by Jack Higgins
City Police
PRISONER’S VOLUNTARY STATEMENT
In all cases where a prisoner is arrested on a charge of felony, or other serious charge, the Officer arresting should at once, when charging him, warn him that he is not obliged to say anything, but that anything he may say may be taken down in writing and used in evidence. Having administered this caution, the Officer will write on this form as nearly as possible, word for word, any statement bearing on the charge which the prisoner may make. This statement must then be forwarded through the Superintendent of the Division to the Chief Constable to be retained by him until the trial of the prisoner . . .
My name is Alexias Stavrou, known to my friends as Jango Stavrou, and I am employed as assistant manager at the Flamingo Club in Gascoigne Square. I was near the staff entrance just after midnight when Mr Brady comes in and says he wants Ben Garvald. I told him I didn’t even know who Garvald was, not knowing then that he was upstairs with Mr Manton. Frank Donner arrived and there was more argument. Mr Brady forced his way upstairs, but Garvald had gone so he started to search the rooms. Donner told Mr Manton to give him a couple of fivers to get rid of him. Mr Brady got very angry. There was an argument. Donner kicked him in the crutch and Mr Brady fell down the stairs to the private entrance. Garvald then came out of the linen cupboard where he’d been hiding. He left by the side door and Mr Manton told me to go after him. I followed Garvald to the Regent Hotel in Gloyne Street. When I went back, I found Mr Manton hiding in Stank’s Yard near the club. He told me that Brady was dead and that Donner had gone to lift a van. They were going to dump Mr Brady in a street somewhere and make it look like a hit-and-run accident. I told Mr Manton I didn’t want to be mixed up in it, but he threatened me. He knows I was a member of EOKA for five years during the troubles in Cyprus and that I am in this country on a false passport. We left Mr Brady in a street near the river after making it look like an accident. Donner wanted to run over him with the van just to make it look good, but another car came and we had to leave. Donner dumped the van off Grainger’s Wharf. Afterwards, on Mr Manton’s orders, we picked up Garvald at the Regent Hotel and took him to The Grange at Ryescroft, because he was a witness to what had happened, but he got away. Mr Manton told me to take his Jaguar and go to the Flamingo and bring him what was in the safe. He said his boss, Mr Faulkner, had been on the phone and needed ready cash because of a run on the house at one of his gambling clubs. On my way to the club I was arrested by Mr Miller who told me the true facts and how Mr Brady wasn’t dead after all. That’s all I got to say and it’s the truth, I swear this on my mother’s grave.
SIGNED: Alexias Stavrou
Manton sat staring at the statement for a long moment after he had finished it. Nick reached over and took it from his hands.
‘Anything to say?’
‘If you can make it stick, if you can’t . . .
Manton helped himself to a cigarette from the packet on the table and Nick gave him a light. ‘Fair enough, Manton. There’s just one more thing. What about Garvald? Why did he come back? Is the cash from that Steel Amalgamated job still lying around somewhere?’
‘Why should I make it easy for you bastards, they’re paying you enough, aren’t they?’ Manton pushed back his chair. ‘Take me downstairs and let’s get it over with. I could do with some sleep.’
‘You’ll have plenty of time for that where you’re going. There isn’t much else to do.’
As they turned to the door, it opened and Grant entered. His face was hard and set, the lines scoured deep. He nodded to the constable. ‘Take him down, will you? I’d like a word with Sergeant Miller.’
The door closed behind them and Nick shook his head. ‘He’ll hang on to that lie until he sees whether Jack Brady pulls through or not. Understandable, I suppose. He’s got nothing to lose now.’
‘They’ve found your car,’ Grant said.
‘Where?’
‘Hagen’s Wharf on the river. Parked just up the street from the entrance. The gate was open so the beat man thought he’d have a look round in case Garvald was there.’
‘And was he?’
Grant nodded. ‘He’s lying on a mudbank at the far end of the wharf. From the sound of it, he’s been shot to death.’
