by Allen, Anne
For a moment there was silence as Louisa and Malcolm mulled over John’s plan.
‘I’m up for it,’ Malcolm said, ‘I’d love the chance to confront the pair of them, particularly Archie. But there’s no guarantee that Edward will confess, is there? Then what do we do?’
John fiddled with his mug. ‘Well, I thought of that. If we wire-up Louisa and she was to turn up–’
‘No way! I don’t want her in any danger! He’s already responsible for Susan’s death. I’ll go alone and–’
Louisa cried out, ‘I want to go. He’s a coward and been used to Archie telling him what to do. If I suddenly appear it might just be the tipping point that makes him confess. And if we’re both wired then the police could rush in if there was any hint of violence.’ She stared at her father. ‘I need to do this. For Mum.’
Malcolm’s jaw was clenched and looked as if he was struggling to control himself. Then he let out a long breath and muttered, ‘Okay.’
John gave her a hug, saying, ‘Thanks, Louisa. You’re a brave girl. But I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, I promise. I’ll be outside too and the coppers will be armed. We’ll be more than a match for that scum, you’ll see.’
chapter 25
A couple of days later, John phoned to say that the police would take Edward in for questioning the following morning; his day off from work. Malcolm and Louisa were to join him at the station and would be able to watch the interview unobserved.
‘Are you absolutely sure you want to go ahead, my dear? I’m quite happy to do this on my own,’ Malcolm said after the call.
‘Yes, of course. I’m prepared to do anything to bring Edward to justice. But, I might not be needed and you’ll end up the hero of the hour,’ Louisa said, trying to make light of it. Underneath she was scared, but determined to help if needed. Even Charlotte had tried to talk her out of it. They had met up at Charlotte’s house the previous day after Louisa had phoned to say she was in London. In need of a break from the tension of the past few days she looked forward to seeing her friend.
Charlotte lived in Bloomsbury, round the corner from the British Museum. Louisa’s eyes widened as she approached her friend’s house in the small garden square. A three-storey, double fronted Georgian terrace built in plain brick and with the original small-paned sash windows, it looked exquisite. And expensive. She had guessed that Charlotte was wealthy, but not this wealthy. The door was opened by a middle-aged woman dressed in dark grey. At least there was no butler, Louisa thought to herself, grinning. She followed the housekeeper upstairs and was ushered into a sunny drawing room with the words, ‘Miss Canning, Madam. I’ll be back shortly with the refreshments.’
Louisa found it hard not to giggle and Charlotte, rising from behind a writing table covered in papers, must have seen her struggle and laughed.
‘I know, it’s all terribly upper class, isn’t it? But I couldn’t possibly manage on my own–’
‘Hey, it’s fine. And I’m so glad to see you: a lot’s happened in the past few days.’
They hugged before sitting down on the pale blue, linen covered sofa.
‘I wasn’t expecting to find you living in such…such–’
‘Grandeur?’ Charlotte cut in, with a rueful grin. ‘It’s not something I like to talk about, although I’d guess most of the guests at La Folie are equally well-heeled. The problem is, if people know you have money, you are never sure if that’s why they want to be your friend.’ She waved her arm as Louisa tried to protest. ‘Oh, I don’t mean you, silly. You looked almost as lost as I was and obviously genuine.’
There was a muted knock at the door and the housekeeper brought in a tray loaded with a tea pot, fine bone china cups and saucers and a plate of muffins. Louisa raised her eyebrows at the cakes and, after the woman had left, Charlotte explained that Chef had given her a low calorie recipe for the muffins. ‘So, we can eat and enjoy without putting on an ounce,’ she declared, pouring the tea.
‘I inherited the house from my father so, thankfully, my ex-husband can’t get his sticky fingers on it. I’ll show you around after you’ve told me what’s been happening. I’m all agog!’ Charlotte settled back on the sofa, cup neatly balanced on the saucer, giving Louisa an expectant look. She obliged willingly, leaving nothing out. Charlotte’s face registered a gamut of emotions as Louisa described how they had waited for Edward to leave his house in order for her to see him in the flesh. And when Louisa laid out the plan to corner Archie and Edward in their flat, she became agitated.
