"Every man we've got is alerted," said Gideon. "So, there isn't, yet. I . . ."
The telephone behind him rang.
It was too often like this: no pause between one thing and another, no time to get his mind fixed on a problem before he had to switch to the next. Today was worse than usual, or else he was noticing it more. The intrusion of Mary Rose, Pru and Kate were factors he wouldn't normally have to deal with, and he was more worried than he showed about Benson's escape. The man who didn't respect Benson's ability was a fool.
He picked up the receiver.
"Gideon."
"George," said a superintendent named Wrexall, "I've got Ruby Benson on the line, but she'd like a word with you. Can do?"
In the past half hour, several things had happened in London that Gideon didn't know about:
In New Bond Street, only a stone's throw from the police station at Savile Row, a small sports car drew up outside a jeweler's shop, a young man got out and calmly smashed a plate-glass window with a big hammer. The noise was so loud that it sounded like a car crash. As the window fell outward, two other men ran toward it, each carrying a sack with a wide, hooped opening. They grabbed silver, gold, jewels, everything in sight; and, as they did so, the man who had smashed the window tossed smoke bombs among the crowd. In ninety seconds, it was all over. The men ran back to the sports car, which roared along the road, the driver ignoring a point duty policeman, who leaped for his life.
As the car swung round the comer, another policeman leaped at it and tried to get at the steering wheel. One thief smashed at his head, another at his hands, but he didn't let go. The car swerved, mounted the pavement, and crashed.
The policeman wasn't seriously injured.
A few miles away, a young constable, hearing cries for help, peered over Putney Bridge and saw a woman and a child struggling in the river. He spoke calmly to two passersby as he stripped off his tunic, put his helmet on the parapet, and dived into the water. He saved both woman and child.
The third thing was not so spectacular. A constable, doing his usual rounds, noticed a familiar face coming out of a big building in Merton Square, W.I. The face was of one of London's most notorious safebreakers, not long out of jail. This man. Lefty Bligh, was known to spy out the lay of the land thoroughly before he did a job.
The constable made his report about this by telephone to his sergeant, who was soon talking to the Yard.
6. Benson's Wife
Whenever he had a mental picture of Syd Benson's wife, Gideon saw a woman in her early thirties, with a figure that a girl of twenty might have envied, and the face of a woman of middle age. It was a sad face, much more sad than anything else, as of one who had given up expecting anything at all from life. During the time of Benson's remand before his trial, Gideon had often talked to her. Every now and again something had animated her, and she'd shown a glimpse of the beauty she was known to have been; but it was faded, as a dying flower. Even at thirty-three, her hair had been liberally streaked with gray.
As Gideon waited for her to come through, that was the picture he had of her.
Then: "You're through," said the operator.
"Hallo, Mrs. Benson," Gideon said quietly.
"Is that"—a pause—"is that Superintendent Gideon?"
"Superintendent" would do, that was how she had known him.
"Yes, speaking. If you're worried about the two men I've stationed—"
"No, it's not about them," interrupted Ruby Benson, in a voice which suggested that she was more agitated than she wanted him to know. "I was told about Syd early this morning, and I expected you to send someone. But I'm not worried about myself, Mr. Gideon."
Boy friend?
"Who are you worried about?"
"The children," she said flatly, "and I really mean that, Mr. Gideon." He could believe her; and he forgot that he had even thought "boy friend." "You're the one man I needn't be afraid to talk to," she went on; "you know Syd, and you know what he can do. I've been thinking it out, Mr. Gideon: I've often wondered what he'd do if he did get a chance, and I don't believe he'd go for me. I think he'd get at me through the children. Until he's caught, I don't want them living at home with me, I wouldn't feel safe."
Gideon said, "Listen, Mrs. Benson, you've nothing at all to worry about today. Syd can't get to London in weather like they've got up north—there's little traffic about on the roads, watching is easy as kiss your hand. So there's no immediate worry. You going to be in this afternoon and this evening?"
