After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery) (18 page)

Bill wriggled impatiently. ‘I know what you want me to say. You want me to slap my forehead and say
blackmail
!’

‘Well? Why don’t you say blackmail?’ demanded Jack. ‘You can slap your forehead into the bargain, if you like. I bring you a victim and a motive, all neatly packaged up, and all you do is sit there and look as if you’re sucking lemons. What on earth’s the matter with you?’

‘The matter is that I’ve had to explain what happened yesterday to Sir Douglas and I’m not desperately keen to go bowling in and tell him that I’m fearfully sorry, sir, wrong victim an’ all that, but here’s another that’ll do just as well. I agree there’s a connection with Lythewell and Askern. The carry-on at one o’clock on Saturday morning in the chantry proves that, unless our poacher pal, Sam Whatisname, in the pub yesterday was having us on. I also agree that all the Lythewell and Askern crowd were present when this wretched woman started frothing at the mouth and drumming her heels on the pavement.’

‘When she fainted, at any rate. Don’t get carried away.’

Bill held his hands up. ‘Okay, when she fainted. But if I even whisper the suggestion to the Chief that the victim is this Mrs McAllister and
she
turns out to be alive and well, then my name will be mud and no mistake.’

‘Sometimes,’ said Jack, ‘I feel downright unappreciated.’ He took a cigarette from the box on Bill’s desk and lit it. ‘If you didn’t like that suggestion, you’re going to love my next one.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Bill suspiciously.

‘Well, it struck me that as Mrs McAllister lived in New York and Mr Daniel Lythewell lived in New York, Mr Daniel Lythewell might be the man we’re looking for.’ His smile widened at Bill’s expression. ‘I can see you’re not struck by that idea.’

‘Oh, my good God!
Jack!
Will you stop leaping to conclusions? Since when was living in New York a criminal offence?’

‘It isn’t, of course.’

‘And how d’you know Lythewell lived in New York anyway?’

‘It said so, in that printed history of the firm I picked up yesterday. He came back home in 1898.’

‘1898?’ Bill repeated in bewilderment. ‘1898? What the devil has anything that happened in 1898 got to do with what happened a fortnight ago? For Pete’s sake, Jack, that’s twenty-odd years ago. I’ll tell you something else, too. If you think I’m going to mention that idea to Sir Douglas, you’ve got another think coming.’

Jack held his hands up. ‘All right, all right, you’ve made your point. There’s one thing you could do, though, without agitating the Chief. Miss Sharpe obviously thought Mrs McAllister was living on the money left to her by her husband, but, as we know, she was supplementing it by other means.’

‘Thieving, not to wrap it up in fancy language.’

‘As you say, thieving. Has she got a record?’ He nodded at the tin. ‘I know there’ll be other prints on it, but, with any luck, Mrs McAllister might have left a fingerprint or two on it.’

‘She might,’ agreed Bill. ‘That’s something I can find out, at any rate. I can’t see we’ll get anything from the tray, as the wood’s too rough, but the tin should be okay.’

He stood the tin on a piece of white paper and, taking an insufflator from the drawer, puffed a fine film of grey powder over the surface. A satisfying array of fingerprints was revealed. ‘Are your prints on here, Jack?’ he asked.

‘No. I was careful to pick up the tin by the string.’

‘All right, I’ll get this down to Records,’ he said, pushing his chair back. ‘You never know your luck.’

He was back within ten minutes. ‘They’ll let me know as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘I presume you’re not interested in nailing Mrs McAllister for petty fraud. What do you hope to show if it turns out she does have a record?’

‘I’m not sure at the moment,’ admitted Jack frankly. ‘It’s too much to hope she’ll have left her fingerprints at Signora Bianchi’s cottage, as we know it’s been cleaned, but we might get an idea of her associates and so on. She moved out of Purbeck Terrace about three weeks ago, according to the landlady. Where did she go? And,’ he added, ‘what was she living on? I know you scouted my idea of blackmail, but you must admit the dates tie up. If she does have a record and she’s seen any of her old associates, it could give us a way of tracking her down.’

Bill drew a couple of doodles on the corner of his blotting pad. ‘Okay.’ He clicked his tongue in irritation. ‘I wish I could hurry up the warrant for the chantry.’

‘Are you having trouble?’

‘The Surrey force are being a bit sticky. I know it’s our investigation, but we like to keep everyone as happy as we can. I gather that Commander Pattishall, the Chief Constable of the Surrey force, is reluctant to make any waves with a firm as well respected as Lythewell and Askern on the say-so of a self-confessed poacher, especially after yesterday’s fiasco. With any luck we’ll get there, but Sir Douglas is having to be diplomatic. That’s another reason I don’t want to start sounding off about your precious Mrs McAllister to him.’

