The Saint Valentine's Day Murders (16 page)

‘You should try to take a pride in it – like Miss Nash.’

‘You’re supposed to be the straight man. I’m the comedian. Incidentally: I’ve been worrying about it ever since you rang last night. What was it about me that she thought was homosexual?’

‘Probably your high heels and handbag,’ said Milton and rang off feeling pleased with himself.

He looked at his pieces of paper. Taking another blank one, he wrote Tony Farson’s name again. Under it he put ‘When did he know?’; ‘How much did he mind?’ Then he wrote ‘Tommy’. He swivelled round in his chair and looked at the scene in the office across the street. Four male heads were bent industriously over their work. Through the other window, he could see a man and a woman laughing. He tried to speculate about what was going on in their heads. Secret discreditable thoughts? Or just common enjoyment of a joke? Was he much better than Romford really? Could Tony Farson…? No. It was as stupid an idea as that Charlie had committed suicide.

He turned his chair around and tore up Farson’s name for the second time. He shoved the other pieces of paper into his desk and pulled towards him the bulging in-tray he had cleared the night before.

‘Let me summarize the findings once more from the beginning. And interrupt me if I’ve got anything wrong. The wrapping-paper could have been bought in any one of a hundred or so shops in London – let alone the provinces. The sellotape was the standard variety. The string, being coloured, gives a terrific lead. It could have been bought only in about forty London shops, most of which are self-service. The chocolates were carefully selected for their size, sweetness, popularity throughout the British Isles and the fact that the box they came in was small enough to go through the large letter-box outside the post office. The stamps were just stamps. The only lead is the typewriting on each parcel, which the experts are pretty sure was done on a cheap portable that last year sold in excess of ten thousand in England alone. We are told that the typing was either done by an expert who exerted even pressure on each key or by a one-finger typist who achieved the same effect. Where can we go from there?’

‘Nowhere, sir,’ said Trueman.

‘We have finally rejected any idea of taking the suspects’ photographs around typewriter shops other than those within easy reach of their homes. No dissent from that decision?’

There was silence.

‘We have four people working full-time on trying to trace the sources of the strychnine. Their preliminary conclusion is that it will prove impossible to trace. No thefts have been reported and no link can be made between legitimate sales and any of the people involved in this case. It looks almost certain that it must have been acquired through criminal means. But no one can think off-hand of any criminals who deal in such a relatively cheap and unpopular commodity. It would be a substance easy to acquire abroad also, but here we are stumped for ideas. Apart from the Crumps’ holiday in Majorca last summer, no one admits to having gone abroad during the last two years. Majorca seems unpromising, but we are investigating it anyway. Our conclusion is that once the team checks out Majorca and confirms its preliminary report, we will abandon this hunt also, simply leaving it to officers to keep their ears open to anything promising that comes in from the usual grasses.’

Silence again.

‘There is no shadow of doubt that the list of suspects is down for all practical purposes to five, although we cannot rule out the possibility that someone of whose existence we know nothing got hold of the list of staff, knew Mr Thomas was unmarried, and had the means, motive and opportunity.’

‘Five, sir?’ asked Romford. ‘I make it six.’

Milton looked impatient. ‘We’ve ruled out Melissa Taylor’s girlfriend, don’t you remember?’

‘Yes, sir. But…’ He consulted his notes. ‘I still make it six: Amiss, Crump, Farson, Illingworth, Short and Thomas.’

‘Amiss? But he saved the lives – ’

‘Yes, sir. I know. But that could have been because he thought it would look fishy if he didn’t.’

‘Motive?’

‘The same as Thomas’s, sir.’

When this is over, Romford, thought Milton, I will have you transferred to Traffic Division. Meanwhile, I must be patient.

‘Technically, I cannot fault you on that, Romford. I confess that I excluded him because I know him well and consider him sane. But for the sake of propriety, I shall add him to the list.’

Milton looked round the table at the seven faces of his subordinates. He caught the flicker of a smile on Trueman’s face. There was a brief pause. Then he collected his wits and said, ‘Sorry, gentlemen. I lost my thread for a moment. We have six suspects, three of whom look distinctly unpromising. We have been through the reasons why Farson and Short cannot be taken very seriously. And if Inspector Romford will forgive me, I cannot put Amiss high up the list either.’

