A Taste for Death (43 page)

Massingham ignored the question. He said:

'Did you and she get on well together?'

'No reason why we shouldn't. I told you, she was all right. A bit nosey. Found her one day looking in the drawer of Sir Paul's desk. Didn't hear me till I was on top of her. Bold as brass about it. Just laughed. Asked a lot about the family, too. She didn't get much out of me, nor from Miss Matlock either. No harm in her though, just a bit too keen on chat. I liked her all right. If I hadn't I wouldn't have let her come here.'

'You mean she lived here? We weren't told that at Campden Hill Square.'

'Well, they didn't know, did they? No reason why they should. She was buying herself a flat in Ridgmount Gardens and there was a hold-up. The owners weren't ready to move into their new place. You know how it is. Anyway, she had to leave her old place and find some-where for a month. Well, I've got the two bedrooms so I told her she could move in here. Twenty-five pounds a week including a good breakfast. Not bad. I don't know that Mr Smith was all that keen but he was due to be off roamin' anyway.'

And there were the two bedrooms, thought Kate. Mrs Minns' black eyes stared at Massingham, defying him to inquire about the usual sleeping arrangements. And then she said:

'My gran said every woman should marry once, she

owes it to herself. But no point in making a habit of it.' Kate said:

'A flat in Ridgmount Gardens? Isn't that a bit upmarket for an out-of-work actress?'

'That's what I thought, but she said Daddy was helping. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. Maybe it was Daddy, maybe someone else. Anyway, he was in Australia, or so

she told me. No business of mine.'

Massingham said:

'So she moved in here. When did she leave?'

'Just ten days before she was drowned, poor kid. And you're not telling me there was anything suspicious about that death. I was at the inquest. Natural interest you might

316

say. Never a mention of where she worked though, was there? You'd have thought they might have sent a wreath

to the funeral. Didn't want to know, did they?' Massingham asked:

'What did she do with herself while she was living here with you?'

'I hardly saw her. No business of mine, was it? Two mornings a week she worked at Campden Hill Square. The rest of the time she said she was off for auditions. She went out a good bit at night, but she never brought anyone here. She was no trouble, neat and tidy always. Well, I wouldn't have had her here ifI hadn't known that. Then, the evening after she drowned, before the inquest even, she hadn't been dead.twenty-four hours, these two chaps turn up.'

'Here?'

'That's right. Just when I got back from Campden Hill Square. Sitting in their car watching out for me if you ask me. Said they were from her solicitors, come to collect any of her things she might have left here.'

'Did they show you any identity, any authority?'

'A letter from the firm. Posh writing paper. And they had a card, so I let them in. I stayed by the door and watched them, mind you. They didn't like it, but I wanted to see what they were up to. "There's nothing here," I told them. "Look for yourselves. She left nearly a fortnight ago." They properly turned the place over, even turned the mattress up. Found nothing, of course. Funny business, I thought, but nothing came of it so I let it go. No point in making trouble.'

'Who do you think they were?'

Mrs Minns gave a sudden shout of laughter.

'You tell me! Come off it! They were two of your lot. Fuzz. Think I don't know a policeman when I see one?'

Even in the room's dim arboreal light Kate saw the faint flush of excitement on Massingham's face. But he was too experienced to press further. Instead he asked a few harmless questions about the domestic arrangements at Campden Hill Square and prepared to bring the interview

317

to a close. But Mrs Minns had her Own ideas. Kate sensed that she had something private to communicate. Getting up she said:

'D'you mind if I use your lavatory, Mrs Minns?'

She doubted whether Massingham was deceived, but he could hardly follow them. Waiting for her outside the door

of the bathroom Mrs Minns almost hissed:

'You saw the date in that book?'

'Yes, Mrs Minns. The day Diana Travers was drowned.' The sharp little eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

'I thought as how you'd noticed. He didn't though, did he?'

'I expect so. He just didn't mention it.'