"Well, yes," she said.
"I'll come and have a word with you, but I can't promise when," said Gideon. "Not before half past four, anyhow. And if you're worried about the children today, in spite of what I've told you, I'll arrange for a man to go to their school and—"
"No, it's all right today," Ruby Benson said quickly, and her relief sent her voice two octaves higher. "Thanks ever so much, Mr. Gideon. I'll wait in."
She rang off.
She had never had very much to say, and Gideon had often wondered what she really felt and thought. At one time it had seemed as if the years with Benson had cowed her, but she had shown great courage when she had turned on him. Just now, the sudden relief and the vitality in her voice had surprised him.
He pushed his chair back.
"Sandwiches coming up," Lemaitre said. "Going lady-killing today, eh?"
"That's it."
"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," Lemaitre said. "You heard about that chap who stopped the smash-and-grab job?"
"No. Hurt?"
"They didn't detain him in hospital, he's being taken home. Ought to get a medal, he jumped a car while it was doing fifty."
"Then he'll probably get his medal."
"Good day for heroes," Lemaitre said, with a grimace. "Chap out at Putney dived into the Thames and saved a woman who'd jumped in after her kid—kid had fallen in from the towpath."
Gideon felt a warming glow.
"Get me his name and number, will you?"
"It's on the way. There's another thing we ought to do something about," Lemaitre went on with a sniff. "Lefty Bligh's around again, seen coming out of the Carfax Building in Merton Square. What do you make of that?"
Gideon said quietly, "Find out just where he was, Lem. Send someone who knows his habits. Find out if there's anything worth pinching kept in the place, and lay on everything that's needed."
Lemaitre nodded.
It was nearly four o'clock before Gideon left the Yard. He went alone, driving the black Wolseley, and the bright afternoon sunshine showed up the little scratches, the dust and the smears on the glass and the bodywork. He didn't drive fast. He let his thoughts roam over every inquiry that was going through the Yard, and hoped that nothing big would break for a day or two, but he wasn't too sanguine; big things were always liable to break, and they had a trick of coming two or three at a time. Strictly speaking, catching Benson wasn't a Yard job and wouldn't be until there was proof that the man was in the London Metropolitan area, but Benson was Case Number 1.
Case Number 2 was the Primrose Girl.
Gideon had looked through the afternoon newspapers before leaving the office. The mass escape from Millways had driven the Primrose Girl off the main headlines, but there was the story of the arrest of William Rose and a picture of the boy. The telling of the story was typical of Fleet Street: no direct statement that Rose was guilty, nothing that might at any time be construed as contempt of court, but the facts were stated in such a way that nine readers out of ten would feel sure that William Rose was the murderer. The Divisional police had told the Press plenty, including the bit about the boy's penknife; they'd said more than Gideon would have done, so early as this. H5 Division was worrying him, and would soon become an anxiety.
The world would soon think the boy guilty.
And Mary Rose either knew that he was innocent, or was prepared to lie desperately to save him.
To reach H5 he had to cross the river; it was Lambeth way.
He drove faster as he got out of the thick London traffic, and it was half past four when he reached the sprawling building which housed the H5 Divisional Headquarters. The district was drab, most of the houses near it were small, and many wanted painting; taken by and large, it was a depressing area. Gideon knew that the Roses lived some distance from here, in a new—well, newish—estate.
He hadn't told H5 that he was going; only Lemaitre knew. That was because he didn't want everything brushed up and made shiny for him. Within two minutes of stepping into the low-ceilinged hall, however, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. The desk sergeant, recognizing him at the first glance and coming almost to attention, told him that the Superintendent had gone home early.
"Got a shocking cold he had, sir."
"Oh. Lot of them about," said Gideon. "Who's in charge?"
"Chief Inspector Smedd, sir."
"Tell him I'm on my way, will you?"
"Yes, sir," said the sergeant. "Right away."
