by Carola Dunn
“Why should he do such a thing?”
“On a whim. He doesn’t appear to have needed a reason for being unpleasant. Or he planned it for a time when the murderer was extremely unlikely to resort to fisticuffs in retaliation. It’s all pure speculation.”
“No, Daisy, it is theorising. To return to facts, shall you tell Alec all that you have discovered?”
“It’ll be difficult to pretend I didn’t hope for results from going to the Café Royal, when he knows Lucy told me Teddy frequented the artistic set. But he never told me not to, just not to go to nightclubs. All the same, I’m going to offer the information to DI Mackinnon, if possible, not Alec. You never know, perhaps he’ll be able to investigate further without telling Alec where it comes from.”
Sakari laughed. “You may be lucky.”
“I’ve been lucky so far, in meeting people with a grudge against Teddy. Which reminds me, did you notice the two men who came in together shortly before we left the café? They looked like foreigners. Not as foreign as you, darling, except that you’re British and they looked like Russians. Or Ukrainians. Eastern Europe, anyway.”
“I didn’t notice them. Why?”
“Because they had the same paper as was on our table, and they were frightfully excited about the front page, where the news and picture of Teddy were. I told you, Lucy said he was involved with some Russians.”
“Daisy, you will not go looking for these Russians? It is not a good idea.”
“Why not? I’ve done very well so far.”
“To be sure, though you yourself admit you have been lucky. The Russians are a different kettle of fish.” Sakari looked pleased with her venture into idiom. “For a start, their experiences with the police of their own country have made them apprehensive. ‘Jumpy’ is the word. An attempt to find out about their relations with Teddy Devenish might well be dangerous.”
“I wasn’t going to go and ask if they had anything to do with his death.”
“You couldn’t if you wanted to, Daisy. You don’t speak Russian.”
“They must speak some English, surely. Not that it matters, since I haven’t the foggiest how to find them. Aren’t you acquainted with any Russians?”
“Only in the way of business. The jeweller who set my rubies was Russian.”
“Darling, I adore you! I’d quite forgotten, Lucy said something about the father selling off jewels. Your jeweller probably knows him, being in the business. All I have to do is visit him and ask about resetting something—I know, Great-Aunt Gertrude’s aquamarines! The setting is hideous, too frightfully Victorian. I hardly ever wear jewelry so I’ve never got round to having them redone. And there’s one missing, so I can enquire about replacing it and get the name of the prince—would-be or actual—who’s selling stuff.”
“Ingenious.”
“What was your jeweller’s name?”
“I remember that the name of the business begins with a Z, is quite short, and has two Vs in unlikely places. Let me think.”
“Lots of Russian names end in V,” Daisy said helpfully.
“Hush! I am trying to picture it. Zzzzz … Zvvv…”
“ZV? Surely not!”
“Zv … Zvirov, that’s it. Or Zverev.”
“Zzz-verov. As Lucy said, unpronounceable. It shouldn’t be difficult to find in the directory. Um … The other thing Alec said was that I wasn’t to go and talk to people on my own. I don’t suppose you’d come with me, darling? After all, you have already met the man.”
“As a matter of fact, I never met him. His daughter does the designing, so it was with her I consulted.”
“Zverev has a daughter? I bet he’s the one I’m after, then, and she’s the one Teddy made promises to.”
“It is possible. She is very pretty. Handsome, rather, if I correctly understand the distinction.”
“That makes it practically certain, given the rumour of a breach of promise suit. When would it be convenient for you to go with me? Soon, or the police will get there first.”
“Shall you tell them about the Zverevs?”
“Good question. I wonder whether Lucy mentioned the jewelry business. If so, they’ll have found him by now.”
“And if not?”
“I don’t know for certain that the Zverevs are involved. Alec would say it’s pure speculation. I suspect the Russian aspect isn’t a high priority for the police, since it turned out there’s no record of a breach of promise suit. And it’s not as if I don’t have a perfectly good excuse for going.”
“Great-Aunt Gertrude’s aquamarines? If I were Alec, I should wonder why resetting them has suddenly become an urgent concern.”