He looked up as a knock sounded on the door. ‘Come in!’

A sergeant poked his head into the room. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a lady asking for you. A Miss Elizabeth Wingate.’

Bill sighed heavily. ‘Very well. Ask her to come up, will you?’ He turned to Jack. ‘I wonder what she wants?’ He broke off, looking at his friend suspiciously. ‘What the devil’s the matter with you? You look very pleased with yourself all of a sudden.’

‘Nothing much,’ said Jack, adjusting his tie and pulling his jacket straight. ‘I just wondered if there’d been any further developments, that’s all. And I was looking forward to seeing Miss Wingate again.’

Escorted by the sergeant, Betty came into the room. She looked both surprised and pleased to see Jack. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Mr Haldean,’ she said, as he pulled out a chair for her.

‘And we’re glad too, aren’t we, Bill?’

‘It’s nice that someone’s pleased to see me,’ she said with a weary smile. ‘It’s been pretty beastly at home. I slipped away without making any fuss. Everyone blames me for what’s happened.’

‘And what has happened?’ asked Jack.

‘The most appalling row. After you left yesterday, Mrs Askern worked out that if Mr Askern was still married to Signora Bianchi – and he is, because they were never divorced – then Mr Askern’s been living with her under false pretences all these years, dragging, as she said, her good name through the mud. He told her not to be ridiculous and she …’ She shrugged. ‘Well, you can imagine.’

‘I imagine she went pop,’ said Jack.

‘More or less. Anyway, it ended with Mrs Askern saying that she never
was
married to Mr Askern, she never
will
be married to Mr Askern and, as it’s her money he’s been living on all these years, she feels utterly betrayed and he could take himself off just as soon as he liked and never darken the door again. So, to cut a very long story short, Mr Askern’s moved into his club. Uncle Daniel said, “What about the firm?” and Mr Askern said, “Damn the firm,” and Colin told them both not to worry as Mr Askern could travel to work from London very easily, and as far as that was concerned, it shouldn’t make any difference.’

‘Gosh,’ said Jack, blinking. ‘That’s a very practical way of looking at things.’

‘Colin is practical,’ said Betty. ‘It’s one of the things I like about him. Anyway, then Signora Bianchi put her oar in, and told Mrs Askern she ought to be grateful for any husband and that she had no chance whatsoever of getting another man at her age, so she’d be better off counting her blessings and forgiving and forgetting.’

‘Gosh,’ said Jack once more. ‘I don’t suppose Mrs Askern liked that idea, did she?’

‘Mrs Askern,’ said Betty, ‘really let things rip. Apparently Mr Askern’s taken some money from the bank recently and can’t account for it, and Mrs Askern accused Signora Bianchi of having it. Signora Bianchi denied any such thing and so did Mr Askern, but she – Mrs Askern, I mean – refused to believe either of them. She called Signora Bianchi a few things I’d rather not repeat, but she was very angry.’

‘Unexplained money, eh?’ said Jack, looking at Bill quickly. ‘Have you any idea how much?’

‘I don’t know for certain. About a hundred pounds, I think.’

‘Are you sure about that, Miss Wingate?’ Bill asked sharply. ‘That Signora Bianchi denied receiving any money, I mean?’

‘She denied Mr Askern had given her that much but I don’t know if I believed her. Apparently he’d paid the rent for the cottage. When Mrs Askern found that out, she was furious. She worked out that the big attraction about the cottage was that it was an easy walk across the fields to Heath House, and accused Signora Bianchi of having assignations with Mr Askern. Anyway, Colin pitched in and told Mrs Askern not to talk to his mother in that way, Signora Bianchi said lots in Italian, and then everyone turned on me for producing the cash box.’

Her lip wobbled and she lit a cigarette with shaky hands.

‘You poor kid,’ muttered Jack.

She gave him a grateful, if watery smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘Where’s Mr Askern now?’ asked Bill. ‘At his club?’

‘Yes. It’s the Reynolds in St James. Uncle Daniel and Colin have both come up to see him today. I came on a different train and they don’t know I’m here. Both Uncle Daniel and Colin more or less forbade me to come and see you. They think my latest idea’s crazy, but I don’t see why I should have to do exactly what they say.’

‘No, no, of course not,’ said Jack. ‘Excuse me, what is your latest idea?’

