“It’s beginning to sound interesting, sir.”
“Don’t ever say I didn’t warn you.”
When Penny Kristan opened the door of her flat, Kerr decided that Fusil had been guilty of gross understatement. She was wearing a trouser suit that was more like an eighth skin than clothing and every movement was a revelation.
“Well, well!” she said. “So my horoscope was right. It said a tall, dark, handsome man would be coming into my life today.”
“I’ll vote for horoscopes. Miss Kristan.”
“You know who I am. Now tell me who you are, tall, dark, handsome man?”
“Detective Constable Kerr,”
“Another detective! And so much better looking and more friendly than the last one. Come in and tell me why I should be so lucky.”
They went into the sitting room and she sat on the settee, carefully leaving room by her side. Kerr, suffering a rare moment of caution, settled in one of the chairs. “Can you tell me if Miss Lamont is in, Miss Kristan?”
She spoke even more archly. “You must call me Penny: all my friends do… Now you’re surely not going to tell me my horoscope got things mixed up and it’s Susy you came to see and not me?”
He laughed. “My boss said to speak to both of you. If he’d left it to me. I’d say everything’s fine right now.”
“You are nice! Well, Susy’s out and I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
“Look, the thing is, Mr Drake’s in a spot of trouble, but he won’t talk to us because he’s scared that whatever he says will reach his wife… I suppose you knew he was married?”
“You can always tell a married man. You’re married, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And not all that long ago. Such a pity…”
What was a pity? …Hurriedly, he told her the story Fusil had suggested. “There was a bit of a car accident and the car didn’t stop. From the description of the car that we’ve been given the driver could have been Mr Drake. If it wasn’t him, we want to clear him, but he won’t say where he was at the time. Now if only you or Miss Lamont could say for sure he was here, then we can clear him — and his wife needn’t ever know a thing.”
“What day was the accident you’re talking about?”
“Two nights ago, at seven-fifteen in the evening.”
She thought, her forehead creased. “I’m sure he was here then.”
“Lucky man!”
She smiled complacently and ran her right hand down her body.
“D’you see a lot of him?” he asked, watching her hand.
“I don’t, but Susy does. Too much, she says, and that doesn’t surprise me. When I go out with a man I like him to be a real man.” The way she looked at him made him understand that she believed him to be a real man.
“I gather he just takes her out for a drink or two to stop her feeling lonely?”
“Where have you been all your life?” she asked, with amused scorn. “Lonely, Susy isn’t. Not that she’s everyone’s cup of tea.” She spoke complacently. “I wouldn’t shout this around the town, but she can be a real bitch. Ted keeps buying her things and know what she does each time? Says how much she doesn’t like what he gives her. He went off to Rhodes last summer with his wife and bought Susy a gold ring. She said it was much too cheap and nasty to wear unless she went slumming. So what does he do? Give her a belt for being bitchy? Are you joking? He starts apologising and goes on and on apologising until I wanted to be sick.”
“Does he take her out much? To restaurants.”
“She sees to it he does and then he spends most of his time being scared to death his wife’ll see him. If you ask me, half his pleasure comes from being scared.”
“He must have a better paying job than I’ve got, to go on and on spending on someone who seems to despise him?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t know. Susy said he worked for the council at something… Say, why do we keep on talking about him? Isn’t there anything more interesting you can think of?”
“Not unless I get personal.”
“Then you get personal. I don’t take offence too easily.”
Chapter 15
After listening to Kerr’s report, Fusil said dryly, “It’s good to know you carry out your duties so thoroughly.” He picked up his pipe and rubbed the bowl against the palm of his left hand. “Jewellery, dinners… What kind of an income does that need? But his house is ordinary and his wife wasn’t dressed any better than mine. Where in the hell’s the money been coming from? Could he after all have been in the drug racket along with Finch?”
“The timing doesn’t seem right for that, sir. Finch had only been flush for the last six months, Drake’s been hanging around Susan Lamont for over a year now. And anyway, from the sound of Drake no one in their right senses would take him on in any racket.”
Fusil nodded agreement.
“I don’t see there can have been any connection between him and Finch except that they took out two women who shared a flat.”
“Then why was he terrified to know I was a detective?” Fusil looked up. “This case is driving me plain bloody nuts.” He opened a drawer of his desk and checked up a telephone number in a book, then dialled. “Reg, Bob Fusil here. Tell me something. Does the council employ a bloke called Edward Drake? …What kind of salary would he be earning? …That’s all? …No, nothing specific, but you might forget the call… Thanks a lot.”
Fusil replaced the receiver. “Three thousand seven hundred and fifty a year. So unless he’s a large private fortune he’s living way, way above his income. Find out if he booked that holiday in Rhodes through a local travel agent and, if so, what it cost him. If we can gather up enough facts, I’ll get an order from a J.P. allowing us to investigate his bank accounts. Maybe they’ll start providing some of the answers.”
