The False Inspector Dew

by Peter Lovesey

  'I had to think of something. Are you angry with me?'

  'I ought to be. It's no good, you know. She wouldn't give me a divorce.' He gave a low chuckle. 'But it's a terrible shock to Lydia to be told I have a lover.'

  Alma pressed closer to him. 'Am I really your lover?'

  'There's a teashop at the foot of the Hill. Shall we stop there?'

  The rain had already eased as they got out of the taxi. The shop was full of people escaping the shower, but someone got up to leave. The table was in a quiet position shielded by the coat-stand. Walter told Alma that Lydia had renounced her promise to let him practise dentistry in America. She wanted him to act as her agent.

  She felt the blood drain from her face, is that because of me?'

  He reached across the table and put his hand over hers. 'No, my dear. She announced this over breakfast. And she has sold the practice and I won't get a penny from the proceeds.'

  Alma shook her head slowly, but she said nothing. She knew intuitively that Walter was on the point of saying something momentous.

  He still held her hand, i have decided not to go to America.'

  'Walter, my darling!'

  'It's ruinous, of course, but I'll manage somehow.'

  'We'll manage together.'

  'No. I thank you, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't allow myself to subject you to gossip and scandal.'

  'I don't care a jot about my reputation. I love you!'

  He stared down at his tea.

  Alma decided that this was the moment to mention the plan she had conceived as she lay sleepless at home in the small hours of the morning. It would sound outrageous, spoken coldly like this in a public teashop, but when otherwise could she tell him? She pitched her voice low. 'There could be another way.'

  'Hm?' He did not look up.

  'Once, in the surgery, you talked to me about someone else who was treated unbearably badly by his wife, and who fell in love with another woman who cared deeply and passionately about him.'

  He looked up and regarded her innocently, i don't seem to recall this.'

  'Dr Crippen.'

  'Oh.'He gave a jolt.

  Before he could stop her, Alma said, 'They were caught because they tried to disguise themselves. They tried to escape across the ocean on a small steamship and the captain was suspicious.'

  'Crippen was a murderer.'

  Alma brushed that aside. 'You told me Lydia has booked your passages on the Mauretania.'

  'Yes, but I'm not going now.'

  'Just suppose for a moment that you did go, not with Lydia, but with me. I would travel as Mrs Baranov. It wouldn't be a difficult part to play, darling. No-one would suspect us, because no-one would know any different. We would be in America in six days and live there for ever as man and wife!'

  'But what about Lydia?'

  'Chloroform.'

  'I think I need a cigar.' He put one in his mouth and broke two matches trying to light it. 'Are you serious about this?'

  'Absolutely.'

  'I couldn't do it — not even to Lydia.'

  'You can. You're very brave. You saved your father from drowning.'

  He managed to smile. 'It isn't exactly the same thing.'

  'Please don't laugh at me. This isn't some absurd idea that just occurred to me. I've been planning it for days. Don't you see? By booking for the voyage already, Lydia has given us the chance to succeed where Dr Crippen and his Ethel failed.'

  A voice asked, 'Did you want some more hot water, dears?'

  They both looked up at the waitress. Her face showed only the weariness of a long day at work.

  'No, thank you,' said Walter. He paid for the teas and they left the shop.

  The sun was shining thinly.

  'They were caught because Inspector Dew found the remains of Mrs Crippen under the floor in the cellar,' said Walter.

  'There is another thing,' said Alma, ignoring Walter's observation as they walked up the Hill together. 'If I take Lydia's place, I can copy her signature. I can write you a cheque for the sale of your practice. I can write any number of cheques. We can live in style and you can be the most successful dentist in America.'

  'Using Lydia's money?'

  'It would be criminal not to use it, darling,' said Alma, and she squeezed his arm.

  'That's clever.' He smiled. 'That really is rather clever.'

  'I shall have to use her passport, but that ought to be all right. We're about the same height and we both have brown eyes. She's darker than I am, but you couldn't tell from a photograph. Nobody looks like their passport photograph anyway. And you'll be there to vouch for me.'

