by Mark Ellis
“You can’t scare me. You forget that I have diplomatic immunity.”
“Dear, dear, Mr Norton. Is that the best you can come up with? We know that you’re not very popular with your own Embassy at present. You say this is all going to be ironed out but who knows? Perhaps your friend the Ambassador hasn’t got as much clout as he used to. And of course he’s not on the spot. Now, if I wander round to Mr Zarb and tell him that the only conclusion I can form from your failure to provide us with honest answers to our questions is that you killed Miss Harris and probably Mr Morgan too, what do you think he’s going to do, since he’s such a great fan of yours? I don’t know quite how these things work but if you’ve been recalled and overstay your welcome here, presumably your status ceases. Or given the potential for unpleasant repercussions arising from the Embassy’s having employed and then protected a murderer, who’s to say that the powers that be might not cut a little deal under which you are thrown to the wolves?”
“Alright, alright.” Norton undid his bow tie and removed the stud from his collar. He was sweating profusely. “Damn thing’s choking me to death.”
“Make yourself as comfortable as you like – provided it helps you to tell us the truth at last.”
Norton wiped his face with a handkerchief, gave the policeman a look of deep loathing, then sighed in resignation. “Johnny Morgan was referred to the Embassy through me. I was introduced to The Blue Angel by some other diplomat, I can’t remember who. I went there several times and Owen was always very attentive. At some point he mentioned that he had a nephew looking for a position as a driver, could I help? I met the boy. He was very presentable and had a cheeky sort of charm. I thought the Ambassador might like him. Not Irish of course but close to, being Welsh I mean.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I noticed that Morgan had a way with the ladies.” He toyed nervously with the collar stud. “One evening I bumped into him at the pub. He was with a pretty young girl. He was rather drunk. We were all rather drunk in fact. And he… he asked me at the end of the evening whether I’d like to come back with him and watch.”
“You mean watch him and the girl making love?”
“Yes. So we went to a flat…”
“This flat.”
Merlin pointed at the picture. Norton nodded.
“Didn’t the girl object?”
“Only for a short time. She was drunk when we got to the flat and he had some pills or drugs he gave her. She didn’t really know where she was.”
“Did Morgan require anything of you for this show he put on?”
“He asked for some money. I gave him a fiver that time, I think.”
“And how does this bear on the story of Miss Harris?”
Norton closed his eyes. “Morgan invited me to watch several other times but on one occasion the girl got very upset and it didn’t work out. The invitations stopped but a while later he started offering me pictures. Said he knew someone who had a nice line in nude pictures and so on. I bought a few pictures from him. Then towards the end of last year I noticed that he was very friendly with Miss Harris. I thought she was very attractive and I suggested that I’d pay him well for a good picture of her. He said he thought he could manage it.”
“So Johnny Morgan seduced Joan Harris?”
“I think he found it easier than he expected as she was on the rebound from someone.”
“This would have been when?”
“Late November, early December.”
“I can’t think she would willingly submit herself to a photographer?”
“He drugged her for the pictures, same way he drugged the first girl I watched him with.”
“So this is one of the photographs taken on that occasion?”
“I should think so.”
“And you paid Johnny Morgan for this?”
“I gave him £20 for Miss Harris’ pictures.”
“And following this you started taking Miss Harris out?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she agree to go out with you? I understand she didn’t particularly like you.”
“I showed her a photograph.”
“You threatened her with exposure of the photograph and possible loss of her job unless she did what you wanted?”
Norton lowered his eyes.
“And so you took her to The Blue Angel and other places?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
Norton nodded. He felt nauseous.
Merlin felt nauseous. He walked to the window and looked out at the wet street below. “After you’d had your way with her, Mr Norton, what happened next?”
“After Christmas I decided that it wasn’t so wise to see her so I…”
“You dropped her?”
“Yes.”
“Or at least that’s what you’d like us to think.”
Norton staggered to his feet, his sweat-soaked hair plastered untidily to his forehead. “No, no, it’s the truth. I told her to forget all about it.”
“What did she say to that?”
“Look, she couldn’t stand me. She was pleased that I lost interest. She was a bitch but…”
“But what?”
“She was very unhappy.”
“And?”
“Are you sure this wasn’t just a suicide?”
“We are, although if it had been a suicide it’s pretty clear from what you’ve told us that you would be one of the main causes.”
Norton shook his head.
“And Morgan. Did you do away with him so that none of this would emerge?”
“No, no. I didn’t kill anyone. In fact, he was…”
“He was what?”
“Nothing.”
“Sergeant. The other one, please.”
Bridges showed Norton the second photograph.
“I presume you’re trying to tell me Johnny was still working on getting you more pictures. Is that right?”
Norton stared at Kathleen Donovan’s sinuous naked body and nodded, slowly.
“Same routine, no doubt. You fancied Miss Donovan, weren’t getting anywhere, asked Morgan to seduce her and he got pictures taken when she was drugged up. Have you had a chance yet to practise your blackmail on her?”
“No, I haven’t done anything to Kathleen. I swear.”
