by Alan Hunter
Gently stirred. ‘You found that copy?’
‘Yes, sir. Under the dash.’
‘Have many people handled it?’
Metfield’s ears coloured. ‘Well, yes, sir – one or two!’
Gently sighed. ‘Carry on.’
Metfield twisted his damp handkerchief. ‘For four, sir! Stoll was carrying his will with him, in his briefcase.’
‘His will!’
‘Yes, sir, his will.’
The A.C. beamed happily at Gently. ‘You’ve set the Chief Super’s ears up,’ he said to Metfield. ‘I was sure you’d get a reaction, with that.’
Metfield looked embarrassedly pleased: he studied the handkerchief.
‘What sort of a will?’ Gently almost snapped.
‘Well, a proper will, sir,’ Metfield said, apologetically. ‘It was got out by his lawyers up here in town.’
‘A recent will?’
‘No, sir, not recent. It was dated October ’65. That was soon after his divorce went through. He’d needed to have made a new will then.’
‘So,’ Gently said. ‘Now let’s have it.’
Metfield took a fresh grip on his rag. ‘The house and a big slice of the money goes to the co-respondent, Maryon Britton. She’s the woman who’s been living with him at the Lodge, her and her daughter, Jennifer. On an estimate, the property is worth forty thousand, and the contents may be worth more. Then she gets thirty thousand cash for certain, or one-third of Stoll’s investments, whichever is greater.’
‘Quite a carrot,’ murmured the A.C.
‘Yes, sir,’ Metfield said. ‘Then there’s her daughter, she’s down for five thousand when she comes of age, at twenty-one. And Stoll’s cousin, who lives down there. He gets Stoll’s cars, plus two thousand. The flat at Campden Hill and the balance of the estate go into trust for Stoll’s son in America. We’re trying to contact the son now. The U.S. Embassy is locating him for us.’
‘Are the cars anything special?’ the A.C. queried.
‘There’s the caravette, sir, and a new Bentley.’
‘The devil there is!’ The A.C. was a Bentley man. ‘That’s enough to do murder for, for a start.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Metfield agreed modestly. ‘It does add up to a fair old lump. And since we know now that Stoll was going to change his will, it adds up to a fair old motive, as well.’ He glanced at Gently, still apologetic. ‘We’ve got that from his lawyers, sir,’ he said. ‘Stoll made an appointment with them last week, when he collected the old will from them.’
‘We can also guess why, Gently,’ the A.C. said. ‘But every dog in its own kennel. Let’s have the picture at Brayling, Metfield. It seems to have collusion written all over it.’
Metfield licked his lips – or rather, performed an action that gave the impression that he was swallowing his tongue. ‘The fact is,’ he said, his eyes rounding, ‘that the cousin is sleeping with Stoll’s woman. His name is Keynes, Edwin Keynes, and he writes books or some caper. He lives in a cottage in the village and doesn’t have two halfpennies to rub together. Well, of course, I wanted alibis, and Keynes and the woman didn’t want to give one. But in the end, I got them to admit that he spent Saturday night at the Lodge. Then the daughter agreed that he was there, too, and they could both of them speak for the daughter – a mutual alibi of the interested persons. Meaning sweet Fanny Adams.’
‘There was transport available?’ The A.C. led him.
‘Plenty of transport,’ Metfield said. ‘Maryon Britton drives a Sunbeam Rapier, Keynes has got a Hillman Imp. And listen to this: I found three more gas bottles, two at the Lodge and one at the cottage. They claim they bought them in Feb. of last year, when we were having the strike and the blackouts.’
‘Did you check that?’ Gently cut in.
‘Well, yes, I took it up,’ Metfield conceded. ‘The bottles were issued about when they said. But it does prove one thing – they knew about gas bottles.’
‘Have you checked for recent purchases?’ Gently said.
‘Yes,’ Metfield said, his ears reddening. ‘Only they could have bought the bottle anywhere in the southeast, and I’ve been able to check only in my district.’
‘They know about gas bottles,’ the A.C. said smoothly. ‘That’s what will appeal to the Public Prosecutor. Nice if we could pin them down, I agree. But I’m sure a jury will take the point.’
Gently grunted. ‘I’ve heard nothing yet to suggest it will get as far as a jury.’