  'There must be a flaw in this.'

  'Darling, there isn't. If we give Lydia the chloroform the night before we sail, none of her friends will miss her. She'll have signed the papers for the solicitor. The bank will have transferred her money to America. We simply step aboard that liner and start our new life together. Our honeymoon.'

  Walter looked dazed. He had obviously been staggered by the boldness of the plan. His first reaction had been to reject it, then to look for faults in it. Now he was seriously considering it. Alma could see it in his eyes. He was coming to terms with the necessity of chloroforming Lydia.

  He raised more difficulties, but they were details only. He asked what Alma would say to Mrs Maxwell, and what she would do about the house on Richmond Hill. He asked about her family and friends.

  From the nature and manner of his questions, it was clear that Walter was prepared to be convinced. Alma told him what she would say to Mrs Maxwell. She told him there were people at the church who would rent the house. She would tell them she was going to winter on the continent. She would tell her closest friends. She had no immediate family. She could be ready in a week.

  Walter listened carefully. Then he was silent for a time.

  Alma walked beside him up the Hill. She contained herself. She didn't want to rush him into a decision. She wanted him to see the soundness of the plan. She was confident that it would work.

  At last he spoke. 'We'll have to think of what to do with her.'

  From the way he said it, Alma knew that he had been persuaded.

  PART THREE

  The Knockout

  1

  To Alma, the plan to do away with Lydia and escape with Walter to America was more romantic then anything in Ethel M. Dell. It made The Knave of Diamonds seem insipid. It was wicked and audacious and it would bind her more strongly to Walter than any ceremony of marriage. Their secret would unite them for ever. They would live in luxury in Manhattan, and Walter would be the finest dentist in New York. They would take trips to Niagara and Nantucket and New Orleans and San Francisco. Mentally she was still touring the United States when Walter, firmly bogged down in England, said, 'We really ought to decide what to do with her.'

  'Do with her?'

  'Lydia.'

  'But we decided, darling.'

  'No, I don't mean that. I mean after that. Where shall we put her?'

  'Oh.'

  They were sitting on a bench in the Richmond Terrace Gardens. It was one of those brilliant September evenings when every detail of the Thames Valley was picked out by the low-angled sun. Filaments of cirrus cloud lay across the sky becoming pinker by the minute.

  'Dr Crippen buried his wife in the cellar,' observed Alma.

  'And Inspector Dew went down there with a spade.'

  'Horrid Inspector Dew.'

  Walter gave a shrug. 'Just doing his job.'

  'How about the garden?'

  He shook his head, it's like a bowling green. We have an ex-serviceman to look after it five mornings a week. He was an officer in the Guards. Nothing escapes him.'

  'Could you put her in the bath and say she was drowned by accident?'

  'It's been tried.'

  'It's so maddening!' cried Alma in frustration. 'Everything else works perfectly.'

  'It's a practical problem, my dear,' said Walter. 'Getting excited about it isn't
any help.'

  Alma was actually pleased by this mild reproof. Walter was treating her like a wife already. And his concern to perfect the plan removed any doubts she had that he was determined to see it through. He was as calm and deliberate as if they were discussing a simple extraction in the surgery.

  She said, 'If we had a car, we could leave her somewhere.'

  'No,' said Walter. 'That won't do. Someone would find her soon enough. Have you heard of Bernard Spilsbury?'

  'The pathologist?'

  'That fellow doesn't simply name a cause of death; he announces the murderer's size in hats and where he buys his shirts and how he likes his eggs done. We can't afford to leave a body.'

  As Alma felt the shock of words like murderer and body, the thought passed through her mind that Walter was facing the cold reality of their intention more realistically than she had dared as yet. To cover her unease she said flippantly, 'And we can't afford to take her with us.'

  He turned and grasped her wrist. 'But we can! That's the answer, Alma. You've got it!'

  'I don't see how.'

  'We can tip her into the sea. Push her through a porthole after dark. She'll never be found.'

  'But how would we get her aboard?'

