The Blood Royal Page 33

  ‘I think you’ve already done your inferring, sir. And you’re as unhappy with it as I am. We’re each waiting for the other to go first.’

  ‘Yes. Well, it’s a concise image – for someone hanging on to consciousness. The cabby did well. Again! It’s a clear picture in two words of the man we’re looking for. A swaggering figure in top hat and tails. Everyone knows the music hall act. Everyone can sing the song. A man a little the worse for wear after a boozy night out. A toper staggering home down the street would be just part of the scenery in that area. You wouldn’t look at him twice.’

  Lily took the book from him and began to read. ‘The cabby’s exact words were: “… pissed as a newt, he was. Couldn’t walk straight. But he could shoot straight all right.” And Dr Spilsbury confirms that. Single shot, right through the heart. So, a man, not drunk but unsteady on his feet.’ Her voice faltered. ‘I couldn’t help it, sir … the image of Sebastian Marland came to mind.’ She fell silent, colouring with embarrassment. ‘Oh, sorry, sir. When I say it out loud I can hear how ridiculous it sounds. I’ve gone and done it now, haven’t I? I must look a complete idiot. Um … I think I’d better make myself scarce. It’s been a long day. Sorry … I really will remove myself from the premises now.’

  ‘Stay!’ Joe spoke automatically. He got up, went to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Apologetically, he smiled and said: ‘I’ve seen you move, Wentworth. You could outrun me as well as out-think me, so I take no chances. You won’t leave this room until you’ve signed the forms I put before you last evening. You’re into something way above your head … my fault entirely … but you must trust me to do the right thing as far as your career is concerned! I was just speaking to the Home Secretary…or being spoken to … for the umpteenth time today. I suppose you’d better hear what transpired this morning while you were out playing hopscotch!’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It was uncomfortable. It was demeaning. He was a high-ranking officer, for God’s sake! He could have this girl shorn of her epaulettes and buttons and stuck away in the Tower or somewhere quiet in five minutes, no questions asked. He owed her nothing. She was eminently dispensable. Why was he sitting behind his desk, at bay, hesitating to meet her eye?

  Because, for a start, the wretched girl had – foolishly but bravely – put herself in bodily danger to single-handedly unearth evidence it had taken a squad of men days to piece together. Sandilands didn’t shoot sitting ducks, carrier pigeons or game out of season. And he didn’t undermine effective officers. Fair was fair. And besides, although, for old-fashioned reasons, he’d advised against the involvement of a woman at the outset, it had become very clear that this one, at any rate, had considerable talents. Talents they still had need of. They hadn’t finished with her yet, he told himself firmly. One last job to do. He thought hard and decided there was no risk involved for her. No risk at all.

  And those damned eyes were hard to meet when you weren’t entirely sure that what you were telling them was the truth. Too big. And too grey. You might just as well try fibbing to the goddess Minerva. Or your nanny.

  Joe fidgeted with his blotter and launched into his account. Always give the good news first. He tried for a positive tone, picking out the first favourable aspect of this whole murky affair that came to mind. ‘Well, it seems that Hopkirk and I had it right all along. A common domestic murder, not an assassination, is what we had to deal with. And what has triumphed in the end is – as you noted – good old regular police work. The superintendent has done some ferreting around in Sussex and reported back to me. He’s banged on doors and interviewed bank managers in the time-honoured way.’

  He pulled a page of notes from under the telephone and glanced at them briefly. ‘Frog’s Green, that’s the village. Sebastian Marland’s motor business is not as healthy as we had been led to believe … managers sacked, disappointing trials … though banking records reveal no evidence that he is actually in debt yet. And he has an alibi for the night of the killing, if not a watertight one. His housekeeper, who appears devoted to the chap, declares he went to bed early and was still abed when she took him his early morning cup of tea. She’s the kind of lady whose evidence would stand up wonderfully in court … you can imagine?’

  ‘No mention of a phone call in the night?’

  Joe smiled at her perception. ‘No. She reports that, after a hasty breakfast, the young master made two phone calls and screeched off in his car, claiming he was responding to an emergency.’

