by John Creasey
“Go on, Dad, tell us,” urged Richard. His cheek was a little flushed from the buffet, and the red made his eyes look a startled blue.
“Can I trust you boys not to say a word about this?” Roger asked, very quietly. “If you promise to keep it absolutely to yourself, I’ll tell you why I think it happened.”
Something in his expression silenced Janet, who was obviously as curious as the boys.
“I won’t talk,” Scoopy said.
“I promise,” Richard said very earnestly.
“Right, then! This is how it goes. The young lady was Miss Henry, a witness in a case which I’m investigating. She came to see me against the wishes of her adviser. It was important to him that she shouldn’t talk to me privately. As she did, in order to discredit me, the adviser sent those men. He—”
“But why?”
“Wait for it,” Roger went on briskly. “He wants to make it appear as if I was interviewing Miss Henry against her will. He sent three men to protest against this, and to pick a quarrel. Those three men will be prepared to swear that we started the trouble by refusing to let the first man talk to Miss Henry.”
Richard’s eyes looked huge as he tried to grasp the implications.
“Why, it’s disgusting,” Scoopy said at last. “They’re not even honest!”
“You’ll soon put them in their place,” declared Richard. “You’ll have them up for salt and battery, won’t you?”
“For what?” asked Janet weakly.
“Salt and bat—”
“Assault and battery,” Scoopy said, in lordly, patronising tones, “not salt, you ass, ass—” He saw the pun, and broke off to chuckle.
“We’ll fix ’em all right,” Roger said bluffly. “Now, that’s everything for tonight. I’ll tell you of any developments later. If either of you breathes a word of this, you could spoil my answer to the accusations, and make it deuced awkward, so watch yourselves.”
“We’ve promised,” Scoopy said simply.
“Well, I suppose you know what you’re doing,” Janet said, looking worriedly at Roger. Then she moved briskly towards the larder. “But you must be famished. I’ve a salad and some veal-andham pie. If you want a sandwich or anything, boys, you’ll have to get it yourself …”
“What are you doing to do?” Janet asked, when the boys had gone to bed. “Are you sure it was this Samuelson man?”
“Pretty sure, and as sure that I’ll never get him for it,” Roger said. He tried to hide his anxiety, but did not make much of a job of it, “I always knew Samuelson was a slippery customer, but I’m damned if I can see what he’s up to this time? Why go to these lengths to save Quist?”
He half expected the telephone to ring again, but it didn’t. He went upstairs a little after midnight. Janet was getting into bed, wearing a pale pink nightdress with a low neckline and short sleeves. Almost for the first time since she had come in, Roger saw her just as Janet, his wife. He went across and kissed her.
“For forty, you’re a living marvel!” he said.
“Thirty-nine. Roger, what is worrying you so much?”
“It’s a damned queer business.”
“Darling, I’m not asking you to tell me the intimate details of life at the Yard or about this particular case, but I can see that you’re as jumpy as a cat, and a queer case doesn’t usually do that to you. What is it? You seem to think the way these men came is a disaster.”
“The all-seeing eyes,” said Roger, and sat on the side of the bed. There were moments for simple truth. “The timing is the trouble. Colonel Jay has decided to demonstrate his supreme authority, and I’m picked out as the awful example, always too ready to take liberties. The Army does not like liberty-taking officers. If this scuffle is reported to Jay, he’ll be predisposed towards believing the worst. Chatworth would have heard my side and brushed the other off, but Jay isn’t going to. I think Samuelson’s behind this, and I can’t see Samuelson losing his chance of dropping poison. If Samuelson could get me off this case, it might help him, by suggesting a weakness that isn’t there. That could be the motive behind it. If the Yard is in danger of being accused of trying to influence a witness, then there’ll be a lot of trouble on that score alone. Jay’s already the new broom. This will convince him that some really sharp bristles are needed.”
He stopped, still nursing his knees.
Janet said slowly: “You’re really badly worried, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sweet, I am.”
