Stephanie (24 page)

From there he reappeared at irregular intervals throughout the war, once recuperating from injuries to his legs. But he was soon off again, this time to North Africa where he trained other parachutists and lectured them in French.

At the end of the war he was in the Far East, preparing to lead a suicidal drop behind the Japanese lines in Borneo. Hiroshima whatever its carnage, saved many thousands of Allied lives, and incidentally James's. Then the war was suddenly over and he was back in England contemplating the resumption of a career that now seemed to belong to another man.

Although he took one or two more parts on the stage he could not find enough interest in picking up the threads of the world he had left four years ago. An aunt had died, leaving him money and the property in Hampshire; he took two extensive semi-diplomatic jobs, then married and settled to become a country gentleman. Janet, herself the daughter of a worthy but unworldly archdeacon, had found the life where – between babies – she could paint at leisure entirely agreeable, until Frederick Agassia came along.

James's interest in plants had been lifelong. When his father bought a house in Sussex to spend his leaves and settle in after his retirement, it was he, though then only eleven years old, who had planned the garden. By the time Sir Charles did come to retire, the fruits of this planning were to be seen and appreciated, and when James settled in the house in Hampshire he began all over again, reckoning that he might have forty years to watch it mature.

Well, he had had half that so far. Today green life was bursting all around him, cherries dropped their blossom, his exotic rhododendrons had escaped a threatened late frost and camellias were everywhere.

It seemed improbable that he would spend the next twenty years in such agreeable surroundings. Inspector Foulsham wanted to ask him a few questions.

A small, sharp, bright-eyed man with prematurely white hair. His card said he was a Detective Inspector from the Thames Valley Police.

‘Mr James Locke? How d'you do, sir. I came over early as I thought you might be going out.'

‘Not today,' said James. ‘ Thank you, Mary; will you take coffee, Inspector?'

‘Um? Thank you.' When the door closed, Foulsham said: ‘A beautiful garden you have, sir.'

‘Yes, it's doing very well this year.'

‘I remember now seeing you on TV. Talking on flowering shrubs.'

‘Once you're on television you're a marked man.'

It was not the best choice of phrase. Foulsham's bright eyes met his for a moment. ‘ You do, I suppose, get about quite a bit, in spite of your … handicap?'

‘As much as I can. This electric chair is very useful for moving around the garden, but it's not a great deal of use in towns.'

‘D'you drive yourself? In a car, I mean.'

‘Oh yes. Automatic. I don't feel myself to be an extra hazard on the road.'

Foulsham said: ‘I sometimes think a handicapped person is one of the safest of people in a car. For one thing, he drives more slowly, and I'm certain that fifty per cent of all motor accidents are simply caused by speed and impatience.'

James looked out at the cloudy morning. ‘How can I help you, Inspector?'

‘Oh …' Foulsham made a dismissive gesture. ‘It's just a few routine questions. You certainly got about quite a bit yesterday, didn't you, Mr Locke?'

‘I went to Oxford.'

‘And later?'

‘I came home.'

‘What time would that be?'

‘Soon after I had made a statement to your sergeant in Oxford.'

‘That was after this man, Naresh Prasad, had been removed to hospital?'

‘Yes.'

‘Had you met Naresh Prasad before yesterday?'

‘No.'

‘But you know Dr Arun Jiva?'

James eased his ankles. ‘Can hardly say I
know
him. He was a friend – or a college acquaintance – of my daughter's. When my daughter died Jiva gave evidence at the inquest. I didn't meet him then but I did go to see him a week later. That's the only time we've met.'

‘Was there any special reason why you went to see him?'

‘D'you mean yesterday?'

‘No, in the first place.'

‘I wasn't happy with the implication at the inquest that my daughter took her own life. I went to see many of her friends.'

‘And was Dr Jiva able to help you?'

‘No.'

‘Did you bring up the subject of drugs with him?'

‘Why should I? My daughter did not take them.'

‘No, quite so, quite so. But I have a reason for asking.'

