Dead Against the Lawyers

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘Did you?’

  Resse ran the back of his hand across his forehead, as if vainly trying to erase the memory. ‘He stood there and went on taunting me. He said that if I did hit him, he’d not only not pay me a penny of all he owed me, he’d also never send me another brief.’ Resse, his expression one of pain, looked at the detective. ‘You’re making me strip myself.’

  ‘It can sometimes be a good thing.’

  ‘And very amusing for others?’

  ‘I’ve learned never to laugh at other people’s misfortunes, Mr Resse. It’s a trite thing to say, but the man who slips on a banana skin usually hurts himself.’

  Resse stared at the far wall. ‘A question I had often asked myself — I’m indecently introspective — was whether I’d find the courage to tell him to go to hell if ever it reached that point. Can a man really sell his self-respect for a mere five hundred pounds a year? That row gave me the answer. I didn’t hit Corry. “Ful wys is he that can him-selven knowe.” But who wants that sort of corroding wisdom?’ Resse finished the beer in his mug. ‘But you’re not interested in the sordid confessions of a middle-aged failure. All you want to know is whether I shot Corry because of the row we had.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No. Is it any good, in support of my denial, pointing out that having grovelled before his threats of cutting off a large proportion of my income, I’d hardly be likely to kill him later and so lose everything once and for all?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten that fact.’

  Regaining some of his normal ironic pugnacity, Resse said: ‘I feel justified in keeping it constantly before you.’ He looked at his empty mug and stood up. ‘Have another beer?’

  Brock hesitated.

  ‘It’s all right, Inspector. No matter how embittered I feel, I can’t in honesty claim that two more bottles of beer will exhaust my cellar.’

  ‘Thanks very much, sir. I’d like another.’

  Resse left the room and soon came back with two half-pint bottles of beer which he opened.

  After he had filled his mug. Brock raised it quickly and drank. ‘Nothing could be more welcome. When I retire I think I’ll keep a pub and grow really fat.’ He put the mug down on the table once more. ‘Mr Spender denies any accident in his car.’

  ‘It was the best I could think up. Corry might have been blackmailing him for an accident he hadn’t reported. It was the kind of thing Corry would have enjoyed doing.’

  ‘And your accusation against Mrs Holter?’

  ‘I made that up as well. I can’t claim to a very original brain.’

  ‘You didn’t really make that bit up, did you?’

  Resse drank. ‘I just wrote the first thing that occurred to me.’

  ‘I already knew she was having an affair.’

  Resse turned slightly until he could look straight at the detective. ‘D’you swear that’s the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thanks for helping me to salve the remnant of my conscience.’

  ‘Have you forgotten it’s a case of murder? Is your conscience more important?’

  ‘To me, yes.’ Resse offered a packet of cigarettes. ‘A couple of months ago I was walking along the High Street fairly late on in the evening, somewhere about nine. When I was level with chambers, Charlotte Holter came out of the building. She saw me as she reached the pavement and she looked as though the last trump had just been blown in her ear. She recovered her natural — poise, I have heard it called — and told me she’d lost one of her small gold charms from her bracelet and had been looking in chambers to see whether it was there. Her husband had gone over to Canterbury to give one of his after-dinner talks, so she’d borrowed his keys and gone into chambers to look for the charm which had great sentimental value. I politely asked her if she’d found it and then even more politely raised my hat, wished her good evening, and went on my way. I’d forgotten the incident when, by pure chance, I was in the clerks’ room next morning as Holter asked Josephus Traynton for his keys which he’d given to Traynton the previous morning so that they could be taken to an ironmongers to have a couple of spare sets cut.’

  ‘Is that all?’ asked Brock.

  ‘Anti-climax? Obviously, she could have been in chambers for some very ordinary reason and when she came face to face with me she was so startled she said the first thing that came to mind?’

  ‘I don’t believe that because, as I’ve already said, I know she was having an affair.’

  Resse spoke bitterly. ‘What should any man expect when he marries a tart of half his age?’

