Body of a Girl (14 page)

Chapter Fifteen

“Our keen young detective,” said Sergeant Gwilliam, “hot on the trail of the miscreant, was baffled by a cunning manoeuvre—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Mercer. It was seven o'clock that same evening. He had come straight to the station. Ten hours of driving, coupled with two snatched meals, had not improved his temper.

“The boy shall tell you himself,” said Gwilliam.

Detective Massey looked up from the blue report form he was filling up and said, “Last night, at approximately eight o'clock, I was keeping observation—”

“This isn't a police court. Let's have it without the icing. Who were you watching?”

“I was watching Johnno.”

“And who the hell told you to do that?”

Even Sergeant Gwilliam was startled by the viciousness in Mercer's voice. Massey was as scarlet as if his face had been slapped. He said, “It's one of my jobs. I was given it before you came here.”

“My arrival cancelled all standing orders. All right. Tell me about it.”

“We've had more than one tip-off that Johnno was doing these transistor and radio jobs. He was seen hanging round the shops just about the time they got bust, and one of Taffy's fingers said one of his friends had seen Johnno offering new stuff for sale in the private bar of The Swan—”

“Third-hand. Someone knows someone who says he saw Johnno. What were you supposed to do about it?”

Massey told him what he had done about it. His voice said that he thought he was being unfairly criticised, and if Mercer had had a long day, all right. Understood. But that was no reason to take it out on him.

When he had finished Mercer went over to one of the wall cupboards and got out the set of six-inch and twenty-four-inch Ordnance Survey Sheets. He spread out the large-scale map of Slough.

“Show me just where you lost him?”

“I think it must have been that one.”

“I didn't ask you to think. I asked you to be sure.”

“It was that crossroads.”

“And when you came out—here—he'd gone?”

“Yes.”

“He couldn't have got past you?”

“Not at the speed I was going.”

“So he
must
have been calling somewhere in this area.” Mercer drew a pencil line round the half-dozen streets on the left of the High Street. “
And
what's more he can't have stopped long. Not if he was already halfway home when you overtook him. Do you know this part of the town, Taffy?”

“I've been there once or twice,” said Gwilliam. “I don't know it all that well.” He looked at Massey who shook his head. Mercer rolled the pencil slowly across the map. He seemed to be thinking. Then he said, “Have you got your notes?” Massey stared at him. “The notes you made when you were watching Johnno.”

“Oh. Yes.”

Mercer studied them. The other two men watched him in silence. “You were there from half-past seven until about half-past nine, when Johnno shut up shop?”

“That's right.”

“And in that time about twenty cars called for petrol or whatever?”

“Yes.”

“What did the drivers do whilst Johnno was serving them?”

“Most of them sat tight. Some got out and walked about. Two or three went into the kiosk to talk to Johnno, whilst he was getting their change.”

“Could you see into it from where you were?”

“No. The glass side is blocked up with advertisements and things.”

“Were any of the drivers carrying anything when they went in?” Massey thought hard about this one. He said, “Do you mean, did anyone leave anything behind with Johnno? I'm sure I should have noticed if they had.”

“I meant what I said. Was anyone actually carrying anything in his hand when he went in?”

“I've got an idea that the last driver might have been holding something—it looked like a small suitcase. But he didn't leave it behind. And he wasn't in the kiosk more than ten seconds.”

The pencil stopped rolling. Mercer's fingers closed on it. His knuckles showed white for a moment. When he spoke his voice was studiedly normal. He said to Gwilliam, “First thing tomorrow, I want you to take this plan. Get over to Slough, and mark on it any place of business inside this area. Particularly any place that might conceivably stay open until nine or ten at night.” To Massey, he said, “And a word in your pearl-like ear, my boy. Leave Johnno alone. Understand? Stop watching him. Don't go near him. Leave him alone.” Before Massey could say anything he had turned back to Gwilliam. “One other thing. Could you find out who owns the block of flats overlooking the recreation ground?”

“The recreation ground?” Gwilliam was still staring at the map.