“There isn’t a man on the Force who works like you do; why, you practically take your job to bed with you!” She stormed to his defence. “It’s wickedly unfair.”
“I’m just wondering if I did throw my weight about too much when Chatworth was there,” said Roger slowly, “and whether there isn’t a good case to be made out for Jay.” There was a long pause. Then: “What an incredible man you are!” Janet said in a small voice. “You’ll lean over backwards not to be unfair to the other man, no matter what he does to you. So far as I’m concerned, this Colonel Jay is a pompous old fool, and if he does anything to cramp your style, he’s crazy. I tell you—no! Roger! Roger, dar … No!”
Roger was at the Yard at half-past eight next morning. There were a few reports on his desk, but the mail hadn’t been brought round yet, and nothing here was important. He assumed that he would have to see Jay at ten o’clock, and didn’t intend to miss the appointment.
Ibbetson and Brown were early, too; and eager.
“I went over everything last night, and couldn’t find a flaw,” said Ibbetson. “Read the Hadworth Division report, and talked to the sergeant who’d double-checked at the Rose and Crown. With a bit of luck we’ll have it all sewn up in the next week, and Quist committed for trial.”
“We won’t take anything for granted,” Roger said flatly. “I’m not going into details, but I picked up a few odds and ends last night. I want you personally to check Division on Henry’s movements on Monday night – keep it to yourself if you can. And try to find out if he was ever with Rose Jensen at that pub. Look for any indication that he knew the woman. Then check the Henry girl’s story. Did Quist really go to Henry’s place first and follow Henry? We’ve got to be positive.” Roger was in full flood. “There’s a thing I missed yesterday, too. I want Mrs. Kimmeridge to see either Henry or his photograph. If she identifies him as the older man with Rose Jensen on Monday, then we’ve got another job on our hands. If she doesn’t, try the other neighbours who saw the older man. Got it all?”
“Right,” said Ibbetson.
“Good. Brown, you get over to Saxby’s. They may be difficult, but let that ride. Talk to all of Quist’s friends, and to everyone in the office. We want to find out if he was having an affaire before the meeting with Miss Henry. I know what the woman who looks after his flat says, but she could be wrong. This affaire we’re looking for would be an occasional visit to Rose Jensen, not infatuation or a real love affair, and it wouldn’t necessarily have affected Quist’s habits. Take two D.O.s with you, and try and get every job finished this morning. Get in touch with any friends Quist might have outside of Saxby’s, too, particularly that tennis club. If you can pick up anything which suggests that he knew Rose Jensen or anyone like her, it will help.”
“And if Charles Henry knew her—” Ibbetson began.
“We might swing towards him,” Roger said. “All set?”
“Yes,” they said, and hurried off.
Roger scowled at the door as it closed. It was a little before nine o’clock, and there was no hope of news from the two sergeants for an hour or more. If he’d had his way he would have seen Mrs. Kimmeridge himself, but the shadow of the Assistant Commissioner lay dark upon his desk.
The door opened swiftly.
Bill Sloan came in, big and boyish-looking, with his fresh complexion and his stiff, close-cut hair and a brown suit which looked a little too small and tight for him. He carried several newspapers, and made a bee-line for Roger.
“Morning, Bill.
What’s on your mind?”
“Roger, you seen the Witness?”
“No. What’s in it?”
Sloan didn’t speak, but unfolded a newspaper as he came towards Roger’s desk. The Witness was one of the small picture-papers; it featured girls with plunge necklines, bulging bras and flesh-coloured skin-tight bathing-suits, and it throve on sensation. Witness – the Paper Which Watches For the People ran its slogan, set in a red shield on the front page. That front page was used either for the most eye-catching beauty, or for series pictures, others starring the élite who were caught up in divorce cases, telling of sensation picture by picture.
Even before Sloan reached the desk, Roger felt himself going cold. Then the other C.I. spread the Witness’s front page on his desk.
Here were eight pictures.
The first was a beauty, of Sybil Henry, and it showed her as charming as she really was.