‘I mean, I know I’m living with Uncle Daniel and Aunt Maud,’ she said, ignoring the question, ‘but, after all, Uncle Daniel isn’t my father or anything and, as for Colin, we’re not engaged, and even if we were I’d still have come. Colin thinks the fact his mother’s alive
proves
I was making it all up, but it doesn’t prove anything of the sort, does it?’

Bill cleared his throat. ‘Have you anything to tell us, Miss Wingate? Anything new, I mean?’

She nodded vigorously. ‘Oh, yes. That’s why I’ve come. Only …’ She broke off and pulled nervously on her cigarette. ‘I want the truth. I want everyone to know I was telling the truth about what I saw that night, and most of all I want everything back to how it was between Colin and myself. That’ll only happen once we find out who was murdered in the cottage that night.’

‘That’s very true,’ said Bill with commendable patience. ‘And your idea is?’

‘I thought of it this morning.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m not going to say I’m certain, because I’m not, and you’ll probably think I’m as crazy as Uncle Daniel and Colin do, but when I woke up this morning, I’d been dreaming of that night in the cottage and … and …’ She braced herself and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I wondered if the woman I’d seen could be the woman who fainted on the steps of the exhibition.’

There was a long pause, then Jack threw back his head and laughed.

Betty flushed angrily. ‘If all you’re going to do is laugh at me, I might as well have listened to Colin and not come.’ She picked up her bag and made to stand up.

‘No, please stay,’ said Jack, gently pushing her back into her chair. ‘You don’t realise, but we’ve just been talking about that very possibility. The coincidence, if that’s what you want to call it, struck me as funny, that’s all.’

‘
You’ve
been talking about it,’ corrected Bill. ‘Not me. Miss Wingate, whatever gave you the idea?’

‘I’ve been thinking about it, obviously,’ she said. ‘If it wasn’t Signora Bianchi who was murdered, then who was it? I wondered if it was someone who lived in Whimbrell Heath, but, if it was, they’d be missed and their absence talked about. I know I only saw her for a brief second, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. I couldn’t swear to her face, but I think it was her posture, the way she was slumped on the sofa. That made me wonder if she was someone I’d met, and if so, where? It came to me this morning. It was the woman at the exhibition. I remembered how she looked, sprawled out on the steps, and I couldn’t help thinking it was the same woman.’

Bill leaned back in his chair. ‘How do you account for her being in the cottage that night?’

She looked at him helplessly. ‘I can’t.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Bill, nodding. ‘Well, Miss Wingate, thank you very much for coming to see us. I very much appreciate the effort you’ve made. I’ll certainly think about what you’ve said.’

‘So you don’t think I’m crazy?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Jack. ‘Do you have to rush back, Miss Wingate, or will you let me buy you lunch?’

She stopped, obviously surprised, then smiled at him. ‘That’s awfully nice of you, but I really should get back.’ She hesitated. ‘It really is nice of you, Mr Haldean. Perhaps another time?’

‘I hope so,’ said Jack. He got up and opened the door. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

He waited until she was safely down the stairs and out of earshot before returning to the desk. ‘Well? What d’you think?’

Bill looked at him with a knowing smile. ‘I think you’re in danger of falling for her, that’s what I think.’

He had the pleasure of seeing Jack lost for words. ‘How on earth d’you work that out?’ said Jack eventually. ‘I feel sorry for her. It sounds as if she’s having a rotten time at home. She’s a nice enough girl, I grant you, but that’s all.’

‘She’s a nice enough girl who’s just swanned in, Mr I-feel-sorry-for-her Chivalry, fingered Mrs McAllister as the victim
and
told us that John Askern has taken unexplained amounts of money from his bank account and has now decamped to his club. But instead of wanting to race round to see John Askern, your first thought was to take her out to lunch. Apart from anything else, we’re waiting for the results from Records. Where’s your detective instinct?’

‘Damn my detective instinct,’ said Jack crossly. ‘I can figure things out and still retain the rudiments of manners, I suppose?’ He would have said more, but the telephone rang.

‘Records,’ Bill breathed to Jack as he picked it up. There was the crackle of a voice on the other end. ‘Well,’ he said, hanging up the phone. ‘You were right about the McAllister woman having a record. She’s never been convicted, but she’s also known to us as Mrs Joan Morton, Mrs Joan Manning and Mrs Joan Middleton, all of whom are wanted in connection with thefts from the various households where she was employed either as a cook or a housekeeper. She first came to our attention fifteen years ago. The latest incident was eighteen months ago, when a Mrs Joan Middleton disappeared from a Dr and Mrs Pratchett’s house in Canterbury, Kent, with about a hundred and fifty quid’s worth of jewellery and forty pounds in cash.’