‘I wasn’t aware that he did.’
‘He vowed that he’d never let him take over his father’s stake in the club.’
‘Really?’
‘Mr Ulverton was so genial until I mentioned Adrian’s name. I know that Mr Donohoe didn’t get on very well with his son but why should Mr Ulverton object to him so strongly? He’s probably never even met Adrian Donohoe.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ said Rockwell, smile still intact. ‘But the person to ask is Mr Ulverton himself and,’ he went on, extending a hand, ‘here he comes.’
Marmion turned to see the club’s owner descending on him, arms spread wide in welcome and features lit up by a broad grin. Hoping to avoid him altogether, Marmion was cornered. The steward, meanwhile, had slipped quietly away.
The Stepney Warriors were no longer the dominant gang in the district. Gregory Wain’s triumphant swagger was now a slow trudge. As he walked past a couple of Evil Spirits on a street corner, he kept his head down and tried to block out the sound of their jeers. They were the masters now but, he told himself, it would not be for long. Wain carried on until he came to the river and saw a group of policemen combing the ground for something. They were in the way, just as they had been the previous night. The Warriors would have to wait until they’d disappeared altogether before they could put their plan into action.
Wain swore under his breath, spat on the ground and walked quickly away.
Keedy went back downstairs. Having finished his conversation with Peebles, he knocked on the door of Sprake’s office and went in. The older man was seated at his desk, studying a brochure. He gave the sergeant a token smile and motioned him to a chair. Keedy began with the name that had unsettled the chauffeur.
‘Do you know someone called Thomas Day, sir?’
Sprake pondered. ‘I don’t believe that I do,’ he said at length.
‘I had the feeling that Mr Peebles recognised the name.’
‘Jean-Louis has his own circle of friends.’
‘He denied knowing the man.’
‘Then accept his word, Sergeant. He’s very honest. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t employ him and I certainly wouldn’t have him living in my house.’
‘That’s a telling point, sir.’
‘Who is this Mr Thomas Day?’
‘I was hoping that one of you would tell me that.’
‘Has the name cropped up in the course of your investigation?’
‘Yes,’ said Keedy. ‘He was staying at the Devonian Hotel on the night that Mr Donohoe was murdered.’
‘So did a lot of other people, I daresay.’
‘Mr Day caught my eye.’
‘Then I’ll trust in your judgement,’ said Sprake. ‘I’m sorry that I can’t help you, Sergeant.’
‘At first, I thought that this man concealed his real name and chose to call himself Thomas Day. Then I remembered something that Mr Armitage, the manager, told me. He’s ordered his staff to take particular care when guests sign in, asking them for two separate proofs of their identity. If they fail to provide them,’ said Keedy, ‘they’re turned away.’
‘The manager is only taking wise precautions. In times of war, they’re absolutely essential. We don’t want German spies pretending to be someone else.’
‘I doubt if Thomas Day was a spy, sir. I feel that that’s his real name.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘There are two reasons. The first is the one I just gave you – the Devonian keeps a close watch on the people they admit as guests.’
‘And what’s the second reason?’
‘He’s sitting upstairs in what used to be Miss Kane’s office.’
Sprake was roused. ‘Jean-Louis is entirely trustworthy,’ he said, angrily.
‘Then why did he lie to me about Thomas Day?’
‘I think you’re mistaken, Sergeant.’
‘I know how to read people’s faces, sir. It’s part of my stock-in-trade.’
For a few seconds, Sprake seemed to be on the point of glowering but he quickly adjusted his expression to one of calm inscrutability. Keedy continued to probe away.
‘Does the name Club Apollo mean anything to you, sir?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘You’ve never heard of it in passing?’
‘I’m not a clubbable type, Sergeant. As you saw when you visited my home, I’m a family man. I have no interest in belonging to a club of any kind. Why did you mention this one?’
‘Your partner, Mr Donohoe, belonged to it.’