Gideon didn't hurry. The old building had a lot of steep stone steps, and he knew from experience that if he didn't take it carefully he would be breathless when he reached the second floor; and it wasn't good policy to be puffing and blowing in front of the men up there. He now knew that Smedd was the officer who had arrested young Rose, and he knew Smedd well enough to realize that he was quite capable of brushing Mary Rose off. He was a go-getter, and he was a damned good detective and almost as good a policeman; they didn't always mean the same thing. He wasn't a man whom Gideon liked, but they had never clashed. Taken by and large, if Smedd said that a thing was true, it was.
Smedd was at the open door of the Superintendent's room, which he shared with the Superintendent; and Gideon wondered how often the senior man went home early.
"Hallo, Commander—unexpected honor," said Smedd, and gave a fierce smile and offered a vigorous handshake. He was on the small side for a C.I.D. man and, in his early days, must have scraped in by the better part of a hair's breadth, although the five feet ten rule had been relaxed for a long time now. He was dressed in brown, the color just a trifle on the bright side; his tie was colorful; his crisp, almost ginger hair was very oily. He had a raw look: a scrubbed look, rather. His skin was very fresh, and, especially at his nose and eyes, was a mass of freckles. "Come in—sorry the Superintendent's not here, he packed up early. Sneezing all over the place. You kept clear of colds this winter?"
"Pretty clear, thanks."
"Good. Sit down. How about a cuppa? Had one myself, but never say no, you know."
"I won't, thanks," said Gideon. "Lemaitre poured a cup into me before I left." He sat down and looked about him, and knew, even then, that the Superintendent might spend a lot of time at the station, but he had really given way to Smedd; for this place was spick-and-span, everything was in its proper place. Even the Superintendent's roll-top desk, usually a litter of papers, was as neat as the rest of it. Since Gideon had last been here, there had been a new, bigger, flat-topped desk brought in, too. Smedd's?
Smedd went and sat behind it.
"Come about the Primrose Girl job, I suppose. Glad we didn't take long to get the young swine. Kind I'd hang if I had my way."
"Hmm," said Gideon. "Nasty job. Sure he did it, I suppose?" He didn't smile. "Had a morning session with a man from the P.P.'s office, and the chief moan was that I'd put up a case which might not stand up in court, so I'm sensitive."
"Oh, we'll get Rose," Smedd said.
Gideon didn't comment.
Smedd frowned. A quick-tempered man at best, he wouldn't give way to his temper with Gideon, but neither would he be able to hide the fact that he felt annoyed, or at least impatient.
"I'd take the case to court tomorrow. Asking for a week, of course, if that's okay with you; we might as well get it all sewn up before we commit him for trial, but there isn't a shred of doubt. Talking off the cuff, of course, wouldn't say this to the P.P.'s office yet, but—haven't you studied the report I sent in?"
Reproof.
Gideon said, "Yes, but let me have the main points again, will you?"
Smedd's look said, jeeringly, "I'll bet you've read it—I don't think!" He didn't speak at once, but opened a drawer and took out a foolscap-sized manila folder, opened this, and showed a sheaf of papers clipped together; perhaps twenty sheets of paper, some large, some small, some handwritten, some typewritten. He began to read from a typewritten sheet on the top, without looking at Gideon, but giving the impression that he preferred facts to speak for themselves.
"Rose and Winifred Norton had been keeping company for six months. She was always at his house, or he was always at hers. The only quarrels we can find were because he was jealous—he hated her to be seen with other men." Smedd sneered the "men." "Recently, she'd been more interested in other men than in Rose. They had a violent quarrel a few hours before she was found murdered. She went to gather primroses, after the quarrel, and—"
"By herself?" interposed Gideon.