  He laughed. 'She'll walk. It's beautiful. You're a genius!'

  'A very confused one at this moment,'

  'I'll explain. Forget the other plan and listen to this. I'll tell Lydia that I refuse to go with her to America. She'll fly off the handle and tell me to go to the devil, because nothing will come between her and her wonderful future in films. She'll sell the house, my practice, my equipment, everything, and she'll be on the Mauretania on Saturday week. What she won't know is that you and I will also be aboard. I will have booked a passage in the second class under some other name.'

  'For both of us?'

  'No. You will stow away in my cabin.'

  'Walter, I couldn't. I'm sure to be discovered.'

  'I'm sure you won't be,' he said flatly. 'Don't forget I've been aboard an ocean liner before. On sailing day about a thousand friends and relatives crowd on board to see the passengers off. It's chaotic. Half an hour before sailing time they send round some boys with gongs to ask the visitors to go ashore, but there are always some who don't, because they know they can leave on the pilot tender or at Cherbourg. My dear, it's perfectly simple to stow away for the first hour or so, and that's all we need. After that you'll have a first-class stateroom of your own. You'll be Mrs Lydia Baranov.'

  'Do you mean that you will have..?' Alma's voice faltered.

  Walter nodded. He began to talk more rapidly as he convinced himself of the possibility of the new plan. 'Obviously it has to be done as soon as possible. I'll go to her stateroom with a bottle of highly concentrated chloroform ready in my pocket. When I knock, she'll be surprised to see me, but she'll admit me straight away. I'll push her face-down on the bed — physically she's no match for me — and chloroform her immediately. When I'm absolutely sure she's dead, I'll put her body somewhere.'

  'Her cabin trunk!' said Alma excitedly.

  'Perfect. It can wait there until it's dark enough to push her through the porthole. The Mauretania sails at noon, you see. Lunch is served at one, and you'll be in the first class dining room telling the steward that you are Mrs Lydia Baranov and you require a table for one. They'll accept it without question.'

  'What will you be doing?'

  'Sitting in Lydia's stateroom with the "Do Not Disturb" notice on the door. The important thing is what you will be doing. You must establish yourself firmly as Lydia in the eyes of the passengers and crew. You can take a leisurely lunch and then talk to some other people over coffee in the lounge. Take a stroll on the promenade deck and see the deck steward to reserve a deckchair on the side facing the sun. Make sure that your name is clearly heard. Do you think you can do it?'

  'I'm sure I can.'

  'Good. Later in the afternoon, you can come to the stateroom and I'll let you in.'

  'Darling, it's going to work!' She kissed his cheek and kept her head resting against his shoulder, it's so beautifully simple.'

  Walter seemed reluctant to admit success yet. He talked on, refusing to let the rest of the plan speak for itself. Til give you the key to the stateroom, and then you can come and go as you please. But we must stay apart after that. You'll have to go to dinner and come late to bed. By then I will be gone and so will the body. I'll go back to my cabin in the second class and see you five days later in New York. I believe it will work.'

  'I'm sure it will, my darling.'

  'I venture to say that even our friend Dr Crippen would have seen the merit of a plan like this. No body in the cellar. No ridiculous disguises. And the whole thing paid for by my providential wife, the victim.' The ends of Walter's mouth widened into a modest smile.

  'Have you thought of a name to use aboard the MauretaniaT Alma asked.

  'Not yet. Something simple would be best. Come to think of it, my former name of Brown will do as well as any. I believe I know where I can get a passport made — an old friend of my father's, if he still has a steady hand. I'll look him up tomorrow.'

  'Brown doesn't sound like a genuine name,' said Alma.

  'But it is my own.'

  'Dr Crippen called himself Robinson, and that didn't sound very convincing either.'

  'What do you suggest, then?'

  'Something short and simple, but uncommon.' She brought her hands together. 'I've got it!'

  'Dew,' said Walter.

  'Yes! You read my mind!'

  'Walter Dew. By courtesy of Scotland Yard.' He began to chuckle, i rather like it. Who would be suspicious of a man called Walter Dew?'

