Off the Record (34 page)

‘I still don’t understand Ragnall’s part in all this,’ said Carrington. ‘You said he wasn’t as black as I’ve painted him. All I can say is that on the day we were all supposed to have dinner, the day Ragnall died, I received an appalling letter from him. It was nothing more or less than an attempt at blackmail. I honestly believed Ragnall had been at the hotel on the day Dunbar was killed, and he wanted, so he said, a substantial consideration to make it worth his while not to tell the police what he’d seen. I couldn’t understand what he’d possibly seen, but I believed he could tell some very damning lies. He finished by asking me to call at quarter to eight to discuss the matter. I wrote a reply – I can’t remember what the hell I wrote because I was blistering – and marched round at the appointed time with the idea of making him eat his ruddy letter and choke on the damn thing.’

‘Do you honestly believe Ragnall wrote that letter?’ asked Jack.

Carrington’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh, my God,’ he said softly. ‘Of course he didn’t. It was Steve, wasn’t it?’

‘Of course it was. Colonel Willoughby had died and Ragnall had outlived his usefulness. What’s more, Ragnall knew far more than Steve Lewis was comfortable with him knowing. And, with Ragnall dead, Lewis could make up any old tale about what Ragnall had said about the time you’d left the hotel. He roped me in as a witness. I could testify that you’d come into the flat in a state of absolute fury. Then, minutes later, Ragnall was dead and you, apparently, had shot him. It was much the same trick as he pulled on your father.’

‘How exactly was it worked?’ asked Ferguson. He looked at Carrington in bewilderment. ‘I was there and, even though I know the truth, it was very convincing. We were playing records and chatting in the other room when we heard a shot. How did he pull it off ?’

‘Some of this is guesswork,’ said Jack, ‘but I believe it’s close enough. Lewis planted two guns in the study. When we heard the shot in the drawing room, Lewis went into the study and ushered you into the hall, Carrington, yes?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘And as soon as you were safely in the hall, he shot Ragnall with a silenced gun, put it back in its hiding place, and planted the second gun by the body.’

‘But we heard the shot!’ said Ferguson in frustration. ‘How did he manage that?’

‘The shot was on the record,’ said Jack. ‘The Jack Hylton record that you put on the turntable. There’s a nice symmetry about it, isn’t there? Lewis was in deep trouble because Mr Otterbourne’s murder had been recorded, and he used another recording to land Carrington in it. It didn’t matter which record you picked out of the box he gave you, Ferguson, because there was a gunshot on all of them.’

‘But he can’t have done,’ said Ferguson. ‘You can’t simply record another sound on top of a record.’

‘You can if you’ve got Otterbourne’s at your beck and call.’ Ferguson still looked puzzled. ‘Look,’ explained Jack. ‘There were six records. He had the master copies at the factory. What I bet he did was play the master into a recording horn and fire off a gun while the record was playing. Then he’d have a new master, complete with gunshot, that he could turn into a lovely new shellac record.’

‘Did you find them?’

Jack grinned. ‘You can’t honestly think he’d go to so much trouble then leave them lying around. He destroyed them, of course. No, he had a set of undoctored records as well, which he was careful to leave in an Otterbourne’s box, just like the doctored set. He put the undoctored Jack Hylton record on the turntable, in case we played it. Which, in fact, we did.’

‘How on earth did you figure all that out?

‘Fingerprints.’

‘And it was damn clever of you to think of it, Jack,’ said Rackham appreciatively. He turned to Ferguson. ‘I couldn’t imagine what the devil Haldean was after when he asked me if we had your fingerprints on file at the Yard.’

‘
My
fingerprints, Haldean?’

‘Don’t look so shocked, Ferguson. You’d handled those records. I’d seen you do it and, I must say, for a music lover you’re pretty heavy handed. I scooted up to London, went to Lewis’s flat, charmed my way in past the workmen who were repairing the ceiling, and there was the box of records. I took it to the Yard and got them to look it over. Your prints weren’t on the paper sleeves or the Jack Hylton record and they should have been. That’s when I knew we’d been had. However,’ he added with a shrug, ‘we had a problem.’

‘It was lack of evidence,’ said Bill. ‘I believed you were innocent, Carrington, but if I’d arrested Lewis there and then, we wouldn’t have a case. Juries are made up of men and women who read newspapers, and we knew that in the mind of any jury, it would come down to a straight horse-race between you and Lewis as to who was the guilty man. Fingerprints that weren’t there seemed such a trifle compared to the evidence Lewis had manufactured against you. Even when Haldean and I played the recording of Mr Otterbourne’s murder, it was still very iffy. For one thing, neither I nor the Assistant Commissioner, Sir Douglas Lynton, knew if the recording would be admissible in court. It’s a totally new departure and judges can be very cautious about what they’ll admit as evidence.’

‘And,’ added Jack, ‘once we had listened to the recording, we realized just how a clever defence counsel could play havoc with it.’

‘But Dad’s voice was perfectly clear,’ said Molly. ‘It was obvious what had happened.’

‘It was obvious to you, Molly,’ said Carrington. ‘But you recognized your father’s voice immediately. That makes a huge difference. I thought we were really up against it. Haldean and Rackham came to see me the morning after I’d been arrested in the garden at Stoke Horam and told me what they thought was the true state of affairs.’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘They were certain a recording of your father’s death existed and wanted me to go up to Falkirk to finish working on the machine. I agreed, of course.’ He looked at Haldean with unspoken gratitude. ‘I was knocked sideways when I realized that you and Rackham thought I was innocent. However, once we’d played the recording, we realized we couldn’t simply arrest Steve. If he knew – and he’d guess as much – that the recording was going to be played in court, his reaction would be very controlled.’

