by Mark Ellis
“Thank you, dear. This morning I had a haircut, after which I made a telephone call. I left a message for your boss. Minutes later, I was attacked.”
“Is there anything you can tell us about that attack?”
“Sorry, but most of it’s a blank to me, Mr Goldberg. All I can remember is the stink of the rubbish bin into which they bundled me. You’d best speak to the copper who saved me to learn more about that. What I do know is that it was a professional attack. I would guess most likely by someone who didn’t like what I was saying to the French.”
“What about other enemies?
“Oh, there are plenty of people around who don’t like me, Constable. There’s a string of deceiving husbands and wives to kick off with. I don’t think any of those people would turn their hand to murder, though. And I doubt I was being robbed. I don’t exactly have the reputation of a wealthy man.”
“Who are your contacts in the Free French organisation?”
“Commandant Angers and Captain Rougemont but I don’t think either of them would have had anything to do with this. The key must lie in my suspicions. The man who is being fingered as the spy is called Beaulieu – Lieutenant Beaulieu. They want him out of the way either as a scapegoat or for some other reason. The officer I suspect of treachery is called Dumont.”
Goldberg and Robinson exchanged astonished looks. “Why do you suspect him, Mr Devlin?”
“I saw him meeting with…” Devlin suddenly convulsed with pain and cried out. A nurse hurried in to tend to him. After a quick look, she turned to the police officers. “I’m sorry but that’s enough for now. Can you please go?” Reluctantly, Goldberg and Robinson left the room.
* * *
“We got him, sir. Luckily there was a temporary shortage of taxis.”
“Where is he now, Sergeant?”
“He’s in the one of the basement cells. The old fellow insisted on staying with him and I agreed.”
“Is that a good idea, Bridges?”
“I thought it might be helpful. The father is extremely domineering and clearly they don’t get on. It’s possible he could jangle his son’s nerves and make it easier for us to get the truth out of him.”
“Fair enough. You could be right. Let’s leave them to stew together for a while. Has the warrant for Dumont been issued?”
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Reeves is handling the arrest with a couple of constables. They are going to his digs first. If he’s not there, they’ll go on to Carlton Gardens.”
“Let’s hope they find him. Any news from Robinson and Goldberg?”
“Not yet. I rang the Holloway police station and got a little more information. The man is called Devlin. He’s some sort of private eye. He’d just had his hair cut locally. They found some hair tonic on him, which led them to the shop. The barber knew him well and was able to provide an address. They are going round to have a look now.”
“What did his message say again?”
“That he had important security information for us.”
“Could be about anything but I suppose I should have mentioned it to Harold when he rang me just now.”
“What was he after?”
“He said they might have got something useful from that photograph of de Metz’s. Some initials that appeared after scientific treatment. He said he’d be in touch with more details later.”
“Tomlinson apparently arranged with Reeves to come here at 10.30 tomorrow.”
“Call him to rearrange. I’d like to see him and the man who’s now running the bank – Fleming isn’t it? And whoever else they think should be at the meeting. I think I’d prefer to meet them on their turf. Tell Tomlinson we’ll be at Sackville Bank at noon tomorrow.”
Merlin glanced over at the clock. “It’s two-fifteen now. We’ll leave the Vorsters for another hour. Meanwhile, I’m starving. See if you can rustle up a few sandwiches from Tony’s, please, Sergeant.”
* * *
“Hello again, gentlemen. I’m afraid that you’ll have to remove yourself, Mr Vorster. On this occasion we most certainly need to interview your son on his own and any objection…” Pieter Vorster raised a conciliatory hand and, to Merlin’s surprise, made no argument. He seemed chastened either by whatever he and his son had discussed or the lengthy wait they had endured in this bleak room – or both.
“I’ve had a long chat with Rupert, Merlin. He has been an utter fool – not for the first time in his life – and I’m going to have to bail him out financially yet again, but he is no murderer. I have asked him to make a clean breast of everything.” He glowered at his son. “And you will, won’t you?” The young man ran a shaking hand through his hair and nodded. Vorster Senior picked up his hat and growled: “I’ll be at The Dorchester if you need me.”
