Another Woman's Shoes

by Francis Durbridge

  ‘So she was there! Who was she with?’ Mike snapped.

  ‘Irene Long, as you surmised.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you admit as much when we met yesterday?’

  Corina pursed his lips, choosing his words with evident care. ‘I’m afraid I could not. The circumstances were not appropriate. Since then things have changed.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Do you think I might have a drink?’

  Mike nodded and went to the drinks cabinet to comply with Corina’s request.

  This time he was rewarded with Corina’s neat little bow; the man was clearly regaining his composure rapidly. He sat down, raised his glass to Linda, loosened the knife-like crease of his trousers at the knee, and began to speak.

  ‘After I left the club last night I made a telephone call to an old associate of mine. You will observe that I use the word “associate”, not “friend”. The man’s name is Westerman, and he was acquainted with Nadia Tarrant. In fact it was through Westerman that she contrived to gain admittance into La Pergola.’

  He sipped his drink appreciatively.

  ‘I think you ought to meet Westerman,’ he went on. ‘For a very small financial consideration he is prepared to tell you all about Nadia Tarrant and her association with Irene Long. He might even be persuaded to tell you about other matters which appear to have aroused your curiosity.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mike after a short silence. ‘Do I take my cheque book or does he want crate-loads of bullion?’

  Corina allowed himself a slight smile. ‘That is something you will have to discuss with him yourself. I do not wish to be involved in the matter. I have delivered Westerman’s message to you, and taken the liberty of arranging a suitable appointment for you. After that I wash my hands of the whole affair.’

  ‘When am I supposed to meet him?’

  ‘Tonight, at ten o’clock. Does that suit you?’

  Mike glanced at Linda, who nodded slightly.

  ‘All right. Where do we meet – here or at La Pergola?’

  ‘Neither. I’m afraid you’ll have to go out of Town. Not very far. Just to Reading.’

  Linda suppressed an exclamation and at the same instant one of the empty glasses she had been collecting on a tray slid to the floor. Mike bent to pick it up, glad of the interruption whilst he collected his thoughts.

  When he faced Corina again he was able to ask in a casual tone, ‘Couldn’t Westerman get up to London for an hour or so? It’s not very convenient for me to go trailing all the way down to Reading at ten o’clock in the evening, you know.’

  ‘I suggested that, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I’ll drive you down myself, to save you the bother.’

  Mike appeared to consider the offer, then accepted.

  ‘Right!’ said Corina. ‘I’ll pick you up here shortly before nine. And please refrain from mentioning our arrangement to anyone.’

  ‘I see. I’ll go along with that if you’ll give me a straightforward answer to a question. You lied about Nadia Tarrant, now I’d like to know if you were lying when you said you’d never heard of a Mr Bannister?’

  ‘Bannister? No, I was being entirely truthful there. I’ve never met a man of that name in my life, so far as I can recall.’

  ‘It could be an assumed name. How about this fellow Westerman?’ Mike continued. ‘What exactly do you mean by saying he was an associate of yours? Were you in business together?’

  ‘Yes, we were. I use the past tense, you will note. We had what might be described as an agency. Only we fell out – a minor disagreement which should not have happened. After a while I went into business on my own and opened La Pergola. Then, some time later, I received a letter from Westerman telling me to come down to Reading.’

  ‘Telling? Not asking?’ Mike put in softly.

  ‘That’s his way. I went. He told me he wanted to make one or two friends of his members of my club. Two of them had already applied for membership but I had turned them down as they were not up to my standards. I wanted the cream at La Pergola, not the riff-raff. However, for certain reasons I had to do what Westerman wanted—’

  ‘In other words, Corina, this Westerman had a hold on you. He was, in fact, blackmailing you?’

  Corina looked uncomfortable, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘In a way, yes. That was how Nadia Tarrant got into the club, and the fashion model crowd I’d been trying to avoid – Irene Long, Lucy Staines, Peggy Bedford, and so on.’

  Linda smiled. ‘Don’t tell me Victor Sanders was a fashion model, Mr Corina?’

