Vendetta, p.14
Vendetta, page 14
“He’s a friend of my husband … and I asked him to come and see me.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to discuss with him something he’d mentioned to me on the phone earlier.”
“Before you deal with the subject of your discussion, tell me this: do you know him well?”
“Only as someone with whom my husband is on friendly terms.”
“How did they become friends?”
“Through doing business together. Mr. Howarth owns a shoe shop.”
“Have you met him often?”
“Three or four times.”
Superintendent Mullett’s face lost its look of melancholy. He said, “Now we’re getting along fine. What was it Mr. Howarth mentioned to you on the phone?”
“Something he’d been told”—she glanced at Piper—“by Mrs. McAllister.”
“And what had he been told?”
“That my husband was very unhappy. He was troubled by certain things he couldn’t forget although they had happened a long time ago—things connected with the war.”
“Did she say what they were?”
“No. But she knew he felt oppressed by a feeling of guilt.”
“How did she know that?”
“He’d half-admitted it to her.”
“When?”
“After one of their spiritualist meetings—the last one he’d attended.”
“Didn’t he give her any hint as to what it was he’d done to make him still feel guilty after all this time?”
“No.” Her shoulders drooped and she looked a lot older than her years. “No … not according to what she told Mr. Howarth.”
“I’ll be speaking to both of them … so it doesn’t matter,” Mullett said. “Go on, Mrs. Haupmann.”
“Well, I’d intended to have a talk with my husband about it when he came home last night—but I didn’t get the chance.” She glanced at Piper again.
“How did Mr. Howarth come to phone you yesterday morning?”
“He didn’t phone me: he wanted to have a word with my husband. I told him Fritz had just left for the factory … and we chatted for a while.” As if it mattered, she added, “He’s a very pleasant man.”
“What brought up Mrs. McAllister’s name?”
“Something quite accidental. I happened to say that I might come to one of their meetings and Mr. Howarth said he hoped I would. He’d been wondering if it was because of me that my husband had stopped attending. I asked him what he meant and he said that Fritz hadn’t been to a meeting for several weeks.”
With a look of what could have been embarrassment, she added, “That’s when I began to get worried.”
“Why?”
“Because my husband had gone out almost every Wednesday evening … and I’d taken it for granted he was going to these spiritualist meetings.”
Superintendent Mullett said, “You still don’t know where he went?”
“No. It gave me quite a shock when I realised I’d only found out by chance.”
“That’s how most things are found out. It’s been called the policeman’s friend. However … go on, Mrs. Haupmann.”
“Well, when I started questioning Mr. Howarth one thing led to another … and I thought it would be better if he came here and told me all about it. You can’t discuss things like that over the phone.”
Her hands fluttered. She looked at Mullett nervously and added, “I’m always afraid the servants may be listening.”
“Did you suspect that your husband might’ve spent those Wednesday evenings with another woman?”
Mrs. Haupmann pressed her fingers to her temples and stood with her head bent as if in concentration. When at last she looked up she let her hands slide down over her face and neck and fold themselves chastely, fingers outspread, on her breast.
She said, “No, not at first… not while I was speaking to Mr. Howarth on the phone.”
“Do you suspect it now?”
After what appeared to be an inner struggle, Mrs. Haupmann said, “Yes. It’s useless to deny it. I don’t want to believe he could do such a thing but …”
“But there seems no other explanation … m-m-m?”
“None that I can think of. It’s all happened so suddenly. Yesterday morning when Mr. Howarth phoned seems such a long time ago. My husband’s never given me the slightest reason to doubt him … but I realise now that there’s been something strange in his behaviour for several weeks.”
“Strange in what way?”
“It’s difficult to explain. He’s been moody … not his usual self.”
“Have you commented on it at all? Asked him if anything’s wrong?”
“No. He’s always been the kind of man who doesn’t like fuss … and I thought he’d get over it in his own time without any nagging by me. I certainly never associated it with—another woman. I don’t really believe that even now … although it’s happened to other wives who trusted their husbands. …”
Once again Piper felt she was admitting one thing merely to hide another. She was talking too much.
He wondered if Mullett had noticed it, if Mullett realised that her drawn look, her air of tension, were not the true indications of a woman who was worried because she suspected that her husband had been unfaithful to her. Mrs. Haupmann’s anxiety was caused by something else—something which made her behave almost as if Fritz Haupmann’s disappearance was unimportant.
Mullett said, “Quite so.”
He picked up his hat and gave her another little bow. “I think that’s about all, Mrs. Haupmann. If you should hear from your husband you will let me know, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course I will. And if you find out anything…” The unfinished request sounded automatic, as empty as though she made it merely because it was expected of her.
Superintendent Mullett said, “As soon as we have any news we’ll be in touch with you. By the way, I’d like a photograph of your husband.”
Mrs. Haupmann looked at Piper as if prompting him. He said, “That’s all right, Superintendent. Quinn’s got one. I’ll get it from him and bring it to your office.”