Romford was too pleased with the flexibility of mind he had just exhibited to press the point. He nodded his agreement.

‘We will therefore put tails only on the top three. I realize that it is almost certainly a futile exercise, but I think it is worth the investment in manpower.’

They proceeded to technicalities. It was almost six when the meeting finally broke up. Pike, who had been taking notes in the corner, looked up at Milton once they were alone.

‘Are you going to tell Mr Amiss that he’s on the list, sir?’

‘Oh, I am, Sammy. I am. It’s time he realized he isn’t the only comedian around.’

22

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‘That’s a nice thing to ring me with at this time of night.’

‘I’m sorry I’m so late. But I’ve only just arrived back from a visit to Henry. You aren’t taking it seriously, are you? I thought it was funny.’

Amiss put his feet up on his desk and contemplated his toes intently. ‘It’s funny as long as
you’re
handling the case… I suppose. I wouldn’t be very amused if your pal Romford took over from you. I feel a bit like the suspect they discover so late in the book that he has to be the murderer.’

‘Don’t,’ groaned Milton. ‘I’ve only just parted company with Pooley. He ventured to admit that I reminded him of Adam Dalgliesh. I think he’s suffering from hero worship. I’ve never written a poem in my life.’

‘I’ve written some letters, though.’ There was a thoughtful note in Amiss’s voice. ‘You did promise, didn’t you, that you wouldn’t show them to anyone except Sammy? I’m just beginning to remember various indiscretions that might convince Romford I was trying to put all my staff out of their misery by murdering their encumbrances.’

‘Oh, Christ!’

‘You did, you bastard.’

‘Not to Romford. But I got carried away yesterday afternoon and showed them to Pooley. He’s filtering all the regional reports, you see, and I thought it would help if he knew as much as possible about the people we’re investigating. I’m very sorry. I should have asked you first. It didn’t occur to me that you’d mind.’

‘I probably wouldn’t have minded yesterday. Pooley indeed. I expect he’s already making comparisons between me and the narrator/murderer in
Roger Ackroyd
. I can’t understand why you’ve picked up this court jester, Jim. But no doubt you have your reasons. All right. I’ll overlook this breach of confidence if you now spill the beans about Henry.’

‘Not a lot to tell, really.’

‘Don’t you dare fob me off. For a start, what’s it like,
chez lui
?’

‘Horrible enough. I suspect that given the opportunity, Henry would have decorated his home in the manner of some American red-neck.’

‘I would have expected him to do it more in the manner of Hugh Hefner.’

‘Well. A combination of the two. Let’s say ideally lots of guns interspersed with explicit pictures of exotic women. As it is, the objects of his choice are in a minority compared to those of Edna’s. There is the occasional picture of a bull-fight or a battle-scene; there’s what looks like a stoat’s head grinning at you off the wall of the hall; and there’s the odd bit of cheap foreign touristy nude women sculptures. All these nestle in the midst of a plethora of china from Margate and plaques saying things like “There’s no place like home” and “All my love to the best grannie in the world”.’

‘You’re depressing me.’

‘You’d have been more depressed if you’d seen it. It’s already looking neglected and dirty. Henry doesn’t seem capable of looking after himself at all. I would guess that Edna worked on the principle of making herself indispensable. I don’t think the poor fellow could have known at first where to find the saucepans.’

‘Aren’t his children keeping an eye on him?’

‘I rather gathered he’s holding them at arm’s length. He talked a bit about wanting to be independent. Maybe he means free. In any case, his daughter lives quite a distance away and she’s tied down by kids.’

‘Did you get anything out of him?’

‘I don’t know if there’s anything to get. He’s got no alibi and obviously he’s admitting no motive. He’s bemoaning Edna’s loss and for all I know he may be genuine. I can hardly arrest him for behaving like a dirty old man in the office.’

‘Nothing helpful from gossip?’

‘Only that he’s active in the church, plays bowls in the summer and otherwise has little to do with his neighbours.’

‘You’ve got nothing on anyone, really.’