Chapter 22
The big black van that was known throughout the Department as the Studio was already parked by the pier at the end of Hagen’s Wharf when Nick and Grant arrived.
A couple of constables were rigging an arc lamp powered by the van’s emergency lighting system under the supervision of Henry Wade, the Detective Sergeant in charge of the Studio.
Wade was a large, fat man with several chins and horn-rimmed spectacles that made him look deceptively benign. He wore a heavy overcoat and Homburg hat and looked like a prosperous back-street bookie. When he moved, he moved slowly, but in his line of country, only brains counted and those he had to a remarkable degree.
‘Quick work, Henry,’ Grant said as they approached.
‘Makes a change to get something interesting,’ Wade replied. ‘We were at a break-in at Parson’s Foundry when I got the call.’ He looked at Nick curiously. ‘Who’s this, the college boy?’
Nick ignored him and moved past the van to the end of the pier as someone switched on the arc lamp and light flooded down across the splintered rail.
Ben Garvald lay on his back in the mud, one leg twisted underneath him, right arm outstretched, fingers curling slightly. The eyes were wide open, fixed on a point in eternity a million light years away, and there was a slight, bewildered smile on his mouth as if he couldn’t quite believe in what was happening to him. It was almost as if he might scramble to his feet at any moment, but that wasn’t possible because of the ragged hole in the neck just beneath his chin and the bloodsoaked rent in his raincoat below the left breast where the second bullet had emerged.
Nick stared down at the body, hands in pockets, dark eyes brooding in the white face. Six or seven hours since he’d heard Ben Garvald’s name for the first time. Since then, a composite picture of the man had emerged from records, at first shadowy and insubstantial, flesh growing on the bones as people who had known him had their say and finally, ten minutes’ conversation face to face.
And in the end, he’d known Ben Garvald better than any of them. Did this explain the strange sense of personal loss he now felt as he looked down at the body below?
‘He doesn’t look too good, does he?’ Grant commented.
Nick shook his head. ‘I don’t know what happened, but he deserved better than this.’
Grant stared at him curiously, then turned to Wade who was pulling on a pair of gumboots. ‘Going down now, Henry?’
‘In a minute. You want the lot, do you?’
‘Every damn thing in the book. Casts of any foot-prints, just in case the killer went down to make sure he was dead, and photograph everything in sight. And don’t forget Miller’s car.’ He turned to Nick. ‘Sorry about that, but you’ll have to leave it.’
As Wade went over the edge of the pier to the mudbank, Grant beckoned to the young constable who had been standing patiently by the van, his cap streaming with the heavy rain.
‘Johnson, sir, 802. Central Division.’
‘You’re the lad who found him, eh?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘Let’s have it then.’
‘I got the nod about Detective Sergeant Miller’s car when I made a point with my sergeant at three-thirty, sir. It was exactly four-fifteen when I came across it.’
‘Did you examine it at all?’
‘Only to try the doors, sir. They were locked.’
‘So you decided to have a look inside?’
‘It seemed the logical place and the judas gate was unlocked. I thought whoever it was might still be around so I took a walk along the wharf and checked the doors. I was just going to turn back when my torch picked out the smashed railing.’
Grant glanced at the mud encrusted leggings. ‘I
see you went down to him.’
‘With his eyes open like that I wasn’t sure whether he was alive or dead at first. I pulled his wallet out and found his discharge papers and so on. That told me who he was. I made straight for the nearest telephone and reported. Then I came back and waited.’
Which must have taken nerve, Grant reflected, thinking of the fog and the darkness and what lay in the mud below the pier. ‘Ever done any aides to CID work, lad?’
‘No, sir.’
‘We’ll have to see what we can do then, won’t we? Hang on here until I tell you to go. I might need you later on and there should be a cup of tea going in a minute or two if I know the Studio bunch.’
Johnson tried hard to conceal his pleasure and failed. At that moment, Henry Wade, who had been crouching beside Garvald’s body, looked up, the light from the arc lamp glinting on his spectacles.
‘I’ll tell you one thing, sir. He hasn’t been here long.’
