Another Woman's Shoes

by Francis Durbridge

  Standing to one side in the library Linda watched with amusement as Mike turned on the charm for the benefit of the elderly, rather frigid female assistant whom he had singled out to help him. In less than a minute he had secured her co-operation.

  ‘Perhaps you’d be so very kind as to tell me the procedure here. I mean does one have to give one’s name in order to get a book?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘And the exact procedure …?’ Mike pressed, giving her his most winning smile.

  ‘You consult the catalogue, decide which book you want, then write the number of the book together with your name and address on a slip of paper. We take the slip and give you the book. You can’t take it away, of course, you have to read it on the premises.’

  ‘I see. And what happens to the slip?’

  ‘We’re supposed to file them, but sometimes they get destroyed.’

  ‘Well, you see,’ Mike went on, ‘a friend of mine – she’s fairly tall, about forty, with bright red hair – consulted a book on April 14th and she can’t remember the title, but she insists I ought to read it. Do you think it would be possible to look up the slip and …’

  ‘Well, I don’t know … it’s a little unusual …’

  ‘Yes, I do realise that,’ Mike said with a disarming smile, ‘but I should be most grateful if you would …’

  ‘Very well, I’ll have a shot at it,’ the librarian said.

  ‘This is really most good of you.’

  ‘Not at all. I expect I’ll find it if we’ve still got it. What’s the name of your friend?’

  ‘Miss Tarrant. Miss Nadia Tarrant.’

  ‘All right, sir. If you’ll just take a seat … I won’t be long.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Whilst the elderly assistant went away to rummage amongst several box-files Linda said quietly to Mike, ‘Why do you want to know the name of the book?’

  ‘I’m curious, that’s all.’

  ‘But why? I can’t see that it matters what she was reading. I expect it was a filthy day and she just popped in here to get out of the rain.’

  Mike smiled. ‘It was a very nice day, as it happened.’

  Linda gazed at him in disbelief. ‘You’re not trying to tell me you remember what the weather was like on every day last April?’

  ‘No. I asked Saltoni. The weather was perfect; he remembers because it was his birthday. That’s what started my brain ticking.’

  The assistant had returned and was beaming at Mike. He hurried to the desk.

  ‘You’re in luck,’ she said. ‘I’ve found the slip. On the 14th of April a Miss Nadia Tarrant of Soho Square asked for two books. The Theory of Photographic Process – that’s a well-known reference book on the subject; and the second one was Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?’

  ‘The one edited by Sir Ronald Bakerton?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s quite a recent publication.’

  ‘I see. I wonder if I could have a look at them?’

  The assistant looked unhappy. ‘I thought you might ask. By bad luck they’re both at our Edgware branch at the moment.’

  ‘Never mind, I’m a bit short of time anyway. I’ll call another day. You’ve been most helpful. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Not at all, sir, it was a pleasure.’

  ‘Has all that got you any farther forward, darling?’ Linda asked as they drove home.

  ‘I think it has. The significance of a book on photography will hardly have escaped you, surely?’

  ‘You mean Sanders? Perhaps it’s pure chance that he happens to be a keen amateur photographer.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘What about the other book – “Social Sciences” or something?’

  ‘I’ll pass an opinion on that when I’ve had a chance to study it. Home, James, and don’t spare the horses!’

  ‘Why don’t we call in at a good bookshop on the way home?’

  ‘Both books are likely to be pretty hefty tomes, I doubt if many places would have them in stock. Besides, it’s too late now, darling. It’s after six. No, we can save time in the morning by phoning around. I’ll get them sent up by special delivery.’

  Linda and Mike had scarcely arrived back at their flat when the telephone rang. It was Superintendent Goldway.

  ‘Is that you, Mike? I’ve been trying to reach you for the last half-hour … But never mind the apologies, something important’s come up. We’ve picked up Jo.’

  ‘Have you indeed! Where? How is she?’

  ‘Roughed up a bit, I’m afraid. But alive, and she’ll shortly be kicking! We found her wandering in a semi-drugged condition near her flat this afternoon. We’ve got her safely tucked in bed now.’

