‘That’s right; why don’t you take a look round?’
‘I believe you held a Private View last night?’
‘Yes, an excellent turn-out. As you can see, a lot of the paintings are already sold.’
Webb fingered one of the catalogues lying on the counter. ‘What was on display upstairs?’ he asked casually, and looked up in time to catch the younger man’s involuntary movement.
There was the briefest of pauses, then Marlow said, ‘There was nothing on display upstairs. It’s storage space, not open to the public.’
‘But I believe several people were shown up there?’
‘Ah, you mean the framers. They’d some business to discuss and as we couldn’t make ourselves heard downstairs, we went up for a few minutes.’
‘French framers? Webb said impassively, ‘All right if we have a look?’
‘Well, it’s probably in a mess, packing cases and so on.’
‘Actually it’s quite tidy, Mr Marlow.’ Tony Reid had come forward. ‘I sorted it out a bit when I got in.’
Marlow shrugged. ‘Very well.’ He led the way into the passage and up the steep staircase, Webb and Jackson at his heels. At the top of the stairs a small window faced them, presumably looking out over the back courtyard. On their right was a door marked ‘WC’ and on their left another led to the large storage area above the Gallery.
Webb looked about him with interest. The far end of it was, as Marlow had said, filled with sheets of cardboard, packing cases and stacks of paintings in frames, no doubt temporarily removed from below to house the exhibition. Several items of furniture were shrouded under dust sheets and a pair of steps leant against the wall.
At the near end, however, a fairly large space had been kept clear. There was a Victorian chaise-longue under the window, a couple of button-back chairs and a few occasional tables. Almost like a private sitting-room, in fact.
‘Have your lunch up here, do you?’ Webb asked facetiously. He looked at the window, screened by a Venetian blind. Had the White boys seen anything through it? It was hard to imagine what it could have been.
‘How many people were here last night, Mr Marlow?’
‘About two hundred. Too many, actually, in this weather.’
‘I presume you have a guest list?’
‘I have, yes. Look, Chief Inspector, do you mind telling me what this is all about?’
‘Just a line of inquiry we’re pursuing, sir. May we borrow the list?’
‘Would it make any difference if I said no?’
‘It’s your privilege, sir,’ Webb replied blandly.
‘Mr Reid has it.’ Marlow’s voice was short. Apparently his patience with them had evaporated. Jackson, catching Webb’s eye, pulled his mouth down as Marlow went ahead of them down the stairs. The list was duly produced and handed over.
‘Had your windows cleaned lately?’ Webb asked, as he flicked through it.
‘You have an agile mind, Chief Inspector,’ Marlow said drily. ‘I confess I can’t keep up with you. Why should you be interested in my windows?’
‘I wondered if you’d managed to replace your previous cleaners.’
‘And why should I do that?’
‘For the very good reason that they’re dead.’
Marlow stared at him with a complete lack of comprehension.
‘Didn’t you realize, sir? Those two lads who were murdered last week; they had a window-cleaning round in the town centre. You were one of their customers.’
‘Good God!’ Marlow said softly. ‘So that’s why you’re here.’
‘That’s right. All the premises they serviced are being examined.’
‘But – why, for God’s sake?’
‘It’s possible they might have seen something during the course of their work which led to their deaths.’
‘I see. Any idea what?’
‘Not as yet, sir, no. We’re working on it.’
‘Well, good luck to you, but I’m afraid I can’t help.’
The glass door beside them opened tentatively, and a girl put her head round. ‘Excuse me, is the Gallery open?’
‘Of course, madam, please come in. These gentlemen are just leaving.’
Which, Jackson reflected out on the pavement, was as smooth an ejection as they’d had for some time.
‘What do you make of him, Guv?’
‘I don’t know. He wasn’t keen for us to go upstairs, but it could have been for the reason he gave. Certainly he let us look our fill once we got there, so if anything untowards had been around last night, it must have been safely disposed of.’