“Let him wonder.” Inspiration struck. “My interest was sparked by seeing all the beautiful jewelry at the Kit-Cat. So when shall we go?”
Sakari sighed. “I hope Alec will not blame me for leading you astray.”
“Not a chance. I’m the one he’ll blame for leading you astray. He’ll be grateful to you for coming with me.”
“You are very determined. Yet you did not like Teddy Devenish. Why are you so keen to find his killer?”
Daisy hadn’t really considered the question, let alone put her reasons into words. “Not just because I found him, though that did arouse my curiosity. Partly for his sister’s sake. Mostly because of Mrs. Gilpin. I wish her memory would return!”
“Do you think she would recognise the murderer?”
“Who knows? She was closest to her—or him. He might believe she could.”
“So she is in danger?”
“It’s possible, though I can’t imagine how he’d find out who she is or where she lives. The other concern is whether the police suspect her of being somehow involved, other than being a witness, that is. Not Alec—I hope!—but Mr. Mackinnon. He can’t avoid it. She was pretty much the only suspect available to him. It’s not as if he had a houseful of people on hand ready to be investigated. And there’s only the children’s evidence that the third nanny ever existed.”
“You don’t doubt her existence, though.”
“No, but I know the children. Charlie has a wild imagination, admittedly. The other two are as reliable as any adult, and more reliable than most. I’m certain there was a third person in nurse’s uniform. I’ll be happier once Nurse Gilpin’s gone to stay with her sister.”
“And in the meantime, suspects must be sought, and you are hot on the trail. Tomorrow morning we shall tackle the Russians. This afternoon, I shall put up my feet. I am quite exhausted.”
“Darling, I’m sorry! Here I am dragging you all over town—”
“Nonsense, Daisy. You are very well aware that I would not miss the fun for anything. I shall pick you up at half past ten tomorrow morning.”
FIFTEEN
Meanwhile, Alec had accompanied Mackinnon back to the Crystal Palace to present the searchers with Ben’s map. He had visited as a child and remembered how huge it had seemed, but places generally appear to shrink when one revisits in adulthood. He was taken by surprise by the massive scale of the building and the extent of the park.
“I see why you’re so happy to have the boy’s help. Talk about a needle in a haystack.”
“Even with this, I’ll be astonished if we find the weapon, even if we drag all the lakes and fountains. We know it was something very slender, probably a hat pin. All he—or she—had to do was plunge it into one of the damned flowerpots, or even into the ground outside, and press it well in. A gardener may find it in a few years. The handbag’s a different story. We ought to get that pretty quick now.”
Alec listened in as Mackinnon explained the amended map to the sergeant in charge of the search team. As they walked back to his car, Alec said, “Remember, there’s no reason to suppose Elliot Kerston knows any more about the victim’s death than what he may have read in the papers.”
“Got it, sir. All we want from him is the names of any of Devenish’s friends or associates he may be aware of.”
“Or
enemies.”
“Och aye.” The Scot was stony-faced.
“Sorry, Inspector. I didn’t mean to teach you your job. Perhaps I ought to explain that Kerston is the brother-in-law of a childhood friend of my wife.”
Mackinnon grinned. “Verra weel, sir. I’ll tread on eggshells.”
“Thanks.” Alec was irritated with himself. He had believed he’d long since moved past his jealousy of Petrie and his discomfort with Daisy’s aristocratic background and her surviving links to that world. Just a passing twinge, he assured himself. He pulled himself together. “Is it late enough to call on a cabaret performer without disturbing her beauty sleep?”
“That’d be the one Mrs. Fletcher found?” Mackinnon asked slyly, getting his own back. “I’m not well acquainted with the habits of showgirls.”
“I was going to give her to you, as well as Kerston, but you have enough on your hands. I’ll risk her not being up yet. I can’t hang about waiting, though. Heaven knows there’s plenty of paperwork waiting back at the Yard.”
“Anything is better than paperwork, even the horrors of rousing a showgirl in her pyjamas.”
“A terrifying prospect. Charing Cross suit you?”
“Nicely, thank you.”
