A Thing of Blood (19 page)

‘All right. Let’s order and we’ll take it from there.’

The menu was limited and I didn’t have high hopes for what would come out of the kitchen, despite its pretensions to being both French and
haute
. There were no hors d’oeuvres, of course, in line with the regulations. If I chose carefully I could extract three courses and come in under the mandated five shillings. I chose half a dozen oysters on the shell at two shillings, and sweetbreads Toulouse at two shillings and sixpence. With sixpence to spare I added a Baroness pudding. If Fowler was paying I might as well go the distance. Fowler declared an allergy to oysters and ordered consommé Celestine at sixpence, Tournados béarnaise at four shillings, and apple pie Chantilly at sixpence. When the waiter had retreated Fowler dropped his bombshell.

‘You were following a man named John Trezise this morning?’

‘I didn’t know his first name was John, but yes.’

‘He was arrested late this afternoon. It seems like a pretty open-and-shut case. He strangled a woman named Anna Capshaw — here in fact. Upstairs.’

My mind raced to accommodate the fact that James Fowler should be in possession of this knowledge so soon after the event, let alone that he would know the names of both the victim and the perpetrator. Unless, of course, he was involved in the crime in ways which were not yet apparent.

‘How do you know this?’

‘The police told me.’

‘And why would the police run to you with details of a murder? I don’t think Trezise or Anna Capshaw were natives in need of your expertise.’

If I sounded brittle, and I’m sure I did, it was because the news of this murder had temporarily disabled my ability to think calmly and logically.

‘I’m glad that you at least acknowledge that you know both parties,’ Fowler said.

‘I’ve never met Anna Capshaw. I only know her as Clutterbuck’s ex-wife and Trezise’s mistress.’

‘So that’s the line Clutterbuck’s been running is it? That Anna Capshaw is his ex-wife? He’s never been married, Will.’

After my experiences in Queensland I was familiar with this feeling of certainties dropping away, and I didn’t like it one little bit.

‘You seem to know an awful lot about Clutterbuck. Been looking in his sock drawer have you?’

‘Ah, you saw that. That was careless of me.’

‘Ransacking his room is a little more than careless. I’d call it wilful.’

He narrowed his eyes.

‘I didn’t ransack his room. I left no trace.’

‘Well, someone did a thorough job of turning his room upside down.’

‘Perhaps I’m not the only person interested in Paul Clutterbuck’s private life.’

The oysters arrived and I was disappointed to find that they’d been drained of the fluid in which they sat. Fowler declared his consommé to be well flavoured and properly clarified. Between spoonfuls he said, ‘I should introduce myself fully. You know the basics already. What you don’t know is who I work for — who I really work for.’

I was swallowing the last of the oysters when he said, ‘Army Intelligence.’

I thought it best to offer no more than a careful, ‘I see.’

‘We’re interested in Paul Clutterbuck because we believe he’s a dangerous person. The fact that he intends to marry my sister complicates matters somewhat, but Nigella’s not the sort of person who’ll be told who she can and can’t marry.’

‘Clutterbuck’s politics aren’t nice, as I’ve just discovered, but dangerous?’

‘You’ve been acquainted with Clutterbuck for only a few days. We were curious to see whom he would choose to rent his room to.’

‘You’ve been watching him?’

‘On and off. He’d rejected half-a-dozen people before you. He obviously saw something in you that he could use.’

‘I hope you’re not accusing me of being naïve.’

‘I try not to make rash judgements about anybody, and my opinion of Clutterbuck hasn’t been formed in a hurry. We haven’t caught him doing anything too illegal. I don’t count his dressing up as an American soldier. We think, however, that something is brewing with him. He belongs to a group that is for all intents and purposes a fascist organisation.’

‘The Order of the Shining Knights.’

‘Precisely.’

‘I met them this afternoon.’

‘I know. You were tailed. Let me tell you about them. Have you heard of the White Army?’

I shook my head.

‘It was around in the early thirties under a variety of names — the White Army; the New Guard; the League of National Security. They thought Australia needed a sort of secret army to counter insurgents like Catholics and communists. The people in these groups were a mixed bunch: farmers, public servants, just ordinary people. Some of them were sympathetic to European fascism, but most of them were responding to old prejudices and fears. It all came to nothing, of course — sabre rattling more than anything else. However, as always in these situations, a few extremists refused to let go of their paranoia and formed their own little breakaway groups.

‘Paul Clutterbuck’s father was one of these, and he formed a nasty group called the Order of the Shining Knights. This was way back in 1932. Don’t be deceived by the silly name. They were suspected of setting fires in several churches, and of being responsible for a few assaults. Clutterbuck’s father died in 1934. A stroke. Nothing suspicious, but his son inherited his hatred of Catholics, and has maintained links with the Order. We don’t know much about the people in the group these days, and we haven’t had the resources to watch them closely. They’re too small and they’ve been quiet for a long time. We suspected that they just got together to whinge about popery. Naturally, my interest now is both personal and professional. I have a hunch, based purely on Clutterbuck’s acceptance of you as a tenant, that they’re planning something. He was so obviously waiting for the right person that there must be some significance in his choice.