‘That bloke saying he’d tidied up might have reassured him.’
‘Yes, I thought of that.’ He looked across the road at the wine bar opposite. It was called The Vine Leaf, and its sign depicted a coy-looking Eve modestly shielding herself.
‘Let’s go and have a cool drink, Ken, and while we’re there we can make inquiries about the couple over the road. No doubt they patronize the place.’
The man behind the bar, gratified to have such early customers, took their light ales out to the garden, where the policemen had seated themselves in the shade.
‘I hear there was a big do last night across the road,’ Webb began.
‘That’s right.’
‘Involve you at all?’
He shook his head. ‘They often borrow a couple of our girls to serve drinks, but this time they’d professional caterers.’
‘You know the owner, then?’
‘Mr Marlow? Yes, he usually comes over for lunch.’
So he didn’t eat in his upstairs salon; perhaps he used it as a love-nest.
‘Nice bloke?’
‘One of the best.’
‘And the other one?’
The barman grinned. ‘Pleasant enough, but I keep my distance.’
Webb took a long drink. ‘Mr Marlow’s wife ever join him for lunch?’ he asked, since the man still lingered by their table.
‘Sometimes, and sometimes it’s the other lady.’ He stopped and coloured. ‘Whoops! I probably shouldn’t have said that!’
‘What other lady would that be?’ Webb asked innocently. Perhaps his flippant thought about love-nests had been on the button.
‘Don’t know who she is, but he calls her Louise or something. Smart piece, always well turned out.’
Webb gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘Reckon they’re having it off?’
But the barman wouldn’t be drawn. ‘None of my business if they are.’ Nor yours, mate, was the implication.
A woman and two young children had settled at another table, and the barman went across to take their orders. ‘Any Louises on that list, Ken?’
‘Not that I can see.’
‘I think we’ll have another word with Miss Tovey, she was there last night. Come to that, she might be able to fill us in on these French people.’
The old bird in the foyer at Randall Tovey nearly had a stroke when she saw them. Jackson was intrigued. What, he wondered, had she got to hide? She tottered towards them on spindly heels, her face chalk white beneath the painted red circles.
‘Yes? What is it? You wish to see me?’
Webb, as startled as Jackson by this travesty, said politely, ‘We’d like a word with Miss Tovey, please.’
Miss Tulip straightened her narrow shoulders and regarded him with a surprisingly steely gaze. ‘I’d rather you said it to my face, if you don’t mind,’ she informed him.
Webb, keeping his own face blank, felt a shaft of excitement. She must know something, but how could this old crone have anything to do with the murders?
‘You wish to make a statement, madam?’
She drew a deep breath. ‘Yes, I think I do. I’ve had enough of this cat-and-mouse game.’
‘Chief Inspector?’ Miss Tovey’s voice came from above them, and, turning, they saw her at the top of the stairs. Her eyes moved to the old woman, and she gave an exclamation. ‘Tulie, what is it? Are you all right?’<
br />
‘This lady has just indicated that she’d like to make a statement, Miss Tovey.’
‘What on earth – ?’ Monica came running down the stairs. ‘Tulie, are you ill? What’s happened?’
‘It’s time it all came out, Miss Monica. I apologize for being such an inconvenience.’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. These gentlemen are investigating a murder case.’
‘That’s what they say, I know, and I dare say that’s part of it,’ Miss Tulip conceded in a quavering voice. ‘However, I’m fully aware that I’m under investigation, and I would much prefer them to come out and say so to my face, instead of troubling you about it.’
Monica took her arm, flashing an appealing look at Webb. ‘I think we should all have a coffee and get this straightened out. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.’
She led the way to the tea-room, which was screened from the foyer behind ivy-twined columns. There was no one in there except a waitress setting out cups and saucers.
‘Lucy, would you bring coffee for four and then leave us, please. And put the “Closed” notice in the entrance. I’ll move it when we’ve finished.’