The second was of him, Roger West, standing outside the Bell Street house with Janet and the boys; a picture taken several months ago.
Then came the action pictures: of Scoopy striking his assailant, of the general mêlée, of Sybil Henry standing and looking on, as if horrified. There followed two others, each of a man who had been at Bell Street last night; one had his nose patched with adhesive tape, the other had a bandage round his head and one eye hidden beneath a swathe of bandages.
The caption read:
“Last night three Witness reporters called on Chief Inspector Roger ‘Handsome’ West of New Scotland Yard and asked to see a young lady, girl friend of a man charged with murder, and a vital witness for the defence. She was at Chief Inspector West’s private home.
“The Witness understands that the Chief Inspector refused their request and used violence to show that he meant business.
“The Witness asks a simple question: Is this the way we people of a great democracy want our police to behave?”
Chapter Eleven
Roger Alone
“Well, they didn’t lose much time over that,” Roger said gruffly, and tried to get rid of the chilling effect of the story and the pictures. “I expect they made the A.C. a present of the Witness this morning, if they didn’t send him prints of the photographs. Taken without flashlights, of course. Clever, isn’t it?”
“What the hell happened?” Sloan demanded.
“I think Samuelson disliked it when Sybil Henry came to see me against his advice, and laid this on with the Witness. I’d stake half my pension that he knew there was a rift in the lute here; possibly knows that Jay is new-brooming, and saw his chance and took it. After this, I won’t be allowed anywhere near Sybil Henry. I won’t be allowed on the case at all.” Roger put a cigarette to his lips, slowly: “If you were in Jay’s position, what would you do?”
Sloan grunted: “It’s the very devil!”
“What would you do?”
“I wouldn’t have much choice. I’d take you off this case, even if I didn’t suspend you from duty altogether.”
“That’s it,” said Roger. “Suspend me from duty, and play right into Samuelson’s hands. It looks as if Samuelson’s decided that he can prove that the girl sent Quist after her father, and gave him a good, romantic reason for going. Samuelson wanted to spring that on us, and now he can’t. So he hit back, and the Witness jumped at the chance. No, I don’t see what Jay can do but take me off the job. Even Chatworth would have a hell of a job to keep me in the clear.” Roger was drawing very hard at the cigarette. “Bill, this case isn’t what it seems. You followed it?”
“Pretty closely.”
“Ever known me stick my neck right out?”
“Never known you not!” For the first time Sloan found a grin. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve a lot to do, and I can’t do it from the desk or from home,” Roger said. “I’m going out on the job, and when Jay sends for me I won’t be here. I doubt if he’ll put a general call out for me, and I’ll make sure that I’m not picked up by accident. And I’m—”
Sloan gripped his forearm, tightly.
“Don’t be a fool, Roger! It’s no use trying to keep out of Jay’s way. He’d smack you down with a bang.”
“Yes. Bill, listen. Either Sybil Henry came to Bell Street last night and lied to me, or some of the statements we’ve had from apparently reliable witnesses can’t be trusted. But they’re all corroborated, most of them three ways. Ibbetson’s checking the girl’s story. I want to check three witnesses: first Mrs. Kimmeridge; then Theophilus Pegg; then that boy, Clive Harrison. I want to find out if there’s any possibility of collusion among them. If there is, and if they gave evidence and were believed – as they would be as things stand now – they could get an innocent man condemned.”
“Getting yourself in deep trouble with Jay won’t help.”
“I’ve got to do one of two things: either work on this myself quickly, and get results, or else give a final report to Jay. I’ve got to tell him that I’ve a hunch that three – three – potential witnesses for the prosecution are lying, and ask him to try to prove it. He’s going to hand the job over to another C.I. who will think I’ve gone crazy. In other words, it isn’t going to get done.”
Sloan said almost desperately: “I think you’ve gone crazy already. If you duck out, you’ll be telling Jay that you don’t give a damn for routine or for him. It’ll be as good as telling him that you’re going to tackle a job your way, or not at all.”
“That’s right.”
“It’s madness!”