  He glanced at her coldly. ‘Victor Sanders is one of our original and most respected members, Mrs Baxter.’

  ‘Peggy Bedford sounds as though she was a high-flyer,’ Mike said, ‘and maybe her pal, Lucy, was too, but Miss Long has always struck me as quite respectable.’

  ‘Irene Long drinks,’ said Corina shortly.

  ‘Isn’t that good for business?’

  ‘Up to a point, yes. She goes beyond that point. The Americans have an ugly but expressive word for her type – a lush.’

  ‘Was Harold Weldon one of your members?’ Linda asked.

  ‘No, but he came to the club once or twice. I forget who with.’

  ‘Mr Corina,’ Linda continued, ‘you don’t think perhaps this Westerman was using your club as a sort of headquarters? I mean, if he was mixed up with the Tarrant woman and—’

  ‘That’s exactly what I wondered, Mrs Baxter,’ said Corina a shade too eagerly. ‘I’ve also wondered if Westerman was responsible for kidnapping Jo Peters.’

  ‘In other words, Westerman could actually be Bannister!’ Linda suggested excitedly, glancing at Mike.

  Mike did not seem to share her excitement at the idea and said stiffly to Corina, ‘How about another straight answer whilst they’re in fashion: who really told you Jo was attached to Scotland Yard?’

  ‘Westerman,’ answered Corina promptly.

  ‘What exactly was this “agency” you conducted with him?’

  ‘We imported and exported different products.’

  ‘Drugs, for instance?’ Mike shot at him.

  Corina looked shocked. ‘Drugs? Heavens no! Whatever put that idea into your head?’

  ‘Because that’s why Jo was watching La Pergola.’

  Corina looked deeply perturbed.

  Mike added, ‘Scotland Yard suspected that your club was being used as a distribution centre. There was a trail that led across the Atlantic and seemed to end smack on your doorstep.’

  Corina shook his head in bewilderment and rose to leave. ‘The suggestion is absurd. I notice they have not felt strongly enough about it to bring any charges.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I must go, it is getting late and I have an appointment. I will call for you at nine o’clock tonight, then?’

  ‘Very well. Nine o’clock.’

  When Mike came back into the room after seeing Corina out Linda shot him an inquiring look. ‘Well? How much of that are we supposed to believe?’

  Mike sank down wearily on to the settee and held his head between his hands. ‘It’s a pack of lies from start to finish, if you ask me. There is no Westerman at nine o’clock tonight, and there never has been a gentleman by that name in the Weldon case. Corina is so fascinated by his intellectual superiority – and I admit he’s nobody’s fool – that he thinks the rest of mankind are gullible children.’

  ‘Then Corina is the man we’re looking for? Am I right?’

  ‘I didn’t say that, darling.’

  ‘Now you’re the one who’s being evasive. Mike, who murdered Lucy Staines; do you know?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Was it Harold Weldon?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did the same person murder Nadia Tarrant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Linda paused, then went on carefully. ‘That visit we made to the Reference Library – it was quite a lucky break, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You’ve studied the books then?’

  Linda was staring
at him, wide-eyed, her body tense. ‘Darling – I think I know who it is!’

  ‘Do you, Linda?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. And I mean afraid. I’m scared. How could anybody be so … ruthless! What are you going to do next?’

  Mike stretched, and slowly stood up. ‘I’m not sure. But of one thing I’m absolutely certain. I’m not going down to Reading tonight!’

  Mike spoke briefly on the telephone to Jo Peters, whose condition was still bad but by no means critical, and then he put in a more lengthy call to Superintendent Goldway at Scotland Yard and arranged for the delivery of a message to Harold Weldon at Pentonville. He could not afford to be too encouraging but he realised how desperately the man must be awaiting news of some kind.

  Anxious to find out how Luigi Saltoni was behaving he rang Inspector Rodgers’s number but was told that the Inspector was out. Mike left word asking to be called back when Rodgers had a spare moment.

  However, Inspector Rodgers did not telephone; he arrived in person a short time later.

