‘You’ve never even met the man, Joe.’
‘I saw him through your eyes and he fitted the description perfectly.’
‘Peebles had no reason to stay at the hotel. He lives with Sprake in that house near Richmond Park. I admire your powers of deduction,’ said Marmion. ‘It may well be that in Thomas Day – if that really is his name – you may have identified the killer but he was certainly not Sprake’s chauffeur.’
‘That doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in the murder,’ Keedy contended.
‘No, that’s true.’
‘He might have provided the car that took Donohoe to Stepney where his accomplice, Day, was waiting. Two of them could easily overpower Donohoe.’
‘They could have, Joe, but there’s no evidence to prove that they did.’
‘I’ll find it somehow.’
‘We have other lines of enquiry.’
‘I’d rather stick with this one.’
Keedy refused to concede defeat. Certain that his theory was at least worth exploring, he asked for permission to go to Barnes so that he could meet Peebles, weigh the man up for himself and ask him where he was on the night of the murder.
‘It could be a wasted journey.’
‘You told me that we should act on intuition sometimes.’
‘I agree. I’ve done it myself often enough. Very well,’ decided Marmion. ‘I can see that you’re like a dog with a bone. You’ll keep on gnawing away. If you must, go and meet Peebles yourself. You’ll find him a diverting character.’
Having put Harriet Kane on the train at Euston, Peebles drove back to the offices in Barnes. He found Sprake waiting for him in the hallway.
‘Has she gone?’
‘Yes,’ said Peebles. ‘The last vestige of Gilbert Donohoe has disappeared.’
‘Excellent – this company is all mine now.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She was not alone. Ellen Marmion accepted that. Other parents were in the same position, wondering what had happened to their absent sons. The missing persons were almost invariably young soldiers invalided out of the army. Some came back with horrendous injuries that made their life unbearable. When they disappeared, they were usually found to have gone away to some quiet spot in order to take their own lives. Ellen had read about one soldier who, having lost both legs, felt that he was a burden on his family. He persuaded a friend to take him to the cliffs of Dover where he could hear the sounds of battle on the other side of the English Channel as he flung himself over the edge. The friend, a wounded soldier himself, had been arrested for assisting his suicide.
Deeply affected by the tragedy, Ellen prayed that her son would not seek the same escape. Paul’s physical injuries had healed and his eyesight was getting slowly better all the time. There was no reason for him to feel suicidal. Unfortunately, he was no longer a rational person. While living at home, he’d been abusive, obstructive, bloody-minded and selfish. Paul had also taken pleasure from someone else’s pain, tormenting a girl, with whom he’d once been at school, out of sheer malice. Ellen could not excuse what he’d done, yet she still cared for him even though he showed no consideration to her and the family. A simple letter to say that he was well would be enough to satisfy her but the chances of his making contact seemed slimmer with each day. They might never know where he was. The ordeal would continue.
Yet she refused to give up. As she cleaned the house that morning, she went into his room and dusted it yet again, even though it was unnecessary. When Paul was there, he’d kept the place tidy. Ellen saw this as a manifestation of his army training and hoped that the habits and skills he’d learnt in uniform would help him in his new life as well. The room was bare now, everything of any significance to him having been taken. Distressingly, the one framed photograph left behind was of the Marmion family on holiday in Devon fifteen years earlier. The fond parents looked on while their children built sandcastles. Paul was laughing happily. Somewhere during the Battle of the Somme, he’d lost that capacity for happiness.
Ellen heard the sound of the letter box opening and shutting. The postman had been. Though she knew she’d be disappointed, she raced downstairs in the faint hope that their son might just have made contact with them at last. Lying on the doormat was an envelope that she snatched up quickly. It was addressed to Paul.
Admitted to the house in Barnes where the offices were located, Keedy noticed the wheelchair in the hallway. Norris Sprake was clearly there. His handicap didn’t deter him from a long day’s work. The door had been opened by Jean-Louis Peebles and Keedy had taken a good look at him. When he realised who his visitor was, Peebles gave him a polite welcome.