“You’ve already read him his rights, haven’t you, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well.” There were no chairs in the cell. Rupert Vorster was sitting at one end of the bunk and the policemen squeezed on to the other. “Let’s get straight to the point. As has been explained to you by Sergeant Bridges here, a Mr Edgar Powell was murdered at his Flood Street flat last Friday night. We have a witness who saw a man loitering near the entrance to Mr Powell’s apartment block that night, somewhere around eight-thirty to nine o’clock, within the timespan when we believe Mr Powell died. This witness described the man to our police sketch artist, who produced this likeness.”
Merlin showed Vorster the drawing. “We think this is you. Now, we can go to the trouble of bringing in the witness for a formal physical identification, or you can save us a lot of time by confirming that you were there.”
Vorster gave the faintest of nods. “I… I… admit that I was there, Chief Inspector, but I had nothing to do with the death of Mr Powell, I swear it.”
“Why were you there?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have all the time in the world.”
Vorster folded his arms then unfolded them. He stared down miserably at his feet. “As you have seen, my father is quite – what shall we say? – a handful. We don’t get on very well. He is a very wealthy man and you would assume, I am sure, that as his only son, I would be rolling in it. That is not the case. I am kept on a very tight leash. On occasion, Father has seen fit to loosen the leash – albeit reluctantly – when I have got into financial difficulty.”
“You mean he’s had to bail you out of trouble from time to time?”
“I would prefer to say help me out rather than bail me out. However, there it is. After I left university, my father insisted, before he would contemplate employing me in his business, that I acquire a profession. He left the arrangements to me and I eventually got taken on at Mr Tomlinson’s firm. At the beginning, my father wanted me to subsist on the meagre income of a clerk but he relented enough to provide me with a modest flat in town and a small supplementary allowance.”
“Most people would be delighted to get an allowance and a flat in London from their parents.”
“That’s as may be, Sergeant, but I have been raised in wealth and have expensive tastes and habits.”
“And would one of those expensive habits be gambling?”
Vorster clasped his hands together and nodded slowly. “It would, Chief Inspector. I do like to gamble. Sadly, I seem to have had a run of bad luck.”
“You gambled at Beecham’s place?”
“I did, and I lost. Beecham was very friendly and provided substantial credit to me because of who my father is. He was not so friendly when I said my father would not cover my losses.”
“You asked your father?”
“No, I couldn’t bring myself to grovel to the old man. And I can assure you he would have made me grovel.” His head dropped. “As he most certainly will do now.”
“So what happened with Beecham? And what has all this to do with Powell?”
“Patience, Chief Inspector, I’m getting there. Mr Beecham and I came to an accommodation regarding my
debts. I have good social skills. I am a good conversationalist. Some might call me good-looking. I am well educated. I get on with people. I agreed to spend my evenings in the Ritz, and occasionally in other watering holes, identifying and befriending new customers for Mr Beecham’s establishment. That was how I met Dumont and the other French officers I know. It is a rather tedious way to spend one’s evenings, and tiring too, but Beecham is happy with my efforts.”
“All these late nights can’t have been good for your day job?”
“I have stamina, Sergeant.”
“Is there anything else you do for Beecham?”
“Occasionally, he asks me for stock market intelligence. Or for other information I might get through my job. He was particularly interested in any information I could get concerning Simon Arbuthnot who is, or rather was, the major client of the firm.”
Merlin rubbed his shoulder. It had been a long and intense day and his bullet wound had begun to ache, as it usually did when he was bushed. “And did you have information on him?”
“Simon Arbuthnot, Beecham explained to me, owed him a hell of a lot of money. Knowing he ran a huge and successful business, Beecham had been understanding and had been giving Arbuthnot time to sort things out when, all of a sudden, the man disappeared into the army and got out of Beecham’s reach.