  ‘The really odd thing is that each and every one of them honestly expects a faithful wife.’

  Chapter Ten

  THE COLOURS in the Holters’ bedroom were as striking as anywhere in the house. On three walls the wall-paper was deep blue background with light blue and gold designs and on the fourth wall and ceiling was a rich crimson paper. The off-set pillar which supported part of the ceiling (originally this had been two rooms) was covered with gold leaf. The headboards were gold painted and the bed covers were light blue. The floor was dark and light green in alternating triangles.

  Holter went into the small dressing-room and changed into his pyjamas, glad to be out of sight since his portly figure could, in cold blood, look rather ridiculous. When he returned to the bedroom, Charlotte had just put on her nightdress. It was semi-transparent.

  He crossed to her side, but when he tried to kiss her she turned her head away.

  ‘I’d rather we didn’t tonight, Radwick,’ she said.

  ‘But I’m not in the least bit tired.’

  ‘Why can’t you ever leave me alone? You’re always after me.’

  Her strained expression made her look almost ugly.

  ‘I am your husband,’ he said pompously.

  ‘You’re a randy old goat.’

  He stepped away from her. ‘I am not all that old.’

  She forced herself to act more calmly. ‘Radwick, my darling, I didn’t mean that kind of old. You must know I wouldn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘I’ve always hoped you wouldn’t.’ He was silent for a few seconds, then said: ‘Why can’t we play ding-a-ling?’

  ‘I don’t feel like it.’

  ‘What’s wrong? Isn’t a husband supposed to feel randy?’

  ‘Of course he is.’

  ‘Then why did you say what you did?’

  ‘Darling, it was just because I was feeling worn out. Don’t you see that I was really complimenting you? I wouldn’t have married you unless I’d known you’d want to play ding-a-ling all day and all night long.’

  Slowly, she climbed into bed. As she sat upright, leaning against the headboard, the light showed the outline of her breasts.

  His mind was filled with uncertainty. Was her refusal an adamant one? Sometimes, her mood changed abruptly and where before she had refused, she now welcomed. He remembered one such occasion, but then a further memory worried him: wasn’t that one of the times when he had been too tired? He couldn’t be certain because he did everything possible to erase such memories. He studied her and regretfully became certain she had not changed her mind. He walked round to the far side of the bed and climbed in.

  ‘Don’t be too angry with me, Radwick,’ she said, in a wheedling voice.

  ‘I’m not at all,’ he answered coldly.

  ‘You are. Just a teeny little bit.’

  He remained silent.

  ‘You know how much I love, love, love you.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Honestly, that’s not a serious question, is it? Darling, I adore you so much it hurts.’ She leaned across and kissed him, but the moment he raised his right hand she returned to her half of the bed.

  He picked up the book from the bed-side table. He was sorry they weren’t going to, but at least he was freed from the worry of whether it would work, or not. He began to read.

  ‘Radwick.’

  ‘Yes?’ He was irritated. Once he had begun to
read, he disliked being interrupted.

  ‘I ... I don’t like what’s happening.’

  He put his book down on the bed, carefully holding it so that he did not lose the place. ‘What on earth are you talking about, darling?’

  ‘You know I went and saw Rachael this evening, after she’d telephoned me?’

  ‘Yes. Why you keep on seeing her I ...’

  ‘The police have been along to her.’

  ‘Have they?’

  ‘They asked her where I was on Tuesday evening. Radwick, I’m frightened.’

  ‘Why on earth?’

  ‘It’s just that they frighten me.’

  ‘There’s absolutely no need to be, but I’ll tell them to stop it immediately. They’ll learn I’m not Joe Bloggs from the council house who doesn’t know his rights.’

  ‘Rachael says the detective kept on and on at her until ... until she had to ...’ She looked quickly at him.

  ‘Had to what?’

  ‘Well. Tell him that as a matter of fact I wasn’t with her all Tuesday evening.’ She began to finger the sheet.