“Only a matter of time though, wasn’t it? I’ll have that photograph back, please, and before we go I’d be grateful if you’d give your full collection of photographs to the Sergeant.”
In the bedroom, Norton retrieved the box from under the bed where he had hurriedly pushed it when the policemen had arrived.
“There’s no need for anyone else to know about this is there, Sergeant?”
“You must be joking, sir.”
“It’s got nothing to do with Miss Harris’ death.”
“That remains to be seen. And who’s to say that these photos had nothing to do with Johnny Morgan’s death?”
Norton swore loudly then collapsed heavily onto his bed as Merlin joined them.
“One last question for now: Do you know if Miss Harris was seeing anyone in particular apart from you before or after Christmas?”
“No. Except for what Johnny said about her being on the rebound, and if that was true I don’t know who she was on the rebound from.”
“And do you know anything about her thinking she was pregnant?”
“Good God, no. She wasn’t pregnant, was she?”
“No, sir, she wasn’t. Come on, Sergeant. I need some fresh air. Please don’t contemplate leaving London yet, Mr Norton.”
A few yards along the corridor from Merlin’s office, adjacent to one of the meeting rooms, was a little alcove used for brewing up. Four decrepit chairs surrounded a small, round table above which a grimy window looked out onto blackened brickwork. Cole was hurriedly shovelling tea leaves into the pot. He’d not had a chance to eat or drink anything all day and he was discovering that detective work was thirsty work. He was
excited too and for some reason that always made his mouth dry. Ten minutes earlier he had been called down to the cells where Reardon had asked for a private word. After moving to the interview room, against a background of foul Morrie Owen invective, Reardon had informed him that he was ready to talk on certain conditions, which would have to be discussed with Merlin. Cole had arranged for Reardon to be deposited in another cell on his own, and was waiting anxiously for his boss to return.
Rummaging in the back of a cupboard he found a packet of just about edible digestive biscuits and settled down to his tea, with an ear cocked for the sound of life outside Merlin’s office. He had just poured himself a second cup when he heard steps and stuck his head out into the corridor.
“Oh. It’s you.”
“No need to sound so disappointed. Any more in there?”
Claire Robinson squeezed past Cole to get herself a mug and sat down with a sigh of relief.
“A hard grind this isn’t it, Tommy? I may call you Tommy, mayn’t I?”
Cole shrugged. For some reason he felt a little nervous. He glanced at the door then sneaked a look at his companion out of the corner of his eye. She was an attractive girl, no doubt. Tommy Cole wasn’t normally the type to get tongue-tied with a pretty girl. An only son, with four sisters, he knew how to handle women – but this one intimidated him for some reason. Robinson smiled across at him – when she smiled her nose crinkled appealingly and the little beauty spot beneath her nose disappeared from sight.
“You can call me Claire if you like. What are you up to?”
She spoke differently to the women he knew. Very posh but not too stuck-up. That’s how it seemed anyway. And, of course, the A.C. was her uncle – a little disturbing that. He turned to face her full-on and attempted to gather his composure.
“It looks like Reardon’s going to squeal. Wants to see the Chief Inspector as soon as he’s back.”
“Golly, that’s good.”
“And you, er, Claire? How is your side of things going?”
With difficulty in the confined space, Robinson managed to cross her legs, affording Cole the pleasing view of a finely-turned calf. “I’m just waiting for that damned sketch artist to give me his drawing. He said I’d have it by now.”
There was a moment’s silence as they both awkwardly contemplated their mugs.
“Mr Merlin seems a nice chap. Rather charming in an old-fashioned sort of way.”
Cole nodded.
“Clever too, of course, as you’d expect.”
Cole nodded again.
“And Mr Bridges is very pleasant. A cheery soul.”
“Yes, he is.”
Robinson uncrossed her legs and reached out for a biscuit.
“I understand you’re a bit of a sportsman, Tommy. A cross-country champion, isn’t that right?”
“I’ve had a few lucky runs.”
“Modest with it too. I played hockey myself, at the Police College and school before that of course. I like taking exercise. I’m told there’s some sort of gymnasium downstairs. Perhaps some time we might…”
The sound of a door banging down the corridor interrupted her. Cole jumped to his feet, cast her an apologetic smile and hurried out. Robinson shook her head thoughtfully before washing the mugs in the sink.
Merlin, Bridges and Cole sat facing Reardon as he made himself as comfortable as he could on the small, white, wooden chair at the end of the table.
“I understand you’d like to talk to us, so talk away.” Merlin stared at Reardon’s oversized aural equipment and couldn’t help himself. “We’re all ears.”
Reardon obliviously tugged at his right earlobe. “If I tell you coppers what I know, I expects something in return.”
“I don’t know that I can make any promises. Tell us what you know and we’ll see what we can do.”
A low gravelly sound, which Merlin took to be a laugh, emerged from Reardon’s mouth. “You must take me for a mug. If I give you Morrie Owen on a plate, I expect to be looked after, alright?”
“And how are you going to give him to us on a plate?”