‘Mr Sprake is in his office.’
‘Actually,’ said Keedy, ‘I’d like a chat with you first, sir.’
Peebles laughed. ‘It’s not often that I get called “sir”. I just drive a car and do a little office work. I don’t know why you’re bothering with me, Sergeant.’
‘Oh, I think you underestimate your importance.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘It’s an observation that Inspector Marmion made and he’s very perceptive.’
‘I see.’ After studying him for a moment, Peebles turned away. ‘I’ll have to tell Mr Sprake that you’re here and wish to talk to me.’ He knocked on a door then opened it to enter the office, shutting the door firmly behind him. When he came out of the room, he smiled at his visitor. ‘Mr Sprake says that you can talk to me as long as you wish but he’d appreciate a few words with you before you leave.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘This way, Sergeant,’ said the other, leading the way to the stairs.
When they reached the office, Peebles opened the door with a flourish and gestured for Keedy to enter. He followed the sergeant in and waved at the empty shelves and the bare walls.
‘Ignore the state of the place,’ he said. ‘Hattie Kane moved out earlier today and I haven’t had time to settle in yet.’
‘This was her office, was it?’
‘Yes, she’s no longer with us.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Mr Adrian Donohoe needed her in Birmingham.’
‘Did she have to leave so suddenly?’ asked Keedy in surprise. ‘Having been here for years, she must have a detailed knowledge of how the company works. If you’re going to replace her, I’d have thought it would pay you to spend a week or so learning exactly what Miss Kane did. She could have eased you into the job.’
‘I was hoping that she’d do just that,’ said Peebles, smoothly, ‘but she was whisked away. We’ll miss her.’
Keedy sat down and Peebles took the chair behind the desk, swelling with pride as he lowered himself into it. He couldn’t help looking around his new domain.
‘It’s been denuded, hasn’t it?’ he said. ‘Hattie brought so many feminine touches to this office. It had colour and personality.’
‘I’m sure you’ll provide plenty of both, sir.’
Hands clasped, Peebles sat forward. ‘What is it you wished to ask me?’
‘First of all, have you ever heard of Club Apollo?’
‘No, is it a nightclub?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Keedy. ‘So you didn’t realise that Mr Donohoe was a member?’ Peebles shook his head. ‘Was he a secretive man?’
‘He could be.’
‘Did he confide in Miss Kane?’
‘You’ll have to ask her. Only she can tell you that.’
‘Was she sad to leave here?’
‘I don’t think so. She was always homesick. Hattie’s big regret was that it took Mr Donohoe’s death to get her back to Birmingham.’
Keedy was already finding him too glib and self-assured. Though he’d made a point of saying that he held only a minor position in the company, Peebles was behaving otherwise. He was almost luxuriating in his new office.
‘Let me take you back to the night of the murder,’ said Keedy.
‘Oh, you don’t need to do that. Mr
Sprake and I talk about nothing else. We keep blaming ourselves for not being there at the time to save him.’
‘Did you drive Mr Donohoe anywhere that day?’
‘No, he was still at the Devonian Hotel, as far as I knew.’
‘But you have picked him up from there in the past?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Peebles. ‘As long as Mr Sprake didn’t need me, I was at Mr Donohoe’s beck and call. Why pay for a taxi when he could summon me?’
‘What did you do that evening?’
‘I was at Mr Sprake’s house, cleaning the car. Hattie Kane might have known how to brighten up an office but nobody can make a car gleam as much as I can. I spend a couple of hours on it at least twice a week.’
‘And that’s what you did on the day of the murder?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there anyone who can substantiate that claim?’
Peebles stiffened. ‘Are you treating me as a suspect?’
‘I’d just like to know where you were.’
