Carnage on the Committee (12 page)

On their way towards the street, the barman stopped them. 'Den seemed right upset,' he said. "E were shouting.'

"E certainly were,' said Milton. 'Is he often like that?'

'Oh, yeah. Lots of the time,' said the barman. 'You don't want to take 'im too seriously. It's just 'is way. I reckon 'e should go on one of them anger management courses, but 'e tells me it's 'is artistic temperament.' He snorted. 'Lorra bollocks, if you ask me. I think 'e's just a bad-tempered git. But if you'd like to 'ang on, I'd say he'd be back in about 'alf-an-hour.'

'Thank you, but no. Could you give him a message?' 'Yeah. I'll give 'im a message.'

'Just tell him the filth will be back.' As he pushed open the door to the street, Milton turned and smiled at the gawping man. 'Soon,' he added.

9

Mary Lou was half-way through reading the latest government communique about ethnicity and higher education when the baroness rang and shouted at her incoherently about cats and lesbians. 'Don't come to me looking for sympathy, Jack. I'm just being threatened by the teach-your-grannie-how-to-recognise-an-egg department.'

The baroness emitted a loud sob. 'I must have sympathy. You've no idea how I'm suffering.'

Mary Lou looked at the uninviting pile of paper on her desk. 'OK. I'll drop by shortly. In the meantime, pull up your socks and get a grip like you're always telling everyone else to do.'

As he sat on her desk, Pooley tried to keep his eyes away from the buxom charms of DS Barbara Lupoff. While castigating himselff for his unproffessionalism, the exculpatory thought occurred that it was hardly surprising his eye should stray considering he so rarely saw the woman with whom he was wildly in love.

'So the butler and the waiter agree with the chef that he never left the kitchen.'

'Absolutely, sir.'

'And you've no reason to doubt that, Barbara?'

'None, sir.'

'And you really think the waiter ...' He checked her interview notes again, '... Andras Jungbert is out of the picture.'

'Sir, he can scarcely speak a word of English and he's only been in the job three weeks.'

Pooley nodded. 'Yes, yes. But we must always keep an open mind in case he turns out to be the deceased's illegitimate son or spurned lover or something.'

'If he was her spurned lover she'd have recognised him when he waited on her, wouldn't she, sir?'

'Sorry, Barbara. My mind was wandering. Now, I see you think Francis Birkett isn't worth considering either?'

'He's been the butler at Warburton HQ for twenty years, sir. I talked to people who've known him a long time and they say Knapper kept him on because he loved his old-fashioned courtesy and reliability. Confidential matters are often discussed over lunch or dinner in the executive dining room, and Birkett is known to be utterly discreet. Indeed, he told me he always makes sure the waiters are foreign in case they picked up any information they shouldn't have.'

'What did you make of him?'

'Respectable, sir. Dull, nice and respectable, just like he looks. You'd be glad to have him as an uncle but you wouldn't want him as a boyfriend.' She grinned. 'Not like Andras. Pity he's foreign.'

Pooley looked at her notes again. 'Nothing interesting from the checks?'

'No, sir. No record of any kind for any of the three. And the others at that dinner confirm Lady Babcock didn't know him until they all met him at their first lunch.'

'All right, Barbara. Thanks. Now, I've another job for you. Lady Babcock wrote "9.15 Ed" in her diary for the day she became ill. Sir William Rawlinson said he didn't know if it was short for Edward, Education or anything else beginning with Ed, so I'd like you to get to work on it. Obviously, you'll have to go through her manual and electronic address books, but any other bright ideas will be welcome. Report as soon as you find anything interesting.'

As he walked away, Pooley switched on his mobile phone and picked up four messages.

'This is Wysteria Wilcox, Inspector ... what is your name? Dooley? Cooley? Gooley? The maid's writing is so slovenly I can't read it. I just want to tell you that I won't be able to stand it if there are more than two of you and if you behave roughly. My nerves are not good, I have a weak heart and I am grieff-stricken at the tragic death of my dear friend. I thought I should warn you. And I insist you do not arrive one minute before four. I cannot have my precious writing time interrupted. Goodbye.'

Beep. 'Ellis, it's Jim. Griffiths can't do the later time, so I'll see him and you see Wysteria Wilcox and Rosa Karp. Talk to you later.'

