The Best of British Crime omnibus (13 page)

‘It's something I'm trying to forget. I happened to know him rather well. He was a fine old chap.'

‘Possibly, but it seems he was also a class enemy, a traitor. I've just had the whole story from Mirnova. With his background, it's not surprising that he allowed himself to be used.'

I felt the blood beating in my head. ‘Look,' I said, ‘do facts mean anything to you at all?'

‘Of course.'

‘Then listen! Nikolai had a known record as a servant of an
ancient regime
family. Would he have been chosen for this sort of job, by anyone but a half-wit? He had struggled and sweated for years to give his son a decent chance in spite of that record. Would he have thrown the whole thing away and imperilled his family for an idiotic, pointless political crime? He's supposed to be a conspirator. Wouldn't he have provided himself with a weapon that didn't shatter in his hand? He drew attention to himself by reporting the murder. Would he have done that if he'd committed it? Great God, in any decent court the case against him would be ripped to pieces in a moment. There's not a scrap of positive evidence. It's pathetic.'

‘This happens to be a matter of State security,' said Perdita, ‘not a game for clever counsel. Or,' she added nastily, ‘for amateur Sherlock Holmes. Pray who do
you
think did it, if the waiter didn't?'

‘I haven't the least idea.'

‘Then aren't you rather wasting your time?'

‘That remains to be seen – I might find out something. I did think of making a few inquiries about where people were last night while all this was going on.'

I thought a flicker of uneasiness crossed her face. ‘People? You mean the delegates?'

‘Who else? No harm in checking their stories. No harm in checking yours.'

Her blue eyes opened wide. ‘My dear crazy man, you're surely not accusing
me
of murder?' She gave me a lazy smile. ‘I assure you I was here in my room all the evening.'

‘Then you managed to wake up surprisingly quickly when the row started.'

‘What do you mean, “wake up”? I wasn't asleep.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Quite sure.'

‘Most interesting. You see, you had a visitor last night – just before Mullett was killed. He knocked loudly several times, but he couldn't get an answer. There was no one here.'

She stared at me, evidently at a bit of a loss.

‘Of course,' I said, ‘that doesn't mean that you were hitting Mullett with a bottle, but after a murder it's customary for innocent witnesses to tell the police the truth.'

‘You're not the police. I don't see what business it is of yours.'

I shrugged. ‘Professional curiosity, perhaps. Or perhaps I just fancy myself as the sword of Nikolai! Anyway, I have a notion to make a study of this case and write it up for my newspaper when I get home.'

‘Aren't you forgetting the law of libel?'

‘Hardly! But it isn't libellous to accuse anyone of murder – not, of course, if you can prove it!' I moved towards the door. ‘I realise, naturally, that I've got a long way to go, but at least I've made a start. “Miss Perdita Manning lied about her whereabouts at the time of the murder. No explanation!” How's that for a first entry in the book of facts?'

‘I think you're crazy,' said Perdita.

“Miss Manning was known to have quarrelled with the dead man, who had obstructed her in the fulfilment of a great ambition.”

She flushed a little. ‘You know, you're making a positive fool of yourself. I tell you I was in my room all the evening.'

I shrugged. ‘We shall see. What's happening about the delegation, by the way? Are you carrying on?'

‘We're meeting this afternoon to decide,' she said coldly.

I nodded, and went off thoughtfully along the corridor. I hadn't the least doubt that she
had
lied, and that she'd been somewhere she didn't want people to know about. However, I could think of a half a dozen explanations more likely than that she had been busy murdering Mullett.

At the top of the stairs, I ran into Joe Cressey. He wore an expression of bewilderment and gloom.

‘Hallo, Mr Verney,' he said in a voice of muted welcome. ‘This is a fine how d' ye do, isn't it? Have you heard it was the waiter who did it?'

‘I've heard,' I said. ‘What do you think about it?'

He shook his head solemnly. ‘The fellow couldn't have been right in his mind, to do a thing like that… I wish now I hadn't said what I did about Mr Mullett. He wasn't so bad, really – and I think he meant well. You could have knocked me down with a feather. When I got in last night and they told me what had happened, I thought I must be dreaming.'

