Murder at aldwych statio.., p.10
Murder at Aldwych Station, page 10
‘It all adds up,’ said Lampson. ‘It’s Riley who was behind Benny Martin getting killed, and sending his blokes to kill Rosa.’
‘That’s the way it’s looking,’ agreed Coburg. ‘We’ll pull him in.’ He smiled. ‘It makes a change for a case to be open and shut.’
Lord Cuddington found the Honourable Jeremy Pike in the bar of the Royal Automobile Club in Pall Mall, and wryly wondered how many people assumed, wrongly, that the club was something to do with the motoring rescue organisation and telephoned it to ask for assistance when they’d broken down on the road. The Pall Mall Royal Automobile Club was a gentleman’s private club, one of the most luxurious in London, and had been at its present site since 1911, when it moved from its previous location in Piccadilly into what had been the old War Office.
Pike was sitting at a table near the bar, a brandy in front of him. Cuddington dropped into the empty, sumptuously comfortable leather armchair at the table and produced an envelope from his inner pocket.
‘Not here, dammit,’ hissed Pike, casting apprehensive looks around. ‘Downstairs, in the usual offices.’
With that, Pike drained the last of his brandy, put his glass down, then got up and strode towards the reception area.
For God’s sake, thought Cuddington, irritated, why do they play these cloak-and-dagger games? This was the first time he’d got involved with Pike since being introduced to him by Justin Waterstone, who he’d dealt with successfully. Waterstone didn’t go through all these ridiculous spy-like manoeuvres.
Cuddington rose and followed Pike through the reception area and the lobby and down to the conveniences. Pike was waiting for him inside the conveniences, and as Cuddington entered, Pike was just finishing checking that all the cubicles were unoccupied.
‘Satisfied?’ asked Cuddington.
Pike gave him a smile. ‘I will be,’ he said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Thursday 5th December 1940
Riley’s face was a picture of bewilderment when Coburg and Lampson appeared in his office and told him they were taking him to Scotland Yard ‘to help us with our enquiries’.
‘What enquiries?’ he asked.
‘We’ll tell you that when we get to Scotland Yard,’ said Coburg.
‘Oh come on, Mr Coburg! What’s all this about?’
‘It’s an official enquiry, Mr Riley. We’ll tell you that once we’ve issued the formal caution.’
‘Formal caution?’ Riley stared at them. ‘What’s this to do with?’
Coburg produced a pair of handcuffs. ‘If you’re going to be difficult, we’ll have to put these on you.’
Riley shook his head. He stood up. ‘I’m never difficult,’ he said. He took his jacket from a peg on the wall and put it on. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
Inside the interview room, Riley sat across from Coburg and Lampson at the bare wooden table. A uniformed constable stood at one side, watching the proceedings. In front of Lampson was a pad and in his hand was a pencil to keep notes of the interview.
‘Do I need a solicitor here with me?’ asked Riley nervously.
‘You can have one if you wish,’ said Coburg. ‘That’s your right. If you feel you’ve got something to hide that you don’t wish us to know about.’
‘No, no,’ Riley assured them. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘In that case,’ said Coburg, and he read Riley his rights, warning him that anything he said would be taken down and might be used as evidence against him. All the time, Riley stared at both detectives, incomprehension on his face. Finally, Coburg said, ‘The two men who grabbed my wife with orders to kill her worked for you.’
Riley stared at Coburg, stunned. ‘That’s impossible,’ he said.
‘We’ve identified them,’ he said. ‘Henry Punt and Wally Maples.’
Coburg produced the copies of the drawings and laid them on the desk in front of Riley. ‘Are these them?’
Riley stared at the pictures, then nodded, stunned. ‘Yes, but … but … I don’t believe it. Why?’
‘Possibly because you gave them instructions?’
Riley looked at Coburg, a look of horror on his face. He gulped and blurted out, ‘Mr Coburg, this is nothing to do with me. Henry and Wally will confirm that when you talk to them.’
‘Where can I find them?’
‘They’ve got a gaff off Charlotte Street. They rent a room there.’
