Hardcastle's Soldiers (20 page)

‘He did what?' exclaimed Hardcastle, pausing with a lighted match in his hand. ‘Fetch him in here at once.'

Catto fled, and returned almost immediately with Lipton.

‘What's this about you knocking on the Uttings' door, Lipton?' demanded Hardcastle.

‘I told the woman who came to the door that I was selling insurance, sir, and asked if the man of the house was there.' Lipton spoke hesitantly, expecting an outburst from the DDI.

‘And?'

‘The woman – Mrs Utting, I suppose she was – said that her husband was away in the army and she didn't know when he'd be coming home.'

‘Did she indeed?' Hardcastle waved a hand of dismissal. ‘All right, you two, you can break off the observation for the time being. The bugger's up to something,' he said, for the umpteenth time since the murder had occurred. ‘Ask Sergeant Marriott to come in.'

‘A rum business, sir,' said Marriott, as he entered the DDI's office. Catto had already informed the first-class sergeant of the outcome of his and Lipton's abortive observation. ‘D'you think he
has
joined the army, sir?'

‘Not bloody likely,' said Hardcastle. ‘If Nancy Utting thought that being a bank clerk was too risky, I doubt she'd let her husband join the army. Of course, I suppose it's possible that he got caught up in Lord Derby's conscription scheme. Not that I think the authorities would've found him, especially as he was at pains to cover his tracks when he left Gloucester Street. Anyway, as far I know, he ain't eligible, what with being married and having a sprog.'

‘A search warrant, sir?' suggested Marriott.

‘I was just thinking the same thing myself, Marriott. Get up to Bow Street a bit
jildi
, and swear one out.' Hardcastle placed his pipe carefully in the ashtray. ‘And I wouldn't mind betting that we'll find the young bugger skulking in a wardrobe when we get there.'

‘By the way, sir, DS Wood has some information for you. I'll send him in.'

‘Well, Wood, solved it for me, have you?' asked Hardcastle jocularly, when the detective sergeant presented himself.

Wood smiled. ‘Not exactly, sir, but you were right about Nancy Utting.'

‘I'm usually right about such things, Wood,' said Hardcastle mildly.

‘As Nancy Mansfield she had several convictions for prostitution on Vine Street's ground, sir, mainly Piccadilly and Shepherd Market.' Wood paused. ‘And she has one in the name of Nancy Utting three weeks ago, sir.'

‘Has she, by Jove?' exclaimed Hardcastle. ‘So I suppose Jack Utting looks after the nipper while Nancy's out hawking her mutton. Seek and ye shall find, Wood. Seek and ye shall find.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Wood, and left the office.

It was half past eleven before Marriott returned from Bow Street Police Court with a search warrant for the Uttings' house. Hardcastle decided that they would execute it after lunch. In Hardcastle's case, and therefore in Marriott's also, lunch consisted of a pint of bitter and a fourpenny cannon in the downstairs bar of the Red Lion in Derby Gate, just outside Scotland Yard.

At around three o'clock, the two detectives arrived once more at the Francis Street house of the errant Jack Utting.

Once again, it was Nancy Utting who answered the door. She looked anxiously at the two police officers, and sighed.

‘What is it now?'

‘May we come in, Mrs Utting?' asked Hardcastle, doffing his bowler hat.

‘I suppose so.' The woman seemed resigned to frequent visits from the police. ‘We're still in a muddle after moving, though.'

The parlour was in reasonable order, but there were cardboard packing cases on each of the chairs, and a tea chest in front of the hearth. As a result, the two CID officers were obliged to remain standing.

‘Where is your husband, Mrs Utting?' demanded Hardcastle.

‘Like I told you the last time, he's out looking for work.'

‘Not found anything yet?'

‘No. Things are a bit hard these days.'

‘Really?' Hardcastle raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘I'd have thought that with so many men at the Front, he'd've found a billet without too much trouble.'

‘It's not that easy,' said Nancy Utting, flicking her long, blonde hair over her shoulders.

‘I was led to believe he was in the army,' said Hardcastle smoothly, making the entirely fallacious statement without preamble.

‘Whatever gave you that idea?' Nancy Utting was plainly surprised by the DDI's comment.