They seated themselves at a corner table at the far end, where no one could overhear their conversation. Webb had his usual difficulty fitting his legs into the confined space.
The coffee when it arrived was extremely good, and there was a plate of almond crisp biscuits which looked homemade. Jackson hoped they would sit easy on the light ale he’d just finished.
Webb cleared his throat. ‘Miss – Tulip, is it? I don’t know what you have to tell us, but perhaps I should caution you. That means that what you say will be taken down and if necessary may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’
‘I expected nothing less,’ she replied with dignity.
‘Well, Tulie,’ Monica said gently, ‘what’s it all about?’
It was to her that the old woman spoke, and Webb was content that it should be so. In fact, if she could forget his and Jackson’s presence, so much the better. He noted approvingly that Jackson had his notebook on his knee, below the level of the table. No doubt the whole thing was a storm in a tea – -or rather coffee-cup, he thought. But the story which emerged took them all by surprise.
Unlikely as it seemed, Miss Tulip was addicted to gambling, and had been for a considerable time. It had begun innocently enough with placing bets at the Broadminster races; yet within a few weeks the initial excitement had developed into a craving which could not be satisfied, and she became enmeshed with an illicit gambling syndicate.
‘I knew it was wrong,’ she admitted in her prim, high voice. ‘I would wake in the night and vow I’d stop, but in my heart I knew I could not. You see, the excitement was like a fever. I can’t begin to describe it, but it was not a pleasant feeling. I resented not being in control of myself, and I became more and more frightened that one day my luck would run out.
‘The trouble was, you see, that I kept on winning. That was the extraordinary thing. So I told myself I was harming no one – in fact even doing some good, since I kept very little for myself. The money didn’t interest me, it was the winning that counted.’
‘What did you do with it?’ Monica asked her.
The old lady made a dismissive gesture. ‘It went to various charities – for children, mostly.’ She leant forward anxiously. ‘Miss Monica, I’m deeply ashamed. All I can say in mitigation is that it was my only vice. As you know, I’ve never smoked and I take only an occasional glass of wine.’
Monica Tovey was gazing at her with concern and sympathy, blaming herself for never, over the years, being aware of this self-inflicted anguish.
‘I knew it couldn’t last indefinitely,’ Miss Tulip continued. ‘I was breaking the law, and one day I should be punished for it.’ She looked at Webb for the first time since she’d begun her story. ‘Would you tell me, sir, how I gave myself away?’
He said gently, ‘You didn’t, ma’am.’
She gazed at him, her mouth working. ‘You mean there was no need for me to make this statement?’
‘No.’
She pursed her lips, considering. ‘Nevertheless, I’m glad I have. It’s been weighing on me more and more as time went on, and it’s a relief to make a clean breast of it.’ She turned to Monica, and her voice wavered only slightly as she said, ‘I shall quite understand, my dear, if you’d prefer me to hand in my notice.’
Monica reached out and put her hand over the thin, freckled one plucking at the cloth. ‘We couldn’t manage without you, Tulie, you know that. There’s no question of your going, unless you want to.’ She looked at Webb. ‘What happens now?’
‘She’ll probably be summonsed and prosecuted, but the fine will be only nominal. And if you’d consider giving evidence, ma’am, it’d be helpful. You were fortunate, but there are many who aren’t and these illegal syndicates can be pretty ruthless. It’s a chance to stamp this one out.’
They all looked at the old lady, who trembled slightly. ‘I’ll be guided by Miss Monica,’ she said. ‘As a magistrate, she’ll be able to advise me. In the meantime, if you do not require me any longer, I must return to my desk.’ She rose to her feet and they watched her thin, straight figure walk out of the tea-room.
‘Well!’ Monica said, leaning back in her chair. ‘That was incredible. I’d no idea. Anyway, I’ll deal with it later. In the meantime, what was it you really came to see me about?’