‘Why you? You’ve been thoroughly checked out by us, of course. I know all about the mess you were involved in up in Queensland, and I know you left there in unhappy circumstances. I also know that you have no affiliations with any political groups. As far as I can tell from the people I’ve spoken to, despite giving you poor references, I have to say, no one has accused you of anything resembling fascist leanings. Your opinion of yourself might be over-inflated, but your poor opinion of others isn’t based on race, colour or creed.’

‘Should I take that as a compliment?’

The main courses arrived and I found myself unable to give the sweetbreads the attention they deserved — they were excellent — because Fowler’s story was unsettling.

‘I admit that my superiors don’t share my concerns about the Order of the Shining Knights, and they’re reluctant to use man hours to investigate them. It’s become more or less my little project, and that’s where you come in Will.’

‘Wait. Wait a minute. Can we just go back to Anna Capshaw? What’s her death got to do with this?’

‘Nothing as far as I know. She met Trezise in a room upstairs; they argued, and he killed her. He denies it, of course, but he was the one who alerted the police — said she was dead when he arrived. Looks like a classic
crime passionnel
.’

‘But why would the police tell
you
about it?’

‘Because of the connection with Clutterbuck. Anna Capshaw was being used by him to trap Trezise into compromising himself. I’m not sure why yet, but clearly it’s got something to do with Trezise’s position in the Church. Her death will be a blow to Clutterbuck. He won’t be happy.’

‘Clutterbuck thought Trezise was a lawyer trying to shake him down with the help of his ex-wife.’

‘No. There was no ex-wife, remember?’

I couldn’t escape a horrible feeling that I’d somehow been responsible for Anna Capshaw’s death. I’d given Trezise information that might have inflamed him against Anna. I kept this concern to myself.

‘I need someone who has access to the Order of the Shining Knights. It’s clear that either Clutterbuck trusts you, which is unlikely, or that he’s using you, in which case he might try to find a way of securing your loyalty, so watch out. Either way, you need to work for us. Unpaid, of course. I hate to sound like one of Nigella’s propaganda shorts, but it’s patriotic work, Will. You’ll be contributing to the war effort in a significant way. Paul Clutterbuck may not be a fifth columnist, but he’s a loose cannon and he needs tying down.’

I didn’t feel any loyalty to Clutterbuck. My meeting with his unholy trinity of friends had opened my eyes to his dark side, and I realised now that I’d given in too quickly when it had come to the cover up of Gretel’s death and the disposal of her body. On the other hand, I knew nothing about James Fowler beyond what he was telling me. How did I even know that he was who he said he was? He acknowledged this point, when I made it, and said that after the meal he’d take me to his office in the Victoria Barracks in St Kilda Road.

‘It’s not much more than a broom closet,’ he said. ‘Our unit is understaffed.’

I agreed, in principle, that working for Army Intelligence, unpaid though it was, was an interesting proposition. It made sense to me. James didn’t know about Gretel Beech. He’d have said something if he did, and if he knew about my sister-in-law’s kidnapping he would have said something about that, too.

It was during dessert that the evening’s real bombshell exploded. We were talking generally about how I might be useful when a woman’s voice broke free from the surrounding chatter and struck my ears. Recognising it, I turned in disbelief to see Darlene seated a few tables away, her face in profile, her hand resting on the hand of an American officer. He said something to her and she laughed before leaning across the table and kissing him lightly on the lips.

‘Is something wrong, Will?’ Fowler asked.

Ignoring him, I stood up and walked across to Darlene. When she saw me her face acquired a glaze of determined self-righteousness.

‘Will.’

‘What the hell is all this?’

The American got to his feet.

‘Don’t talk to my fiancée like that, buddy.’

My incredulity barely had time to express itself before the American grabbed the front of my shirt and breathed consommé Celestine into my face.

‘No one talks to my fiancée like that.’

By now, the whole room was watching. The inevitability of my being hit was so strong that when the blow came I simply surrendered to it. The next thing I remembered was lying on the floor of the Menzies Hotel dining room, my head under the overhanging cloth, close to Darlene’s thick ankles. I thought that if I just lay there quietly all would resolve itself into the dream it must surely be, until the point of Darlene’s shoe was jabbed meanly into my neck and there was no doubt that I was wide awake.

Chapter Nine

army intelligence

MY LOATHING FOR DARLENE
was not diminished by the shaming act of her American paramour dragging me from beneath their table in the elegant dining room of the Menzies Hotel. The blame for this hideous humiliation could be laid squarely at her fluid-swollen feet. I was dazed and confused as my throbbing head was pulled into the light. Thankfully, James Fowler appeared out of nowhere and took charge of the situation. He helped me to my feet and assured the American stranger that there would be no further trouble. I was momentarily deprived of the faculty of speech and, with my head still spinning, Fowler directed me firmly towards the exit.

The blow to my head must have been a solid one because the faces and sounds in Collins Street merged into a kaleidoscopic display of colour and noise. As we crossed Princes Bridge I was peripherally aware of people milling about Wirth’s Circus tent, and suddenly we were at Victoria Barracks. The monumental bluestone façade of the Barracks loomed in the brownout, like a neat, sharply defined cut-out in the very fabric of space. We entered through an impressive door, after passing muster at the main gate. Fowler apologised again for the unimpressive space he’d been allocated — it was no more than a partitioned corner of a much larger room. He had a desk, a phone, a wooden filing cabinet and a shelf that was held up more by faith than nails.

‘Welcome,’ he said, ‘to Army Intelligence.’

‘We’re going to lose the war,’ I said.