  ‘But didn’t Cassandra imply that she’d spoken to him in Sussex straight after the murder? I’m sure she told us she had.’

  ‘It was vaguely phrased to lead us astray. I don’t believe Cassandra has any idea that records of trunk calls are available to us. I checked. Many calls were made from her telephone that night, but none to Sussex. I don’t think we could make an accusation stick. He could certainly have sneaked off up to London. He could have loitered in evening dress in Melton Square or anywhere in Mayfair and not raised an eyebrow. He certainly wouldn’t have been bothered by the beat bobbies. As you say, upper-class drunks are ten a penny on a Saturday night. And, as the cabby observed, steady gun hand, unsteady on his pins. He could have done it. Hired the Irishmen and hung around to make sure they did the job. But we run into another factor that would get me a clip round the ear if I approached the Director of Public Prosecutions with a request for arraignment. There’s no kind of motive – financial, I mean – that would stand up and convince. He inherits a modest lump sum from his uncle and a yearly retainer for supervising the boys, and he had foreknowledge of that, but it’s a long way short of a fortune. No judge in the land would accept it as an incitement to murder.’

  ‘But if he were to marry Cassandra, sir?’

  ‘Ah. Then we have a different scenario entirely. The widow has money of her own and a good slice of the admiral’s wealth comes to her too. But it would be assuming quite a lot, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Yes. And to take the risk, he’d have had to be able to count on gaining her affection?’

  ‘Exactly. Quite a gamble.’

  Lily frowned and took a deep breath. ‘What I’m thinking is – there was no gamble. He already had it, sir. Her affection, I mean.’

  ‘Explain yourself, Wentworth.’

  ‘I didn’t have the impression that he was the kind of man who would kill a close family member for an uncertain source of cash. We know that he’s a man hardened and made ruthless by his wartime experience – he’s used to shooting people, to put it bluntly. But I think it would take a much stronger reason than financial gain to make the man I saw this afternoon pull a trigger in cold blood.’

  ‘What have you in mind?’

  ‘The strongest motive of all. Love, sir. For Cassandra, yes. But more than that. He has affection for those boys too. Neglected by their father, they must have felt he filled a certain gap in their lives. They clearly love and trust him. An older man, a war hero but not one on a pedestal. A man who looks them in the eye and understands their needs in a way their father was not able to do. Didn’t you get a feeling of … unity … common purpose … understanding which we weren’t invited to share in when we were there this afternoon, sir?’

  Joe nodded. ‘I was happy to see the family closing ranks. Quite proper.’

  ‘The admiral was on the point of retiring, wasn’t he? The whole family must have had mixed feelings about that. His return to the family hearth after years away striding the bridge might not have been entirely welcome in some quarters. Autocratic, authoritarian and no longer five hundred sea miles distant …’

  Joe grunted. ‘Silly, bone-headed old twit. Dedham, I mean. It was young William who precipitated the whole thing, I shouldn’t wonder. The first time he ran away from school his father, who was at sea, had him sent back – by telegraph. Last winter he ran off again, apparently. This second time the admiral happened to be at home. He gave him a talk about disgracing the family by behaving like a weed,
administered a good thrashing and sent him straight back to school, where he was thrashed again. Cassandra was distraught and, I think, angry.’

  ‘You’re never going to say it, sir, so I will: it’s a conspiracy we’re looking at, isn’t it? Penelope got tired of waiting for Odysseus. She got fed up with unpicking that wretched weaving of hers and fell for one of the suitors.’

  Joe sighed and spoke reluctantly. ‘It was Sebastian who pulled the trigger but it was with Cassandra’s knowledge and perhaps more … she might have devised the whole scheme. Under the layers of scented chiffon, she’s as tough as old boots, I’d say. And I’d guess, Wentworth, they’ve been lovers for quite some time. They have that trick of reading each other’s mind – finishing sentences, speaking for each other – did you notice? And on a practical note – Cassandra knew in advance exactly where the admiral would be and when on that evening.’