‘Oh, Louisa! You mustn’t be involved. Malcolm can take care of himself but what if this Edward turned on you? You’re a witness and without you there wouldn’t be a case against him. By all means sit outside in the police car and listen in but–’
Louisa shook her head. ‘Malcolm would look out for me and he’s bigger and stronger than Edward, in spite of his age. And remember the police could rush in at a moment’s notice. It’s not as if the man’s armed and dangerous!’ She finished her tea, carefully replacing the cup on the tray.
‘But he killed your mother!’ Charlotte cried, clutching her arm.
Louisa paled. ‘I know. But this is different. Ideally, he’ll admit to Malcolm what he did and I won’t need to go in.’ She took a deep breath before adding, ‘I want this man punished for what he did. And if that means I have to be there, then so be it.’
Charlotte nodded. ‘Then I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you won’t need to.’
*
An unmarked police car picked them up at the agreed time and John sat beside the driver, who introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Dickens. Malcolm ushered Louisa into the back seat before settling beside her. After a brief exchange of greetings, John informed them that Edward was on his way to the police station and would arrive shortly after themselves. No-one seemed inclined to chat and Malcolm was content to stare out of the window as the car travelled the short distance to Tolpuddle Street station. It seemed strange that, after all these years, he might shortly be face to face with his father’s killer: Roland’s nephew and his own cousin. In the meantime he and his daughter would be party to the police interview of the man responsible for Susan’s death: his second cousin. What a family! I hope to God I can bring an end to this horror and justice prevails. Glancing at Louisa, his heart lifted at the sight of the one good thing that had come out of the sorry mess. His daughter. He was proud of her and sent up a silent prayer that she would be kept safe from harm. Louisa must have felt his eyes on her and turned towards him with a smile. He gripped her hand and she nodded as the car pulled into the back of the police station.
The sergeant led Malcolm and John into a room with a desk and chairs, asking them to sit in front of the glimmering computer screen. Louisa was taken to another room to wait for them. It had been explained to her that, as a potential witness, she could not see Edward being interviewed.
‘I’ll be in there,’ the sergeant said, nodding at the picture of an empty interview room on the screen, ‘with Detective Inspector Wallace. You’ll be able to watch what happens and I’ll come back for you when the suspect’s ready to leave.’ He nodded briefly at John and left.
‘I suppose this was all in a day’s work for you, John?
‘When I was based in the Met, yes. But there wasn’t much call for this sort of interview in Guernsey. We dealt mainly with petty crime rather than violent. Although I did lead an investigation into the mysterious death of a couple at sea…’ He stopped talking as three men arrived in the other room; Dickens, Edward Blake and a man who Malcolm presumed was Detective Inspector Wallace. The detectives sat on one side of a table and Blake on the other. Malcolm leaned forward, keen to hear every word. Blake looked terrified: his eyes darted around the room as if looking for escape, and he kept twisting his hands together. Good! He’s rattled. That’s what we want.
DI Wallace explained to Blake why he was there and at the mention of the address and the circumstances, he c
lenched his hands tight as if to stop them shaking.
‘Can you tell us where you were that evening, Mr Blake?’
‘At ’ome with me dad. He’s not well, see, and I ’ave to be there in the evening after I finish work. Don’t get out much at all,’ Blake said, looking from one detective to the other.
‘And your father will verify this?’
‘Yes, o’ course.’ A thought seemed to occur to him as he added, ‘But what made you want to question me? And after all this time?’
DI Wallace tapped his fingers on the table before looking Blake in the eye.
‘We’ve had a witness come forward, giving a description of a man resembling you, leaving the property that evening.’
Blake visibly paled under his grey stubble. Malcolm wondered if he would now own up and save them all a lot of trouble. He was disappointed.