Beep. 'Hello, Ellis. It's Robert. Yes, I'm happy to move the venue to your place, especially since Plutarch has just broken a bottle off whisky from sheer spite, as far as I can see, and the pong is pungent, to say the least.'

Beep, it's me, darling. I'm having an interesting time. Are you? Don't forget to ask me about the effect a tree falling in the forest had on Jack.'

'Come in,' called a high-pitched voice in response to the timid knock by the nervous young Filipino, who opened the drawing-room door for Amiss and then left him to it. Wysteria Wilcox, small, fragile and draped in layers of floaty and diaphanous shades of mauve and lilac and purple, was sitting at a mahogany Chippendale desk, writing with a silver fountain pen. She continued until, fed-up, Pooley cleared his throat and said, 'Good afternoon. Lady Wilcox.' Her hand flew to her throat as she turned to face him. 'Who are you?'

'I'm Detective Inspector Pooley. You asked me to come after four. It is now four-ten.'

'You gave me such a shock.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Sit down.' She pointed at a gilt chair near her desk, but as he was about to sit on it she squealed, 'Stop. You're so big and heavy you might break it.' Pooley, who was proud of his slim, athletic body, felt extremely aggrieved.

Wysteria stood up, fussed around for a moment, said, 'You'd better sit over here then,' steered him to an uncomfortable stuffed, upright armchair and settled herself bolt upright on another. 'Where's the other man?'

'He was detained.'

'I find that most unreasonable. I was expecting two of you and now the other man rudely refuses to keep his appointment.'

'He was urgently detained by another tragic murder, Lady Wilcox. London is a violent place.'

'So what do you want to ask me? I've warned you about my nerves. And my heart.'

'I want to ask you if you have any idea who might have killed Lady Babcock.'

She clutched at her bony chest. 'How can you put it so brutishly?'

'Lady Wilcox, the last thing I want to do is to distress you . . .'

Her large, soulful eyes filled with tears. 'But how can this be anything other than distressing? When you are as sensitive as am I, anything to do with violence, sudden death or indeed hatred, damages the soul...'

'Indeed, Lady Wilcox. But if I could just . . .'

'No, no. You have to understand. I am an artist, yes, and artists, of course, have to deal with the terror and the horror as well as the beauty of existence. But I am a sensitive too, which means I understand more than ordinary people and feel more acutely. And as well as all that, I am deeply spiritual.' She held her clasped hands out to Pooley in a gesture of supplication. 'You must try to understand me. As an artist, I live for my writing. As a sensitive, I live to commune with the inner core of the universe. As a spiritual person, I live for love.'

'And as a policeman. Lady Wilcox,' said Pooley heavily, 'I live for establishing the facts. In this case, the facts about who killed Hermione Babcock.'

Wysteria buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Pooley passed the time by looking around the drawing room and trying to price the antiques. He had just guessed £20,000 for an ormolu clock featuring disporting cherubs when she looked up, took a tiny handkerchieff from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. 'How you have upset me.'

'Frankly, Lady Wilcox, I'm the least upsetting policeman you're likely to get.'

Tremulously, she said, 'I can see that you have a white aura.'

'Good,' said Pooley briskly. 'Now, let's get started.'

What Geraint Griffiths described as his London squat consisted of a small maisonette in Kilburn in which he competed with books for enough space to live. As Milton followed the rumpled figure with the wild white hair upstairs, he trod gingerly between the tall stacks, squeezed along the landing with his back pressed, against the banisters, teetered slightly as he placed his feet carefully one in front of the other to navigate the narrow pathway into what Griffiths called his parlour and then, as instructed, sat down in the only armchair. Griffiths grabbed the upright wooden chair which sat at right angles to the crowded table, turned it to face Milton and sat down talking volubly of the hardship of having to leave Wales for London to attend committees and give talks. 'Like it's a real pain to have to split my fuckin' books and never to have what I want where I need it if I didn't have the British Library I wouldn't be able to function though they won't lend books even to scholars you wouldn't believe ...'