‘Circumstantial, certainly,’ the A.C. said. ‘But there’s more to come. Keep bowling, Metfield.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Metfield dabbed a little. ‘So I’ve made a few inquiries in the village. Keynes has got a youngster staying with him, a kid called Turner, who’s trying to make a living as a painter. He’s got no money, neither has Keynes. I reckon the pair of them were living off Maryon Britton. And she and her daughter were living off Stoll, so Stoll was supporting the whole bunch.’ Metfield did the trick with his tongue again. ‘Now suppose Stoll’s decided he’s had enough. Suppose he decides to pull the rug out – change his will – set up with a fresh woman. Along with the rest, and a notion about gas bottles, I’d say it was adding up to a case.’
Gently stared. ‘Can we prove that about Stoll?’
‘Yes, sir, I think so. Enough, anyway.’
‘This is where Lyons comes in,’ the A.C. said. ‘Though not, I’m afraid, with compulsive enthusiasm. Briefly, Inspector.’
Lyons looked up languidly; he had been distastefully eyeing his trousers. ‘Without prejudice,’ he said, ‘and without comment. Stoll had been running after Nina Walling.’
‘Nina Walling – the actress?’
Lyons nodded his head, once. ‘For what it’s worth. She’s currently playing the lead in Stoll’s musical, at the Capri. Dark, rakish and trendy. The gossip says she was playing him along. Stoll could have made her a star, of course. She was busy sleeping her way to the top.’
‘I see,’ Gently said. ‘Have you talked to her?’
Lyons ghosted a shrug. ‘It cost the Special Fund. She isn’t shattered. Still without prejudice, her father is Oscar Walling, described as a financier.’
His eyes held Gently’s for a moment, quizzically: but the name meant nothing to Gently.
The A.C. gave his glasses a swing. ‘So that’s the case for Latchford, Gently,’ he said. ‘Proximity, local knowledge needed, three people with a critical financial interest. Gaps, of course. We need to show that these three people knew of the will, knew of Nina and Stoll’s probable intentions, knew where to find him on Saturday night. But those are mere routine questions. I’m sure you can soon fill in the answers. The case has merit. No doubt your intuition is already beginning to twitch.’
Gently steepled his fingers. ‘But there’s an alternative case?’
‘Oh yes. And equally attractive.’
‘So, without prejudice, I’ll suspend my intuition.’
‘ “I knew it would be your answer”,’ the A.C. said, in heavy quotes.
Blondie, the much-fancied policewoman, fetched in coffee on a tray – not the canteen stuff, but regular ground coffee, bubbling out its soul in a silver-plated percolator. The A.C. was mother. Since his renouncement of nicotine, he had become an enthusiastic connoisseur of coffee. He drank it black and well steeped in Demerara, silently, with a glint in his eye. Lyons also drank it black; Gently with a drip of cream. Metfield instantly lost caste by plopping in cream in moronic dollops. The A.C. eyed him with a curious expression, like a don who perceives a false quantity in Latin.
The ritual ended.
‘Good,’ the A.C. said. ‘Now we’ll hear Lyons with full prejudice.’
Lyons placed his cup fastidiously on the tray, sat back, and elegantly crossed his legs. He paused for a moment, admiring the legs.
‘Perhaps I’d best put it this way,’ he said. ‘Somebody has lately conned Stoll out of fifty thousand pounds. And Stoll received confirmation on Thursday of last week.’
&nb
sp; He paused again.
‘Who conned him?’ Gently said.
‘The father of his current mistress, Nina Walling.’
‘This Oscar Walling?’
Lyons nodded. ‘Who financed Stoll’s musical at the Capri. Or appeared to finance it. Because what seems really to have happened is that Stoll involuntarily backed his own show, while supposing his money was adroitly invested in a package tour money-spinner, Torotours.’
‘And Stoll found out about it?’
‘On Thursday.’ Lyons indicated the sheet on the A.C.’s desk. ‘That’s a report from the private investigation firm, Sekurit, which we found in Stoll’s flat. Apparently Stoll invested in Torotours without seeking professional advice. When it came to the notice of his solicitors, Branch and Parkway, they advised him to have Torotours checked out. On his instructions, they employed Sekurit, and the report was delivered to him on Thursday. On Thursday he knew that Torotours was a swindle, and that Walling had taken him for a ride.’
‘And the money had really gone into Stoll’s musical?’