‘They must ’ave been mistaken. Anyways, how would a description lead you to me? I’ve not got a record or anything. Must be lots of men look like me,’ he said, sitting straighter in his chair.
‘Ah, but how many work for London Underground, Mr Blake? The man they saw wore a top bearing the Undergound logo.’ Wallace smiled grimly as Blake squirmed in his chair.
Dickens, apparently playing “good cop”, chipped in, ‘But if your father can provide you with an alibi for that evening, Mr Blake, then we may not need to trouble you further. In the meantime we need to take a sample of your DNA to eliminate you from our enquiries. Okay with that?’
Edward nodded and the sergeant took a swab from his mouth.
DI Wallace went on, ‘Is it all right if someone calls round tomorrow morning to take your father’s statement?’
Blake’s head bobbed up and down. ‘Yes, suppose so.’ He looked at Wallace, asking, ‘Does this mean I can go?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid we don’t have any spare cars; can you make your own way home?’
Standing up quickly, as if afraid they might change their minds, he said he could and shot out of the door.
Wallace turned to face the video camera and gave the thumbs up. It was time to put the trap into operation.
Malcolm and Louisa had their wires fitted by Dickens and, together with John, piled into the unmarked car. Edward was being tailed on his Tube journey home by plain clothed officers and they expected to arrive at his house before he would. Dickens told them that the surveillance vehicle, an unmarked van, was already in place.
The sergeant parked a few yards up the street and they had to wait about twenty minutes before the call came through that Edward was approaching. Malcolm shot out of the car in readiness. As Edward arrived at the front door, Malcolm came up behind him, calling, ‘Mr Blake?’
Edward jumped. As he turned round Malcolm saw the terror in his eyes.
‘Who are you? What you want wi’ me?’ Edward’s voice shook as he looked up and down the street.
‘The name’s Roget. I’m an old friend of your father’s. I was told he lived here with you and, as I haven’t seen him for years and heard he’s not well…’ Malcolm spread out his hands.
Edward hesitated, clearly trying to think of a reason to refuse, but Malcolm edged forward, placing his foot firmly over the top step.
‘I’ve come a very long way, Mr Blake, and I’m sure your father will be only too happy to see me.’
‘Uh, all right then. But you can’t stay long, he’s in a bad way and has to rest a lot.’ Edward turned and limped off down a narrow hallway before opening a door on the left.
‘Someone to see you, Dad. Says he’s an old friend. Name of Roget.’ He turned to Malcolm and gestured for him to enter.
Malcolm walked into the stuffy room, trying not to gag. The air was heavy with the smell of stale urine and unwashed clothes. The small room was filled with a hospital bed, raised so that its occupant could sit up and see the old fashioned television propped on a table near its foot. Green threadbare curtains were closed against the sun and Edward flicked a switch, bringing to life the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Malcolm blinked, staring at the small wizened body dwarfed by the bed and huddled in unsavoury-looking bedclothes. On the bedside table stood a couple of empty beer bottles, a glass and packets of pills. Two dim eyes peered up at him from a skeletal head.
Edward moved as if to leave the room but Malcolm asked him to stay, adding, ‘I think you’ll be interested to hear what your father and I have to talk about.’
He looked surprised and his head switched from his father to Malcolm. Shrugging, he perched on the end of the bed while Malcolm, feeling nauseous from the smell and the sight of the man who had caused his mother so much pain, moved round to the side so he could be seen clearly.
‘Who are you? Don’t recognise you. You’re no friend o’ mine.’ A thin raspy voice emerged from the bony head covered in white wispy hair.
Edward jumped off the bed. ‘’Ere, you said you were–’
‘I know. It’s sort of true. Just shut up and listen,’ Malcolm glared at him and Edward, looking even more scared, did as he was told.
Malcolm addressed Archie. ‘I’m Malcolm Roget, Betty and Roland’s son. And I know you killed my father.’
Edward gasped, his eyes wide with horror, while Archie blinked.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t know any Rogets.’