‘All I can do is go on digging until something presents itself. I’m going to see Bill Thomas at home tomorrow night. It’s worth the travelling to see these people in their own lairs.’

Amiss was too tired to be helpful. ‘I suppose there’s nothing on Twillerton?’

‘Not yet.’

‘I’m going to bed. I’m knackered. I don’t know how you keep going.’

‘I sleep well. It comes of not being emotionally involved. Though I daresay I might toss and turn a bit if it turns out to be you.’

‘That’s not funny. Greenstreet and Lorre would probably pin it on me tomorrow.’

‘Didn’t I tell you? On Saturday they said that, in their view, it would be too great a coincidence if the Twillerton demon wasn’t the PD2 murderer. Goodnight, Robert.’

‘Goodnight, Jim.’ Amiss replaced the receiver, got up and began to wander distractedly around the room. He was beginning to feel his sense of humour couldn’t withstand much more. What would his lair indicate to a psychologist? Functional furnishings provided by the landlord. No effort made to stamp anything with his own personality. His books and records were those of someone with wide but undisciplined interests. Odd, he realized for the first time, that he possessed not one picture or ornament of his own. The place was neither clean nor dirty, tidy nor untidy. I suppose it’s a fair enough indication of what I really am, he thought. Rootless, easy-going, intelligent and reasonably well-informed. And without any firm convictions or sense of purpose. Other people have families, hobbies, jobs that preoccupy them. I don’t even have greed or ambition. I just stumble along trying to make life pleasant for me and those around me. What would a preacher say about me? ‘An amiable chap who wanted to be liked’. Is that the only epitaph I want?

He switched the light off and went through into his bedroom.

Tuesday, 22 February

‘Can you spare a few minutes, Donald?’

‘Now?’

‘Preferably.’

‘Come along.’

Amiss left his cubby-hole and walked towards the door. As he passed by his staff he looked at them sideways. Tony was staring sightlessly at a staff memorandum. Graham sat beside him, his cheek propped on his left fist, clearly trying to work up enough interest to open the file with the red ‘URGENT’ sticker that lay before him. Opposite Tony, Bill was mechanically ticking off items on a supplier’s list. The seat beside him was vacant, as it would be until Melissa returned in a few weeks from her training period in the Midlands. Three of the four desks situated behind Bill were completely clear. Two had been so since before Amiss’s arrival at the BCC. The third had been Tiny’s. Henry sat alone in his glory reading the
Sun
. No one looked up.

As he walked down the corridor to Shipton’s room, Amiss rehearsed his argument. It seemed irrefutable. He sat down uninvited.

‘I’ve got two proposals to make, Donald.’

Shipton looked encouraging. ‘Go on.’

‘The first is that I be released from my secondment now. The second is that PD be reorganized. Either PD1 and PD2 should be integrated under Horace, or the staff should be switched around, the numbers in the two sections evened up and a new PD2 appointed.’

‘You’ve had enough?’

‘It’s insupportable.’ There was no point in not being honest. ‘You must have guessed that I’ve hated the job since the beginning. But I’d have stuck it out until May if it hadn’t been for all this. We can’t go on as we are – as a ghetto of sad and frightened people. And if the switch-round is made, it would be absurd to put me in charge of new staff when I’ll be leaving within three months anyway.’

Shipton looked at him thoughtfully. He heaved himself up in his chair, leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his crossed hands. ‘First, let me say that I have never doubted that whoever sent you here played a dirty trick on you. You were far too intelligent for the job. I am too intelligent for my job, but I was exiled for other reasons and have to make the best of it.’

You’ve certainly done that, you lazy sod, thought Amiss affectionately.

Shipton altered the position of his body to the one he usually affected at meetings: body comfortably back in his chair and arms resting on the sides. ‘Second,’ he said, ‘I understand that the present position must be intolerable for you and your remaining staff.’

‘Then you agree with me?’

‘
I
agree with you that those unhappy people should be mixed in with their colleagues. Unfortunately others don’t.’

Amiss saw the prison-gates closing again. He said feverishly: ‘But surely no one with any heart would block this change?’

‘I don’t know if he’s got a heart, but I know he’s got a brain.’