‘May I know what it is?'

The door opened and Mary Aldershot came in with the coffee. There was a pause while she poured it out. A neat, trim person getting heavy in the thighs, quietly dressed in good tweeds, bun of brown hair, elegant hands. Only a few hours ago – nine hours ago – he had stood naked except for a towel while she bundled up all his clothes and took them down to the incinerator. In everything had gone, the photographs, the albums, the two sticks. How long had she stayed there making sure everything was burned? A cool, self-contained woman who loved him in her own cool, self-contained way. A woman, in a situation like this, beyond price. But now an accessory to murder. At his instigation and at his request she had unhesitatingly accepted that position, that burden, that risk. As unhesitatingly, if the occasion should arise, she would lie to save him from arrest and trial.

As she left the room, James remembered that there were three photographs he had omitted to burn – that of Errol and Stephanie on the balcony at Goa, and the two photographs which someone – ‘the Boss' – had said must not be shown at the exhibition of Errol Colton's work at the Megson Gallery. He had folded them and put them next to his pocket book, and when he took everything from his pockets before his clothes went into the furnace he had not included these.

They were in his inside breast pocket now. If he came to be searched, would they be incriminating?

‘You went to see Dr Jiva again yesterday, Mr Locke. Was it by appointment?'

‘No. I just drove there and hoped to find him in.'

‘Did you intend to ask him more questions about your daughter's death?'

‘That sort of thing.'

‘And then? Was he in?'

‘Inspector Foulsham,' James said, ‘I have already related exactly what happened, and everything that happened, to your sergeant. Serjeant – what is it?'

‘Evans. Yes. I'm sorry. Sometimes it is useful to go over old ground.'

‘Where is Naresh Prasad now?'

‘Oh, still in hospital. He has been X-rayed and certain objects have been located in the upper bowel. I gather he has been given a massive dose of antibiotics and it's hoped he will pass these objects naturally. It's a little early to speculate on their nature.'

‘Is that why you asked me if I brought up the subject of drugs?'

‘Well, drugs certainly are the first thing in these circumstances that come to mind.'

‘But they don't come to
my
mind, Inspector. They've played no part in my life; nor, as I said, did they play any part in my daughter's.'

‘Quite so … This a – this ambulance – this bogus ambulance. How would you explain that?'

‘I don't think I'm in any position to try to explain it.'

‘You'll remember you gave a description of the ambulance to Sergeant Evans. Could you – thinking it over – have any other details occurred to you that you can now supply us with?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘You didn't see the numberplate?'

‘I must have
seen
it, but I was too late getting to the window when they left; you'll appreciate I'm not a quick mover.'

‘Nothing more about the car?'

‘One of the headlamps was cracked. The nearside one.'

‘Thank you. Unfortunately,' Inspector Foulsham said, ‘you are the only person who saw the ambulance. We've checked with other houses in the street.'

James thought this one over. ‘So actually I am the only witness that it ever existed.'

‘Well, we don't question that, of course. Were both the men in it white?'

‘Yes. The man I spoke to sounded like a Cockney. I could identify him easily. As I'm sure Naresh Prasad could.'

‘So far Prasad has refused to talk to anybody.'

‘Ah.' James sipped his coffee, careful not to let the cup rattle. ‘So you've only my word about the incident altogether.'

‘As I said, we have no reason to question your account, Mr Locke.'

‘But from a police point of view, all you have is a lame man ringing them and reporting that an Indian whom he says he has never met before is very sick and needs attention. That it?'

‘Well, if we could find the ambulance it would be a great help all round. Word has gone out, of course. If these people were breaking any law, they'll naturally be anxious to avoid identification.'

‘Assuming you accept my story,' James said, ‘they could hardly have not been
intending
to break the law, otherwise they wouldn't have bolted when I dialled nine-nine-nine.'

‘Quite so. Quite so.'

There was a silence. Is this all there is going to be? James thought. He put his hand in his breast pocket and fingered the edge of the photographs.