Grant turned to Nick. ‘He couldn’t have been, could he? When was it he took off in your car?’
‘About three o’clock.’
‘Let’s assume he’d been dead for at least half an hour when Johnson found him. That leaves about forty-five minutes to fill. I wonder what he was doing?’
‘He only had one purpose in coming back,’ Nick said. ‘I’m sure of that now.’
‘The cash from the Steel Amalgamated job? You still believe in that?’
‘More than ever.’
Grant leaned against the van and took the cigarette Nick offered. ‘Let’s assume you’re right. If that cash existed, who would Garvald have left it with? His driver, the man we couldn’t catch? If Manton was the wheelman on that job, it would give us another motive for some of the things that have happened tonight.’
Nick shook his head. ‘Ben wrote to Bella from prison just before he got out. He said, “See you soon – Ben.” Why? He didn’t love her any
more. He told me himself he wouldn’t have touched her with a ten-foot pole and I believed him.’
‘Which means he wanted to see her for only one reason?’
‘To recover the money she’d been looking after for him all these years. The only weakness I can see in the argument is Bella herself. Knowing her, I would have thought she would have spent it long ago.’
‘Not a chance,’ Grant said. ‘I kept tabs on her for at least a year after Ben went down the steps, just in case she started spending heavily and proved us wrong about that cash going up in flames. She never did. Worked as a waitress for most of the time, then got a job at one of Harry’s clubs. From then on she was in clover. He chased her for long enough, believe me, and she made him pay for the privilege.’
A car drew up behind them and a tall, ascetic-looking man in a dark overcoat, a University scarf wrapped around his neck, got out. He carried an old black bag in one hand and nodded to Grant in a familiar manner.
‘Can’t they pick a more convenient time, for God’s sake?’
‘Sorry, Professor,’ Grant said. ‘You’ll need gumboots for this one. They’ll let you have a pair inside.’
The Professor leaned over the rail and shuddered. ‘I see what you mean.’
He put down his bag and turned to the van and Grant took Nick by the arm and led him a few paces away. ‘I’ve been thinking. By a stroke of luck, Harry Faulkner can only be in one of two places. At the Flamingo or back at Headquarters waiting to see me about the Brady affair. That leaves Bella on her own. It might be an idea if you paid her a visit.’
‘What line shall I take?’
‘You can start by saying we need her to identify Garvald’s body. As his ex-wife she’s the nearest thing to next of kin he’s got.’
‘The news could hit her pretty hard. I got the impression she still had a soft spot for him.’
‘That’s what I’m counting on. See what her reaction is. If she breaks down, get to work on her straight away while the going’s good. No telling what you might come up with. You can take my car. If anything unusual happens, let me know by radio.’
He turned as the Professor emerged from the van in a pair of gumboots a size too large and Nick moved away quickly, glad to be going. At least this gave him something concrete to do that might conceivably lead somewhere.
Grant’s car was parked outside the gate in the alley and the driver sat behind the wheel smoking a cigarette. ‘The Superintendent’s staying here,’ Nick told him. ‘You can run me up to Harry Faulkner’s place in St Martin’s Wood.’
He reached for the door handle and the driver said: ‘What about the Yank, Sergeant? He’s been walking up and down the alley like a cat on hot bricks since you went in.’
Chuck Lazer moved out of the shadows into the light of the solitary lamp above the gate. He looked like a dead man walking, the skin stretched tightly over the emaciated face, the dark fringe beard accentuating the sallowness of his skin.
His eyes asked the question and Nick gave him the answer. ‘It’s Ben I’m afraid. Shot twice at close quarters from the look of it. Do you want to go in?’
The shock was obviously very great and something seemed to go out of Lazer in a long sigh. He shook his head. ‘What would be the point?’
‘Can I give you a lift?’
‘Where to?’ Lazer shook his head. ‘He was a nice guy. Too nice to go out this way.’
He turned to walk away and Nick said urgently: ‘Chuck, you wouldn’t do anything silly, would you?’