‘I don't wonder. Ah, well, no good worrying about it. How did you like the Kremlin by moonlight?'

‘Very nice, Mr Verney. I was watching the cars coming out. They ring a bell first, did you know? – and then the cars shoot straight out across the Red Square with all the big-shots in. I must say Moscow's a very interesting place, but I'll be glad to get home now. This business has spoiled everything.'

I nodded sympathetically, and continued on my way. There was no reason, I reflected, to suppose that he
hadn't
been round the Kremlin – it was one of the best short walks in Moscow, and I'd heard someone recommending it to him a day or two earlier. All the same, these things were almost impossible either to prove or disprove. In England detectives would have been checking up on all the delegates' stories, and with the necessary authority it would have been fairly easy to get a true picture. I could just imagine them questioning Cressey, for instance – ‘What time did you leave the hotel?' – ‘Which way did you go?' – ‘What did you see?' – ‘How long did you watch the cars?' – ‘How many came out?' But
I
couldn't ask questions like that, and if I didn't, nobody would.

I comforted myself with the thought that perhaps there wasn't so very much point in checking alibis after all, when there were so many people who didn't even claim any.

I went down into the vestibule, thinking I'd try to have a quiet word with Ivan, the commissionaire. Tranter was just coming from the reception desk.

I said, ‘Morning, Mr Tranter. Shocking business last night.'

He gave me a rather curt nod. There was a pretty strained look on
his
face, too. ‘A terrible affair, Mr Verney. It's appalling to think that such a valuable career has been cut short so unnecessarily. If people would only realise the futility of violence!'

I wanted to continue the conversation and lead up to a question, but he began to move off and I had to fling the question after him. ‘When did you hear about it?'

He turned, with one eyebrow slightly raised, and his frosty blue eyes bored into me. I thought he was going to brush me off, but he didn't. ‘When I got in from the pictures.'

‘Oh,' I said, ‘you were at the pictures? – we wondered what had happened to you. How do you like the films here? Personally I never think these Russian pictures are much fun unless you understand the language. Or was it an American film?'

Again he treated me to that cold state. ‘I'm sorry Mr Verney – I've no wish to be interviewed.' The lift gates opened and he stepped in. So there I was again, with all the vital questions unanswered. At the pictures, Mr Tranter? What cinema? What was showing when you went in? What seat did you sit in? What was the newsreel about? What time did you come out?… No, it was hopeless. I was just wasting my time.

Ivan was busy bringing in some luggage from a truck outside, so I hung about. The vestibule of the Astoria was a bit like Piccadilly Circus – you met everyone there eventually. Presently Potts came in from the street.

‘Hallo, George,' he said in his thin voice. ‘You've heard the news, I suppose – about Nikolai?'

I nodded.

‘It's a bit startling, isn't it? Waterhouse says they'll probably follow up the statement with another one accusing Attlee and Eisenhower and John Foster Dulles of planting Nikolai here! Surely they can't get away with this?'

‘Can't they?' I said grimly. ‘You go into the streets and do a little polling on the subject. Ask people if they think Nikolai killed Mullett and wave
Pravda
at them. You'll get a hundred percent “Yes” – not a single “Don't know.” Hell, they've already got away with it.'

Potts shook his head slowly. ‘One feels helpless – I must say this is a most difficult

place to get information. Even the delegates aren't very

co-operative.'

‘You're telling me! I've just been trying to find out where Tranter was last night. He says he was at the pictures.'

‘At the pictures?' said Potts, musingly. ‘Let me see – I saw him somewhere. Oh, I know – it was when I was collecting that material on the second floor landing. Just before I came to the party. He got out of the lift and stopped to talk to the floor manageress. I suppose he went to the last house.'

‘I suppose so – he won't talk, anyway. What's doing at the Press Department – anything?'

Not a thing – it's as quiet as a funeral parlour. They're holding all messages. Jeff saw Ganilov, but I haven't heard how he got on. Ah, well, see you at lunch.' He went on upstairs.