Sprake blinked. ‘Is that so? He made no mention of it to me.’
‘In fact, he was the co-founder of the club. It reflects his passion for music.’
‘Well,’ said the other, ‘there you are. I didn’t think there was anything left to learn about Gilbert Donohoe but there was.’
‘His partner’s name is Jonathan Ulverton.’
‘Who?’
‘You’ve never heard of him, I take it.’
‘I’ve never heard of him or of this club, but then I never delved into Gilbert’s private life. We worked together as partners and I asked for no more than that. Insofar as I have one, my talent was for lining up potential clients. Gilbert’s skill lay in closing a deal. He was an expert at that,’ said Sprake. ‘Like you, he knew how to read faces. That’s a useful asset in business.’
‘Why did he and his son fall out?’
‘I wasn’t aware that they had, Sergeant.’
‘Isn’t it strange that he excluded his only male heir from key parts of his business activities?’
‘Gilbert no doubt had his reasons.’
‘You must surely know what they are, Mr Sprake?’
‘The only thing I can tell you is that he felt his son lacked the abilities that he himself possessed. To put it bluntly, Gilbert was the master builder while Adrian was only a hod-carrier.’
‘That’s a rather cruel assessment of him, isn’t it?’
‘I’m quoting his exact words.’
‘This isn’t only to do with their respective skills, sir. It goes deeper than that. Mr Donohoe created a whole empire yet his son was confined to the outer limits of it. Was he punishing Adrian for some reason?’
‘That’s something only the son can tell you.’
‘He won’t even talk about it.’
‘Most people in his position just want to be left alone to mourn.’
‘We’ve seen no sign of grief in Adrian Donohoe, sir.’
‘He’s still reeling from a massive blow, Sergeant. Give him time.’
‘We don’t have time. There’s a killer on the loose.’
‘Have there been any developments?’
‘The most significant is that we’ve found the scene of the crime,’ said Keedy. ‘Some shoes belonging to Mr Donohoe were discovered there. His son was able to identify them for us.’
‘How was he able to do that?’
‘His father’s initials were stamped on them.’
‘Gilbert Oliver Donohoe …’
‘That’s right, sir – God. Did he really think he was the Almighty?’
Marmion was agreeably surprised. Instead of being as effusive as he had been on the previous meeting at the club, Jonathan Ulverton was much more restrained. He was considerate, softly spoken and serious. His only interest, he promised, was in helping the investigation. He guessed why the inspector had returned.
‘You felt that you didn’t really explore the Club Apollo properly yesterday because I was at your elbow all the time.’ He waved an arm. ‘Feel free to have a look around on your own, Inspector. Examine every nook and cranny. We’re not trying to hide anything from you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Marmion, ‘but I really came to ask if I could have the names of anyone who resented the fact that they were forbidden to join. Your steward said that you kept a record of everyone who’d applied.’
‘That’s true and you’re welcome to see it.’
‘I’d appr
eciate that.’
‘But you’re hardly likely to find any killers there. Yes, we have upset people and some have taken umbrage. One of them expressed his disappointment by throwing a brick through one of our windows but that’s as far as it went. We’ve had no death threats, no assaults on our staff and no interlopers.’
‘Your steward told me that you were Club Apollo’s figurehead.’
‘That’s very flattering but undeniable. I’m a fixture here. Gilbert was not.’
‘Yet his murder could still have its roots here.’
‘It’s unlikely,’ said Ulverton. ‘Well, you’ve seen some of our members. Most of them are slowly heading towards old age. I can’t see any of them being capable of strangling to death a big man like Gilbert.’
‘They may not be strong enough to do it,’ argued Marmion, ‘but they’re rich enough to hire someone to do it for them. I’m not speaking about your current members. Since he helped to make this club what it is, Mr Donohoe was probably revered by all of them. My interest is in those who, for one reason or another, failed the interview to get in.’
‘Did you have an interview to join the Metropolitan Police Force?’