Reardon leaned across the table and spoke softly. “You want to know who did for Bernie? Ask away, but I want to know that I’ll be protected and looked after. You can do it ‘cos I know it’s done all the time. You even looked after Bernie when he helped you out with the Sabinis, didn’t you?”
“You knew about that, then.” Merlin glanced across at Bridges. “Look Jimmy, we’ve already got Morrie for drug dealing, and you for that matter. Why do I need to cut deals?”
Reardon ground out another laugh. “Come on, copper. So you got a statement from Braithwaite and his old bag, eh? What makes you think they’ll stick to their statements? Think Morrie can’t get to them before the trial whether they’re in or out of prison? Come on. He may be a fat slob but he’s a powerful man. Why do you think he’s banging away there telling me to keep my trap shut, eh? He knows he can sort out the Braithwaites.”
“Why did you do a runner? And why are you telling me all this now?”
“Panicked, didn’t I? Getting too old for this lark. Didn’t think it through. Little spell in the tank allowed me to think.”
“So, why not keep quiet and let Morrie Owen warn the Braithwaites off? That would save your bacon too, wouldn’t it?”
“Nah. Thought about it, but I’ve had enough of Morrie Owen. I think he’s had enough of me too. Heard ’im say to someone the other day that I was past it and that he was thinking of sacking me. In this business, sacking isn’t just a matter of giving people their cards and a retirement clock – it’s a little more like the way Bernie was moved on.” Merlin stared down at his hands and thought for a moment.
“Very well. If you turn King’s Evidence we’ll look after you. But we’ll want everything, mind. We’ll gratefully start with Bernie’s death but I’ll want to know all about Owen’s other scams. And I’ll want to know about his involvement with Joan Harris and Johnny Morgan. And the details of the Douglas blackmail. And be careful because we know plenty already.”
“Whatever you want. As long as you keep your end of the bargain.” He raised a hand to his nose and sniffed the nicotine stains on his fingers enthusiastically. “Couldn’t get one of your boys to get me a fag, could you? I’m gasping.”
CHAPTER 14
Saturday February 10th
The rising winter sun cast a feeble glow of light over the City of London and the river. In due course its muted beams reached Scotland Yard and a few delicate rays found their way to Merlin’s desk, picking out the latticework of the Eiffel Tower paperweight before moving across the surface to touch his crumpled face. Faint as it was, the light imparted some warmth and his left eyelid cracked open. His right slowly followed.
The interview with Reardon had finished after midnight. Merlin had sent the others home and gone into his office to have a quiet think before making his way to Chelsea. Instead he had fallen asleep at his desk.
He rubbed his neck, which had a crick in it, and stretched his arms and legs. His wristwatch showed that it was just after eight.
In one of the bottom drawers of his desk he found a small wash bag, which he kept in the office for occasions such as this, and walked down the corridor to the washroom.
When he got back to his office he felt much fresher. He realised that he hadn’t eaten anything the night before and was ravenous. A quick trip to Tony’s was feasible. Bridges probably wouldn’t be in for another half-hour and he set off down the stairs. Unfortunately, at the bottom, he walked straight into the A.C.
“Frank. Just the man. I was trying to get hold of you all of yesterday. Come and tell me what’s going on.”
“I was just nipping out for a quick bite to eat, sir.”
“I’ll make you a cup of tea in my room.”
The A.C. bounded up the stairs energetically. For a man who was stiff and rigid in most aspects of his life, he was surprisingly loose-limbed. Merlin knew that he had been a keen beagler for
many years, chasing foxes madly around the Surrey countryside on foot with other like-minded country types. The A.C. had given up this hobby only the previous year. As a consequence, his weekends were now spent entirely in the company of Mrs Gatehouse, to which circumstance Merlin largely attributed the A.C.’s recent enhanced level of irascibility.
The A.C. pushed through his door, glared briefly at the offensive geraniums, then offered refreshment. And so Merlin sat listening to his stomach rumble with one of the A.C.’s notoriously weak cups of tea cradled in his hands. He had given a quick rundown of his progress, after which the A.C. found it difficult to remain still. Gatehouse got up, walked to the window, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it then returned to his desk. His right hand strayed to an ink bottle which he twirled round for a few seconds. Eventually it appeared that what he had been told had settled in his mind. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. The story now seems to be as follows. This swine Norton meets Johnny Morgan through the good offices of Morrie Owen, the owner of a sleazy club which Norton and various diplomatic friends of his frequent. Mr Norton procures Morgan a job at the Ambassador’s residence. Morgan, no doubt a sharp boy, plays on Norton’s weaknesses to extract money from him. Initially he allows him to watch him having relations with women in Owen’s Kensington flat. Then he arranges to have pictures taken for his perverted edification. At Norton’s prompting, he seduces Miss Harris, a pretty girl at the office who has rebuffed Norton’s own advances. This occurs around the time that Miss Harris herself has been rebuffed by the Ambassador’s son. Photographs are taken, which Norton uses to blackmail Miss Harris into having relations with him. Norton in due course tires of Miss Harris.”