Lyons smiled a thin-lipped smile. ‘Well, it certainly didn’t go into Torotours, and Walling supplied the backing for Chairoplanes. Of course, if Chairoplanes had been a hit it would probably have worked out for Walling. But it hasn’t been a hit. It’s coming off next week. So Stoll’s fifty thou has gone down the drain. Which doubtless left Walling with only a bright smile to offer when Stoll beat on his door, threatening fire and slaughter.’
The A.C. gave his glasses an impatient flip. ‘Let me fill in the background, Gently,’ he said. ‘The Fraud Squad is poised to move in on Torotours, and so are Her Majesty’s Servants. Torotours was a neat scheme to swindle both the public and the Inland Revenue – two birds with one stone.’ He beamed benignly: the A.C. had a weakness for ingenious frauds. ‘It worked like this. Walling set up an agency that offered luxury Spanish holidays at moderate prices. For the first year, which was last year, he was offering an honest deal. This gained Torotours a reputation and heavy bookings for the present season, but when this year’s customers arrived in Spain they found rather a different picture. Their luxury accommodation was not available – the fault of the Spanish agents, of course! – and they were given alternative accommodation in fifth-rate hotels. If they complained, they were issued with credit vouchers, valid when they re-booked with Torotours; and if they still complained, they were referred to some suitably small print on their booking-form. Legally, they didn’t have a leg to stand on, as a few who tried it soon discovered.’
The A.C. reached for a scribbling pad and quickly jotted down figures.
‘Torotours had bookings for four thousand units at £125 per unit. Cost of travel and low-standard accommodation estimated at £50. Leaving a gross profit of £300,000, subject to a cut for the Spanish agents.’ He threw down his ball pen. ‘Substantial, wasn’t it? Or would have been, except for mass cancellations.’
Gently looked owlish. ‘But if it was legal?’
‘Aha.’ The A.C. activated his glasses. ‘Walling was greedy. He tried his pranks on the Inland Revenue as well. His Spanish agents sent him fictitious invoices for the luxury accommodation, and he tried to work them off on his tax-man, who was a little astuter than he was. So we were alerted, and the Spanish police. And now the Fraud Squad has the evidence. That low-standard accommodation, an alleged emergency, was booked as far back as last November. Entre nous, I’ve o.k.’d a warrant. We’ll be raiding Torotours today.’
Gently looked more owlish. ‘And Stoll invested in this racket?’
‘Walling was a pal of his,’ Lyons said quickly. ‘They’d had a number of showbusiness deals together. Walling’s flat is only two doors from Stoll’s.’
‘And don’t forget the daughter,’ the A.C. added. ‘That circumstance would probably cloud Stoll’s judgement. Also, Torotours began as a bona fide project – perhaps still was, when Stoll invested.’
‘So what’s the theory?’
Lyons leaned forward eagerly. ‘Walling couldn’t raise fifty thou to repay Stoll. And he knew that if Stoll showed us the Sekurit report it would mean a twicer at the very least. So what was he to do?’
Gently hunched. ‘He might have asked for time to pay. Presumably Walling isn’t entirely broke, and an offer of a few thou might have saved him.’
‘But suppose Stoll wouldn’t agree?’
‘Then there’d still be Nina Walling. Stoll wouldn’t want to send her father to prison.’
Lyons made derisive throat noises. ‘You haven’t met Nina Walling! If Daddy stood in her way, I wouldn’t fancy his chances.’
Gently sighed softly. ‘Very well, then. We’ll accept the hypothesis that Walling was desperate. We’ll suppose that every other avenue was closed to him, and that only Stoll’s demise could solve his problem. Has Walling a record of violence?’
‘Well . . . no!’
‘Does he mix with people who have?’
‘No – well, not exactly! But I’ll bet he knows a few who could put him on to a rough boy, if he needed one.’
‘Do hold your horses, Gently,’ the A.C. said reprovingly. ‘Lyons does have a case worth consideration. For example, Walling was away from town last weekend. And the weekend before that he was staying at the Lodge.’
‘And he doesn’t have an alibi!’ Lyons snapped. ‘At least, he hasn’t come up with one yet. And he knows all about Stoll’s hobby of filming wildlife – actually made a trip with him, to the New Forest.’
