Crime at Christmas (5 page)

At the end of the cavern, on a platform festooned in holly where children
could mount the two steps and whisper their wishes, sat Father Christmas
himself.

At Father Christmas's right hand was a table piled with small gift-boxes
wrapped in bright paper.

Even as Pollard stared, a little girl of possibly 12 years walked up the
steps.

She was very dainty in white fur jacket and white cap. Her long yellow
curls fell forward as she bent to whisper.

Father Christmas chuckled. He nodded. Selecting a gift-box from the table,
he turned back in one vast beam to give this present to his small friend. And,
as he did so, Father Christmas's large left eyebrow closed down as though he
leered or held an eyeglass.

'Uncle Bob!' screamed Tommy. 'Did you see it? The funny eyes. You
remember. You said The Colonel. . .'

Detective Superintendent Pollard, Criminal Investigation Department,
quickly turned to the boy and hushed him.

Then, in a flash, he charged.

He was a big man. He avoided the children, but parents scattered before
him like skittles. There was a crash as he jumped up on the platform.

'I don't think you'd like that one, my dear,' he said pleasantly to the
little girl, and nodded towards the box held out in Father Christmas's hand.

In a low voice he added: 'Better give me the diamonds, Colonel. As for
you, Shorty. . .’

The little girl lifted sweet and innocent eyes.

'Coppers!' she whispered, showing her teeth. 'He's a copper, Colonel;
that's what the so-and-so is.'

'When a man is called Shorty,' said Pollard in the same low tone, 'it may
not mean much. But when a woman is called that, as we ought to have realized,
she must be almost a dwarf. I suppose your little-girl clothes, and the blonde
wig, were in that parcel? And you changed in the dress-shop? Nobody would
notice a 12-year-old; the police weren't to blame for that mistake.

'But we were to be blamed about you, Colonel,' he added. 'Omnium's opens
at nine; we thought everybody had to be on duty then. And yet, as you can see
by a sign over the pay-box back there, this grotto doesn't open until eleven.
You could slosh Van Bele and get back on time. Your Father Christmas suit was
left in the phone-box and all you had to do was nip into it while the crowd
barged around outside and our men were still trying to push their way through,
and then simply step out of the booth. It was a risk, but it worked. In any
case, when the police finally reached the phone-box they weren't looking for
Santa Claus with all the trimmings, they were trying to spot The Colonel in
smart suit and overcoat.'

In that paralysed scene, the bright-coloured box was still held out in
Father Christmas's hand. 'Cut and run for it, Shorty!' he chuckled. 'I hate to
spoil the kids' Christmas, but I'll get this copper before they get me.'

'Think so?' smiled Pollard. 'You haven't a chance against me and you know
it. I can't help you. But it's Christmas—and I can help Shorty get away. Fair?'

'Turn it up, copper!' sneered the sweet-faced girl—and yet an edge of hope
appeared in her face.

'Give me the box,' Pollard said. 'If the diamonds are inside, she hasn't
officially received them. She can go now and take her chance of being picked up
later. Fair?'

Father Christmas looked warily at Pollard before exchanging a knowing
glance with the girl.

Then, without a word, he handed over the box to Pollard.

As he did so, he noticeably sagged with relief behind his beard.

Then his rich, soothing, cultured voice rang out.

'Ladies and gentlemen!' carolled Father Christmas. 'This gentleman is
particularly anxious to have this box. I hope he finds in it what he's looking
for.

'Personally, I'd rather give the little girl another box. Here it is. Now
hurry down the steps, and out of this store. Others are waiting.'

At the sight of a monocled Father Christmas, a ripple of laughter spread
out over the grotto, carrying with it the spirit of Christmas as children
crowded forward.

Tommy, pushing forward, hardly noticed that Elsa was no longer watching
Father Christmas.

She was looking at Pollard—and in her eyes shone admiration—and
unconcealed adoration!

Back
to Table of Contents

T
RY IT
just once more,' Inspector Kimura said
encouragingly. 'Your "Jingle Bells" is fine.'

'Hardly surprising. Everybody knows
Jinguru Beru
; you can't get
away from the wretched tune. Television, department stores, coffee shops.
They've been playing it twenty-four hours a day since November.'

'True. So you've no worries on that account. All the children will join in
at the top of their voices and you'll hardly be heard anyway. No, it's the
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" you need to work on.'

Superintendent Tetsuo Otani glowered first at his trusted lieutenant and
then at his shoes. 'Ho! Ho! Ho!', he said in an undertone, sounding like an
embarrassed Englishman repeating the word 'whore'. 'It's no good, I can't and
won't say it. It's not as if it means anything, anyway.'

'Of course you can, Chief, you can't let the Rotarians down. But do try to
look a bit more cheerful. It's a Christmas party you're going to, not a
funeral. And you'll only be centre stage for twenty minutes or so after all.'

'Half an hour at least, the chairman of the social work sub-committee
said. Dressed up like an idiot. All this Santa Claus business is a foreign idea
anyway,' Otani complained. 'I don't see why they picked on me. There are two or
three foreign Rotarians in other clubs in Kobe who'd probably have been only
too glad to volunteer. And lots in Osaka. Ho Ho Ho indeed.'

