‘I see. So, as far as you can remember, Weldon didn’t say anything. He just pushed you on one side—’
She nodded reluctantly.
‘But obviously you had a good look at him?’
‘I identified him, didn’t I? How could I identify him if I hadn’t had a good look at him?’
‘Quite. How could you?’ Mike replied musingly.
Nadia Tarrant opened her mouth, changed her mind, and stood to one side so as to allow them access to the door. ‘Now come on, I’ve got to get cracking and I want to lock up. You wouldn’t like a key, would you, just in case you feel like dropping in at any time?’
Linda let out an exclamation, partly relief and partly embarrassment, as they came out into the Square and made for the car. ‘Where exactly did that get us?’
‘I’m not quite sure,’ Mike replied. ‘Two steps forward and one step back, I rather think. The Sanders business baffles me completely for the time being, but that revolting character up there would sell her own mother if someone paid her a fiver. Just as Weldon said.’
‘If she ever had a mother,’ Linda commented dryly as she got into the car. ‘Where are we going now?’
Mike let in the clutch and drove off slowly, deep in thought. ‘I must do some telephoning,’ he decided. ‘John promised to put some pressure on the Tarrant woman if I thought it necessary. And it’s just possible we might crack this case sooner than we thought.’
‘How?’
‘By finding out who bribed her to pick out Harold Weldon at the identification parade. She probably had a good look at some photos of him before she trotted on to do her stuff.’
But twenty minutes later, on returning to their Eaton Square flat, Mike’s optimism gradually faded. Inspector Rodgers was waiting in the hall, chatting amiably to Mrs Potter. His manner became crisp and tense when the Baxters arrived, but they were both too buoyed up on their new wave of optimism to notice it immediately.
‘I saw Weldon at Pentonville this morning, Inspector,’ Mike announced.
Rodgers nodded. ‘I know. The Superintendent mentioned it. What d’you make of him, Mr Baxter?’
‘He’s nobody’s pin-up boy but I’m convinced he didn’t murder his fiancée.’
The Inspector pursed his lips and made an obvious attempt to listen patiently. ‘An interesting theory, Mr Baxter, but you’ll hardly expect me to agree.’
Baxter related the incident of the missing shoe and the trap which he had set for the condemned man, then added his theories about Weldon’s failure to invent for himself a more effective alibi.
Rodgers smiled sceptically. ‘And that’s all you’ve got to go on, Mr Baxter?’
‘No, there’s one bit more. We’ve just been visiting the witness – the only witness – who claimed to identify him. I’d like you to put that woman on the mat for a little tough questioning, if you will.’ He paused expectantly.
The Inspector held up a warning hand. ‘Who do you think you’ve been visiting?’
‘Nadia Tarrant, of course. In her bed-sitter in Soho Square.’
The Inspector shook his head sadly. ‘Someone’s been playing a vicious little game with you, I’m afraid. I’ve just come up from Surrey. There’s been a fresh murder down there. God knows who fooled you at Soho Square but the woman we found in some woods a few miles from Farnham was unquestionably Nadia Tarrant. I identified her myself.’
‘That’s impossible!’ Linda cried. ‘We’ve just been talking to her. A tough type in her late forties, with dyed red hair. Haven’t we, Mike?’
Mike crushed his unlit cigarette in his fingers and wearily shook his head. ‘Darling, the Inspector headed the team who worked on the Weldon case. If he says he’s seen the Tarrant witness dead in some Surrey woods, then that’s where she is, not talking to us in Soho Square. We’ve been had!’
‘By a remarkably good impersonation, it seems,’ Rodgers put in rather smugly.
Mike shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, neither of us have actually ever seen her in person, you know. We weren’t present at the trial.’
‘That’s true,’ Rodgers said. ‘Nevertheless, from Mrs Baxter’s description it doesn’t sound surprising that she took you in.’ He stood up. ‘I think I had better hurry down to Soho Square and bring this impostor in for questioning right away. Are you coming with me, Mr Baxter?’
‘I will, if I may?’