Webb wrested his mind back from the old lady. ‘It concerns the Private View last night. I understand some French people were there?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you happen to know who they were?’
‘There were two gentlemen called Clériot who supply wine to my brother-in-law. We dined with them the other evening.’
The innocent couple, from what Hannah had said. ‘And the others?’
‘A Monsieur and Madame Beynaud, neighbours of the Clériots.’
‘From where?’
‘Saumur.’
‘Did you speak to them last evening?’
‘No.’
No point in mentioning the upper room; Hannah’d reported she was as mystified as they were. He moved on to the next point.
‘Do you know anyone by the name of Louise?’
Monica’s eyebrows lifted at his change of subject, but she made no comment and considered his latest question. ‘Not that I can think of.’
Jackson leant forward, remembering the barman’s original wording. ‘Or that sounds like Louise?’ he suggested.
‘Well, my sister’s name is Eloise.’
The two men exchanged quick glances. ‘Was she at the View last night?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘So she knows Mr Harry Marlow?’
Monica looked at him for a long minute. ‘Of course,’ she said again.
‘Forgive me, but – how well does she know him?’
‘Is this pertinent to your inquiries, Chief Inspector?’
‘It is.’ Or could be.
‘Then I must tell you that they were once engaged.’
Wow! Jackson thought jubilantly. Bullseye!
‘And they’ve remained friends?’
‘Yes, and their families. Close friends.’
‘Your sister is Mrs Teal?’ Whose husband took you out to dinner on Monday. Wheels within wheels!
‘That’s correct.’
‘Has she any special interest in the Gallery?’
‘Not really, though she’s interested in art. She and the Marlows belong to the Arts Appreciation Society.’ She paused. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I understand she sometimes lunches with Mr Marlow at the wine bar opposite.’ Perhaps that would elicit something, he thought, but he was disappointed.
Her hands tightened in her lap but she made no comment.
Webb looked at her averted face, weighing possibilities. The twins had almost certainly seen the plane land. It was also almost certain the
y were blackmailing someone as a result of that, and that the driver of the hatchback under the trees was that someone. He had asked for the names of all hatchback owners, but a more specialized list would be helpful.
‘Do you know of anyone who drives a hatchback, Miss Tovey?’
She didn’t disguise her surprise. ‘Certainly. More and more people have them nowadays.’
Unfortunately, that was true.
‘Could you give me some names?’
‘Well, there’s my –’ she had been about to say fiancé but made a quick substitution – ‘bank manager, for a start. And my brother-in-law, and one of my nephews, Jeremy Teal, and I think Mr Marlow has one.’
Webb hadn’t missed her hesitation. What had she been going to say?
Fishing, he inquired, ‘Who is your bank manager, Miss Tovey?’ He knew, of course, from the list of contacts they’d had made.
‘Mr Latimer at the National in King Street.’ She glanced at Jackson, who was writing down the names. ‘I’d be grateful, though, if you didn’t bother him unless it’s really necessary. His mother died last night.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Now how did she know that? Not common knowledge, surely, among the bank’s clients?
‘He’s a personal friend?’ he hazarded, and she held his gaze.
‘Yes,’ she said baldly.
Fair enough; she’d been very helpful. A discreet withdrawal was indicated.
‘Well, we won’t take up any more of your time, Miss Tovey. Many thanks for your help.’
‘And you will put in a word for Miss Tulip?’
‘We’ll do our best,’ Webb said.
The Maypole restaurant was an inexpensive establishment in the High Street, where the chairs and tables were wicker and the waitresses masqueraded as milkmaids. Theo had chosen it advisedly, knowing none of his friends was likely to be there and that despite its touches of whimsy it provided a decent menu.
Although he was early, Abbie was there before him. She raised a hand to attract his attention, and he strolled over to her and kissed her cheek.
‘Been waiting long?’
‘I was early.’ In fact, she’d skipped the last lesson.
The Lily-White Boys Page 16