‘We all did.’
‘Some were accepted and others were turned away, I suppose.’
‘That’s right. The main reason for rejection was that applicants were not judged physically fit enough for the demands of the job. Two of the people in my batch were debarred instantly.’
‘Why was that?’
‘They had criminal records.’
‘That’s something we take into account as well,’ said Ulverton. ‘If anyone is found to have a shady background, they get rebuffed.’
‘How do you know if they’ve been on the wrong side of the law?’
‘We put them under the microscope, Inspector. One member of our committee is a retired barrister. He more or less cross-examines them.’
‘I don’t know of any other club with such a rigorous interview process.’
‘We have to separate the wheat from the chaff.’
‘This record book of yours,’ said Marmion, thoughtfully. ‘Does it contain the reasons why certain applicants were shown the door?’
‘Yes, it does.’
‘Then I’d be most interested to see it.’
‘Follow me.’
Ulverton led him along a corridor and into an office that was even larger and more luxurious than the one occupied by Norris Sprake. Bookshelves ran the length of one wall. Another was devoted to a series of framed photographs of activities at the Club Apollo. The most prominent of them showed Ulverton and Donohoe shaking hands and beaming to the camera at what looked like the official opening of the club. Some members had been photographed while dining and others while watching a concert. The string quartet, Marmion noticed, comprised four middle-aged men in full fig. Evidently, it was taken before the death of their viola player.
Crossing to the bookshelves, Ulverton indicated two thick ledgers.
‘This one contains a list of members,’ he said, touching the volume, ‘and the smaller one deals with failed applicants. Look at whichever you choose.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Grateful to be given a free hand, Marmion was even more pleased when the other man went out of the office and left him on his own. He was able to take a proper inventory of the place. The furniture was costly and the decor in excellent taste. A faint smell of polish lingered in the air. Intending to look at both ledgers, Marmion first took down the smaller one and went through the names of those who’d been rejected in the previous few months. None were known to him until he turned over the last page and saw a name he recognised. The man had applied for membership less than a month earlier and been turned away on the grounds that he was ‘unlikely to uphold the values of the club or to subscribe to its ethos’.
His name was Patrick Armitage.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Having heard so much about the manager, Claude Chatfield was pleased to have the opportunity to meet him. The pleasure was momentary because Patrick Armitage was in a foul temper. He’d arrived at Scotland Yard, demanding to see Marmion. When he heard that the inspector was not in the building, he sought out the superintendent instead. Refusing the offer of a seat, he stood in front of the desk to state his case.
‘The inspector’s behaviour is indefensible,’ he began.
‘Why – what is he supposed to have done?’
‘He sent his sergeant to my hotel to make enquiries behind my back. I could have told him everything he needed to know. Instead of trusting me, Sergeant Keedy sneaked in there after I’d left for the day.’
‘That may have been the only time he could call at your hotel,’ said Chatfield, evenly. ‘Murder investigations make excessive demands on our time. The sergeant was probably tied up during the day and only able to visit the Devonian in the evening. When you’re not there, a duty manager is surely in charge?’
‘He is,’ said Armitage, testily, ‘and he was disconcerted at being bombarded by questions last night, especially as some of them were about me.’
‘I see no reason for complaint there, sir.’
‘I see every reason.’
‘You’re the manager. It’s inevitable that you were mentioned.’
‘It was more than a mention, Superintendent. I was being checked up on.’
‘Then the sergeant was following procedure. We double-check everything.’
‘He made it sound as if I was under suspicion,’ said Armitage. ‘That’s very damaging. I can’t have my staff harbouring the slightest doubts about me.’
‘I’m sure that they don’t, sir. In their eyes, you’re above suspicion.’
‘Then why was the sergeant trying to undermine my authority?’
‘He was doing nothing of the kind, Mr Armitage.’
‘I disagree.’