  ‘Semi-drugged? How do you mean?’

  ‘They shot her full of that damned “truth drug”.’

  ‘Does she know who did it?’

  ‘She’s fairly certain who’s behind it, but there’s not a lot to go on at the moment. Can you get down here? I’d like you to hear the full details. Maybe you can talk to her later on when she’s slept it off a bit. Oh, and tell Linda to get her glad-rags ready, you’re both on the dancing shift again tonight!’

  ‘Same place, John? We’re not members there, you know.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mike. That’s all arranged.’

  Mike was able to give Linda an account of his interview with Goldway as they drove later that evening to La Pergola.

  ‘So there really is a Mr Bannister behind all this? Saltoni wasn’t lying?’ Linda asked.

  ‘There’s a Mr Bannister all right. Only we don’t know what he looks like. Some thug threw a sack over Jo’s head and bundled her into a car. It must have happened only a few minutes after we dropped her off last night. It was a gang of about three or four, Jo thinks, and the interesting thing is one of them jumped the gun and began asking her questions in the car. The thug driving it yelled at him to shut up, and said, “Bannister will do the questioning”. She doesn’t think the others noticed the slip-up.’

  ‘Where did they take her to?’

  ‘She doesn’t know, but it was quite a way out of town, unless they drove around in circles to confuse her. She has a feeling it was some sort of lonely mansion – there were leaves and gravel beneath her feet and she heard a dog barking across empty space – Jo’s been trained to notice things like that. Then she was led into a large room and placed in front of a blinding light. The questions were put to her by a man wearing a nylon mask, but he wasn’t the one in charge; there was some figure in the shadowy background who was constantly consulted. He kept his voice low and Jo couldn’t hear what he said, but the lilt of his voice and some hint of an accent made her think it might be a foreigner.’

  ‘Corina!’

  ‘Possibly. The line of questioning fits too. They kept hammering away at why she had been sent to watch La Pergola. She tried to play it dumb but they wouldn’t swallow that, of course. They tried to find out if she knew who Bannister was, too, and if she was snooping around for some leads in the Weldon case. She denied this flatly, of course, whereupon they grew a trifle annoyed and knocked her around a bit. Those are her own words and it sounds like the under-statement of the year.’

  ‘Poor Jo. It’s dreadful. My hunch was right, when I felt worried for her last night.’

  ‘Apparently the rough stuff didn’t get them anywhere, so then they pumped this drug into her. It was then she must have spilled the beans about working for the Narcotics Bureau in Washington and Goldway’s dope-peddling investigations. The odd thing is she got the impression that none of her later revelations caused much dismay. Their chief concern seemed to be whether she knew who Bannister was. It’s just possible they’re in the clear as far as drug smuggling is concerned.’

  ‘Do we know for sure why they sent us one of her shoes?’

  ‘Either to try and scare us, or to bluff us into assuming a connection with the Weldon case. Contradictory, I realise, but it could really be eith
er.’

  ‘You haven’t actually seen Jo, then?’

  ‘No, she’s still pretty woozy, I gather.’

  ‘What does Inspector Rodgers think about all this?’

  ‘I don’t know; he wasn’t there when I talked with John. But the old boy will naturally have put him in the picture by now. I expect Rodgers will be at La Pergola tonight.’

  ‘Why don’t they simply arrest Corina?’

  ‘No, there isn’t enough evidence to make it stick. Jo thinks it was Corina conducting the interrogation through this middle-man, but she can’t be sure. And don’t forget we still have to prove that Corina and Bannister are one and the same person. That’s why we’re hanging on to La Pergola like a bunch of leeches in the hope of scaring Corina into a false move. He’s a slippery customer but if we put the wind up him enough he may give himself away.’

  Linda nodded and slowed down as they entered the outskirts of Hampstead. ‘And my share of the proceedings is to drop heavy hints about your pals in Fleet Street, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. That’s about the only thing I can think of that might get Corina rattled.’

  ‘I’d like to drop something heavier than that on him!’

  ‘So would I. Don’t put ideas into my head! Here we are.’

  The evening was not a success. After they had been there for nearly an hour with no sign of Corina putting in an appearance Mike grew impatient.