*
The travel agency at the top of Bank Street was filled with brochures which depicted blue skies, sparkling seas, golden sands, and the occasional long-legged, tanned, bikini-clad young lady. Nowhere was there the slightest hint that it ever rained in the Mediterranean or that for most of the winter a fur coat would be more appropriate than a bikini.
Behind the two counters which were at right angles to each other worked a woman — who could not in all decency have worn a bikini — and a middle-aged man who looked as if he found life a strain. Kerr spoke to him. “I’m from C.I.D. Can I have a quick word with you somewhere private?”
The manager looked a shade more lugubrious. “I suppose we could go into my office.” He lifted a flap in the counter and Kerr went through and into a small, darkish room in which were only a table, two chairs, typewriter, telephone, metal filing cabinet, large ugly mahogany cupboard, a row of books on a crude shelf, and a very large poster of a young woman who had taken off the top half of her bikini.
The manager noted Kerr’s expression. “Some of ’em are now going around with nothing on at all.”
One ticket, single, to St Tropez, thought Kerr.
“We’d like your help in some enquiries we’re making and I’ll have to ask you to treat the matter as highly confidential.”
“All right.”
“We want to know if it was your agency which booked Mr and Mrs Edward Drake to Rhodes last summer.”
“What dates?”
“I don’t know.”
“But that means going through all the records.”
“It’s very important.”
The manager sighed. “Will you hang on and wait, or come back later?”
Kerr had been walking around the town for a long time. “I’ll hang on here, if it’s all the same to you.”
“D’you feel like looking through a few brochures? Don’t forget, we can fix you up with a holiday anywhere in the world. Doesn’t matter if it’s Acapulco and the jet-set or Palma and the push-bike mob.”
“But you’d need some money?”
The manager stood up and crossed to the cupboard and fr
om this brought half a dozen different travel brochures. He handed them to Kerr. “We do a nice line in four weeks’ safaris to Kenyan and South African game reserves. Quite popular.”
Kerr leafed through the folders. His imagination took wing. He saw Helen and himself on some golden beach, the azure blue sky framing the wine-dark sea…
“I’ve found it for you,” said the manager. He brought a card out of the filing cabinet. “Mr and Mrs Edward Drake. Two weeks at the Mithras, on the coast near Lancania. Six hundred and ten pounds forty.”
Kerr whistled. “They were doing it in style.”
“It’s a five-star hotel and worth every penny.”
“What were the dates?”
“July the third to July the seventeenth, inclusive.”
“When were you paid?”
“The whole amount was paid on June the twelfth. So it must have been a late decision to go on the holiday.”
Kerr noted down the facts. “Thanks a lot.” He stood. “I’ll be on my way.”
“Take those brochures with you. Show them to the wife.”
“What’s the use? I have to think twice before I take her to the local for a couple of half pints.”
“You might win the pools. Anyway, just take ’em. We get ’em for free.”
*
On Monday, Fusil carefully listed all his reasons for requesting permission to investigate Mr and Mrs Drake’s bank accounts, then went before a J.P. and made the application. The J.P. was reluctant to grant it since no specific crime was alleged, but thanks to some fast talking from Fusil he finally agreed.
Fusil telephoned the various banks in Dritlington and finally found the one at which the Drakes banked. He asked for the statements of Mr and Mrs Drake’s accounts to be obtained as soon as possible. Then, after an early lunch, he drove over to the Praed Street branch of the National Westminster and spoke to the manager.
“Here’s the authorisation,” said Fusil, as he handed over the signed and sealed form.
“Very well.” The manager, a small and very precise man, read through the form and then carefully placed it to one side of the blotter and used the internal phone to ask a clerk to bring the statements. Within a couple of minutes a woman brought in several sheets of statements and placed them on the desk. After one quick and enquiring glance at Fusil, she left. The manager picked up the statements, separated them, and said: “The larger bundle concerns Mr Drake’s account, the smaller one Mrs Drake’s.”
“Will you give me his first, please.” Fusil took the bundle and flicked through the pages until he came to June. On no date was there a debit of six hundred and ten pounds forty. He checked back to the beginning of May and forward to the end of August, but still there was no such debit.
He examined the figures more generally. Every month there was a credit of two hundred and fifty-four pounds seventeen. Clearly, that was the monthly sum left to Drake from his salary after all taxes, etc., had been paid. He looked up. “Could you do a bit of arithmetic for me? Add up all the credits and all the debits for exactly one year and see what the balance comes out at.”
Whilst the manager used a pocket calculator with careful concentration, Fusil studied Mrs Drake’s account. Not very much money passed through it. The highest credit balance was a hundred pounds and the lowest twelve pounds seventeen. For the purpose of his present investigation it was obviously of no consequence.
The manager wrote down some figures, switched off the calculator. “The total credits for one calendar year, June the first to May the thirty-first, are three thousand one hundred and seven pounds sixteen, the total debits are three thousand two hundred and six pounds seventy-one. The excess debit is accounted for by the credit standing at the beginning of the period.”