‘I’d be glad of your assistance in identifying her. Oh, there’s one point I forgot to mention in regard to this Farnham murder. Whoever killed the real Nadia Tarrant took one of her shoes with him.’
Chapter Six
Inspector Rodgers’s driver knew all the short cuts, and they lost little time getting back to Soho Square. It was clear at once, however, that they were too late. The bird had flown. She had had time enough to search for whatever she had come to find; the room looked as though a bulldozer had driven carelessly through it.
‘I take it that it didn’t look like this when you and your wife arrived?’ the Inspector said grimly.
‘Untidy, yes; but not like this,’ Mike replied.
‘I see. That means she hadn’t had quite enough time to search for whatever she wanted when you surprised her.’
‘You mean you think she was already in here?’
‘It’s a guess, but it adds up,’ Rodgers said. ‘The door was open, you told me. She must have heard you climbing the stairs. There’s no carpet.’
‘We must have heralded our approach pretty effectively,’ agreed Mike.
‘Exactly! She heard you coming, abandoned her search, slipped out into the corridor and hid just round the corner of the corridor, within earshot. She may even have gleaned from your conversation that you didn’t actually know Nadia Tarrant by sight. She must have wanted to get into that room urgently, so she decided to get rid of you by pretending to be Nadia Tarrant. Judging from the dyed hair and her knowledge of the Weldon case she’s been keeping a close eye on Nadia Tarrant. She’d have fooled anybody who wasn’t actually at the trial, and maybe quite a few who were.’
Mike nodded, feeling a trifle foolish that they had been duped, despite the Inspector’s excuses on his behalf. Gazing round the disorderly room he said, ‘I take it we’d better not touch anything?’
‘Correct. There may be some useful fingerprints. Apart from the impersonation angle, it’s a clear case of breaking and entering.’ He strode to the telephone and put in a clipped, factual call to his office.
Mike lit a cigarette and offered his case to the Inspector. When the call was finished Mike said, ‘I’d give my eye-teeth to know what she was looking for.’
Rodgers smiled thinly. ‘I think we might take a guess at that. Probably a lady’s shoe.’
Mike’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘It seems to be part of the pattern, don’t you think?’
After a moment’s hesitation Mike decided to tell Rodgers about the telephone call Linda had taken from Victor Sanders. ‘Sanders wanted to know when he was going to get hold of “the third shoe”,’ he concluded.
‘He said that?’ Rodgers murmured, rubbing his clipped brown hair with the palm of his hand, a habit of his when thinking deeply. Despite his physique he looked tired and worried. When Mike had finished he remarked, ‘I’ve got two murder investigations on my hands at the moment – the one this morning at Farnham, and the Elephant and Castle stabbing – only it’s not just a stabbing anymore, it’s a murder. You’ll understand that I’m not looking for work and I’m in no hurry to reopen the Weldon case. But I have to admit there are one or two things that are beginning to make me think again. Sanders, for one. He struck me as a decent type, at the time of the trial, not the type to lie. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘That makes two of us. Is he married?’
‘No. But he’s quite a ladies’ man, I rather gathered. He has a splendid war record, DSO and one or two good medals, private income from property left him by his father—’
‘But w
hat does he do for a living?’
‘Enjoys life, so far as I could ascertain. Spends his time travelling and dabbling in amateur photography. Not so amateur, either; I’ve seen some of his work, it’s of quite a high standard.’
Mike was silent for a moment, then he asked, ‘Whom do you suppose he was referring to when he mentioned the name Bannister? Was there anyone of that name mixed up in the case?’
Rodgers shook his head. ‘No, not as far as I remember. I’ll look into it.’
They both turned as they heard cautious footsteps advancing up the stone stairs. ‘Some of your men?’ Mike asked, but Rodgers motioned him to silence and murmured, ‘No policeman ever walks as quietly as that.’
The footsteps paused at the landing, then advanced with obvious hesitation towards the partly open door. Mike and the Inspector kept very quiet and out of sight. There was a soft tap on the door. A young male voice with a marked accent called out, ‘Nadia, carissima, it’s me, Luigi. May I come in?’