  ‘If Mahommed doesn’t come pretty soon to the mountain, then this little mountain is going to do some prowling around backstage.’

  Linda shook her head dubiously. ‘The place seems much too quiet,’ she said.

  Mike finished his drink. ‘Corina’s probably heard we’re here and is ducking out of sight in his office.’

  ‘With four or five enormous thugs acting as bodyguards, darling. You’d never get in – or out again, in one piece.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said Mike, on the point of rising.

  ‘Hold it, darling, there’s Inspector Rodgers, just coming in. He gets paid for the rough stuff, leave it to him.’

  The Inspector had caught sight of them and was cutting a none-too-polite swathe through the drifting couples on the dance floor.

  ‘He’s looking rather pleased with himself, don’t you think?’ Linda added.

  ‘Let’s hope he has good grounds. Hello, Inspector. Enjoying yourself?’

  Rodgers scowled contemptuously round the room. ‘Nothing but the call of duty would ever bring me to a place like this.’

  ‘La Pergola’s chief attraction seems to be having a night off.’

  ‘Corina? He’s in his office. I’ve just seen him.’ He winked broadly. ‘I have an idea he’s not feeling too well this evening. At least, he wasn’t when I left him.’

  ‘Did you two have a difference of opinion?’

  Rodgers smiled thinly. ‘Let’s say he caught his foot in the carpet and fell rather clumsily.’

  Mike grunted with satisfaction. ‘You can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs.’

  ‘He’s a very smooth customer, though,’ Rodgers went on pensively. ‘He made no bones at all about knowing Miss Peters had been kidnapped.’

  ‘Ah well, I told him that,’ Mike admitted.

  Rodgers raised his thick eyebrows and rubbed the flat of his hand on his bristly hair. ‘Did you now? When?’

  ‘This afternoon. We had a little chat at his place in South Audley Street. Quite a place, too. Have you seen it? Reminds me of a film set.’

  The Inspector shook his head.

  ‘Does he know that Jo’s been found?’ Linda asked.

  ‘Yes, I told him,’ the Inspector replied.

  ‘How did he take the news – surprised?’

  ‘Not unduly. He’s pretty clever at concealing his feelings, I should say. Anyway, he’s all yours. I’ve finished with him for the time being. I must be off now.’ Just as he turned to leave he remarked, ‘By the way, there are two friends of yours in the cocktail bar.’

  ‘Really? Who?’

  ‘Sanders and Miss Long. I don’t know if they’ve been having a row or not, but things weren’t too harmonious ten minutes ago. The lady appears to have had more than her share of the bottle.’

  ‘Did you speak to them?’

  ‘No. I was on my way to Corina’s office. They didn’t see me.’

  ‘Did you make any progress with Saltoni, Inspector?’

  ‘No, but I haven’t finished with him by a long chalk. Excuse me, I have work to do.’

  Linda finished the small amount of wine in her glass, then said, ‘May I have this dance, Mr Baxter?’

  Mike laughed and led her to the floor. ‘You wouldn’t be curious to know what’s going on at the cocktail bar, by any chance?’

  ‘Well, you must admit the evening’s been a bit flat so far.’

  The far corner of the dance floor was only a short distance from the bar. Never moving far away from one spot the Baxters were able to observe Irene Long and the Colonel for quite some time without being seen themselves.

  ‘I rather fancy the Inspector was right,’ Mike murmured into his wife’s ear. ‘Irene Long looks as though she’s got quite a load on.’

  ‘Seems to make her bad-tempered into the bargain. The Colonel looks as though he’d dearly like to get rid of her.’

  ‘Probably has been feeling that way for some time. I don’t think Sanders is somehow the marrying type, and our friend Miss Long looks like a first-class case of Torschluss Panik, as the Swiss say.’

  ‘What on earth is that?’

  ‘Panic at the thought of the door being closed on them – in other words, of being left on the shelf. Wow! Listen to that voice of hers!’

  Irene Long had slammed her glass on the top of the bar and her strident tones carried above the music. ‘… damn well get me another drink if I can’t dance with Charles.’