‘They live together?’
Riley nodded. Then he looked at Coburg defensively. ‘It don’t mean anything,’ he said. ‘They’re not like that. Leastways, not as far as I know.’
Lampson pushed a sheet of paper and a pencil across the table to him.
‘Write down the address,’ he said.
Riley began to reach inside his jacket, but Coburg stopped him.
‘What are you reaching for?’ he asked.
‘My book with the addresses and phone numbers of people,’ said Riley. ‘I can’t carry them all around in my head.’
Coburg nodded and Riley pulled a small notebook from his pocket. He flicked through it and when he found the address for Henry Punt and Wally Maples, he wrote it down, then pushed the piece of paper back to Lampson before returning the address book to his inside pocket. Lampson folded the piece of paper up and put it in his pocket.
‘Henry Punt got a phone message at your club this morning from a woman called Bella Wilson,’ said Coburg.
‘Not to my knowledge,’ said Riley.
‘But Henry Punt was there this morning?’
Riley shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Were you at your club all morning?’
‘No,’ admitted Riley. ‘After Rosa left, I had to go and see a bloke about a drinks order we had in.’
‘What about before she got here?’
‘I was in, but in and out. I went round the corner for a coffee.’
‘Don’t you do coffee at the club?’
‘Yeah, but not as good as what they serve round the corner. Italian coffee. I know most Italians are in jail or interred, but the family have still got their coffee shop. Di Angelo’s in Berwick Street. I was there for about half an hour, drinking my coffee and reading the paper. You can check.’
‘So when did you last actually see Henry and Wally?’
‘Yesterday afternoon. I sent them on an errand.’
‘What sort of errand?’
Riley hesitated, then said, ‘To have a word with a bloke called Shelley Buttons.’
‘Who’s Shelley Buttons, and what sort of word were they to have with him?’
Riley looked very uncomfortable. ‘He owns another club here in Soho, and for some time he’s been leaning on me, trying to get me to sell. And at a knock-down price. Virtually giving it away. Well, I wasn’t having that. So I sent Henry and Wally, to have a word with him.’ He scowled. ‘If what you say is true, I’m guessing they were stitching me up, working for Buttons as well. Buttons must have been behind them grabbing your missus.’
‘Why would Buttons want to kidnap Rosa?’ asked Coburg.
‘It has to be something to do with Benny Martin being killed. Rosa told me she went looking for Benny’s guitar, which is how she ended up asking me about it. My guess is you’ll find Buttons was behind Benny being killed, so he got my two boys to grab her to silence her.’
‘Rosa never mentioned Shelley Buttons. Just you,’ said Coburg.
‘Yeah, well, Shelley wouldn’t know that. He’s a very suspicious character; he doesn’t take chances.’
‘But why use two of your blokes instead of his own?’
‘To put suspicion on me if it went wrong. Which it did.’ He scowled. ‘And I was fool enough to send Henry and Wally over to talk to him, warn him off. And all the time they were double-crossing me.’
Coburg regarded him thoughtfully, then asked, ‘Was anyone with Benny that night at your club?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Riley, puzzled.
‘Lady Pamela Cuddington, for example?’
Riley gave a sour grin. ‘Oh, her,’ he snorted. ‘No, thank God. We’d had enough trouble with her. Benny must have realised she was trouble because he gave her the elbow.’
‘You know that for a fact?’
‘Yes. I asked Benny about her and he said it was over between them. He said he couldn’t cope with her tantrums. Said it was driving him mad.’
Coburg pushed another piece of paper to Riley. ‘I suggest you get your address book out,’ he said. ‘We’re going to need a list of everyone who was in your club the night Benny was killed.’
‘Everybody?’
‘We’ll start with the performers, then your staff who were working that night.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re investigating a murder that happened – by our reckoning – soon after Benny left your club.’
‘I told you, he was going to meet these heavies about this money he owed. It must have been them.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. We’ll need to talk to everyone in case anyone saw something that might point to what actually happened.’