‘Well, I wasn’t driving a car I’d just cleaned through the filth of the East End, I can assure you of that. It’s not safe, for a start. Some people burn with envy. If they see an expensive vehicle like ours, they want to throw things at it.’
‘How did you know that the murder took place in the East End?’
Peebles was halted for a moment. ‘The body was found near there,’ he said, eventually. ‘It was in the newspaper.’
‘Bodies can be carried a long distance by the tides. It could have been dumped miles upriver.’
‘I was just assuming …’
‘As it happens, your assumption was correct. Last night, we found evidence that the murder occurred in Stepney and that Mr Donohoe’s corpse was tipped into the river at a point we identified.’
‘There you are,’ said Peebles as if he’d just been exonerated.
‘The likelihood is that it was in the dead of night. Few people would have been around at that time so your gleaming car wouldn’t have been in any danger in the dark. In short, you could have been there.’
‘I was in Mr Sprake’s house all night. Ask him.’
‘I intend to, Mr Peebles.’
‘To be honest, I find your suspicions of me rather offensive.’
‘It’s just routine, sir. We have to check all possibilities.’
‘Does that mean you have Mr Sprake lined up as a suspect as well?’ asked Peebles, sarcastically. ‘Perhaps he beat his victim unconscious with his walking sticks. Or what about Hattie Kane – is she on the list as well? Maybe she fell out with Mr Donohoe and lost her temper. I’ve seen her in a rage. She’s quite scary.’
‘If it wasn’t you,’ said Keedy, ‘it’s more likely to have been Thomas Day.’
The name brought about an instant change. The mocking grin vanished from Peebles’ face and he was no longer so irritatingly cocky.
‘I’ve never heard of the man,’ he said, slowly. ‘Who is he?’
‘I thought he might be you, sir.’
It was agony for Alice Marmion. Forced to listen to her friend’s gushing description of her night out, she was reminded of the split that had opened up between her and Keedy. It would not be easily closed because each was as stubborn as the other. She’d had friends in the past to whom she’d felt she could turn when she had problems in her private life. Iris Goodliffe was not one of them. Besides, it was ludicrous that a woman who’d been engaged for almost two years should rely on the advice of someone with such limited experience of dealing with the opposite sex. One night out with a policeman did not qualify Iris to be a source of constructive sympathy.
Walking beside her friend, Alice was sustained by the wild hope that Keedy would suddenly appear out of the blue, sweep her up in his arms and kiss away the tension between them. Realistically, she knew that it would never happen, and not only because he would have commitments elsewhere. He would deliberately avoid her. As Iris dribbled on, Alice tried to shut out the sound of her voice but there was no way she could ignore the whoop of delight that came from her friend. Douglas Beckett had just come around the corner with his beat partner. Waving to Iris, he gave her such a warm smile that it made Alice’s heart constrict. Though she was pleased for Iris, she felt more miserable than ever.
It was mid morning when Marmion got to the Club Apollo. He wanted to be there before luncheon was served and, hopefully, before Jonathan Ulverton turned up. He was keen to look at the place for himself without being supervised by the man who was now its sole owner. What struck him when he was let into the building was the absence of music. The club felt empty without it. Saul Rockwell came out to welcome the inspector and provide an explanation.
‘The quartet won’t be here until this evening,’ he said.
‘I didn’t come to listen to them.’
‘Mr Ulverton is here, if you wish to speak to him. He stayed the night.’
‘I’d value a moment with you first,’ said Marmion, annoyed that the owner would soon interrupt them. ‘I gather that you were in the navy?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘Which ship did you sail in?’
‘I ended up in HMS Dreadnought,’ said Rockwell, straightening his shoulders. ‘She was a wonderful vessel. When she was launched in 1906, she put all the other battleships in the shade. In terms of speed and firepower, she had no equals.’
‘It sounds as if you enjoyed your time aboard her.’