  ‘Hello, Inspector,’ Mike greeted him. ‘Would you care for a drink?’

  ‘No thank you, Mr Baxter. I never drink when I’m on duty.’

  ‘That must make you practically a teetotaller. I’ve never known you to be off duty yet.’

  Rodgers smiled ruefully. ‘Aye, it’s a busy life. What’s more, it shows no signs of getting any quieter. I’ve got three or four cases on my hands at the moment, all of them bearing the label “Top Priority” and “Most Urgent”! But I did have time to see Saltoni this morning.’

  ‘How’s his amnesia? Any signs of improvement?’

  ‘None at all, I’m afraid. Whoever succeeded in cowing that weed into silence certainly made a good job of it. I’ll have another crack at him tomorrow.’

  Mike frowned. ‘I have a feeling that he could tell us a great deal if only we could open his mouth for him. And there’s probably some further useful information to be obtained from Jo Peters, too, only of course she’s not shamming. But she’s still too woozy to give a very coherent account of what went on.’

  ‘Have you been to see her?’ Rodgers asked.

  ‘No, I decided not to after hearing her shaky voice on the phone this morning. I kept the conversation to a minimum.’

  ‘And she gave us no new leads to work on?’

  Mike shook his head and offered the Inspector a cigarette.

  Rodgers accepted with thanks and began pacing the room. ‘I expect,’ he said, rather abruptly, ‘you’ll find my attitude about the Peters girl rather callous. I mean, I’m sorry about the trouble she ran into, and all that, but if you’ll forgive me for saying so, she did rather ask for it.’

  Mike raised his eyebrows but did not interrupt. It seemed to him that the Inspector had something on his mind, and silence was the best way to help him get rid of it. As Mike watched the burly figure pacing up and down the room he tried to recall his exact first impression, only a few hectic days earlier, when Superintendent Goldway had quietly asked Rodgers up to his room at Scotland Yard. A keen, ruthless mind in a powerful body – he would have made a good lock-forward on a Rugger scrum – a man at peace with himself because of his single-minded devotion to his profession. All right, so far as it went, but was any pen-portrait as easy as that? All black and white, no greys at all? Had the man no other interests, no hobbies, mild vices, perhaps the odd weakness which would make him three-dimensional? Women, perhaps? Mike thought back, but could recall no single instance, no straying glance, no conspiratorial smile from man to man, no off-hand remark that could possibly suggest any such interest. Mike did not even know if the man was married. How about a weakness for money, or drink, or sartorial elegance, or big cars? With difficulty he restrained a laugh; such ideas were patently absurd. He came to the conclusion that he knew no more about Rodgers now than he had done the morning they had first met.

  ‘Fighting crime is an ugly trade, Mr Baxter,’ Rodgers was saying, ‘and there’s no room in the trade for light-hearted amateurs. I’m thinking especially of unprotected females. To be blunt, I take a poor view of the whole Jo Peters episode. It should never have happened.’

  ‘I sympathise with you in a way, Inspector. It must be galling to have amateurs tripping over your feet all the time. I’m referring more to people like myself than to Jo, though. She’s a bit above the amateur class, you know.’

  ‘Nevertheless she’s female and therefore vulnerable. If I’d known that she’d been instructed to watch La Pergola I’d never have gone near the damn place!’

  ‘But her investigations had nothing whatever to do with the Weldon case, originally.’

  Rodgers looked dubious. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes, Goldway told me. She was watching the club because it was thought it was being used as a drug centre.’

  ‘That may be. But are you sure that has nothing to do with the Weldon case, and all that’s happened in the last few days?’

  ‘I begin to think there’s nothing I can be sure about in the whole baffling mystery. What’s your opinion?’

  ‘I think the two are connected, Mr Baxter. Look at it this way: when Lucy Staines was murdered her shoe was missing.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘When Nadia Tarrant was murdered her shoe was also missing.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘In my opinion both these women were hiding something pretty valuable in their shoes. It stands to reason.’

  Mike nodded. ‘The same theory had occurred to me. But I’m not entirely convinced that the theory holds water. Look, I don’t know if Goldway has told you the substance of Jo Peters’s interrogation at the hands of those thugs?’