“Keep alert, Sergeant. We're no longer in Slough. We're back in Stoneferry. The block of flats overlooking the recreation ground, and backing on Westhaugh Road. Can you locate the owner?”

“Now?”

“That's right.”

“If there's a porter I could ring him up and ask him.”

“Do that. And when you find him tell him to be at the flats in half an hour. That'll give me time to get a bite to eat.”

There was a brief silence after he had gone. Then Gwilliam said, “Tom was saying, the other day, he couldn't make the new skipper out at all. When you thought he was thinking about one thing, Tom said, you found he was really thinking about something quite different. I think Tom's wrong. I don't think he really thinks about anything at all. I think he just says the first thing that comes into his head.”

Massey said nothing, which was a good deal less than he would have liked to say.

Murray Talbot, J.P., T.D., drove home from his office in South Street. He turned right into the High Street, right again past the police station, happening to notice Mercer coming out; then drove across the new bridge, along the first ‘feeder' road to the by-pass, through the underpass and onto the Laleham Road. The sight of Mercer had temporarily shifted his thoughts away from his own troubles, which had kept him late at the office. These stemmed from two ridiculous building contracts which his late senior partner had let them in for, both of which would cause an uncomfortable loss to the firm of Jocelyn and Talbot, General Contractors. Unless Weatherman could get him out of them.

He was still thinking about Mercer when he opened the front door and was met and given his evening ration of a single kiss by his wife.

He went into the drawing room, mixed himself a gin and Italian vermouth, warmed his backside in front of the electric log fire, and felt better.

He said, “We shall have to do something about that chap Mercer.”

“Mercer?”

“The new C.I.D. man.”

“Oh, him. What's he been up to?”

“First, he's made a mess of that murder case. Made a wrong identification. Then he pulled in old Hedges, who obviously had nothing to do with it. I mean, it wasn't his daughter they found, so how could it have been him? And when he had him inside he beat him up, I believe. And now Hedges is raising the roof. Can't blame him really. I think I'll have another. It's been a hard day.”

“I'll do it. Half and half?”

“That's the girl. A bit more gin than vermouth. Not content with that, he's upsetting his own men. Bob's beginning to hear complaints already.”

“Poor old Bob.”

“And his latest move – I imagine it's really a sort of smokescreen to hide his own inefficiency – he's trying to throw suspicion on Jack Bull.”

“But that's absurd. Jack's as sound as the Rock of Gibraltar.”

“Of course he is. He's a damned good chap. And a damned sight better than Inspector Jumped-up Mercer.”

“Suspicion of what?”

“Bob said something about driving competitors out of business by crooked methods.”

“But that's nonsense. He often says that he's got far too much work to do and he wishes there was another garage in the place.”

“Exactly.”

“And I'll tell you something else. At least, I'm not sure that I'm really meant to tell even you, as Pat Clark told me in confidence.”

“No secrets between husband and wife.”

“Well, then—”

Mr. Meakin was waiting in the hall of Bankside Mansions when Mercer got there. He was plainly nervous. He said, “I hope it isn't more trouble with that top-floor pair. Lease or no lease, I'll have them out. I warned them last time, and this time I mean it. Just say the word.”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you,” said Mercer, “but the matter I've come about concerns the ground-floor flat in your annexe. The one overlooking the river.”

“Colonel Stanley—”

“And it happened on Friday November 14th nearly two years ago.”

Mr. Meakin said, “Oh,” conducted a mental roll-call and said, “Miss Dyson.”

“Correct. Were you here when she left?”

“Walked out on us. Leaving five weeks' rent owing.”

“Which her employers paid for her.”

“They paid the rent. But they didn't settle the dilapidations. That girl was a compulsive smoker. She seems to have left burning cigarettes everywhere. On the mantelpiece, on the tables. She ruined the top of a nice chest of drawers. It cost me forty-five pounds to have the damage put right. If I can find her, I'm going to collect it.”

“Tell me about when she left.”