  He spoke angrily. ‘It’s none of their business where you were. They’ve no right to go round annoying you. I’ll ring the chief constable and complain.’

  She noticed she was kneading the sheet and stopped, but almost immediately she began to do so again. ‘I told you, didn’t I, darling, that I left Rachael’s just before six o’clock?’

  ‘Did you? I don’t know that I remember.’

  ‘The detective bullied and bullied Rachael until she told him this.’

  ‘I can promise you he won’t bully anyone again.’

  ‘You see, Radwick, I was so worried about us that I went for a drive round the countryside.’

  ‘What were you worried about?’

  ‘You’d been cross with me and I was terribly afraid you were beginning not to love me any more.’

  His voice expressed his amazement. ‘You silly little girl. As if I could ever stop loving you! How could you begin to think such a thing?’

  She momentarily touched his hand. ‘You’re so wonderful to me.’

  ‘Because I want to be.’

  ‘Radwick, the detective told Rachael I was seen leaving your chambers on Tuesday evening at a quarter to seven. I swear I wasn’t anywhere near there. I swear it.’

  ‘Of course you weren’t.’

  ‘You do believe me, don’t you? I promise you, I wasn’t anywhere near there at the time.’

  ‘The man’s mad.’

  ‘But I’m frightened.’

  ‘There’s absolutely no need to be frightened.’

  ‘He must think I had something to do with the murder. But I wasn’t there. I swear I wasn’t there.’

  He spoke furiously. ‘I’ll teach him that he can’t slander people and get away with it.’

  ‘You don’t really believe I was anywhere near chambers, do you?’

  ‘Of course I don’t.’

  ‘Oh, my darling. I’ve been so worried in case you did. You’re so wonderful. It’s no wonder I love you a thousand times more than anybody else in the world.’

  She leaned across the bed and kissed him again, but when he raised his hand this time she did not move. After a while they played ding-a-ling: quite successfully.

  *

  Early Friday morning, Brock was given a report from the chemist who had analysed the powder which had come from the carpet in the murder room: it was face powder and reference to records and to the firm concerned showed that it was manufactured by Juliette Drage, Ltd. The powder was known as Drage 325.

  DC Yawley was ordered to make inquiries at the various chemists in Hertonhurst. The first one he visited was the large one at the north end of the High Street where he spoke to a highly made-up female assistant who examined his shabby appearance with obvious distaste.

  Yawley explained the purpose of his visit and, reluctantly, the assistant went away to speak to the manager. She returned and showed the detective into the office beyond the dispensing area. The manager was a small, fussy man, obsessed with a sense of his own importance.

  ‘Drage’s goods?’ said the manager. ‘Yes, we stock some of their lines, even though this isn’t the town for their products.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘How much d’you know about the cosmetics trade?’

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Yawley.

  ‘Drage’s stuff is probably the most expensive on the market. Most of it’s imported. Their prices are twice the normal range and that’s all right in London or the Midlands where the women have more money than sense, but down here in Hertonhurst there just isn’t enough money available for such things.’

  ‘D’you sell much of their face powder called three two five?’

  The manager shrugged his shoulders. ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Could you check your records?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘And give me the names of the people who buy it?’

  ‘Only if the assistant can remember. The records won’t show that.’

  ‘If you can find out what you can.’

  The manager heaved an obvious sigh. ‘I’m a very busy man, but I’ll do what’s possible. But you’ll please understand that all these interruptions make life very difficult for me.’

  The manager looked through some books and then, muttering to himself, went out of the office and through the dispensing area. He returned within three minutes. ‘We sell very little of that powder: so little we only hold it against definite orders.’

  ‘Have you found out any names?’

  ‘One of my assistants says that Mrs Rennett always has it. She’s a very rich woman, of course.’

  ‘No one else?’

  ‘Hang on, hang on. I’m just coming to that. Another woman is Mrs Holter. She’s young and very attractive, wife of that lawyer. I don’t know if you know her?’