'He never noticed. I know his sort. Too sharp for their

own good and then miss what's under their noses.' 'When did you first see the book, Mrs Minns?'

'The next day, August the eighth. In the afternoon it was, after he came home from the constituency. Must have brought it with him.'

'So she may have given it to him then.'

'Maybe. Maybe not. Interesting though, isn't it? I thought as how you'd noticed. Keep it to yourself, that's my advice. He thinks too much of himself, that Mas-singham fellow.'

They had turned out of Portobello Road and were walking down Ladbroke Grove before Massingham spoke, then he laughed.

'My God, that room! I pity the mysterious Mr Smith. If

I had to live there and with her, I'd go roaming.'

Kate flared:

'What's wrong with it or with her? At least it's got char-acter, not like the bloody building, designed by some bureaucrat with a brief to fit in so many living units with the least possible public expenditure. Just because you've never had to live in one doesn't mean that the people do like it.' She added with fierce defensiveness: 'Sir.'

He laughed again. She was always punctilious abou acknowledging his rank when she was angry.

'All right, all right, ! admit the character. They'xc

318

both got character, she and her room. And what's so wrong with the block? I thought it was rather decent. If the council offered me a flat there I'd take it quickly enough.'

And he would, she thought. He was probably less con-cerned about the details of his life, where he ate, where he lived, even what he wore, than she was herself. And it was irritating to discover, once more, how easily in his company she was trapped into insincerity. She had never believed that buildings were all that important. It was people, not architects, who made slums. Even Ellison Fairweather Buildings would have been all right if it had been put up a different place and filled with different people. He went on:

'And she was useful, wasn't she? If she's fight and he did put the diary back in the drawer, and if we can prove

that he didn't return . . .'

She broke in:

'That won't be easy, though. It'll mean accounting for every minute of his time. And so far we haven't a clue where he went after he left the estate agent's. He had a key. He could have let himself in and been out again in a minute.'

'Yes, but the probability is that he didn't. After all he went out with his bag, he obviously intended to stay out all day and go straight to the church. And if Lady Ursula did consult the diary before six o'clock when General Nollinge rang, then we know who has to be our chief suspect don't we? Dominic Swayne.'

None of it needed saying. She had seen the importance of the diary as soon as he had. She said:

'Who do you think those men were, the ones who did the search? Special Branch?'

'That's my guess. Either she worked for them and they planted her in Campden Hill Square or she worked for someone or something a great deal more sinister and they rumbled her. Of course they could have been who they said they were, men from a solicitor's firm looking perhaps for papers, a will.'

319

'Under the mattress? It was a pretty professional search.'

If it were Special Branch, she thought, there was going to be trouble. She said:

'They did tell us about Berowne's mistress.'

'Knowing that we'd have discovered that for ourselves quickly enough. That's typical of Special Branch. Their idea of cooperation is like a minister answering a PQ. in the House; keep it short, keep it accurate, make sure you don't tell them anything they don't know already. God, if she was tied up with Special Branch there's going to be trouble.'

She said:

'Between Miles Gilmartin and AD?'

'Between everyone.'

They walked in silence for a moment, then he said: 'Why did you bring away that novel?'

She was for a moment tempted to prevaricate. She knew that when the significance of the date had first struck her she had planned to keep quiet about it, to do a little private detection, trace the writer, see if there was anything in it. Then prudence had prevailed. If it proved important, AD would have to know and she could imagine what his response would be to that particular kind of personal in-itiative. It was hypocritical to complain about the lack of interdepartmental cooperation while trying to run her own show within the squad. She said:

'The signature is dated the seventh of August, the Diana Travers died.'

'So what? She signed and posted it on the seventh.'

'Mrs Minns saw it the following afternoon. Since when has the London post arrived that promptly?'

'It's perfectly possible if she sent it first class.'

She persisted:

'It's far more likely that he met Millicent Gentle that day and she gave it to him personally. I thought it would

be interesting to know when and why.'

