught up with him by Cleopatra’s Needle.’ His voice rose. ‘Do I have to keep going over it all time and time again? I killed him. What more do you want me to say? You thought I’d done it and now I’ve told you I’ve done it. I don’t want to say any more.’
Rackham dropped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Easy there, sir.’ He glanced at Jack. ‘We’d better go.’
Jack stubbed out his cigarette and inclined his head to the door. ‘Can I have a word with you, Bill?’
Rackham followed him into the corridor. ‘What is it?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I knew something was biting you. What was all that about the weather? What’s that got to do with it?’
Jack put his hands wide. ‘Don’t you see? According to David Lassiter he attacked and killed Culverton by Cleopatra’s Needle before midnight. Where was everyone? How come no one saw him? If it was two in the morning, I grant you the place might be deserted, but before midnight? I’ve never seen the area completely empty yet. To kill Culverton and dispose of his clothes must have taken ten minutes or so at least, and yet not a single witness reported noticing a thing. The only explanation I could think of was that it was raining – it’d have to be raining cats and dogs, too – and therefore any passer-by had taken shelter.’
As if by Magic Page 23