  Chapter Eleven

  ON HIS ARRIVAL at chambers, Holter went into the clerks’ room and found only Marriott was present. ‘Where’s Josephus?’

  ‘He’s just telephoned, sir, to say he’s caught a very heavy cold and so won’t be in today.’

  ‘Hell! I’m in court after lunch and I particularly wanted him with me.’

  ‘I’ve arranged for Mrs Fleming to come here all the afternoon, sir, so that I shall be able to go with you to Maidstone.’

  Holter went over to the mirror and studied his reflection. He fiddled with his tie. ‘What’s the use of that? If a solicitor telephones her about a brief she’ll make a hopeless mess of things.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Marriott eagerly. ‘I’ve told her to ask the solicitor to ring again tomorrow when I’ll be around to deal with things.’

  Holter was almost annoyed that everything had been arranged: he was in a temper and looking for a means of venting some of it. He turned away from the mirror. ‘Get on to the police, George, and speak to whoever’s in charge and say that I want to see the detective inspector here, in these chambers, as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Marriott hesitated, then asked: ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘I intend to teach him a very sharp lesson. He may be used to riding high-handed over the ordinary people, George, and that’s probably the best way of handling ’em, but he’s going to learn he’s a fool to try that sort of thing with me.’

  ‘What’s been going on, sir?’

  ‘His men have been upsetting a friend of my wife’s by making the wildest accusations.’

  ‘What kind of accusations?’

  ‘Never mind that now. Just give my message to them. Is there anything fresh in today?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Marriott picked up a brief. ‘You’re being asked for, special, on the Midland circuit.’

  ‘Am I indeed?’ Holter took the brief. ‘That’s not bad going, eh, George? They’ve got some reasonably good men up there, but they come all the way down here for me! And at a ripe old figure.’ Holter dropped the brief on to Marriott’s desk. ‘W
ho fixed the fee that high?’

  ‘I did, Mr Holter.’

  ‘Did you, by God! Then there’s going to be no holding you when old Josephus leaves us, eh?’

  Resse hurried into the room. When he saw Holter was there he momentarily stopped, but he finally stepped over to the mantelpiece and nodded. ‘ ’Morning, Radwick. It seems that people are turning up earlier and earlier. I wonder if that makes worms of us who don’t.’

  ‘What’s that?’ demanded Holter.

  ‘A random and undoubtedly stray thought.’ Resse turned to Marriott. ‘Well, George, what’s in the post for me?’

  ‘Nothing this morning, sir,’ said Marriott, and his tone of voice suggested that this was not to be wondered at.

  ‘Unfortunately, counsel’s job is one in which it certainly isn’t a case of no news being good news. No news is no briefs.’

  ‘I’ve been briefed special in the Midlands,’ said Holter.

  ‘Have you indeed?’

  ‘At a damned good figure, I don’t mind admitting.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’

  Holter ignored Resse, who always seemed to begrudge the success of others, and spoke to Marriott. ‘George, get on to the police now.’

  ‘Anything wrong?’ asked Resse, too casually.

  ‘I’m going to put a stop once and for all to that detective’s impertinence.’

  ‘Has he been worrying you?’

  ‘He’s poking and prying into Charlotte’s life and upsetting her and I’m not the man to stand for that.’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’

  ‘It’s just bloody impertinence.’ Holter waited for any comment, but when there was none he left and went through to his room. He sat down behind the desk. The carpet was missing, the revolver was not in the cabinet, and the top of one bookcase had had a square of wood cut out of it, but otherwise everything was just as it had been. When the carpet and the revolver were returned and the bookcase was mended, there would be nothing to mark the death of Corry.

  He thought about Brock’s insolence for a short while, then switched his mind — with an ease which explained some of his success — to his work. He slipped off the red tape from one of the three briefs on his desk and opened it out to read the notes he had made the previous day. Five cases had to be checked to see if they helped him. He lifted the telephone receiver. ‘George, I want one Weekly Law Reports fifty-nine, one Queen’s Bench ninety-two ... Appeal are in here ... And two All England sixty-three.’