‘I thought so too. He’s a clerk at the Shanghai and Oriental Shipping Company in Leadenhall Street. The office closes at half past five and the clerks have to sign out. I saw Mr Wallace, the manager, who checked the register. Ferguson left the building at twenty-five to six, so he’s comfortably in the clear. You see why I kept on coming back to Carrington, Jack? He really does seem to be the only reasonable possibility. I wish to goodness we could get a clear time of death,’ he said, relighting his pipe. ‘I know it’s asking a lot, but the doctor can’t narrow the time down. I’ve grilled everyone in the hotel I can think of, but no one seems to have heard a shot. I bet they did, mind, but it’d be easy to mistake it for a backfire, especially as the windows in the room were open.’
‘Has anyone mentioned a backfire?’
Rackham shook his head. ‘No, dammit, they haven’t. I’ve asked, you can be sure.’
‘Did Carrington really have an appointment or was that an excuse to get away from Mrs Dunbar?’
‘Yes, that’s true enough. Mrs Lewis met him for tea at the Lyon’s Corner House, Leicester Square, to hear how the meeting with Dunbar had gone. Her husband, Stephen Lewis, should have been at the meeting that afternoon but he was called away to his uncle’s.’
Jack reached for his whisky. ‘Yes . . .’ He swirled the liquid round in his glass. ‘Don’t you think this burglary at Colonel Willoughby’s seems a trifle contrived?’
Rackham’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Contrived? It can’t have been, Jack. Colonel Willoughby was attacked with a cosh and badly injured.’ He looked quizzically at his friend. ‘Come on, what’s on your mind?’
‘There are two possibilities. Because of the burglary, Stephen Lewis has a very complete alibi for the day.’ He grinned. ‘You must remember that my imagination is warped by writing detective stories, where a complete alibi is very suspicious indeed.’
‘Unless it happens to be true,’ Bill countered with a laugh. ‘That won’t wash, Jack. The Colonel’s a game old bird. The man who attacked him had a scarf wrapped round his face but the Colonel pulled it off. He didn’t recognize the man and he’d certainly have recognized Lewis.’
Jack pulled at his earlobe. ‘That rules my other idea out of court. Carrington is Colonel Whatsisname’s nephew too, isn’t he? I wondered if Carrington staged the burglary.’
‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Because it got Stephen Lewis out of the way for the day, leaving Carrington a clear run at Dunbar. However, if the Colonel saw the man, that idea’s not on the cards.’
Rackham looked at him sharply. ‘Hold on a minute, Jack. You might be on to something. Gerard Carrington has never met his uncle. Mrs Lewis mentioned it. Colonel Willoughby
wouldn’t
recognize him. By George, I wonder if you’re right?’
‘Could you show Colonel Willoughby a photograph of Carrington?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Bill, suddenly doubtful. ‘The trouble is, even if he says it was Carrington, I don’t know if I’d believe him. After all, he only had the briefest of glimpses of the man, before he was attacked. He suffered severe concussion. I’m surprised he can remember anything at all. It’d be far too easy for him to say he was certain when he was no such thing. I’ll keep the idea in mind, though. It’s an interesting possibility. Going back to Dunbar’s murder, I’ll tell you what did strike me as odd. Carrington made no secret of the fact he and Dunbar had fallen out. You’d expect him to try and conceal the fact, wouldn’t you?’
Jack shook his head. ‘If the waiter and the porter had seen them, Carrington would know there were witnesses. He’d be an idiot to try and hush it up. Did Mrs Lewis tell you what the argument had been about?’
‘It centred on this new gramophone which Carrington’s father invented. Apparently it’s going to be worth a lot of money. Dunbar insisted that he owned all the rights to it and Carrington was arguing the toss. That’s Carrington’s version of the quarrel as well, by the way.’
Jack reached for the cigarette box. ‘That could be a pretty decent motive. I know we’ve been distracted by thoughts of revenge for Stoke Horam, but it could be good old solid cash at the bottom of it. If it is worth a bundle, then Gerard Carrington might very well think the most straightforward way out of his legal tangle was to bump off Dunbar.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ agreed Rackham. ‘And, oddly enough, so did Gerard Carrington. He denies murdering Dunbar but admitted that life would be a lot easier without him. Again, I thought that was a rum sort of thing for him to say.’