Riley gave a sigh, then took his address book out again and began to flick through it, then started writing down names and addresses, and some phone numbers.
‘Johnny Kepple and Sam Watson,’ he said. ‘They were the ones playing with Benny that night. Kepple plays sax and Watson drums. They’re not a regular group, just musicians who play together now and then, what you’d call a pick-up band. That night they were playing as the Johnny Kepple Trio. They were good.’
Riley flicked through his address book and added more names, with a description after each name: barman, storeman, door keeper, box office, stage manager. As the list got longer and longer, Coburg gave him another piece of paper.
‘That’s a large staff you’ve got there,’ Coburg commented. ‘It must be a big wages bill.’
‘It is,’ said Riley. He pushed the two sheets of paper across to Coburg. ‘That’s about it. I don’t know who was in that night as far as customers went, but the staff will be able to tell you, I’m sure.’
Rosa got out of the Bentley and looked in awe at Dawlish Hall. The house was huge. It wasn’t a house, it was a mansion, complete with ornamental Roman columns made of white marble at the front, framing the porch over the front door. Not that ‘porch’ was the right word for it, thought Rosa. She’d lived in places smaller than the so-called porch. And with its high windows, it looked like a smaller version of Buckingham Palace.
And the grounds were vast – the lawned area at the front of the house, separated from the house by the wide gravelled drive, was bigger than most farmers’ fields: in truth, a small park, dotted with trees and with a paddock at one side, complete with stables.
The house was about two miles outside the small Buckinghamshire village of Dawlish, a village complete with a church, shops, blacksmith’s and sundry other buildings that made it the perfect image of a Home Counties rural village. And Edgar had grown up here!
‘It’s magnificent,’ she said as Magnus joined her, while Malcolm unloaded her bag from the boot of the car and took it to the house.
‘It’s not bad,’ said Magnus. ‘Not as big as some, but it suits us.’ He looked wistful as he added, ‘To be honest, it’s a bit too large for us now, with the war on and the servants gone. Just Mrs Hilton, who comes in to cook and generally keep things tidy. But it’s where I think of as home. And I hope Edgar does, too. And I hope you’ll think of it like that.’
He headed for the house. ‘We’ll see if Mrs Hilton wants us to get anything from the village, and if not I’ll get Malcolm to put the car in the garage. We don’t really have much crime around here, but with so many strangers around these days, it’s better to be safe than sorry.’
As Rosa followed Magnus towards the magnificent, imposing structure, she thought: I have to bring Ma and Pa to see this and show them what I – the daughter of a man who sold fruit and vegetables from the back of a lorry – married into. They’d never believe it. I can’t believe it!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thursday 5th December 1940
‘What do you think of Riley’s story?’ Coburg asked Lampson as they climbed the stairs to their office on the first floor. Riley had been taken to a custody suite in the basement.
‘I’ve never heard such a load of old eyewash in my life,’ snorted Lampson. ‘He’s the one who had Rosa lifted and he’s trying to offload the blame on this bloke Buttons.’
‘It certainly makes more sense than his convoluted story about Shelley Buttons,’ said Coburg. ‘The puzzle is that phone call of Bella Wilson’s to the Riff Club. Pat Riley says he didn’t take a phone call from her, she didn’t recognise the man she spoke to. Riley says he hasn’t seen Punt and Maples since yesterday. Bella would have recognised Punt’s voice if it had been him who picked up the phone. If he’s telling the truth, Riley was out at Di Angelo’s, so it’s possible that Punt and Maples were there at the club. Maples picks up the phone and takes the message.’
‘Why doesn’t Maples give the phone to Punt?’
‘Maybe Punt wasn’t there, but Maples was. We know that Punt must have got the message, because he and Maples then abducted Rosa.’
‘It’s still all a bit off, guv,’ said Lampson. ‘For me, everything still points to Riley being behind it.’
‘Unless it’s this Shelley Buttons, as Riley says. Do you know this Buttons character?’
‘Not personally,’ said Lampson. ‘He’s bound to have a record if he’s the bad lad that Riley says he is.’