Mullett acknowledged the offer with a grunted, “Thanks. …”
Then he said, “Just another couple of points, Mrs. Haupmann, that I’d like to clear up before I go. I understand your husband cancelled his regular weekly bridge game the other night because he said he felt too tired. Looking back, do you think that might’ve been just an excuse?”
She played with her wedding ring as if it helped her to think. When she looked down, Piper saw her lips tighten.
What puzzled him more than anything else was her air of guilt as she put her left hand behind her back. She said, “I’m too confused to think clearly, so I don’t see what you mean. He had no need to invent an excuse. He wasn’t compelled to play if he didn’t feel like it.”
“But this weekly game’s a long-standing habit, isn’t it? Weren’t you even a little surprised?”
Mrs. Haupmann seemed to be losing interest. She said, “Perhaps I was … a little. But he did look tired. I can’t see any other reason why he should have wanted to stay at home … can you?”
Mullett said, “I thought possibly he was expecting someone to phone him. Do you remember if he received any phone calls?”
Judging by Mrs. Haupmann’s manner she considered these questions a waste of time but she was trying to avoid showing it. She said, “No, I don’t think so.”
“Did you receive any calls yourself during the course of that evening?”
“I’m not sure.” She glanced down again at her left hand. “I may have done.”
Mullett nodded as if the answer satisfied him. With his head bent he took a couple of steps towards the door, turned slowly, and went on studying the carpet.
He said, “You and your husband have used the Rover quite a lot, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been with him on many occasions when he’s parked the car?”
Mrs. Haupmann repeated, “Yes.” Her eyes were straying to the clock on the mantelshelf.
“Is he ever careless or absent-minded?”
“No.”
“Is he in the habit of leaving his car unlocked?”
From the look on her face that question was as irrelevant as all the others. She said, “I—don’t think so.”
“Can you recall any occasion when he hasn’t troubled to lock the car?”
“No, not if he’s been leaving it for any length of time.”
Superintendent Mullett nodded again. He said, “Thank you, Mrs. Haupmann. I think that’s all—for the moment. Don’t bother to see us out. Good day to you.”
Outside the house, he told Piper, “On our way back to town you can explain all about your friend Quinn and what he was doing here yesterday. But, before I forget, I’ve got a few things for you to ponder over. To start with, what’re we to make of the fascinating Mrs. Haupmann?”
Piper said, “She’s very worried—but not about her husband.”
“That’s my conclusion, too. Secondly, whoever tampered with the brakes of the Rover must’ve been someone who was known either to people at the factory or to the Haupmanns—depending on where the tampering was done. A stranger would’ve aroused comment and that would never have done.”
“Which ought to narrow the field of search.”
“Let’s hope so. Point number three concerns the spot where his car was parked. Did he leave it there because his destination was somewhere nearby and does that mean he meant to return but was prevented from doing so?”
“There’s another possibility. Haupmann may have had an appointment to meet somebody in that back alley—somebody who arranged to pick him up there because it was more discreet than calling for him at the factory.”
“And that could indicate a woman,” Mullett said.
“Perhaps. The only thing I’m sure of is that it could scarcely have been a stranger.”
“Maybe all this ties up with another question. Where did Haupmann go on Wednesday nights when his wife thought he was at those spiritualist meetings?”
Piper said, “None of my inquiries indicated that he’s ever been interested in other women.”
“That could be because he’s played it crafty.”
“I’m not so sure. He didn’t strike me as the philandering type.”
“He isn’t necessarily a philanderer. Man is a natural polygamist. When his instinct comes in conflict with the rules of society he has to live a double life because the law won’t allow him to have two wives.”
“A wife like Mrs. Haupmann should be enough for any man.”
“I would agree with you. But then I’m not married to her. And looks aren’t everything. Samuel Johnson said that the great source of pleasure was variety. Haupmann’s other woman might be perfectly plain and with no more glamour than cold rice pudding.”
“You’ll have to produce the other woman before I believe she exists,” Piper said.
They got into the police car. As they drove away from the house, Superintendent Mullett said, “There may be a different explanation for those Wednesday nights … and that poses a very big question. Why is the happily-married Mrs. Haupmann so ready to admit that she believes her husband has been unfaithful to her?”
Chapter XIII
In The Course of the next twenty-four hours the police interviewed Howarth and Mrs. Katherine McAllister. Both of them confirmed that Fritz Haupmann had not attended any meetings of the North London Psychic Research Society since some time in early November.
Mrs. McAllister seemed in no way surprised when she learned that Haupmann was missing. As she told Superintendent Mullett “… I could feel that something like this was going to happen. No, I don’t exactly mean that I knew he’d disappear. Just something unpleasant, as it were. I did my best to warn him that I could see it coming … but I suppose what has to be will be.”
“You’re saying you got this information by communicating with the dead?”
“Not the dead, Superintendent: with friends in the spirit world. I don’t expect you to believe it, of course, and I’ve no intention of trying to make you.”
“Just answer my question, Mrs. McAllister, and don’t worry yourself over what I believe or don’t believe.”