Jack shrugged. ‘It seems a bit rash, I grant you, but as he’d told Mrs Lewis as much, he probably thought it was as well to admit it.’ He frowned. ‘It’s a problem, isn’t it?’ He leaned back in his chair and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. ‘I wish I knew Carrington. It’s so much easier to understand what someone’s capable of if you’ve actually met them. He’s got a post at University College, hasn’t he?’
‘That’s right. He’s a scientist. His speciality is electronics.’
‘And he is, we presume, a bright lad?’
‘Very bright, I’d say,’ agreed Rackham.
Jack tilted his head to one side. ‘How bright?’
‘Good grief, Jack, I don’t know. I didn’t ask to see his school report.’
‘OK, let me put it another way,’ said Jack with a laugh. ‘Granted he’s bright, would you say he had the usual amount of common sense?’
Rackham looked bewildered. ‘I haven’t a clue.’
Jack sighed. ‘Would you say he was a pleasant bloke, or did he strike you as arrogant?’
‘How on earth should I know? I merely arrested the man. It’s not a social occasion. What the dickens has his common sense got to do with whether he’s guilty or not?’
‘It’s got everything to do with it. Help yourself to another drink, by the way. It’s perfectly possible, as we both know, to be unbelievably bright but have no common sense. If a man’s overbearingly arrogant, then he’ll do exactly as he pleases without any thought of how others will see it. The effect would be much the same. If Carrington’s got no ordinary common sense – and I’m damned if I know how else to describe it – then the case holds up. But if he has . . . Well, it doesn’t add up.’
Rackham walked to the sideboard and picking up the bottle, measured the whisky into his glass. ‘How?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ said Jack in frustration. ‘For a start, I gather the idea is that the crime was not premeditated.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Even if he did stage the burglary at Colonel Willoughby’s, Carrington couldn’t
know
Stephen Lewis was going to rush off to Oxfordshire. He might have hoped as much but he couldn’t know. He says he was very surprised Lewis didn’t turn up.’
‘Didn’t Lewis let Carrington know he couldn’t be at the meeting?’
Rackham shook his head. ‘No, and that fits what evidence we’ve got. Mrs Lewis telephoned the university. One of his colleagues, a Doctor Austen, took the message. We found the note in Carrington’s letter rack at the university. It says nothing about Lewis being called away but simply asks Carrington to meet Mrs Lewis at the Corner House in Leicester Square at five o’clock that evening. Dr Austen confirmed that was the original message. He was very stuffy about it. It isn’t, he informed me, the crusty old beggar, his place to act as an unpaid secretary for junior members of the Department. You see what that means?’
‘I know what you want me to say. Carrington thought Lewis was going to be there.’
‘Exactly. Now common sense or not, he can’t have planned to commit a murder with a third party looking on. Therefore, Jack, it was not premeditated.’
‘So why did he take a gun?’ asked Jack softly.
‘Because . . .’ Rackham stopped.
‘Because there was a gun there. What sort of gun was it, by the way?’
‘A Webley .32,’ said Rackham absently. ‘It’s a handy little thing. They’re very commonplace. It’s not a Service calibre but lots of blokes used them during the war as a second pistol.’ He rested his chin on his hands. ‘I see what you’re getting at. As a matter of routine, I’ve asked for the pistol to be traced, but I don’t know if we’re going to manage it. It’s well-used and was probably either brought second-hand or picked up as a souvenir during the war.’ He looked up. ‘Carrington denied it was his, but that’s only to be expected. It could have belonged to Dunbar, I suppose.’
‘It could,’ agreed Jack. ‘Yes, that’s perfectly possible.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘Look, if Carrington took the gun with him on the off chance, or it really did belong to Dunbar, then that’s the end of it. But if he wanted to convince us it was suicide why did he make such a poor job of it? He shot the bloke at an impossible angle, wiped the gun and put it in Dunbar’s hand, ignoring the fact that he’s as stiff as a board and he has to crack the fingers open to do so. Then he writes a suicide note using his own pen, apparently not noticing that Dunbar’s pen is just by the blotter.’
‘Maybe he was worried about fingerprints.’
‘With two hands’ worth of relevant fingerprints lying beside him? Maybe. He then leaves the room, being careful to lock it behind him and pocket the key, thus telling everyone it’s a set-up, and leaves the hotel as fast as he can. You see what I mean about common sense, Bill? On that showing, he hasn’t got any.’