Foulsham said: ‘Did you know that Mr Errol Colton was dead, sir?'

Here it was. The bright eyes were fixed on him. A priest inviting a confession?

James frowned, after a moment: ‘Colton, dead? When?'

‘Last night.'

‘Good God. He looked healthy enough. How did it happen?'

‘Oh, he was healthy enough.'

‘What was it, then – an accident?'

‘He was murdered.'

James looked at the edge of his right hand where it was so painful. But the bruise did not show.

‘I'm sorry. Though you can't expect me to shed any tears. A man like that would make many enemies. Do you know who did it?'

Another silence. They both waited.

Then James said: ‘Where was it?'

‘The murder? At his home near Princes Risborough in Buckinghamshire. Do you know it?'

‘Yes, I went there to see him after my daughter's death.'

‘That must have been an unpleasant interview.'

‘It was.'

‘When was the last time you saw Mr Colton?'

James frowned again, this time in thought. ‘Then. It must have been about ten days ago. It was a Sunday. I'm afraid I have become rather vague as to dates.'

‘It didn't occur to you to go to see him a second time, as you went a second time to see Dr Jiva?'

‘Yes, I'd thought I might call later this week. But I'm sure you appreciate we were not on good terms.'

‘That's what I was thinking,' said Foulsham.

‘Well,' said James, ‘it seems that's one question we shall never resolve now.'

‘Question?'

‘Question or argument, call it what you will. More coffee?'

Foulsham lowered his cup. ‘Thank you, no. Did you know a Mr Angelo Smith?'

‘I don't think so. Oh, wait a minute; there was somebody in Mr Colton's house the day I called. A dark chap with a scar on his brow?'

‘Did you get the impression that he was there as a guest?'

‘I think Colton called him a business colleague.'

‘Did they seem on friendly terms?'

‘That I couldn't say. I only saw Smith for a minute … How was Colton killed?'

‘There was a struggle.'

‘Was that all he asked?' Gaveston said.

‘Well, he wanted to know what time I got home last night, what I had for supper. On the way out he asked Mary the same questions, so it's as well we'd thought ahead.'

‘Ah.'

‘Difficult, isn't it, to say whether they were routine questions that a police officer would normally put or whether they were angled at me specially.'

‘It's the business of the police to suspect everybody, and after all, you with your bitter grudge against Errol will be very much in their line of fire. But I'm sure they haven't had time to sort anything out properly yet. Did you hear the local radio?'

‘No.'

‘No detail but the headlines, so to speak. Two men died after fierce struggle in Buckinghamshire manor house. Mr Errol Colton, recent witness at inquest on girl undergraduate's suicide, was one of the victims. While his wife watched Shakespeare at Stratford-upon-Avon, Colton and a fellow guest appear to have quarrelled and fought to the death. The bodies were discovered by Mrs Colton and her cousin on their return. Police will make a further statement shortly.'

‘You remember it well.'

‘I took it down on tape. And talking of tape, James, I think after today we should not speak openly on the phone. In spite of occasional apoplexies in the House of Commons by members anxious about their civil liberties, tapping has been known to happen. I should know.'

‘I seem to have landed you firmly in the shit, Henry. It was not what I intended when I rang you.'

‘It was not what I intended when I came. The presence of Angelo Apostoleris changed all that.'

‘He served some purpose, then.'

‘Wherever Apostoleris was was organised crime. But I suppose you realise …'

‘What?'

‘I suppose you realise, though perhaps I shouldn't say this, that in removing Errol Colton from the world you are likely to have removed the most vulnerable witness to anything criminal which may have been going on.'

‘Last night Errol called Smith a minder. “What sort of a minder are you supposed to be?” I think it slipped out or he was high on something. This sounds as if Smith were looking after him or protecting him.'

‘Or making sure he didn't talk at the wrong time …'

Silence fell.

James said: ‘ I am at present only aware of having removed from the world the man most responsible for Stephanie's death – in whatever way it came about.'