The manager was simmering. Chatfield was annoyed at the purposeful way the man had come into his office and was now standing over him. He rose to his feet as a means of asserting himself. He’d dealt with irate people many times and knew that their anger was often a smokescreen for their guilt. He didn’t believe that was the case here. Armitage was reacting to what he felt was an unacceptable blow to his pride. Chatfield decided to calm him down.
‘Do you actually own the Devonian Hotel, sir?’ asked Chatfield.
‘No, of course I don’t.’
‘So you’re simply one of the employees there.’
‘I’m the manager. That carries status.’
‘Your status was unaffected by Sergeant Keedy’s visit yesterday evening.’
‘He upset members of my staff. I’m here to defend them.’
‘Then we’re two of a kind, sir, because I always defend members of my staff. Inspector Marmion and Sergeant Keedy are experienced detectives. You should be grateful that they’ve been assigned to this case. They would never knowingly accuse innocent people,’ said Chatfield, ‘and that was certainly not what the sergeant was doing when he questioned your staff. He was not trying to link you to the crime, Mr Armitage. He was attempting to wipe the stigma of a murder from your hotel.’
‘Why didn’t he ask me the questions he put to the duty manager and to the receptionist?’
‘It’s because you were not there, sir.’
‘Exactly,’ said the other. ‘He took advantage of my absence.’
Chatfield sighed. ‘You’re being unduly sensitive, Mr Armitage.’
‘I insist on an apology from your detectives and a promise that they will come to me if they have anything to ask relating to my hotel.’
‘Does that mean you’ll be there twenty-four hours a day?’
‘It means that I want my position to be respected.’
‘Then that’s another thing we have in common,’ said Chatfield, giving his voice more edge. ‘I am a detective superintendent in the Metropolitan Police Force and, as a result, I have to deal with a number of serious crimes every day, deploying offic
ers, making tactical decisions, writing reports, facing the press and coping with the sort of groundless protests from members of the public that you’ve been making for the last few minutes. Lives are at stake in my world. All you have to do, Mr Armitage,’ he continued before the other could interrupt, ‘is to make sure that your hotel is run efficiently. Instead of wasting police time, I suggest that you go back there and do it.’
Walking to the door, Chatfield opened it wide for his visitor to leave. Armitage could see that argument was futile. He would get neither an apology nor a promise from Scotland Yard. After a silent battle of wills with the superintendent, he accepted defeat and marched out. Chatfield closed the door after him and rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. He’d been the decisive winner.
In the short time he’d been there, Clifford Burge had made far more progress in Stepney than he’d have believed possible. Much of the information he’d garnered had come from Everitt White whose methods were refreshingly direct. He’d not only retrieved Burge’s hat for him, he’d got hold of the shoes that had once belonged to Gilbert Donohoe after forcing the boy who’d found them to tell him where he discovered them. In the course of one evening, White had moved the investigation on and given Burge some priceless intelligence in the process. The latter now knew every inch of the territory disputed by the gangs as well as the names of their respective leaders. He also had some useful addresses.
Unless he could intervene, retribution was imminent. The Warriors would be smarting from their defeat and anxious to get their own back and the Spirits, while enjoying their sovereignty, would be ready to defend it in every way. Burge’s hope was that he could learn when the battle would take place so that he could have enough officers on hand to nip it in the bud. The only way to make the area safe was to arrest key members of each gang and prosecute them. The older boys could be sent to a borstal institution and the younger ones could be given a taste of incarceration at one of the remand homes run by the police.
Burge’s leisurely patrol took him all over the district. Above the general hubbub, he suddenly heard the sound of glass being shattered nearby followed by a howl of pain. He quickened his pace to turn a corner and saw the old man standing forlornly outside his junk shop, the plate-glass window lying in thousands of tiny fragments at his feet. Because he’d helped the police, albeit under duress, a gang had wreaked revenge. Burge found it difficult to find any sympathy for him.
Under Attack Page 16