'I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr Griffiths, but I know you're busy . .. '

'It's Dr Griffiths boyo not that I'm keen on titles myself but you can't move for fuckin' titles in the literary world these days so I'm using what I've got which was conferred on me only last year in Aberystwyth in recognition mind you rather belatedly of what . .. '

Milton, who was wishing he had chosen Wysteria Wilcox rather than this verbal incontinent, broke in again. 'Dr Griffiths, can you please tell me if you've any idea why anyone might have wished to murder Lady Babcock?'

Griffiths took a deep breath and began to emit words even faster than before. 'Hermione? No I've no idea why anyone would fuckin' want to do that though she was morally obtuse which is why I had to tell her so often she had bad authority and I've no time for people like that in the fuckin' circumstances we face and she got up my nose not just because of that but because she was so fuckin' grand like and we people from the valleys don't like them grand especially when they're not really fuckin' grand . ..' He drew a hasty breath. 'You see boyo Hermione like she had no idea about struggle there was no fuckin' passion in her or anger or any sense that she was in tune with the great dramas that try men's fuckin' souls like and tear our universe apart now as I said to Hermione it's no good you giving us all this pc shit about how we've got to respect other people's fuckin' cultures when they're hanging gays up by the testicles I mean that's real bad authority and I'm not going to fuckin' put up with it when . ..'

Milton held up his hand. 'I'm sorry to interrupt, Dr Griffiths. Am I right that you were very anxious that
Pursuing the Virgins
should win the Warburton and that Lady Babcock was unsympathetic?'

'Unsympathetic's not the word she was fuckin' hostile though I told her and all of them over and over again that we're all of us caught up in the Homeric struggle of Western fuckin' civilisation against religious bigots from the thirteenth century bent on destroying every fuckin' thing worth a fuck that we've ever done I told her "Hermione, this is no time to fuck about we must all stand up and be counted in the struggle of fuckin' good against fuckin' evil" and do you know what she said?'

'No, Dr Griffiths.'

'She said in that fuckin' pseudo-grand-aren't-I-superior way of hers that it had nothing to do with the Warburton which was about literature and not politics and I said "Hermione can't you understand you high-flown desiccated piece of shit that literature
is
fuckin' politics it's about the highest of us and the lowest of us everything we do in every part of our life in our heart in our head in our balls in our cunt it's our discourse our narrative it's all about authority good fuckin' authority or bad fuckin' authority" but Hermione she didn't have good authority all she could do was witter about mincy-wimpies like Virginia fuckin' Woolf when we're facing the ultimate clash between civilisation and the Islamofascist fuckin' barbarians like have these people any idea what . . .'

'You were obviously very angry with her .. .'

'I might have punched Hermione but if you think I'd have gone off and boiled up castor oil or whatever you have to do you must be fuckin' mad haven't you grasped I'm in the business of fighting killer ideologues not killing moral cretins who think an ideology exists only to provide topics of conversation in Islington.'

'So who might have wanted to murder Lady Babcock and why?'

'How would I know. Husband? Lover?'

'Did she have a lover?'

'I don't fuckin' know anything about Hermione Babcock's fuckin' private life which as far as I'm concerned was probably as arid as her ...'

'Dr Griffiths, Lady Babcock was at a Warburton meeting during part of the period when the poison must have been administered. We must explore the possibility that one of the committee members killed her.'

'Is that right like I'd never have thought any of them had the fuckin' nerve to tell you the truth since they all seemed to be a shower of wimps and posturers who had the greatest difficulty seeing that basic fuckin' point I kept hammering about how what we were faced with was the dialectical challenge of the ...'

'Dr Griffiths, from your observations, did Wysteria Wilcox have any reason to kill Lady Babcock?'

'Well now if you're to believe fuckin' Wysteria she wouldn't kill the meanest insect without having fuckin' Buddhist prayer sessions about it for days afterwards and I have to say she seemed to get on fine with Hermione being as wimpy as she was about hard fuckin' decisions so I can't see why she'd want to kill her still I've always thought she was really as hard as frozen shit so nothing would surprise me.'

As Griffiths drew breath, Milton put in hastily, 'Den Smith?'

'Oh now there's a bad depraved article Den Smith there is nothing fuckin' nothing I wouldn't think he mightn't do with that corrupt mind of his that couldn't even grasp it when I point out that we were all fucked if we didn't realise that the thesis was Bin Laden the antithesis was those fuckin' flghtin' him and from that we'd find the synthesis that. ..'