Alec dropped the inspector at the station, where he had a choice of underground lines, and drove on to the East End. With a combination of luck and neat detective work, Ernie Piper had in less than fifteen minutes discovered Fay Fanshawe’s real name—Florence Phipps—and the address where she lived with her parents.
Their street was typical of the area, little wider than an alley with smoke-grimed brick terraces of cramped houses. It was atypical in having preserved its self-respect through all vicissitudes. Clean windows were hung with bleached-white net curtains, matching the spotless stone doorsteps. Litter was at a minimum, even outside the inevitable pub on the corner—the Silk Weaver—and hopeful daffodils struggled for life in two or three window boxes.
A reasonably respectable-looking man in a sailor’s pea jacket was lounging against the pub wall, waiting for opening time. Alec pulled his car in as close to the wall as possible, barely fitting between two doorsteps, and offered the lounger a couple of bob to keep an eye on it.
“Aye, cap’n. Rozzer, are you?”
“That obvious, is it?”
He shrugged. “In these parts…”
“Well, don’t broadcast the fact. I don’t want to embarrass the people I’m calling on, who are not under suspicion.”
“Got it, cap’n. Me lips is sealed.”
Alec found the number he wanted and knocked with the brightly polished brass lion’s head. He was aware of the net curtain twitching on his right, but didn’t glance towards it. The door opened on the chain, and a bright blue eye, crow’s-feet at the corner, appeared in the crack. The hair above it was an improbable shade of red.
“Mrs. Phipps?”
“’Oo wants to know?”
A male voice demanded from within, “’Oo is it, ducks?”
“That’s what I’m tryin’ to find out, Bill. ’Old yer ’orses. Well?”
Alec passed his warrant card through the gap. “I’d like a word with Miss Phipps, please, madam. Nothing to worry about. I’m hoping she can give me some information.”
“Our Florrie?” She held the card up to the grey light coming from outside. “It’s a grasshopper, Bill. Plainclothes. ’E says not to worry.”
“Better let ’im in afore Mrs. Snoop next door comes out on ’er doorstep to see what’s ’appenin’. We got nothing to ’ide.”
The door closed, and opened again without the chain. “Gotta be careful, ’aven’t we,” said Mrs. Phipps in a conversational tone. She was a short, thin woman, dressed in a flowery overall. “This ain’t Mayfair. This is Mr. Fletcher, Bill. A chief inspector, ’e is, wou’jer believe it. ’E can’t get up, ’e ’asn’t put on ’is leg yet. I’ll go see if our Florrie’s up yet. She comes ’ome wiv the milkman, she does. In a manner of speakin’, don’t get me wrong.”
Bill Phipps sat in a new-looking easy chair upholstered in green and red plaid plush, his one leg raised on a matching footstool. “Verdun,” he said, with a gesture towards his pinned-up trouser leg. “But I don’t need a foot to play the old squeeze box, though I can’t sing out the old songs like I did, since swallerin’ a lungful of the Kaiser’s gas.”
“Hard lines.”
“Oh, there’s many got it worse, not countin’ them that didn’t come back. I’m not complainin’, ’specially since my girl bought this chair for me. Makes a bit of difference, that does! Bought it with ’er own bees, didn’t she, earned fair and square. Buskers we are, and proud of it, but our Florrie got a reg’lar gig at a posh nightclub, pays nicely! It’d be summat to do with that you’re int’rested in, eh?”
“There’s a connection. I can’t tell you more, I’m afraid.”
During this interchange, Alec had heard Mrs. Phipps shouting up the stairs. Now came a flurry of footsteps. A mop of blond curls, natural by the look of them, poked round the door. A pair of bright blue eyes—just like her mother’s—inspected him from head to toe and back again. Apparently he passed muster. A young girl bore her curls into the room—
No, not a young girl. A petite young woman who moved with the grace of an athlete.
With a touch of sarcasm, she said, “Not related to Mrs. Fletcher the writer, by any chance? If she reelly is that writer, not just a copper’s nark.”
“My wife,” Alec confessed. “She really is that writer, and, trust me, the police would be delighted to find a way to curb her curiosity.”