‘One of my policemen stopped a man who was calling door-to-door yesterday. We've had reports of confidence tricksters working in the area, and talking people out of precious antiques for a knock down price. However, I was informed that the man was a legitimate insurance salesman, and that he called here yesterday. Apparently, he was told that your husband was in the army.' Hardcastle had no intention of revealing that the ‘insurance salesman' was, in fact, Detective Constable Lipton.

Standing beside Hardcastle, Marriott had great difficulty in preventing himself from smiling at the way in which the DDI was weaving his fanciful tale.

‘Oh, that.' Nancy Utting smiled, but did not seem at all surprised that Hardcastle's enquiries should have extended to the questioning of callers at her house. ‘I only say that to people who come to the door. It stops them pestering me. Anyway, we couldn't've afforded any insurance.'

‘I believe you're an actress, Mrs Utting,' said Marriott.

‘Yes, but I'm resting at the moment. I have to look after young Archie. I've had parts on the West End stage, though. I was in
Chu Chin Chow
at His Majesty's Theatre last year.'

Yes, and in Shepherd Market last month
, thought Hardcastle, who completely ignored the woman's tenuous claim to fame. ‘I see you've had time to unpack the family photographs,' he said, having spent the last few seconds studying the framed prints that were lined up, somewhat untidily, on the mantelshelf. ‘And there's one of an army officer there. A relative, is he?'

‘That's my brother Geoffrey,' said Nancy proudly. ‘He won the Military Cross in Arras, you know.'

‘Very commendable.' Hardcastle nodded amiably. ‘Is that where he is now, in Arras?'

‘I don't know. He said that they get moved around quite often, so he could be anywhere.'

‘Have you seen him lately?' asked Marriott, posing his question as casually as Hardcastle had posed his.

‘Yes. As a matter of fact, he was on leave just over a fortnight ago. He popped in to see us, but he could only stay for an hour.'

‘What did he think of your husband not being in the army?'

Nancy Utting paused. ‘I think he said something about how Jack should stay out of the army for as long as he could. Otherwise he'd stand a good chance of getting killed, the way things are going.'

Hardcastle made no comment about those he regarded as scrimshankers, and peered yet again at the gallery of photographs. ‘Is that you?' he asked, pointing to a wooden-framed print.

‘No, that's my sister-in-law Cora, Jack's sister. She's two years younger than me.'

‘She looks very much like you,' commented Hardcastle.

‘Yes, it's often mentioned, the likeness between us.'

‘Does she live here?'

‘No, she lives with Jack's father in Clapham.'

Hardcastle turned from his study of the photographs. ‘Did you give your husband my message, Mrs Utting?' Having tired of making polite conversation, he almost barked the question.

‘Your message?'

‘Yes, last time I was here, I asked you to let him know that I'd like a word with him at Cannon Row Police Station.'

‘Oh, yes, I told him. Hasn't he been in yet?'

‘No, and it is rather urgent.'

‘I'll tell him as soon as he gets home.'

‘Thank you. I don't think we need to bother you any longer.' Hardcastle turned towards the door. ‘You will impress on your husband that it is urgent, won't you?'

‘Yes, of course.'

Once again, Hardcastle paused. ‘When your brother called here, did he mention anything about a murder at Victoria railway station earlier this month?'

‘No,' said Nancy promptly, but the swiftness of the woman's reply gave the DDI further cause for suspicion.

‘You didn't execute the warrant, sir,' said Marriott, when the two police officers reached the street. He was still wondering why the DDI persisted in this fiction about Lieutenant Geoffrey Mansfield when it had been proved beyond doubt that he had nothing to do with the case.

‘No, we'll keep that for tomorrow, Marriott. If the young bugger hasn't been to see us by then, we'll turn his drum inside out. But I have a shrewd suspicion that we won't see him until we feel his collar.'

‘And you didn't tell Mrs Utting that you knew that her husband hadn't been home.'

‘You don't tell people everything, Marriott.'

T
he moment he returned to the police station on Thursday afternoon, Hardcastle sent for Catto and Lipton.

‘I want the pair of you to resume your observation on Utting's house in Francis Street immediately. I know Utting's there, and when the bugger appears you can nick him this time. Got that, Catto?'