  ‘So her affectionate attentions to you were nothing more than a blind. If she’s embarrassing you with suggestions of interest …’

  ‘Say rather intriguing, Wentworth. I was not embarrassed.’

  ‘Very well, sir. Drawing you in, luring you with kisses and cake … you’re not going to suspect her of an amorous connection with anyone else, are you?’

  ‘I didn’t. Not at all sure I do now,’ he added rebelliously.

  Lily noticed his gathering unease and changed tack. ‘And then there’s her shooting. She tells me you taught her and that she was a very poor pupil? You despaired of her ever hitting a target?’

  Joe looked up sharply and frowned. ‘That’s not right, no. As a matter of fact, she was rather good. I’ve known one or two women who were adept with firearms.’ He smiled briefly. ‘I owe my life to their skill and readiness to use them. Cassandra fussed and pretended to be hopeless but she could hit a target all right. Well she did, didn’t she? She was pleased and surprised.’

  ‘Exactly. And if she’d hit and killed both Irishmen she’d have been even happier. It was probably always her intent to eliminate them. Just in case. It was pure bad luck for her and Sebastian when Mrs Colonel Belton hove into view and commandeered the getaway taxi. She rather fouled things up.’

  Joe had no time for protective self-deception. ‘We were taken in, Wentworth. By a skilled actress.’ This was the moment to rip off the bandage and assess the damage underneath. ‘You were rather less taken in than I, I have to say.’

  ‘Oh, I swallowed it whole – the flattery and the flannel. Faithful Penelope! Ha! The tears, the confidences, the “brave little widow” stuff. And all the time she was using me as an unsuspecting source of inside information on the inquiry.’

  ‘Inside information? What did she wring out of you? You’d better tell me.’

  ‘I’m afraid I confirmed the existence of the third shooter, sir.’

  ‘Mmm … and she managed that with some skill. By raising the matter herself she diverted suspicion. An old trick … and we fell for it. Anything else?’

  ‘I mentioned your resignation, sir. She declared her intention of calling in a few favours to keep you in post.’

  ‘Ah! So that’s how it happened. I could wonder why she should bother.’

  Lily looked away.

  Joe’s grimace of a smile showed his discomfort. ‘Better the fool you know, I suppose. Keep in place the gullible young idiot you already hold in the palm of your hand …’

  ‘No! Loyal and gallant friend! She exploited you, sir, but the blame is entirely hers. Who wouldn’t want you in their corner? I would.’

  Her innocent support surprised him. ‘Shall we agree, then, not to be too hard on ourselves? They’re both considerable performers.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see the act they put on for Sir Archibald at the Old Bailey. He’ll see through them. And there’s one thing you got right, isn’t there?’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Your Morrigan. At least Cassandra has red hair.’

  ‘Indeed she has.’ He fell silent, waiting for her next inevitable challenge.

  ‘Who are you going to detail to arrest them?’ she asked carefully. ‘Not an enviable duty. Have you decided what you’re going to do?’

  ‘It’s been decided for me. And it’s absolutely nothing, Wentworth. Abso—’

  ‘Absolutely bugger all, sir?’

  He smiled and glanced again at the telephone. ‘I had a conversation with the Commissioner. I told you I’d had a rough morning. I apprised him of my suspicions; I told him where the investigation was leading. Ten minutes later I find I have the Home Secretary himself on the telephone. I’ve – we’ve – been well and truly gagged, Wentworth. As you remind me, no one wanted to stomach a political assassination, but since the two miscreants had been arrested and a confession extracted before their guns were cold, it was thought that at least this redounded to the credit of the forces of law and order. It was neat, Wentworth. The papers went to town in a froth of support for two English heroes – an admiral fighting, sword against bullet, on his doorstep, a brave London cabby fighting for his life in hospital – they liked it. It rallied the troops. They were pleased to hear a much-needed patriotic hurrah from the nation’s throat.’

  ‘And with an election imminent,’ Lily said grumpily, ‘and the men of the country rushing to the polling booth to support a strong party …’

  ‘And the certainty of swift retribution. A good hanging is always appreciated by the British rabble, let’s not forget that.’