‘I’ve nothing but good memories, Inspector. But those days are gone. I got married and looked for a position that was more suitable. Sergeant Keedy will have explained how I ended up here.’
‘You obviously like it.’
‘I couldn’t wish for a better job.’
‘Why do you think you were chosen to be the steward?’
‘Who can say?’ asked Rockwell with a shrug. ‘Mr Donohoe saw something in me and made me an offer. I’d like to claim that my effortless charm won him over but I fancy that he simply wanted someone who wouldn’t fiddle the accounts or run off with the silver. My naval experience helped. It proved I was reliable.’
‘What’s so special about this place, Mr Rockwell?’
The steward chuckled. ‘You mean, apart from me?’
‘Why are people so keen to become members?’
‘They like music and they want somewhere to hide.’
‘From what?’
‘From whatever it is that they want to escape. One member told me he’s in hiding from his wife and another said he was dodging his creditors. It was a third one who had the best answer. He claimed that he just wanted somewhere to stay until the war was over.’ He raised a meaningful eyebrow. ‘Don’t we all?’
‘What about the musicians?’
‘Oh, they’re not actually members.’
‘No, but I daresay that Mr Donohoe and Mr Ulverton chose them with great care. They’d want the best they could get.’
‘That’s why they employed the Malvern Quartet.’
Marmion was taken aback. ‘Do they come all that way just to play here?’
‘They don’t live in Malvern,’ said Rockwell. ‘It happens to be where their leader was born. Three of them have been together for donkey’s years. When their viola player died, they replaced him with a woman, Dulcie Haddon. Her father is the leader of the quartet, Nigel Haddon.’
‘It must be difficult for her,’ said Marmion, ‘being the only woman in an all-male environment.’
‘I doubt if she even notices, Inspector. Musicians like her have only one thing on their mind and that’s playing the music properly. I’m a brass band man myself but I have to admit that they make a nice sound.’
Marmion grinned. ‘I don’t think a brass band would fit in here somehow. It would destroy the atmosphere you try to create.’
‘Atmosphere is everything. That was Mr Donohoe’s motto.’
‘And what’s Mr Ulverton’s motto?’
‘Oh, he has several, sir,’ said Rockwell, cheerily. ‘I can’t
remember them all.’
The steward gave Marmion his all-purpose smile, the one he produced for every occasion and behind which he could hide his true feelings. The inspector had seen it on the faces of many people employed in a similar position. Club stewards gave nothing away. Their first duty was to protect their members at all costs, even if that meant being less than cooperative with the police. Marmion didn’t blame Rockwell. He was only doing his job. The inspector came at him from a different angle.
‘Sergeant Keedy tells me that certain people who applied for membership were enraged when they were turned down by the committee.’
‘That’s true.’
‘There have even been reprisals.’
‘It’s nothing we can’t handle, Inspector,’ said Rockwell.
‘Presumably, you keep a list of would-be members.’
‘Everybody who shows an interest in Club Apollo goes into the record book.’
‘Who keeps it up to date?’
‘I do.’
‘Can you think of anybody, in recent weeks, who stormed out of here when his application was rejected?’
‘I can see what you’re getting at, Inspector. Was the killer someone with a grudge against the club? No, I don’t think so. Even if there had been a person like that, he wouldn’t necessarily have picked on Mr Donohoe.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s because we didn’t see him all that often. Mr Ulverton is here more or less all the time. When members think of the Apollo, they think of him. It’s Mr Ulverton who goes out looking for new people to join. Mr Donohoe could never do that,’ said Rockwell. ‘He just didn’t have Mr Ulverton’s flair.’
‘What did he bring to the club, then?’
‘He brought a lot, Inspector.’
‘Could you be more specific?’
‘It’s not my place to be.’
The impenetrable smile was back again. Marmion didn’t try to remove it. He simply asked a question that had been troubling him for some time.
‘Why does Mr Ulverton hate Adrian Donohoe so much?’
Under Attack Page 15