“Supposing it’s the only way? Supposing I believe that there’s a real risk that Quist will go down for a job he didn’t commit? What am I to do? Stand to attention, apologise for wanting to get the right man, take an enforced holiday? When I’ve been told that I’m not to work on the job, it would be deliberate indiscipline to do so. Until I have been told—”
The telephone rang on his desk.
It was twenty-five minutes past nine.
He hesitated; and then motioned to the instrument. Sloan gritted his teeth as he lifted it.
“Chief Inspector Sloan …”
He seemed to draw himself up to attention.
“Yes, sir.”
He looked Roger straight in the eye.
“No, sir, he’s not in the office … Yes, I’ll tell him the moment he comes in. Goodbye, sir.”
Sloan put the receiver down slowly, and didn’t look away from Roger. Roger stubbed out his cigarette, very deliberately, and began to speak: “When Ibbetson and Brown get back, tell ’em to sit tight until they get instructions – they’re not to do anything else for me; I don’t want them, you or anyone else to be caught up in the backwash of this.”
“Roger, you’re a bloody fool.”
“That’s right.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out,” said Roger, and picked up his hat. He placed it jauntily on the back of his head, and went to the door. As he reached it, it opened and Eddie Day and Carter came in; and Carter had a copy of Witness in his hand. “’Morning, gentlemen,” said Roger, and pulled the brim of his hat down over one eye. “Not so hot, is it?” He went out, leaving the others staring after him.
“’E gone haywire?” demanded Eddie Day.
“Perhaps he’s always been like it,” Carter said.
Sloan bit back a retort, and dropped into his chair.
There were several ways out of the Yard. Roger chose the gateway near Cannon Row, knowing that there was little chance that Jay, whose office was on the other side of the building, would see him. The officers at the gates saluted him as he drove out. He went straight to St. James’s Park, where many cars were parked all day, found a space, and put his car into it. He locked it, and then took a taxi.
“Brixton jail,” he said.
“Car broken down, Mr. West?” The cabby kept a straight face.
“No. I just daren’t be recognised this morning,” Roger said, and grinned. “I might get my picture in the papers.”
The
cabby’s poker face vanished.
“You’re a card, you are,” he said. “Okay, Brixton.” He drove in a U turn and went back across Parliament Square, turning over Westminster Bridge. Roger glanced back at the tall Yard buildings, one red, the others grey. They looked imposing against the clear blue of the sky. It was a perfect morning, and the bridge was crowded. He watched the crowd, but he was thinking hard and faster than he wanted; he might make mistakes through hurrying. He needed a car which wouldn’t be easily recognised or placed, and it would be impossible to hire one without being recognised; after this morning’s photographs, someone would be bound to notice him.
Did he need a car?
Or a taxi?
It took twenty minutes to reach the prison.
“Don’t stay long,” the cabby said, and grinned.
“How about waiting?” asked Roger, and soon convinced the man that he was serious. “Not here, though. Go round the comer, and keep your flag down. Don’t tell anyone who you’ve got for a passenger, or you could run into trouble.”
“Okay, Mr. West. I know when to keep me mouth shut.”
“Do you have radio?”
“Owner driver, that’s me; I’m not going to be at the beck and call of some little bit of skirt in an office.”
“Fine,” said Roger. “Stay with me, I might want you most of the day.”
“Suits me,” the cabby said. “In case you need to know, my name’s Nobb.”
“Old Nob?”
“Just Nobb.”
“Right; thanks,” said Roger, and got out.
Everything was normal at the prison; warders and policemen looked at him sideways, which was to be expected, but there was no hint that they’d had special instructions; if Jay went to those lengths, it would be much later in the day. No one was surprised when he asked to see Michael Quist, and the warder in charge of the remand cells said: “Didn’t sleep much during the night, but dropped off this morning. He didn’t wake up, and we left him.”
“That’s fine,” said Roger. “I don’t think he’s one who needs it rough.” He walked alongside the man, who took his keys off his belt; soon they reached Quist’s cell, with its barred door.