Fusil asked for the statements. He looked through them again. The pattern was now clear. Every month a salary cheque, a few small credits none of which was greater than thirty pounds, regular debits of the kind any householder suffered, and one large debit which was almost certainly the mortgage repayment.
He wrote down several figures in his notebook, closed this, then said: “That’s it, then. Thanks a lot for helping.”
*
Fusil and Kerr drove to Dritlington at seven that evening and for most of the journey Kerr resolutely looked out of the side window and tried to think of anything but the present. Fusil’s driving always seemed to be designed as a direct challenge to St Christopher.
Drake opened the front door. Fusil, with a brisk matter-of-factness, said they wanted a word with him and stepped into the hall with calm authority.
“What… what is it now?” croaked Drake. “I’ve told you everything.”
“Not quite. There are still one or two things which need explaining,” replied Fusil.
“You’d… you’d better come into the other room. Anne’s out. Why are you here again? What’s the matter?”
In the sitting room Fusil crossed to the fireplace, to stand with his back to it. He told Drake to sit. He might have been the host and Drake the guest. “Have you a private income?” asked Fusil abruptly.
“I… I’ve a few unit trust shares and so does Anne.”
“How much do you reckon these shares bring in?”
“It’s only about seventy-five pounds a year.”
“Do you do any moonlighting?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Do you do a second job some evenings, after you’ve finished working for the council?”
“No.”
Then your total income is your salary of three thousand seven hundred and fifty and your investments which bring in seventy-five pounds?”
Drake nodded.
“How much do you spend in a year?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Several thousands of pounds more than your income?”
Drake, his mouth working, twisted round in his chair.
“Where does all the extra money come from? The money you’ve been spending on Susan Lamont?”
“You don’t understand. I’ve only ever taken her out for a drink now and then because she’s so lonely…”
“Just stop and think for a moment. We’ve been making various enquiries and so we know you’re always giving her expensive presents and taking her to restaurants where one meal for the two of you would make a nasty hole in your week’s salary. The more you go on lying, the more curious we’re going to become. Why not tell us the truth now and get everything off your chest?”
He stared at Fusil, then suddenly buried his head in his hands in a manner that was feminine in its intensity.
“Well?”
“I’ve some money tucked away that I’ve never told Anne about,” said Drake, his voice muffled.
“Where do you keep it?”
“In my post office account which I started before we were married.”
“Will you show me the passbook?”
Drake slowly raised his head. “Do what?”
“Show me the passbook so that I can confirm what you’ve just told me.”
“Oh God!” he moaned.
“Do you, in fact, have a post office account?”
“You’ve confused me until I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Last July you and your wife went on holiday to Rhodes. It cost six hundred and ten pounds for the two of you. How did you pay for that?”
“I… I’d been saving.”
“You drew no cheque for that amount. Nor would there have been enough money in your account if you had.”
“I’ve two accounts.”
“The second one is not with the National Westminster at Praed Street. Where is it?”
“I won’t tell you.”
“Where did the money come from that you paid into this second account?”
“It was part of my salary. Each month I put away…”
“Before you get too involved, let me explain that I’ve checked very carefully. The whole of your salary, less deductions,
was paid into your normal account. Where is this second account and what sums did you pay into it?”
Drake shook his head and said, “No,” over and over again in a trembling voice.
“Who paid for that holiday in Rhodes?”
“A… a friend.”
“His name?”
“I’m not going to tell you. I won’t. It was a present.”
“A present? Or another bribe?”
Drake buried his head in his hands again and began to sob.
They heard a car drive into the garage. Soon afterwards there was the quick tapping of shoes on the crazy-paving, a key was inserted in the front door, and the door was opened. “Ted. Are you in the sitting room?”
“He’s in here with us, Mrs Drake,” Fusil called out. She entered. She stared at her husband, shocked by what she saw, and then she ran to him and cradled him against her side. “What have you been doing to him?”
“Nothing other than to ask him some questions which he’s found difficult to answer,” replied Fusil.
“Get out of this house.”
Fusil hesitated, then stood up.
Once seated in the car, Kerr said: “I feel like I’d just helped bury a man.”
“If she hadn’t returned just then,” said Fusil angrily, “we’d have had the full story.”
*
During the night, whilst his wife slept, Drake left the house. He went into the garage, shut the doors and covered up the spaces along the floor with old sacks, climbed into the car and lowered the windows. He started the engine and waited.
Chapter 16
“I’m very, very sorry,” said Fusil quietly.
“It’s too late for that, isn’t it?” Anne Drake was dry-eyed now, but the recent tempest of tears had left her eyes reddened and her eyelids puffy.
Fusil spoke with a deep compassion which to anyone who didn’t really understand him might have seemed hypocritical. “I’m afraid I have to say something to you, Mrs Drake, which is going to hurt.”
“Do you imagine you can hurt me anymore?”
“Were you aware of the fact that your husband has been friendly with a woman?”
Murder is Suspected (C.I.D. Room Book 10) Page 11