‘Yes, sir,' said Catto. ‘What for?'

‘Anything you can think of. But obstructing police in the execution of their duty might be good for a start. If he doesn't show up, keep the observation going all night, and report back here tomorrow morning at eight thirty sharp.' Hardcastle might have added that Utting could also be arrested for living on immoral earnings, but he kept that surprise to himself for the time being.

‘Do you want us to knock again, sir, to see if he's there?' asked Catto.

‘If I wanted you to knock on the bloody door, Catto, I'd've said so. And I wouldn't have asked you to keep up the observation all night. Now, have you got that?'

‘Yes, sir,' said the two detectives in unison. Catto and Lipton were not at all pleased at being saddled, yet again, with what could well turn out to be an all-night stint of duty, and they hoped fervently that Jack Utting would appear not later than six o'clock that evening. But it was not to be.

Hardcastle arrived at Cannon Row Police Station at eight o'clock on the Friday morning, and waited impatiently until half past the hour.

‘Where the hell's Catto, Marriott?' he asked, pulling out his watch and peering at it. ‘I told him to report at eight thirty sharp.'

‘I'll get him, sir. He's next door.'

‘Sir?' Catto hovered nervously in the doorway of the DDI's office.

‘Come in, man, for God's sake, and tell me what you've learned.'

The apprehensive Catto moved to the front of the DDI's desk. ‘We maintained observation from five o'clock yesterday evening until eight this morning, sir, but Utting didn't show up.'

‘What, not at all?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Right, Marriott, that does it.' Yet again, Hardcastle took out his hunter, stared at it, briefly wound it, and dropped it back into his waistcoat pocket. ‘Time we executed that search warrant.'

‘D'you want to take anyone with us, sir? One of the DCs for example?'

Hardcastle laughed. ‘I think we can manage to turn over Utting's drum quite easily on our own,' he said, and seized his hat and umbrella. ‘I'm quite looking forward to this.'

‘Where is your husband, Mrs Utting?' demanded Hardcastle, when the two detectives had been shown into the Uttings' parlour once more. The Uttings had made no apparent progress in the process of settling in to their new house, and the same boxes still occupied the armchairs, the sofa, and the floor.

‘Out looking for work, Inspector. I told you that yesterday.'

‘No he's not,' said Hardcastle bluntly. ‘I've had two officers keeping this house under observation since yesterday afternoon, and your husband hasn't been anywhere near here. Now, my girl, where is he?'

Nancy Utting immediately dissolved into tears. ‘I don't know where he is, Inspector.' She looked up at Hardcastle with an imploring look on her tear-stained face. ‘I'm so worried. I think something might've happened to him.'

‘Is that a fact?' Hardcastle did not believe Nancy Utting and, recalling that she was an actress, thought that her display of histrionics was an act put on for his benefit. ‘When did you last see him?'

‘The day before yesterday, when we moved in here.' Nancy dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief. ‘He said he was going out to look for work, but he never came back.'

‘Why didn't you report his disappearance to the police, Mrs Utting?' asked Marriott. He shared the DDI's view that the woman was lying. ‘You said earlier that you were worried about him being in danger.'

‘I thought he'd come home.' Nancy sniffed, and blew her nose noisily.

‘I have a warrant to search this house, Mrs Utting,' said Hardcastle, ‘and I propose to execute that warrant now.'

This announcement brought about a fresh onset of sobbing. ‘But I've only just put Archie down. You'll wake him.'

‘Both Sergeant Marriott and I are fathers, and we're accustomed to small children,' said Hardcastle. ‘We won't disturb the boy. Come, Marriott.' The DDI turned towards the door. ‘We'll start upstairs,' he added.

The two CID officers mounted the stairs, and Hardcastle opened the first door he came to. It proved to be the front bedroom.

A man was in the act of leaving through the window.

‘I shouldn't jump out, Utting,' said Hardcastle. ‘You'll probably break both your legs.'

Jack Utting turned from the window with a resigned expression on his face. ‘I've done nothing wrong,' he said.

‘Then why were you trying to escape through that window? Or is that the way you usually go out when you set off to look for work?'