  ‘A double hanging being irresistible.’

  They were doing a lot of agreeing, echoing each other’s thoughts. Joe paused. He knew he was about to shatter the appearance of concord.

  ‘But the second scenario I was putting before them – one English war hero gunning down another, Royal Air Force and Royal Navy at each other’s throat, the threat of famous names splashed across the front pages, a grieving widow to be paraded before the courts, two fine Navy sons and their careers dragged into the mire by the whole thing … Well, you can imagine how the blue pencil came out for that lot. And to top it all – we now discover that the royal family is about to attend the victim’s funeral … be photographed lavishing condolences on the man’s killers. It’s all too much for the public to be burdened with at this politically sensitive time. The National Character would be called into question, apparently. Englishness put in the pillory. Lloyd George himself has made his views clear.’

  ‘So a Welshman, in the interests of preserving the English reputation, is prepared to make a pair of Irish lads take the rap for the whole nasty business?’

  He looked at her sharply, skewering her to her chair with a stare as focused as a thrown lance.

  ‘Sorry, sir. That must have sounded prissy.’

  ‘Prissy? I’d have said hectoring and indisciplined.’

  Having delivered his shot, Joe lapsed into uneasy silence. He’d asked for this. Lily was doing no more than putting a sharp point on views he held himself. If he’d been sitting over there on the other side of the desk, he’d have been making much the same noises of protest. Throughout this business he’d encouraged her to speak her mind, invited her to share her thoughts with him as an equal. In his self-critical mood, Joe feared his motives were less honourable. He’d made use of the girl. He’d required her, in her bright independence of mind, to question, evaluate but ultimately endorse his actions. It was with a belated clarity that he saw again the relationship that had existed between himself and his mentor in India. Sir George, in his deviousness, his unshakeable belief in the rightness of the country he served, had been exasperating. His smoothly engineered solutions to moral problems had left Joe open mouthed and spluttering objections.

  And yet, Joe remembered the verdict of an American girl he’d grown close to in a frontier fort: ‘Joe is more like Sir George than he would ever want to admit. Give him a few more years and you won’t be able to distinguish the one from the other …’ He’d snorted and denied it but, only months later, here he was, sitting on the powerful side of the desk
, delivering a second-rate imitation of Sir George.

  What the hell! At the most inconvenient of moments, the rebel in Joe rose up and yelled a challenge. The rebel was yelling now.

  ‘Get up, Wentworth!’ He dashed round the desk and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Sit there!’ He pushed her without ceremony into his own chair and went to perch himself in the seat she had occupied. ‘Now then, instead of bombarding me with bolshy disapproval, just try for a minute or two to pretend you’re representing the State and its interests. The people who employ you to preserve the peace and see justice done. The sword and the scales, Wentworth – they’re in your hands. What are you going to do for the best?’

  White with alarm, she was, for once, speechless.

  He began to regret his impulsiveness and looked for common ground. ‘From either side of this desk, I’m not at all averse to preserving England’s reputation, but like you I’m unhappy about the role of those Irish lads in all this. They pulled the triggers. They shot two men dead and wounded two more. They will die whatever you or I do or say. And they will have deserved it. But they were paid? incited? persuaded? to commit murder by a third party. A third party who traded on the men’s nationality to achieve a smokescreen of terrorist aggression to hide his own narrow, personal motivation. I will add the two deaths on the gallows to his tally. The Irishmen, the admiral, the beat bobby … Constable Swithins his name was. He leaves a widow and three children. Four men dead.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you’ve been keeping count, sir. But this bill – nicely tallied though it is – will never be presented, will it? As you say – the State interest will never allow it.’

  ‘Presenting and payment – not the same thing, Wentworth, as any tradesman will tell you.’ He came to a decision. ‘It will never be paid for the reasons I’ve given. But I see no harm in confronting the man ultimately responsible. It sounds pretty feeble to your ears, perhaps, but it’s the best I can do. And no one else, believe me, Wentworth, is going to bother.