Kimura sucked in his breath and shook his head. Nothing could be done with
the superintendent when he had made up his mind to be mulish. 'Oh, well,' he
said, 'I expect it'll be all right if you ring your bell while you say it. And
the beard will cover up your expression, I suppose. Now, can I talk for a
minute about Mrs Bencivenni?'

Otani sat back in his chair, his black look replaced by one of mild
interest. 'I've heard that name somewhere recently,' he said. 'She's. . . yes,
of course, isn't she the women who runs the place?'

'The children's home where your Rotary Club is paying for the Christmas
party, yes, but she doesn't exactly run it, she's the president of the
committee of management. Fund-raisers, in effect. There are several foreign
ladies on it. Goes back to the origins of the place during the occupation, when
most of the kids were mixed-blood.'

'Babies bar-girls had by American GI's, you mean. I always felt sorriest
for the ones who were half black. Incredible to think some of them must be
getting on for forty now. Can't be much of a life for them here, neither the
one thing nor the other. We Japanese have a bad record with misfits, Kimura.'

Otani sighed and Kimura nodded briefly, still after years of close
association capable of being surprised on occasion by subversive remarks from a
man he usually thought of as being a thoroughly old-fashioned Japanese with
predictable prejudices. 'Well, it's an odd coincidence that I should be going
to this charity place of hers, I suppose, but worrying about foreigners is your
job. Why do you want me to hear about this Bencivenni woman of yours?'

'Funny you should mention mixed-blood children, Chief. You must be
psychic. Mrs Bencivenni was one of them herself, brought up in that self-same
children's home. It was called the Nada Orphanage in those days. Her father
couldn't have been black, though, she's fair skinned, looks quite European.
Good-looking woman, in fact, speaks perfect Japanese. Middle to late thirties.'

'In that case be specially careful, Kimura. You know how susceptible you
are. The lady has a husband, I presume?'

'She does indeed. Luciano Bencivenni, an American citizen, aged fifty-six,
known as Luke. He's the problem.'

'Ah. Bigger than you, is he? Inclined to be jealous?'

Kimura cast an ostentatious glance heavenwards and pressed on, privately
relieved that Otani seemed to be regaining his normal equable humour. 'Mr Bencivenni
used to be a bank official, but has been in business on his own account for a
number of years as a personal financial consultant. In practice he's a kind of
all-round adviser to the western community here in the Kobe-Osaka area.
Prepares tax returns for Americans, sells life insurance, arranges long-term
investment plans for children's school and college fees and so forth. He's the
agent for a number of American and British insurance companies. And Mrs
Bencivenni thinks he's planning to kill her.' Kimura paused, wondering whether
his chief's renowned poker face would be proof against such an artfully sprung
surprise. It was.

'Does she indeed? How do you know?'

'She turned up downstairs here at headquarters yesterday and asked to
speak to a senior officer in confidence about a matter involving the foreign
community. I interviewed her and she told me herself.'

'Do you believe her?'

'Well, she's certainly not off her head, and she's obviously worried sick.
What she told me was disturbing enough for me to organize a certain amount of
digging, and I think you ought to know what we've come up with.'

'Stand
still!'
Hanae commanded,
and Otani froze. She very seldom used that particular tone of voice, and when
she did it was advisable to do her bidding. The Father Christmas outfit had
been delivered to the house earlier that day, by Hanae's friend Mrs Hamada, who
was also married to a Rotarian and who from time to time spoke vaguely of connections
in show business. Hanae took it for granted that it was these which gave her
access to such colourful fancy dress.

Over a cup of coffee they had unpacked the exotic garments, shaken out the
folds, and agreed that the ensemble must have been made for a giant. They'd
both giggled helplessly when Mrs Hamada tied a doubled-up
zabuton
cushion to her
tummy and sportingly modelled the voluminous tunic, and after subsiding agreed
that it would need a huge tuck in the back. The eighteen inches or so of excess
length presented no problem: it could be hitched up as though the garment were
a
kimono.

Three safety-pins later, Hanae rose from her knees, stepped back and
surveyed her husband. 'It won't take long to tack up,' she said, obviously
having forgiven him for fidgeting.

'Why don't you just leave the safety-pins in? You won't be able to see
them under that sash thing.'

Hanae decided to ignore such a heretical suggestion, and eased the
ungainly garment off Otani's shoulders. 'Why didn't you tell me that some of
the other Rotary wives are going to be helping on the day? I'd have been glad
to take some cakes or something along.'

Something remarkably like a blush darkened Otani's naturally swarthy face.
'Because I shall feel quite enough of a fool as it is without you being there
to watch,' he mumbled.

'Ah. I thought it might have been that you wanted the glamorous Mrs
Bencivenni all to yourself.'

Otani gazed at her in amazement as he slowly lowered himself to the
tatami
matting, reached
for the
sake
flask on the low
lacquer table and refilled his cup. 'What on earth do
you
know about Mrs Bencivenni?' he enquired
as Hanae looked down at him, her arch little smile fading rapidly. 'Have you
met her?'

'No. Er, have you?'

'No. So there's no need to look so tragic. But I have been hearing quite a
lot about her recently. From Kimura. Presumably you and Mrs Hamada have been
discussing her too. What did she say? Sit down and have some
sake.'