‘My mother changed her name after we left for Canada. She didn’t want you finding us. You knew her as Betty Le Cras and my father was Roland Blake, your uncle. You killed him at his home in Guernsey and stole his money and jewels before burying him. Then you forced my mother to flee to England with you, saying you’d tell the police she had killed him.’ Malcolm felt the anger bubbling up inside as he pictured the scene described by his mother many years ago. His fists clenched, itching to hit the bag of bones on the bed.
‘Wha…what’s he on about, Dad? You told me your uncle died of a heart attack after he changed ’is will. Leaving you out of it, you said.’ Edward’s eyes were wild as they darted between Archie and Malcolm. ‘And who’s this Betty? You never mentioned ’er.’
‘Don’t believe anything he says, son. It’s a bunch of lies–’
Malcolm faced Edward. ‘Betty was my father’s housekeeper and they became engaged when she fell pregnant with me. This was in 1939 and war had just been declared. My father planned for them to leave for Canada once they were married. But before they had a chance to do this your father,’ he spat out the word, ‘killed Roland by hitting him over the head after he told Archie he’d never been, and never would be, his heir.’
Edward turned a greenish colour. ‘Tell me that’s not true, Dad. You always said them jewels were rightfully ours and they was stolen from you.’
Archie’s breathing rattled in his chest as he struggled to answer.
‘He’s lying, I tell you! He’s just trying to get his own hands on what’s mine – and yours.’
‘You mean this?’ Malcolm said, pulling out one of the earrings from his pocket. In spite of the poor light, it dazzled. Edward’s mouth fell open and he reached as if to touch it but Malcolm slapped him away. Archie groaned, his white claw-like hands twisting on the sheet.
‘Liar! You can’t prove anything! You weren’t even born then! It’s all lies–’
‘But my mother saw what happened. And we recently found my father’s body, with this ring on his finger…’
Archie gasped as Malcolm held up Roland’s ring.
‘It…it was an accident…I didn’t mean to kill him. I was angry about the…the will–’
Edward leapt up and started shouting. ‘You bastard! You’ve lied to me all these years, telling me we was robbed of our inheritance but that one day we’d get it back if I…’ He appeared to realise what he was saying and stopped, glaring at Archie who had shrunk further into the bed. Then they both started shouting at each other. Malcolm was trying to think of a way to encourage Edward to confess when the doorbell rang. ‘I’ll go,’ he said,
rushing out of the room. It was Louisa.
‘What are you doing here? I can manage–’
‘We think I could be the final straw,’ she said, heading for the open door and the raised voices.
Edward spun round as they entered.
‘Who’s this?’ he shouted.
‘I’m Louisa Canning and my mother was Susan Canning. You…you killed her when you forced your way into her house.’ Malcolm admired his daughter’s calmness as she stood, unflinching, near the bed.
‘Oh shit! We’re finished! The fuzz already suspect me.’ His face suffused with purple as he turned to Archie. ‘It’s all your fault! You crazy, stupid old man. Because o’ you I’ll be blamed for that woman’s death. And for nothing! Those damn jewels were never ours. God, I could kill you!’ And with a sudden lunge he picked up a beer bottle, aiming it at Archie’s head. Malcolm and Louisa both moved to stop him but she was closer. She tried to grab his arm and Edward twisted round violently to shake her off. The bottle caught the side of her head and she cried out. Malcolm could only watch in horror as his daughter slumped to the floor, blood oozing from her forehead, shards of glass flying around her.
chapter 26
‘I…I didn’t mean to hurt her!’ cried Edward, looking ashen as Malcolm cradled Louisa in his arms.
‘Damn you! She’s my daughter and you’d better pray that she recovers or–’
The door burst open and three uniformed police officers pushed into the room, while the two detectives and an anxious looking John Ferguson stood outside – there being no space for all of them. Edward was grabbed and handcuffed before being led away by two policemen and the sergeant. Louisa was unconscious and Malcolm dabbed at the head wound with his handkerchief, willing for her to open her eyes. Wallace knelt beside him as the room cleared, with John hovering behind him.