“It’s a matter of indifference to me what you think … but I told that friend of his, too, that Mr. Piper.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I gave him some good advice. Maybe he appreciates it now.”
“Would you mind repeating the advice you gave him?”
“I told him he should take care of himself as well.”
“Because he’d got involved in the affairs of Fritz Haupmann?”
“Yes. I could sense that he wouldn’t be safe, either.”
“Evidently you have remarkable powers. I wish the spirits would help me. It would make my job a lot easier.”
Mrs. McAllister told him she was not interested in his sarcasm. “… I didn’t expect any better from a policeman. People like you only believe what they can see.”
“Sometimes not even that,” Mullett said.
When he got back to his office he found a report from the engineer who had examined Haupmann’s car. It confirmed that the pipe from the master brake cylinder had recently been loosened by someone who had not used a proper spanner. In his comments the engineer substantially agreed with what Piper had said about the braking power of the car.
The superintendent lunched on a sandwich and a glass of milk and spent his twenty minutes’ meal-break wondering if he had covered every line of inquiry. Information would start coming through soon but it took time.
He was brushing the crumbs off his desk when Sergeant Boyd came in and asked him if he could see a visitor. “… Says her name’s Gizelle Haupmann. I wouldn’t keep her waiting, sir, if I were you.”
“Why not?”
“A couple of cadets downstairs are drooling at the mouth already. If I weren’t an old married man …”
“Old is the operative word,” Mullett said. “She’d be safe with you on a desert island. Bring her up.”
She could tell the superintendent nothing new. All she wanted was to ask questions.
As he informed Piper later on the phone. “… Took me to pieces and made me feel I was getting my wages for nothing. Funny what women can do to a man—even young women.”
“They’re the ones to be most afraid of,” Piper said.
He had no wish to talk about Gizelle. Thoughts of her reminded him too keenly of the way Haupmann had pleaded with Quinn over the phone.
Mullett said, “Only if they’re beautiful. And I’d say she’s about the bonniest lass I’ve ever seen. Kind of takes your breath away, doesn’t she?”
Piper said, “You sound too susceptible for a man of your age.”
“Nonsense! Soon’s I get to the age and stage when a girl like her doesn’t stir the old Adam in me, you’ll know I’m dead.”
“One sure sign of increasing years is the spirited way a man rushes to the defence of his illusions.”
“If that’s meant to be a profound dictum, I’m not impressed. Policemen have no illusions.”
With hardly a pause he went on, “What did you think of her?”
“Same as you did.”
“Ah, pity. I was afraid of that.”
“Why?”
“Because I only admired her in a fatherly manner. You’re a young man. If I’d been your age—and unattached—I’d have different ideas.”
Piper said, “You’ve been listening to Quinn.”
“Yes, we had a conversation … if you could call it that. Any time you see two people having a chat, the one who’s listening isn’t Quinn. Still, he’s not a bad sort.”
“So far as I’m concerned you can’t damn him with faint praise. I’ve got a very high regard for Quinn.”
Mullett said, “For your private ear, so have I. What’s more, don’t quote Pope to me. That line about faint praise only applies when you’re jealous of someone … and I envy no man.”
“Now you’re being pompous. Another sign that you’re growing old.”
“You must’ve been listening to my missus. That’s what she says any time I act the Victorian father with one of the kids.”
“Give Mrs. Mullett my sympathies…. Where did you see Quinn?”
“He came to see me along with the other Press lads when I released a statement on Haupmann’s disappearance. Incidentally, he told me to pass on a piece of information he picked up. Couldn’t get you on the phone himself so I promised to play messenger boy.”
“What is this information?”
“Something that might surprise you.”
“I’m only surprised when Quinn doesn’t surprise me,” Piper said. “I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday but I know he’s been snooping around … and there’s no one like Quinn for finding things out.”
“So I’ve learned from experience. As usual he wouldn’t tell me how he managed it but he’s come up with something I never expected.”
“About what?”
“Mrs. Haupmann. By means best known to your friend Quinn he found out from Antonio—the man who works for the Haupmanns—that there had been a phone call for her about half past seven yesterday morning.”
“From her husband?”
“No. He couldn’t exactly say who it was from … except that it wasn’t one of Mrs. Haupmann’s friends.”
“Doesn’t seem to have much significance. Might’ve been anyone.”
“It might’ve been. But Antonio says the caller was a woman and she didn’t speak like the people he’s met in Acton. If his description of the way she spoke can be relied upon, she had a Scots accent.”
Piper said, “Wherever we turn, the ubiquitous Mrs. McAllister keeps popping up. Of course, it might not have been her. She isn’t the only Scots woman in London.”
“But she’s the only one I know who’s connected with Fritz Haupmann … so she’ll do to be going on with. I intend to have a chat with Kathie McAllister when she gets back.”
“Back from where?”
“I’ve no idea. The people at the library where she works told me she had a couple of days’ leave due to her and they think she’s gone off to spend the week-end with some relatives in Woolwich. They don’t know the name of these relatives so all I can do is wait and sharpen my claws in readiness.”