  ‘He did finally decide to confide in me,’ Rodgers replied sourly.

  ‘Well, they put her through what amounts to a third degree. But when she finally broke down and told them she was investigating a gang of dope-smugglers they seemed to lose interest in her and let her go.’

  ‘And what does that prove?’

  ‘Surely it’s obvious. She wasn’t concerned with their racket.’

  ‘Never underestimate the enemy, Mr Baxter. It could have been a neat little bluff. It’s possible you’re thinking exactly what they want you to think. They question the Peters girl about her activities, learn she’s on the track of dope pedlars, and then profess to be completely disinterested. They release the girl, knowing that she’ll come straight to us with this bee in her bonnet that they’ve got nothing to do with such activities. It’s a little too easy for my taste. I can’t quite swallow it.’

  Mike nodded thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t looked at it in that light, I must say. It’s quite an idea.’

  Rodgers allowed himself the ghost of a smile. ‘Oh, we do get ideas now and then, you know.’

  ‘Let’s take your idea a step farther,’ Mike went on. ‘How does Corina fit into the picture?’

  ‘I’m prejudiced there, of course; he’s a type I can’t stand. But for my money, he’s the head of the whole outfit.’

  ‘And he murdered Lucy Staines?’

  Rodgers scratched his bristly, close-cropped hair. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. It’s possible that Harold Weldon was an associate of Corina’s. We’ve checked up and proved that Weldon was seen at La Pergola a few times.’

  ‘So Weldon actually did murder his fiancée?’

  ‘I think so. Up till now there’s not been a shred of evidence to the contrary.’

  ‘What about Saltoni’s statement?’ Mike put in.

  ‘You saw Saltoni. He’s a weed that blows whichever way the wind’s going. As a reliable witness no self-respecting Judge would listen to him for more than two minutes.’

  Mike had to concede this point. For a long time he had realised that even if Saltoni stuck to his original statement that Nadia Tarrant was in his bed at the time she had claimed to have run into Weldon he would have a very hard time proving it. It would be Saltoni’s word against that of a woman now dead; there would hardly have been any
witnesses during the sordid little scene of love-making in his room at Meryl Street.

  Mike’s thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone and he lifted the receiver, murmuring an apology to the Inspector. Victor Sanders’s voice boomed over the line. Mike listened and made an occasional comment; he had long ago learnt the uselessness of trying to get a word in edgeways with the Colonel in full cry. ‘Hello, Sanders … Yes, that’s right … Yes … I see … No, indeed I shan’t … Thank you, Sanders, I’ll remember what you say … Thank you, Goodbye.’

  ‘Was that Victor Sanders?’ Rodgers asked as Mike replaced the receiver.

  ‘It was. Always makes me feel like a recruit with his buttons unpolished.’

  ‘The fellow’s a confounded nuisance!’ Rodgers snapped. ‘Hardly a day goes by without he’s pestering me on the phone.’

  Mike agreed. ‘He’s not my cup of tea either, but if ever I’m accused of murder I hope I have a staunch friend like that.’

  ‘Just because he thinks his pal is innocent that doesn’t entitle him to a halo.’

  ‘No, but a lot of people think the way he does, without doing anything about it. Sanders is at least persistent.’

  ‘If you ask me,’ Rodgers growled, ‘there are far too many people “doing” something about it. Everybody seems to want to get into the act. Sanders – Hector Staines – Miss Peters—’

  ‘Mike Baxter?’

  Rodgers’s mouth twitched into a sour smile. ‘Well, you said it first.’ Mike laughed and Rodgers went on, ‘I suppose that’s rather churlish of me. I ought to be grateful for any help you can give us. But I’m a bit peeved about the Peters girl because I think the Superintendent ought to have taken me into his confidence earlier on. However, I suppose, strictly speaking, she wasn’t working on the Weldon case.’

  ‘May I ask you a question about Sanders?’ Mike said. ‘When you first described him to me you mentioned that he was a keen amateur photographer.’