‘He could have panicked,’ said Rackham. He chewed his pipe-stem for a few moments. ‘It’s a difficult one. When I interviewed him, he stated he hadn’t killed Dunbar and seemed to expect me to take his unsupported word for it. He cottoned on about halfway through the interview where my questions were leading, and started to go on and on about proof. He had an absolute bee in his bonnet about it. I think he might just be a brainy dumb-bell, Jack. When I told him that he should have a solicitor, he looked at me blankly and said he didn’t know any solicitors. It was quite an uphill job to persuade him he really ought to be represented. When I actually arrested him, he didn’t offer any physical resistance, but I’ve never known anyone
talk
so much.’
He glanced up at his friend. ‘Your objections are absolutely sound but all this about what you or I or any reasonable man would do is so much hot air.’ He scratched his ear. ‘It’s a puzzle, isn’t it? Look, it’s asking a bit, I know, but d’you think you’d be any wiser if you met him? The Assistant Commissioner wouldn’t have any objections, I’m sure, not after the Culverton case. He was singing your praises for ages after that.’
Jack didn’t reply for a time. ‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually. ‘I suppose I could get an impression of what he’s like, but there’s nothing to say it’ll be right. Besides that, how would it affect you? It’s one thing chewing it over in private, but I don’t want to set myself up against you in public.’
Rackham shook his head. ‘You won’t be. The Chief knows I’ve got reservations. He had a good idea I was going to talk things over with you.’ He gave a quick smile. ‘You’d be doing me a favour, Jack. If I’ve made a mistake, quite apart from the principle of the thing, I really would prefer to know about it before it came to court.’ His smile broadened. ‘Now that’s common sense, if you like.’
‘In that case,’ said Jack, ‘I’ll do it.’
SIX
J
ack stood by the oak-stained table. It was a functional table, with strictly functional chairs. He shivered. He hadn’t expected Brixton Prison to be jolly but the drabness of the surroundings laid his spirits low. Why were institutions always painted in dark green and yellowing cream? And why did they always smell, vaguely and disagreeably, of old cooked cabbage? At least he could walk out into the sunshine after the interview, unlike Carrington, poor devil. He knew it was his imagination, but he felt dingy and unwashed, as if the atmosphere were clinging to his clothes and skin.
A noise in the corridor made him look up. The warder opened the glass panelled door and ushered into the room a man who was, presumably, Gerard Carrington.
‘You’ll remember the rules, won’t you, Major Haldean?’ said the warder. ‘I’ll stay outside the room. I won’t be able to hear what you say, but I would like to remind you that no object may be passed between you and the prisoner.’
Carrington waited until the warder had left the room. ‘I don’t think I’m allowed to walk around, either,’ he said, drawing out a chair. ‘It’s a frightful nuisance remembering what I can and can’t do. Er . . . Won’t you sit down?’ He smiled fleetingly. ‘I would ask you to make yourself at home, but it’s not an invitation I imagine you’d want to take up.’
Jack sat down, his sympathies firmly engaged. It hadn’t been much of a joke, but any remark that verged on the light-hearted was nothing less than heroic under the circumstances. He liked the look of Carrington. He was a tall, thin-faced man with curly brown hair, mild blue eyes and gold-rimmed glasses. He had a faintly distracted expression, as if perpetually surprised by his surroundings and at first glance seemed a bit weedy, an impression helped by his clothes. He wore a brown sleeveless pullover, which looked as if it had seen better days, and a button was missing from his shirt. However, his shoulders were broad and his mouth firm. Stubborn, thought Jack, summing him up in a word. Let him get his teeth into something and he’d be stubborn. He had a rumpled look, as if he had slept in his clothes. He was willing to bet that Gerard Carrington would always look rumpled, no matter if he were in Brixton Prison or the Savoy Hotel.
‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,’ he began.
‘Well, I was, rather,’ said Carrington. ‘Major Haldean, is it?’ He took in Jack’s light grey suit and blue tie and gave a puzzled smile. ‘When they told me I had a visitor, I assumed you must be from the solicitors, but you don’t look as if you are.’ His forehead creased in a frown. ‘Are you a reporter?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No. It’s a little difficult to explain, but Inspector Rackham is a friend of mine.’
‘Inspector Rackham?’ Carrington drew back in wary defiance. ‘He arrested me. I don’t know if I should say anything more. Certainly not until I know exactly why you’re here.’