“Before his disappearance, Arbuthnot had drunkenly told Beecham about some valuable share certificates that could cover his debts 10 or 20 times over. Beecham asked me to find out what I could about these at the firm. I approached Philip Arbuthnot in a roundabout way, but it was quite clear he knew nothing about them. I did learn, however, by keeping my ear to the ground that Tomlinson kept the certificates safe somewhere, though I never found where. After Simon Arbuthnot’s death became known, I heard chat in the office about the certificates having been removed some months previously by Mr Arbuthnot, together with his will. I told Mr Beecham all about this.
“Then this fellow Powell appeared with his letter from Arbuthnot, and I heard Mr Tomlinson telling someone on the telephone that the letter would probably indicate the whereabouts of the certificates and the will. I told Beecham. Then I thought about it. It occurred to me that I might have a chance of extricating myself from Beecham’s clutches. If I could get hold of the certificates – or information leading to them – on behalf of Beecham, perhaps he would wipe out my debts. I resolved to take a chance and have a go. I then managed to get hold of Powell’s address from a secretary in the office.”
“And how exactly did you intend to get Mr Powell to give you what he had?”
“Ah.” Vorster sat up. “I hadn’t exactly worked that out. I was going to wing it – I can be a persuasive chap.”
“You thought you’d get Powell, an honourable man entrusted with Arbuthnot’s dying wish, to entrust the letter to you, a clerk with no significant relationship to the Arbuthnots?”
“I was desperate to get out of Beecham’s clutches. I thought I might tell Powell I was Philip’s close friend. I’d tell him the truth about the gambling and Arbuthnot’s debts. Persuade him that it was sensible and in Philip’s best interests to help pay off Beecham.”
“And if this unlikely and deluded stratagem didn’t work, what would you do then? Threaten him? Assault him? Murder him? That’s what happened, isn’t it? Powell rejected your implausible request. He was not particularly well built and was still recovering from his ordeal in Cyprus. You, Mr Vorster, are a bit of a physical specimen, aren’t you? Almost as solid as that ape of your father’s. You overpowered him, tortured him, drowned him. Isn’t that what happened?”
Vorster looked panic-stricken as he fully realised for the first time the danger of his position. He gripped the edge of the table tightly. “But… but… I never met him, Chief Inspector. I never met the man. Before I had a chance, I saw someone else gain entrance to Powell’s flat. I saw a man carrying a box of some sort at the street door of the building. I heard him ring the bell and talk into the speaking tube. I heard him call out that he had a delivery for Mr Powell and then go into the building.
“I waited and watched and, almost an hour later, I saw that person come out and hurry off. While I was waiting for the coast to clear, I was churning everything over in my mind and, to put it simply, lost my bottle. I recognised that my plan was, as you say, deluded. My desperation to get out from under Beecham had clouded my judgment. I walked away, Chief Inspector. You must believe me. I walked away.”
“I assume this is the story you told your father? He claims to believe you. Can he tell when you’re speaking the truth, Mr Vorster?”
Vorster’s face looked washed out with fear and exhaustion. He shrugged.
“And this person at the door. Did you recognise him?”
“No. I was standing in the archway of the rear courtyard of the building behind a wall. There was a gap through which I had a view of the door. I saw a man well wrapped up in a gabardine coat and wearing a large fedora hat. He was about my height but I couldn’t see his face.”
“So you are saying Powell himself let this man in the front door?”
“Yes. To take delivery of the box, presumably. But the man stayed there much longer than one would expect of a delivery man.”
“So you are saying this was Powell’s murderer?”
“If the murder took place around the time you say, he must be the likeliest candidate.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“There was a woman looking for her dog. I saw a few passing pedestrians?”
“Any men loitering nearby?”
“Not that I can remember. I didn’t have much of a view of the street from where I was.”
Merlin looked coldly at Vorster.
“I swear I didn’t kill him, Chief Inspector.”