He looked at her and said:

'Could be. It's just as likely that she signed it on the

320

seventh then left it for him at his constituency office.' Then he smiled.

'That's what you and Mrs Minns were having your girlish gossip about.'

He gave a slow, secret smile and she knew, with a spurt of irritation, that he had guessed about her temptation to conceal the evidence and was amused by it.

Once back in the Rover and on their way to the Yard she Suddenly said:

'I don't understand it, religious experience.'

'You mean you don't know how to categorize it.'

'You were brought up in it, I suppose. They indoctrin-ated you from the cradle: nursery prayers, school chapel, that sort of thing.'

She had seen the school chapel once on an outing to Windsor. It had impressed her. That, after all, was its purpose. She had felt interest, admiration, even awe, walking under that soaring fan vaulting. But it had still remained a building in which she had felt herself an alien, speaking to her of history, privilege, tradition, an affir-mation that the rich, having inherited the earth, could hope to ensure similar privileges in heaven. Someone had been playing the organ and she had sat listening with pleasure to what she thought must have been a Bach

cantata, but for her there had been no secret harmonies. He said, his eyes on the road:

'I'm reasonably familiar with the external forms. Not as much as my father. Compulsory chapel every day for him or so he claims.'

'I don't even feel the need of it, religion, praying.' 'That's perfectly natural. A lot of people don't. You're probably in the respectable majority. It's a matter of tem-perament. What's worrying you?'

321

'Nothing's worrying me. But it's odd about praying. Most people do pray apparently. Someone did a survey about it. They pray even if they're not sure who to. What about AD?'

'I don't know what he feels the need of except his poetry, his job and his privacy. And probably in that order.'

'But you've worked with him before, I haven't. Don't you think that there's something about this case that's got under his skin?'

He looked at her as if he were sharing the car with a stranger, wondering just how much he could prudently

confide. Then he said:

'Yes, yes I do.'

Something, Kate felt, had been achieved, a confidence,

a trust established. She pressed further.

'What's bugging him then?'

'What happened to Berowne in that church, I suppose. AD likes life to be rational. Odd for a poet, but there it is. This case isn't, not altogether.'

'Have you talked to him about it, what happened in that church ['mean?'

'No. I did try once but all I could get out of him was: "The real world is difficult enough, John. Let's try to stay in it." So I shut my mouth, not being a fool.'

The light changed. She slipped out the clutch, the Rover moved quickly and smoothly away. They were meticulous in taking turns to drive. He yielded up the seat readily enough but like all good drivers he disliked being a passen-ger and it was a matter of pride for her to match his fast competence. She knew that she was tolerated by him, respected even, but they didn't really like each other. He accepted that the team needed a woman but without beir, g overtly chauvinistic, he would have preferred a man : partner. Her feeling towards him was more positive, compounded of resentment and antipathy. Some of it s}c knew was class resentment. But at heart there was a disli;r more instinctive and fundamental. She found red-haired men physically unattractive. Whatever there was between them it certainly wasn't the antagonism of an un

322

acknowledged sexuality. Dalgliesh, of course, knew that perfectly well. He made use of it as he made use of so much. For a moment she felt a spurt of active dislike of all men. I'm an oddity, she thought. How much would ! care, really care, if Alan chucked me? Suppose I had the choice, promotion or Alan, my flat or Alan? She was given to these awkward self-examinations, imaginary choices, ethical dilemmas, none the less intriguing because she

knew she would never have to confront them in real life. She said:

'Do you believe that something really did happen to Berowne in that vestry?'

'It must have, mustn't it? A man doesn't chuck his job and change the direction of his whole life for nothing.'

'But was it real? OK, don't ask me what I mean by real. Real in the sense this car is real, y u re real, I'm real.

O

Was he deluded, drunk, drugged? Or did he really have, well, some kind of supernatural experience, I suppose?'

'It seems unlikely for a practising member of the good old C of E, which is what he's supposed to have been. That's the sort of thing you expect of characters in a