I strolled slowly towards the revolving doors and stood looking out at the snow. It was a sparkling day, dry and much colder. Almost all the passers-by had their ear-flaps down. Presently Ivan returned to his post by the door.

I leaned back against the wall. “Morning, Ivan,' I said nonchalantly. ‘Nice day.'

He bowed. ‘Very nice,
gospodeen.'

‘Cigarette?' I said. I handed him a full packet of Player's and he fumbled for one. ‘You can keep them,' I said. ‘I've got plenty.' He cast a nervous glance towards the reception desk, and then practically prostrated himself before me. I don't suppose he'd ever had more than one cigarette at a time in his life.

‘Ivan,' I said, ‘do you know Mr Cressey by sight? One of the delegates – the one with the big chin.'

He said he did.

‘Did you see him go out last night?'

The commissionaire pondered. ‘I think I did,
gospodeen –
yes, I'm sure he did.'

‘What time?'

Ivan pushed up his tatty fur hat and scratched his grizzled temple. ‘I can't say exactly – in the evening, sometime.'

‘Did you see him come back?'

He shook his head. ‘I don't think so,
gospodeen.
I don't know. There were so many things happening – all the excitement. I'm sorry. I would tell you if I could.'

‘What about Mr Tranter? Did he go out at all?'

Ivan's puckered face cleared. ‘Indeed, yes,
gospodeen.
He went out at half-past eight. He returned just before eleven.' The commissionaire's eyes flickered again to the reception desk.

‘You're sure about that? It's not very easy to recognise people in their outdoor things, I know. You're sure it was Mr Tranter?'

‘Without doubt,
gospodeen.
He told me he was going to the cinema. He is the gentleman with the lame leg. At half-past eight he went, and at eleven he returned. That is the truth.'

I wondered.

The rest of the morning passed in an atmosphere of busy frustration. I could see no real hope of making progress on the case, and yet I found it impossible to switch my mind off it. At about eleven I put a call in to the Embassy to ask if H.E had any views. He was engaged, but the First Secretary told me that they'd asked the Soviet Foreign Office for full particulars of the tragedy and that meanwhile they knew less than we did. I gathered from his tone that the Embassy, while extremely interested, was bearing Mullett's loss with fortitude.

I sat down and wrote a long letter to my office, which I hoped Jeff would carry with him when he left in a few days' time. I couldn't give them much information, but at least I was able to let off some steam, and I felt better as I sealed it up. Then I strolled across to the Press Department, expecting to find Jeff there. In fact I just missed him, but Waterhouse was still there and we had a long talk. He was amused – and secretly admiring, I think – because Jeff had been trying his American newspaper technique on the Department. He'd brushed aside all opposition, forced his way into Ganilov's office, and deposited written applications for interviews with the Chief of Police, the M. V. D, the prisoner's counsel, and the prisoner. He'd also left a long list of questions about Nikolai's whereabouts, and the date of the first hearing, and so on.

‘When Ganilov came out,' said Waterhouse, ‘he looked tired.'

I laughed. If we could do nothing else, we could show a little spirit. I borrowed somebody's typewriter and wrote a careful story about Nikolai which would give offence without actually getting me thrown out, and left it with the censor. Then I walked back with Waterhouse.

I hadn't been in my room more than a couple of minutes before Jeff burst in and I saw at once by his face that he had some unpleasant news.

‘Have you heard about Tanya?' he asked. ‘No – what's happened?'

‘They say she's ill. She's been sent off to the Crimea.'

‘Good Lord, really? I say, I am sorry. What's the matter with her?'

‘That's what so vague. Kira – you know, her sister – says she's been working too hard with the delegation, and that this Mullett affair brought on a nervous attack during the night, whatever that means. I asked her if it was serious, and she said “No”. Anyway, Kira's taking Tanya's place with the delegation – she's already moved in next door. That's how I happened to find out about it.'

‘Pretty quick work,' I said.

‘The whole thing's a damn sight too quick for my liking, and the Crimea's a hell of a way to send anyone to get over an indisposition.'