Merlin raised his eyebrows at Bridges, who shook his head dismissively. “I’m sorry, Mr Vorster, this story seems very glib and convenient. I don’t think we believe you. I think you were the man at the door who gained access to Powell’s flat by claiming you had a delivery. This man you saw is an invention. I’m not going to charge you yet, but if you want to clear yourself, you’re going to have to come up with something more substantive. Until you do so, you remain our prime suspect.”
Merlin stood up and turned to Bridges. “Come on, Sergeant. Perhaps a quiet night in the cells will aid Mr Powell’s memory. We’ll revisit everything tomorrow.”
Vorster’s head slumped to his chest and he started to whimper. However, just as the policemen were going through the door, he called out excitedly: “Wait, Mr Merlin. I can remember one thing. The man… The man at the door of the flats. He was wearing aftershave. A powerful cologne, I think I’d recognise it again. It wasn’t a run-of-the-mill fragrance.”
Merlin looked back at him and nodded. “Goodnight.” He slammed the door shut.
* * *
It was only eight but it felt later to a weary Merlin. He called out for Sonia but there was no answer and he made straight for the bedroom, where he collapsed on the bed. Not long after, he heard a key in the front door. “I’m in here, darling.” Sonia appeared and joined him on the bed.
“Are you all right, Frank?”
“Just tired. I had a heavy day. No need to bore you with it, but we made good progress.”
Sonia stroked his cheek gently. “Frank, you know I am always interested in your work. Please tell me your news.”
“Well it seems, amazingly, that the three cases I have been working on are interconnected. And, on top of that, we may have a lead on a possible espionage plot.”
Sonia squeezed his hand and inched closer. “How exciting! My brilliant detective!” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I have news of my day, too.”
“Good news, I hope.”
Sonia hesitated. “Good. At least I hope good.” She kissed Merlin’s cheek again. “I went to see the doctor today.”
“About that tummy bug? Was everything all right?”
“Yes, everything is fine
.”
“I hope he didn’t charge you an arm and a leg. You didn’t settle it yourself, did you? I…”
“Shush, Frank. Don’t worry about the money.”
“Just tell me how much and I’ll…”
“I’m pregnant, Frank.”
Merlin’s mouth opened wide but no words came out.
“Cat got your tongue, Frank?”
“I’m… I’m…” Merlin examined Sonia’s face carefully then lowered his eyes to her stomach. “Are you sure? Is the doctor sure?”
“Quite sure. You are happy then? I thought you might be angry.”
Merlin reached his arm around Sonia’s neck. “Of course I’m happy. Astonished, but happy. Why on earth would I be angry?”
“Because we didn’t exactly plan this. You are a very busy and important man. We are not married. This baby might be – what is the word? – an encumbrance, an embarrassing encumbrance to you.”
“How could you think such a thing? I am delighted. Come, come here.” He hugged her tight then suddenly pulled away. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I need to be more careful. Don’t want to hurt the baby.”
Sonia giggled. “You silly man. A little cuddle is not going to hurt the baby.”
“Oh, good. Well, I don’t know much about babies, do I?” Merlin’s hand manoeuvred its way under Sonia’s blouse and touched her stomach “I can’t feel him or her.”
“It’s too early yet, you idiot.”
He pulled her towards him again and they kissed. They lay back on the pillows and within minutes, despite the excitement of Sonia’s news, Merlin was fast asleep.
CHAPTER 15
Thursday 19 June
London
“Mr Fleming will see you now, gentlemen.” A young bank clerk led Merlin and Bridges into a room that matched almost exactly Merlin’s expectation of what a City boardroom would look like.
Tomlinson, Fleming and Philip Arbuthnot were awaiting them at a grand, brightly polished mahogany table. The walls of the room were hung with old paintings and historical prints of London. Above the table were three large chandeliers, antique cabinets and tables lined the walls and a beautiful old grandfather clock occupied the far corner of the room. The picture windows offered a view of gabled City roofs and a glimpse of the Tower of London and Tower Bridge in the distance. Merlin paused to admire a print of Somerset House and the Thames in 1841.