Miss Phipps/Fanshawe laughed. “Like that, eh? You’re a toff, too, aincher! Too ’igh and mighty to come and talk in the kitchen? I don’t want to disturb Pa.”
“Not to worry, girl.” Her father started to struggle to his foot, reaching for a crutch.
“Please, sir, don’t move for my sake. I’ve no objection whatsoever to sitting in the kitchen.”
He followed her through into a small, cheaply equipped, but clean and cheerful kitchen. Mrs. Phipps had put a kettle on the gas.
“I was just makin’ a cuppa for everyone.” She sounded anxious, in spite of Alec’s attempt at reassurance.
“It’s orright, Mum. I bet I know what Mr. Fletcher wants to ask about. I’ll make the tea and bring you and Pa a cup. You go take a load off your feet.”
She left reluctantly, not quite closing the door behind her. “Our Florrie” stepped over to gently shut it. Alec gave her an approving nod and took a seat at the table. After checking the kettle with her hand—a sign of nervousness despite her apparent coolness, as it couldn’t possibly be hot enough yet—she produced four cups and saucers from a cupboard. They were pretty, flowered china, unexpected in the surroundings.
“Petticoat Lane,” she said defensively.
“Nice.” He was annoyed with himself for showing his surprise.
“Pa’ll complain ’e wants ’is big cup, but ’e can just suffer for once. It’s about Teddy Devenish, right?”
“Right. We’re trying to reach all the people who knew him. Well, not all, I expect, but as many as we can.”
“I didn’t reelly know ’im. Not hardly at all, reelly.”
“You didn’t … keep company with him?”
“Not likely! I got more sense. Just the once, for a bit of supper.” The kettle boiled and she made the tea. “Not that I didn’t like ’im, at first. I expect Mrs. Fletcher told you the mean trick ’e played.”
“She did.”
“I was ever so angry. If I’d seen ’im right away I’d’ve slapped ’is face for ’im. But ’e wasn’t worth hangin’ for.”
“I doubt anyone is. Was he on good terms with the other performers, male or female?”
“Not as I know of. I never saw ’im talkin’ to them, and nobody’s said nuffin’. ’Course, they wouldn’t now ’e’s dead, would they? But not before, neether.”
“Fair enough. What about his companions, thos
e who visited the Kit-Cat with him. Did you recognise any of them?”
“Not to put a name to,” she said doubtfully, pouring tea. “He didn’t mention any names. I’m too busy on stage to take much notice of the audience, even if it wasn’t for the spotlight in me eyes. Not that I would if I could. Hang on ’alf a tick.” She took two cups through to her parents.
Alec sipped his tea, very strong, with both milk and sugar stirred in as a matter of course.
When Florence returned, again closing the door behind her, she said, “See, Mum and Pa are happy I got the job but they don’t want me hanging about with them sorts of people, not the patrons nor the kind that work there. They’re not our sort and they don’t trust ’em. They said there’d be trouble if I let Teddy take me to supper. Look where it’s got me, chattin’ to a copper about a corpse!”
Alec laughed. “It hasn’t been such a terrible experience, has it?”
She grinned. “I’ve ’ad worser.”
“Then just a couple more questions for the present. First, you didn’t see his companions to ‘put a name to.’ Would you recognise them if you saw them again?”
“I dunno. I might.”
“But you at least saw how many, and whether they were men or women?”
“Only after the first time ’e came backstage to talk to me. Before, ’e was just a face in the crowd, if ’e was there at all. After, I noticed ’im. It was always different, though, two or three people or a bigger group, both ladies and gentlemen. Once, ’e came with just a lady. If you ask me, he wanted to make me jealous, which ’e didn’t, seeing I didn’t care one way or the other.”
“You’re a hard nut to crack, Miss Phipps. I congratulate you. By the way, where were you on Wednesday morning?”
“I wondered when you’d get round to that. I worked Tuesday night so I got up late, like today. Then I washed me ’air, like I do every Wednesday and Sunday. That took the rest of the morning, seeing we ’as to boil kettles. Mum was ’ere ’elping. Pa went down the pub to get out of the way.”
And both would lie through their teeth to protect their Florrie. “Thank you. That will do for now, though I may have more questions for you later.”