‘I suggest we have a word with the Soho nick about Buttons, see what they say, before we talk to him. Then we’ll see how he shapes up.’
‘What are we going to do about Riley? Bang him up on remand?’
‘Not for the moment,’ said Coburg unhappily. ‘I’ve got a feeling about him, but we’ve got no proof to nail him with. For the moment we’ll have to release him, but before you do, line up a couple of detectives to follow him discreetly, see where he goes and who he meets with.’
Lampson looked at the chief inspector inquisitively and commented, ‘According to Riley, Benny had dumped your old fiancée, Lady Pamela whatsername. Which might make her a bit upset.’
‘She is not my old fiancée,’ protested Coburg, before adding unhappily, ‘Alright, she was, but that was twenty years ago. I haven’t the faintest idea what sort of person she is now.’
‘A bit of a slapper, by all accounts,’ said Lampson. ‘We’re going to have to have words with them, you know, guv. Lady Pamela and her husband.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ sighed Coburg. ‘We’ll talk to them once we’ve dealt with Henry Punt and Wally Maples.’
There was no sign of Punt and Maples at the address in Charlotte Street that Coburg and Lampson had been given by Riley. Like many other large older houses, it had been turned into small flats and bedsits, and, knocking on the doors adjacent to Punt and Maples’s room, they learnt there had been no sign nor sound of either of the men for at least a day and a night. It was the sound that was conclusive: ‘They used to have their wireless on all the time,’ said the man who lived directly next to them. ‘I used to have to ask them to turn it down. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t. But there’s been no sound of their wireless since early yesterday morning.’
‘Since before they lifted Rosa,’ observed Lampson as they left the house. ‘Reckon they’ve done a runner, guv?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Coburg. He checked his watch. ‘I think that’s us for the day,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow we’ll look into this Shelley Buttons and talk to the people from the Riff Club, plus everything else. Do you want a lift home? I’m going back to the Yard to see if there’s anything new, then I’m heading for home as well.’
‘No, I’m fine. I’ll walk from here,’ said Lampson. ‘If you speak to Rosa, give her my regards, guv. Tell her we’ll have her back in the smoke in no time.’
‘Thanks, Ted. Let’s hope that’s so.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Thursday 5th December 1940
To Coburg, with Rosa away, the flat seemed hollow and empty. He missed her more than he could say. The key to all of it was to get hold of Henry Punt and Wally Maples. Once they’d told him who had hired them to grab Rosa and they’d arrested him, then it would be safe for Rosa to come back.
He was jolted out of his reverie by the phone ringing, and his first thought as he snatched up the receiver was that it would be Rosa.
It wasn’t. Instead, he heard another woman’s voice.
‘Edgar,’ she said. ‘It’s Pamela Cuddington. Pamela Westbrook, as was.’
‘Pamela,’ said Coburg. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘It has. I see you’re married now. To Rosa Weeks.’
‘I am,’ said Coburg.
‘Is she there with you?’
Coburg hesitated, then said, ‘Not at the moment.’
‘I wonder if I could come and see you?’
‘I don’t think that’s advisable.’
‘Because your wife might turn up?’
‘No. Because I am investigating a murder, and your name has been mentioned in the context.’
There was a pause. Then the sound of a sob before she said: ‘Poor Benny. Someone told me he’d been found in the tunnel at Aldwych station. He’d been poisoned. I asked around and was told you were in charge of the case.’
‘I am,’ said Coburg. ‘And yes, I will need to talk to you, but it would not be appropriate for us to meet at my home. This is an official enquiry under the jurisdiction of Scotland Yard.’
‘I will not go to Scotland Yard!’ she said suddenly.
Coburg was tempted to say: You will if I say you will. But then he remembered how stubborn she could be, and guessed she still was. If he wanted to get the truth out of her about her relationship with Benny Martin, and about the events that may have led to his death, then he needed to play it carefully. Not give her anything, certainly not give her an advantage, but he needed to get to the bottom of Benny’s murder. Not least so that he could bring Rosa home.