Lazer shrugged. ‘Does it matter, General? Does anything really matter in this lousy world?’
‘We’ll find who did it. We’ll run them down.’
‘So what? It won’t bring Ben back. Christ Jesus, General, don’t you ever stop to ask yourself what it’s all supposed to be about?’
He started to walk away and Nick went after him quickly, catching his arm. ‘I’m going up to see Bella, Chuck. We’ll need her for the official identification. Come with me. You can stay in the car if you like.’
‘What’s the angle?’
‘Let’s just say one good man gone is enough for one night. I probably couldn’t take another.’
Lazer stared at him sombrely for several moments without speaking and then nodded twice as if understanding. Together, they walked back to the car.
Chapter 23
The house in St Martin’s Wood was still ablaze with lights as they drove up, but only four cars were parked in the drive. Music from the record player still sounded faintly through the curtained windows of the Long Room and Nick turned to Lazer.
‘Want to come in with me? Sounds as if the party’s still going strong.’
‘Why not? Maybe they could do with a good piano man.’
They went up the steps together. The door was locked and Nick pressed the bell button hard, keeping his thumb in place for a good half minute.
When the door finally opened, Craig stared out. The side of his face was swollen and angry looking, a purpling bruise already in evidence. From the look of his eyes he had been drinking and he glared.
‘What in the hell do you want? The party’s over.’
‘Doesn’t sound that way to me.’
Nick pushed him back with a good stiff arm and walked inside. The hall was empty, but in the Long Room two couples still circled the floor aimlessly and a man in a dinner jacket slept on a Regency divan near the fireplace.
Lazer walked down the room to the record player, turned it off, sat at the piano and started to play. Craig slammed the front door, grabbed Nick by the arm and jerked him round.
Nick pulled himself free with no difficulty. ‘Do that again and I’ll put you through the wall. Where’s Mrs Faulkner?’
‘Got a warrant?’
‘As it happens I don’t need one. Now where is she?’
‘I saw her going to her room about half an hour ago. I think she’d had enough.’
‘Go and dig her out. Tell her I want a word with her.’
Craig opened his mouth to give an angry reply, but obviously
thought better of it. He moved away along the hall and Nick walked down to the piano.
Lazer grinned tiredly. ‘We’ve been here before, General.’
‘A long night, Chuck. A hell of a long night,’ Nick said. ‘How about a drink?’
‘I could certainly use one.’
Nick went behind the bar, found a couple of clean glasses and a bottle of Scotch and went back to the piano. He gave Lazer a generous measure, filled his own glass to the brim and took it down in one easy swallow.
‘Careful, General, that way it can get to be a habit,’ Lazer said.
As the warm glow spread throughout his entire body, Nick poured himself another, then leaned against the piano, the music reaching out to enfold him. It was five o’clock in the morning at the fag end of a long night and he was tired. Too tired to think straight and that wouldn’t do, because somewhere, just below the level of consciousness, something was nagging away at him, one piece of the jigsaw that was the key to this whole business and he was damned if he could think what it was.
Craig appeared at his elbow and bowed ironically. ‘She isn’t feeling too well. You’ll have to wait till tomorrow, copper.’
‘Tomorrow’s already here.’ Nick shook his head. ‘You want to get with it, Craig. You’re slipping.’
He walked down the room, disregarding Craig’s sudden cry and moved along the hall to the library. As he opened the door to go in, Craig caught up with him and grabbed at his shoulder. Nick sent him staggering back across the hall, slammed the door and locked it.
The fire in the grate had burned low, but the lamp was still lit on the desk. He moved across to the bedroom door and knocked. There was no reply and when he tried to open the door, he found it was locked.
He knocked again. ‘Bella, this is Nick Miller. I’ve got to speak to you.’
There was silence for a moment, then a soft foot-fall, the click of a key. When he opened the door, she was moving across to the fireplace.
She wore a négligé of black silk, the sleeves trimmed with mink and her face was very pale, the eyes like dark shadows. She picked up a glass from the side table, poured a double gin and turned to face him, curiously defiant.