Rodgers took a quick step and flung open the door. A thin, pale-faced youth with thick, wavy, black hair and Latin features gazed fearfully at them for a second, then turned to run. Rodgers, moving with astonishing speed for one of his build, grabbed the youth by the jacket collar. With a jerk he spun the creature round and frog-marched him back into the room.
‘Just where were you off to in such a hurry, my lad?’
The youth stammered something in Italian.
‘You were coming in here, weren’t you? What for?’ persisted Rodgers.
‘I wanted to see Nadia. Where is she?’ He cast a dazed glance round the turmoil in the room. ‘What has happened here? Has something … Is Nadia in trouble?’
‘Sit down, laddie, and we’ll have a little chat. I’m a police inspector. Now, what’s your name, apart from Luigi? Supposing you tell me all about yourself?’
The youth sank on to the bed and darted frightened glances at them. Apparently drawing some reassurance from what he saw he began talking in a low voice.
‘Luigi Saltoni. I am a waiter at Leonardo’s Restaurant, near where Nadia works. My work permit is in order, I can show it to you if you wish.’
Rodgers smiled, his manner forbiddingly gentle, like a cat playing with a mouse. ‘I’m very glad to hear it, Luigi. And I gather Miss Tarrant is a friend of yours, is she? We heard you call out “carissima” from the corridor there, so you needn’t waste time pretending you’re strangers. When did you last see her?’
‘Last night. We had a meal at my rooms. I live in Meryl Street, you know, near Euston station. You’ve got to tell me, is something wrong?’
‘Just let me ask the questions for the time being, Luigi.’
Bit by bit the Inspector extracted all he wanted to know from the Italian and made notes in a small pocket-book, scarcely looking up to give a few terse orders when a team of plainclothes men arrived from Headquarters to examine the room. Without giving any hint that Nadia Tarrant had been murdered the Inspector tested the Italian’s alibi, and it seemed valid enough. Then Rodgers told the youth of Nadia Tarrant’s death and watched to see how he reacted. Luigi was thunderstruck and in a few seconds he was crying. The Inspector chain-lit another cigarette from the one Mike had offered him and gave the youth several minutes to gain control of himself.
Eventually Saltoni said in a low, shaky voice, ‘I always was afraid something would happen to Nadia. She was mixed up in some business but she would not tell me about it. I think perhaps someone was blackmailing her.’
Rodgers leaned forward and spoke quietly. ‘Did you, now? That’s quite a statement of opinion. Were you blackmailing her, by any chance?’
The youth looked at him aghast. ‘Me? Momma mia, my word of honour, no!’
‘Did she ever pay you any money for … services, shall we say?’
Saltoni moistened his lips and looked blank. ‘I … I don’t know what you mean. It is true, she lent me ten pounds recently, when I got into debt. That’s what I came here for, to pay her back.’
Mike noticed that the Inspector did not let the opportunity slip past. He bent swiftly forward and stretched out his hand. ‘Let me see your wallet.’
Saltoni passed the test. There were thirteen pounds in his wallet, ten of them in one pocket. Rodgers nodded and returned the wallet.
Mike said, ‘Inspector, do you mind if I ask a question? Luigi, have you heard of a man called Bannister?’
The Italian considered briefly, then shook his head.
The Inspector took over the interrogation once more. ‘Suppose you tell me how you first met Nadia Tarrant?’
‘It was one of my afternoons off. I remember very well, because it was my birthday. I was lonely and bored, not much money, no friends at that time. I was walking around the streets when I saw a library. I thought, perhaps they have some books in Italian.’
‘Which library?’
‘It was near Tottenham Court Road. And that is where I met Nadia. She understood some Italian, from the time she was with a circus touring northern Italy. We got talking, and she asked me back here. I liked her, she was kind to me. Later we became … very good friends.’
‘Quite,’ said Rodgers dryly. He considered for a moment, then closed his notebook and stood up. ‘Let’s leave it at that for the time being. Give your name and address to the Sergeant here and report to my office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. The Sergeant will tell you how to find it.’
Saltoni gulped in alarm. ‘The police station? What for? I have told you all I know.’
‘Perhaps. We’ll go over it again tomorrow morning. You’ll have to sign a written statement. I haven’t time to cope with you now.’