‘So, one way or another,’ the A.C. soothed, ‘Walling is at least as suspect as the others. No knowledge of wills is necessary in his case, and he may have known in advance where Stoll was going. Stoll could have planned his badger trip the previous weekend, and Walling may even have explored the ground with him.’
‘Though it would still need special local knowledge,’ Metfield broke in anxiously.
‘Yes,’ the A.C. agreed kindly. ‘It would still need that.’
Lyons recrossed his legs with a quick, irritable movement. ‘I don’t see it matters that Walling doesn’t have form. There are professional killers and there are oncers. Nobody’s claiming that Walling’s a pro. This isn’t a pro-type killing, in any case. It’s about as amateur as they come. Just the sort of thing a oncer would pull if he didn’t know about violence, and didn’t want to.’
‘And that’s Walling’s type?’ Gently asked.
‘That’s precisely Walling’s type.’
‘I understand he’s a homosexual,’ the A.C. said brightly. ‘The plump sort. A de Charlus.’
Lyons sniffed. ‘He lives with a boy friend, a youngster he passes off as his secretary. It’s a big flat. They have half of it, his daughter occupies the rest. I’ve talked to all three of them, keeping it casual. The kid and Nina were there over the weekend; Walling wasn’t. He says he was in Brighton, but he was evasive when I tried to probe. He left after breakfast, according to his friend, and wasn’t back till late on Sunday. Nina played her two houses on Saturday and got in around midnight. The kid waited up for her. Walling took his car, a Jaguar 420, and a weekend case.’
‘Any purchase of gas bottles?’
‘No,’ Lyons said sulkily. ‘But you can buy them all over London.’
‘Any sightings of Walling in the Latchford area?’
‘If there were,’ Lyons said, ‘he’d be inside now.’
‘In fact, another circumstantial case?’
‘All right,’ Lyons said savagely. ‘This is circumstantial too. But it’s asking a lot fewer questions than the case at the other end, and the questions it does ask we can get the answers to. Walling had a clear, strong, urgent motive, plus knowledge and adequate opportunity.’
‘Though he did have alternative courses open to him,’ Metfield rumbled.
Lyons shut his mouth tight and glared at nowhere.
‘Well, well,’ the A.C. purred contentedly. He sat back in his chair with a pleased smile. ‘I think that concludes the evidence, Gently,’ he said. ‘So
now I’ll call on your contribution. On the one hand we have this faded ex-actress, with a fortune about to slip from her grasp, and on the other a homosexual financier, with a prison sentence staring him in the face. Greed and ruin, a nice balance. I must confess I look forward to your opinion.’
Gently slid his pipe from his pocket and began polishing the bowl against his palm. Then he blew through it once or twice. ‘How much do we know about Stoll?’ he asked.
‘What about Stoll?’
‘About his character. About whether it was stable or unstable.’
The A.C. flicked a quick look at Lyons.
‘He wasn’t a mixer, sir,’ Metfield said. ‘He’d had that place at Brayling for a few years, but he never made friends with the folk round there.’
‘Which means damn-all,’ Lyons said. ‘Why would he mix with a lot of swede-bashers? No doubt he’d have temperament, doing his job, but I haven’t heard he was round the twist.’
‘But a noticeable temperament?’ Gently asked.
‘Well, about what you’d expect,’ Lyons said. ‘I hear he was tough with actors and scriptwriters, but that’s what directors are paid to be.’
‘Rather a lonely man.’
‘Perhaps he was.’
‘His wife, his child, long gone. His mistress taken up with another man. A scheming young actress stringing him along. Then his show coming off next week. And the discovery that a friend had swindled him. It all seems to have been building up, rather. Not a great deal left in it for Stoll.’
The A.C.’s glasses switched a full circle. ‘Carry on,’ he said. ‘This is vintage.’
Gently grunted. ‘We don’t like suicide, because the extra gas bottle is an elaboration. But suppose that was in Stoll’s mind. Suppose this was his last, his most subtle production. He is leaving us a picture of normal behaviour, of a man in eager pursuit of his hobby: with the hose and the extra bottle, why should we dream he was committing suicide? So we search the van and find the will, which directs suspicion to Maryon Britton – and sends us hotfoot to Stoll’s lawyers, who bring Walling to our attention. By the purchase of an extra gas bottle and a few yards of Woolworth’s hose, Stoll has succeeded in stage-managing the very conference that has just taken place in this office.’