  He laughed out loud and Alma joined in. Their laughter carried down the terrace. There was a glorious sunset turning everything a deep, romantic red.

  2

  In her last week in London, Barbara stopped being natural. She turned chic. She went to Vasco's and had her amazing chestnut hair bobbed. The sides were set in permanent waves. She put chalk-white powder on her face and painted her lips bright crimson. She bought a moleskin shawl cape and five evening gowns at a store in Knightsbridge. By Friday she had worn them all and bought two more.

  The turning-point had been the lecture by Dr Bertrand Russell. Barbara had gone straight from the lecture hall to the hairdresser's. Her mother Marjorie was astounded by the transformation. She had a double brandy and decided it was the best thing that had happened on the trip. She said to Livy that there must be something in philosophy. Livy had a different theory. He said he guessed Paul Westerfield had shown more interest in the lecture than in Barbara.

  'If she's going after Paul,' said Marjorie, 'she's playing a very deep game. She has a date this afternoon with a guy named Forbes.'

  Forbes took Barbara to a tea dance at the Cafe de Paris, where she met Arnold, who wore a monocle and was much more entertaining. Arnold treated her to cakes and iced coffee at the Grafton Galleries, where there were pictures covered with tissue paper to spare the blushes of young ladies like herself. A black band played jazz until 2am and Arnold tried to one-step and nudged a woman with his elbow. She spilt her iced coffee down the trousers of her partner and Arnold used the tissue cover from a picture to mop it up. While this was happening a young man called Rex told Barbara that she was the loveliest creature his eyes had ever lighted on.

  Rex was very passionate. Over lunch in Claridges next day he threatened suicide if Barbara would not make him happy in the suite he had reserved upstairs. To convince her he took a silver revolver from his pocket and placed it on the table. Barbara kept cool. She was chic but she was not available. She picked up the revolver and dropped it in the champagne bucket. Arnold told her later that Rex was famous for producing his revolver in Claridges.

  Twice that week Barbara passed Paul Westerfield in the lobby of the Savoy. The first time she was with Forbes and the second time with Arnold. These chance encounters had a positive effect on Paul. On Friday
morning he stopped her on the staircase to the dining room. He said her hairstyle was a knockout. He asked her if she had made arrangements for that evening.

  Barbara answered that a friend had mentioned something at the Cafe Royal, but she wasn't too excited by it. This would be her final night in London and she wanted to enjoy it.

  'You're leaving tomorrow?' said Paul. 'On the Mauretanial How about that? So am I. Let's have fun in London town tonight.'

  'What do you suggest?' asked Barbara cautiously. She couldn't take another lecture on philosophy.

  'There's a party at the Berkeley. Mainly Americans from the Embassy — the younger crowd, I mean. Some of them are pretty wild, I hear. I was asked to go along. Would you come?'

  She smiled and nodded.

  Barbara had achieved what she intended. She was attracted to Paul Westerfield despite an inclination to recoil from anyone her mother had set her sights on. She liked the way he looked at her with eyes that valued what she said. She liked the way one eyebrow tilted higher than the other when he was interested. She liked his casual movements as he crossed a room, as economical and deceptive as a cat's. He had power in reserve.

  With six days on the Mauretania to come, she could be casual too. She was twenty minutes late that evening when she met him in the lobby. She called him by a nickname from their student days. She wanted him to know that she treated millionaires like any other guys.

  The party was as wild as Paul had promised. There was unlimited champagne. About a dozen young Americans from the Embassy and as many English friends dined and danced till after midnight, switching partners all the time and clinging to each other with the unrestraint of lovers. When the restaurant closed, the party moved to the coffee-stand at Hyde Park Corner. The taxi-drivers let them take their cups of coffee to the cabs along the rank and sit in there for hours.

  Barbara shared Paul with an English girl called Poppy. It didn't seem to matter. He had his arms around them both and kept them entertained with funny stories interspersed with kisses. Poppy laughed a lot. She called herself a proper cockney. She had tight blonde curls and bright, expressive eyes.