Saltoni was plainly upset. The idea of a police station clearly terrified him. ‘Inspector, you are making a mistake. I was … very fond of Nadia, she was kind to me … but we did not see each other very often. Not as often as I wanted. I think perhaps she was trying to avoid me recently. I was afraid for her – I think she was mixed up in something—’
‘Mixed up in what?’ Mike cut in sharply. He sensed that the Inspector was frowning impatiently at him, but he felt he must take this opportunity, for it was unlikely that the police would welcome his presence during a second, official interrogation of the youth. Nadia Tarrant, the vital and clearly dubious witness who had done Harold Weldon so much harm, was dead, thus closing a major avenue of investigation; Saltoni represented the only link with her. Mike had to risk incurring the Inspector’s displeasure. ‘How did you know she was mixed up in something?’ he demanded.
Saltoni shrugged his shoulders and knitted his brows in perplexity. ‘It is difficult to explain. There were times when she just disappeared, for days on end, a week even. Then when we met again she would not tell me where she had been.’
‘Had you ever heard of the Weldon case?’
Saltoni nodded.
‘You know that Miss Tarrant was an important witness at the trial?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you know that Weldon has been condemned to death?’
‘It was in the papers.’
‘Listen, Luigi, I’ve got nothing against you. I’m just trying to help Harold Weldon. I think he’s an innocent man, and I don’t want him to hang for something he didn’t do. Did Nadia ever talk to you about Harold Weldon?’
‘No. I used to ask her, especially when the trial was on, because I was worried.’
‘What about?’
Saltoni looked away evasively.
‘What about?’ Mike persisted. ‘Why were you worried? Go on, tell me.’
Saltoni hesitated, then finally blurted out, ‘It is only that … the night she said she bumped into Weldon in the Square, she was really with me.’
‘Only!’ Mike let out a deep breath and exchanged glances with Rodgers, who had sat down again and was breathing heavily. ‘Where was she, then?’
Saltoni blurted out the next words like a truant schoolboy at last being forced to tell the truth. ‘She came straight to my roo
m from the café and she did not leave until after one o’clock. When I spoke to her about this, afterwards, she told me I was wrong, that it was half-past eleven, but I was not wrong. I remember looking at the clock. It was later, much later.’
Mike turned to the Inspector. ‘I understood that Nadia Tarrant – the real Tarrant woman, not the impostor – worked at a restaurant in Greek Street?’
‘She did.’
‘But either you or John Goldway told me that on the night of the murder she left the restaurant about ten minutes before she bumped into Weldon; somewhere about midnight, in fact.’
Rodgers nodded. ‘She did leave the restaurant at about that time. I checked on it during our investigations, naturally.’
Saltoni interrupted, addressing Mike. ‘But she did not go straight home. She came to me.’
‘She went straight to your room at some address near Euston station? That’s nowhere near where she was supposed to have seen Weldon. And you say it was after one in the morning when she left, Saltoni?’
‘Yes.’
‘In other words, she did not bump into Harold Weldon that night, did she? She didn’t see him, ever?’
Saltoni squirmed uncomfortably but nodded an affirmative.
Mike turned to the Inspector. ‘I certainly think Mr Saltoni should make a written statement for the authorities, Inspector! The sooner the better. This is a lifeline for Weldon.’
‘I agree, this is very serious,’ Rodgers affirmed. ‘I’m not sure that it can wait until—’
He was cut off by the ringing of the telephone, which one of the plainclothes sergeants answered. The man listened briefly and handed the receiver to Rodgers. ‘It’s for you, sir. I told them where you were to be contacted.’
Rodgers sighed and took the phone. A monosyllabic conversation followed that meant nothing to Mike. He turned away and became aware that Saltoni was trying to attract his attention. The Italian’s eyes were flashing some message to him but the youth did not speak; he was obviously scared of the policemen in the room, and it was clear that he wanted to communicate something in private to Mike. Mike nodded imperceptibly and soon afterwards, when Rodgers had rung off, the two men shook hands, and Mike left.
Another Woman's Shoes Page 7