“There's not a lot to tell, Inspector. I called, myself, early the following week, to speak to her about the rent. We don't like to let arrears run beyond the month. There were three or four milk bottles outside her door, a pile of newspapers, a box of stuff from the laundry and a parcel from the cleaners. I thought that justified my going in, so I used my pass key. It was quite clear that she had gone. Drawers and cupboards were empty and all her personal things were gone—photographs and that sort of stuff.”

“Had she emptied the larder?”

“No. Not that there was a great deal in it. Coffee and sugar and breakfast cereals. I gather she took most of her meals out.”

“You mentioned a parcel from the cleaners.”

“Yes. That was rather surprising. It was a very nice tweed coat and skirt. It must have cost a good deal of money. I suppose she forgot about it.”

“Did anyone see her go?”

“Actually see her leave the flat, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I don't think so. There's no reason why they should have done. It was rather a dirty night, I seem to remember. There wouldn't have been many about, and the back door of her flat opens onto a path which leads through the far end of the recreation ground and straight out into the town. That's where she'd pick up a bus for the station, by the old bridge. I believe someone saw her at the station.”

“So I'm told,” said Mercer. “Was the back door locked?”

Mr. Meakin had to think about that one. Then he said, “Yes. Both doors were locked.”

“And the only keys were your master key, and the keys she had.”

“That's right. I had to get a new set cut for Colonel Stanley.”

“Now let me guess something. When you came in that morning, all the curtains were drawn, tight shut. In the living room and the kitchen
and
the bedroom. Right?”

Mr. Meakin looked at him. There was a hint of worry in his eyes. “You're right about that. But I can't say it struck me as odd. If she was there that evening, she'd naturally have drawn her curtains.”

“Even in her bedroom. When she had no intention of sleeping there?”

“That was a bit odd, perhaps. Tell me, Inspector—I don't wish to appear inquisitive, but is something wrong?”

Mercer said, “Between you and me, Mr. Meakin, I don't think you're ever going to collect that forty-five pounds.”

He drove back into the town thinking about it. When he was putting his car away he noticed a light in Jack Bull's first-storey flat. The main entrance to the flat was through the shop, but there was an iron staircase leading up from the yard to the back entrance, and that was where the light was. He guessed it was the kitchen. He climbed the stairs and rang the bell. The door was opened by Vikki. She was wearing an apron over her working outfit, and a pair of rubber gloves.

“Why, look who's here,” she said. “Come in. Excuse my gloves. I'm just starting the washing up.”

Jack Bull sat at the head of the big kitchen table. There was the remains of a supper for two on it. He was smoking a cheroot and looked relaxed and comfortable.

He said, “Surprise! Surprise! What can we do for you, Inspector?”

“I saw your light,” said Mercer, “and it reminded me that I hadn't paid my garage bill.”

“Why bother. It doesn't amount to a row of beans. Send him a chit at the end of the month, Vikki. Four weeks at twenty-five pence a week.”

“I don't like running up bills. It makes me nervous.” Mercer extracted a sizeable wad of five-pound notes from his hip pocket and peeled one off. “I understand that the going rate for a lock-up garage is one twenty-five a week. That'll cover a month.” He handed the note to Vikki who tucked it into her apron pocket. She said, “I'll give you a proper receipt in the morning,” and showed her small white teeth in a grin.

Bull seemed to be on the point of saying something sharp, then changed his mind. He said, “When you've finished washing up, honey, could you bring us all a nice cup of coffee next door.”

The room next door was a surprise. In front of an open fire were a couple of fat, low-slung, leather armchairs which looked as if they had come out of an old-fashioned London club. There was a box of cigars on a table between the chairs. There was a drink cabinet in one corner and a wide-screen television set in the other. The pictures on the walls were mostly framed photographs. Regimental groups, with names carefully written in underneath. Pictures of tanks and guns and army vehicles. Pictures of parachutists dropping out of aeroplanes. One enlarged photograph of a very pretty girl in the uniform of a Wehrmacht nursing sister.