"Yes. She told a girl friend where she was going, and said it was to get away from Rose; she was nervous of him. That's the last time she was seen alive. The body was found the following morning, some primroses clutched in her left hand, eleven stab wounds, mostly in the breast. If you ask me, the boy's a monster." Whatever else, Smedd was convinced of that; the words spat out from his lips. "Those are the facts about her. After the quarrel, Rose wandered about on his own. He didn't go home. He didn't go to her home. He says he went to the pictures, but his footprints were found near the body, his knife was found among the primroses, with some of his prints on it, the blade was smeared with blood. She was stabbed through her clothes, so no blood splashed or spurted, and there was none on his clothes or hands," Smedd went on very quickly, "but we don't need that for evidence. Take it from me, we've got that young swine where we want him."
Smedd broke off, as if challenging Gideon to deny it.
"How does Rose explain his knife?"
"Usual story: he lost it, a day or two ago."
"His footprints?"
"Oh, he admits he saw the girl there, but says he left her. And so he did—dead," Smedd added, and the challenge in his manner became even more aggressive.
7. Ruby Benson
Gideon had known from the beginning that it would be as difficult to shift Smedd from an opinion as it would to shift Lemaitre. He knew more: Smedd had done a great number of things he hadn't mentioned. He might have overlooked something, but for the most part he would have done a thorough job. And if he, Gideon, started to check, he would only be putting Smedd's back further up, which would help no one. So Gideon did what he would have done with a man whom he knew better and whom he liked. He nodded, in that almost ponderous way of his, and took out his big-bowled pipe. He found himself smoking less and less these days, and then mostly in the evenings. Now, he began to fill the big bowl; and he gave a slow, rueful smile, which obviously puzzled Smedd.
"Well, you've got it all sewn up," Gideon said. "I didn't have much doubt that you would. Pity."
Smedd's green-brown eyes could not have been brighter.
"Pity?" he ejaculated. "Goddamnit, what else do you want?" So he could unbend enough under pressure. "The swine has a row with his girl friend, nice, clean-living girl, only just beginning to spread her wings. Virgin, too—at least he didn't try to interfere with her. She tells him it's the end, so what does he do? Follows her into the woods and then kills her with his knife, stabbing her nearly a dozen times. He must have lost his temper until he was almost mad, and that's what the defense will try of course—insanity plea. But he's no more mad than I am. He's just like a lot of the young swine these days. All right while he gets what he wants, but as soon as something gets in his way he loses his head. And you say it's a pity!"
Smedd paused.
Gideon was still smiling, ruefully, almost apologetically; and now he had finished filling his pipe. There were a few tricks Smedd didn't know yet, and one of them was that Gideon liked the other man to do most of the
talking, especially at times like this. Smedd might keep quiet long enough to force him to comment, or he might not have the patience.
Smedd put both hands together, clenching them tightly.
"Don't tell me that you're starting to sympathize with a young brute like this just because you've got kids of your own. I've got three, remember."
Gideon spoke at last. "No, it's not that, although that comes into it in a way. Funny thing, but young Rose's sister, the one named Mary, knows my daughter Pru. Studied music together, or something. So I promised I'd see if there was a weak spot anywhere. I had a sneaking hope you might not be quite certain that it was this Rose boy. Still, nothing to be done, obviously." He paused. "Mind if I have a word with Rose?"
"Sure, have a word when you like," Smedd said. "He won't fool you any more than he did me. See his sister?"
"She stormed the Yard!"
"She tried to storm in here," Smedd told him, thinly, "but I don't stand any nonsense from the kids who think they know everything. And I don't intend to let anyone call me a liar, even if she is a girl who's a bit worked up."
Gideon made a whistling sound.
"She do that?"
"Oh, and a lot more hysterical nonsense," Smedd said tartly. "Either hysteria, or she was trying it on. Anyhow, what we have to work on are the facts." He patted the file of papers. "And in that file there are enough facts to convict him twice over. Only worry I've got is this insanity plea. Every time a kid gets off on that, I think that two others will probably kill in the same way, believing they might get away with it. Funny thing, the human mind. Subconscious has a hell of a lot to answer for."
"I'll say it does," said Gideon. "No weak spots, apart from that?"
Gideon at work; three complete novels: Gideon's day, Gideon's week, Gideon's night Page 5