  ‘Irene, for heaven’s sake pull yourself together!’ Sanders exclaimed in a loud voice just as the music stopped. Looking round uneasily he caught sight of the Baxters. Embarrassment flooded his handsome, rather wooden features.

  Mike and Linda walked up to the bar and they all exchanged greetings.

  Irene Long said loudly, ‘Isn’t this hole deadly tonight?’

  Sanders swallowed nervously and tried to bridge the awkward silence as people around them began to stare curiously. ‘Irene’s a bit upset about Corina not being here. She … er … prefers his style of dancing to mine.’ His laugh was noticeably self-conscious.

  ‘Victor, darling,’ said Irene Long, ‘you don’t dance, you march from one corner of the parade ground to the other. For Pete’s sake where’s that gin I ordered?’

  ‘No doubt Mr Corina will put in an appearance later,’ Linda said.

  ‘Later?’ Irene Long cried, at least an octave too high. ‘How much later can you get? It’s nearly midnight, he ought to have been here hours ago! If Charles isn’t going to dance with the customers they might just as well close the shop up.’

  ‘It’s too bad, isn’t it?’ Linda put in quickly. ‘I was looking forward to a dance with him myself. Why don’t you try my husband, Miss Long? He practically taught Fred Astaire all he knows!’

  ‘Come off it, darling! I’m not that old,’ Mike protested with a laugh, catching on to her idea. ‘But if Miss Long cares to take a chance I’ll be delighted.’

  Irene Long shot him a look from under heavy eyelids which was meant to be coy. Its effect was partly spoilt by the fact that her eyes were unfortunately refusing to focus properly. ‘You tempt me, Mrs Baxter. Your husband is a very attractive man. But I’ve already refused Victor …’

  The Colonel was not slow in seizing his opportunity. ‘That’s all right, old girl, you go right ahead – the old legs have just about had it for tonight, anyway.’

  Mike bowed and held out his arm to Miss Long. She took it in the grand manner, though a second later she seemed glad of it to prevent herself from stumbling. Mike steered her with great care betw
een the tables and on to the floor. It was heavy going at first; she seemed about half a beat behind with all her reactions. Then she began to improve and by the end of the first dance their performance together was reasonably smooth.

  As the music started once more he asked, ‘Will you risk it again?’

  She obviously welcomed the idea. By good fortune it was the cha-cha, one of the few dances Mike had really studied. So, apparently, had Miss Long.

  When the number ended she let out a long sigh of satisfaction and regret. ‘Your wife wasn’t fooling, Mr Baxter,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘You’re no novice yourself, Miss Long,’ he replied politely.

  ‘And the quite heavenly thing is, you don’t try and talk at the same time,’ she added.

  It was not until the fourth time round together that Miss Long, who did not approve of talking whilst dancing, began to do a lot of talking. Mike listened carefully and prompted her judiciously. It was just getting interesting when the music stopped and a cabaret interlude was announced. Inwardly disappointed, he led his partner, her eyes gleaming, back to the bar where Sanders stood waiting impatiently.

  ‘I thought you two were going on all night!’ he barked. ‘Come on, Irene, we must be off.’ Grabbing her arm and ignoring her protests he hustled her away.

  Just as she was disappearing from sight she turned, caught Mike’s eye, fluttered one hand limply at him, and shot him a scorching smile.

  ‘Wow!’ Linda exploded, trying to suppress her laughter and pretend to be furious. ‘I hope there was a good motive behind that performance, Mr Baxter!’

  Mike mopped his brow and grinned ruefully. ‘Never worked so hard in all my life. But it was worth it. The guard came off her tongue.’

  ‘Apart from any indiscreet suggestions, what did she have to say?’

  ‘Two things of interest, one definite and one baffling. Definite is that when she said Hector Staines had never been to her flat she was telling the truth. I’m quite sure of it. Happily she brought the subject up, not I, so I don’t think she suspected I was trying to pump her.’

  ‘Did you get on to the subject of Nadia Tarrant?’

  ‘No, and unfortunately she avoided it too. But here’s the baffling thing: she gave me a cryptic sort of warning.’