‘We needed to shock him, Mrs Lewis,’ said Jack. ‘Carrington was unhappy about inviting you to Ferguson’s studio, but I thought your presence was vital. You were the only person there who would recognize your father’s voice, for a start. If it wasn’t for you, Lewis could have pretended it was a recording he’d made for fun. It could easily have been a piece of play-acting and a silenced gun doesn’t sound like a shot. As it was, you screamed and Lewis went in a instant from feeling utterly secure – Ferguson had, on our prompting, sent him both the Professor’s machine and the damning recording – to being in great danger.’ He smiled at Ferguson. ‘You were terrific, old man.’

‘I only did what you asked,’ said Ferguson, rather abashed.

‘Don’t underestimate yourself. You convinced Lewis that all you were after was the new machine and made him think that, if I was suspicious of anyone, it was you. It was damn good work.’ Jack leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘And, as we know, Lewis confessed, which is what we wanted.’

Molly shuddered. ‘It seems cruel, though.’

‘We had to find enough evidence to get Carrington off the hook,’ said Bill. ‘There didn’t seem to be any doubt, missing fingerprints or not, that he’d shot Hugo Ragnall.’

‘That’s something I want to know,’ said Jack. ‘Why, Carrington, when you walked into the study and found Hugo Ragnall, did you pick up the gun? You must have known it was a frame-up.’

‘Of course I did,’ said Carrington. ‘When I saw Ragnall lying there, I
knew
– really
knew
– that Steve had killed him and I also knew that my prints were on that gun. Steve had a gun collection which he’d insisted on showing me. As soon as I saw Ragnall dead with the gun beside him, I knew why. I was going to fight my way out. I’d had one experience of prison and I didn’t want another. If I’d waited to be arrested, I’d have been hanged.’ He cocked his head at Bill Rackham. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

‘I like to think truth will out,’ said Bill awkwardly. ‘But it would have been very difficult, that’s for sure.’

Carrington leaned forward, his chin resting on his hands. ‘You talked about Steve having gone from feeling secure to being threatened. That’s exactly how I felt when I saw Hugo Ragnall’s body.’ He looked at them thoughtfully. ‘I fired the gun in the hall so I could escape. I don’t know if I intended to hit Steve or not, but I’ll tell you this, Haldean. When you stopped me from shooting him in the garden the night I was arrested, I was prepared to kill him.’ He smiled wryly. ‘You took a pretty big risk, you know, when you got in my way.’

‘I thought I was safe enough,’ said Jack. ‘I trusted you.’

Carrington half-laughed. ‘You were right, but I hardly trusted myself by that stage. I’d seen him that afternoon, you know. I got into the house by climbing up to the balcony. I found Molly’s room, left a note, then got out and hid in one of the outbuildings. I found a snug little space in the rafters of the laundry. Steve came in and searched the place. He was right beneath me. I came within a whisker of shooting him then, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.’

‘That’s because you’re not a killer,’ said Jack. ‘I knew that.’

Carrington looked at him. ‘Thanks,’ he said softly.

‘Where did you get to after Ragnall was shot, by the way?’ asked Bill. ‘We know you went back to your rooms and packed a suitcase, but that’s it. We scoured Britain for you. For a complete beginner, you disappeared like an old pro.’

‘I holed up in the university,’ said Carrington with a grin.

‘But we searched there!’

‘Yes, but I knew the university routine, remember? It wasn’t very difficult to keep out of the way. I knew what was going on because there were newspapers left lying around in the caretaker’s room. That’s where I saw that entry in the agony column of
The Messenger.
I suspected it was a trap, of course, but I couldn’t take any chances, not where Molly was concerned.’

Molly looked at him with shining eyes. ‘That was very brave of you. But how did you live, Gerry? What did you eat?’

‘I pinched food from the kitchens.’

‘Didn’t anyone see you?’

‘As a matter of fact, they did. One night – it was fairly late and I thought I was safe – I was in the corridor, when the door opened and Dr Austen walked out. I thought I was for it, because there wasn’t anywhere to escape to, but he looked at me and said, “Ah, Carrington. I’ve been reading your notes on waveforms. Very interesting, m’boy. Have you considered the effect of the ratios, rather than merely the numerical differences, on intensities? On the logarithmic scale . . .” And on and on.’

Jack gave a crack of laughter. ‘How on earth did you get out of it?’

‘I didn’t! I had to stand there gravely discussing waveform variations, whilst all the time expecting someone with a better grasp of current affairs to come along. In the end he said, “I really must be going. My wife tells me we have guests for dinner” – it was about ten o’clock by this time – “and she has warned me of a habit of tardiness, which, I fear, is growing upon me. Now what did I have to tell you? I’m sure I’ve heard something about you recently. What was it? No matter. It will probably occur to me later,” and off he went.’

‘Would you believe it?’ said Bill with a laugh. ‘Actually, having met Doctor Austen, yes, I would.’

‘That was pretty brave of you, Molly,’ said Gerry Carrington later that evening. They were walking down the Strand to Molly’s hotel. ‘Wanting to know the unvarnished truth, I mean.’

‘I knew the truth about Steve anyway,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘The odd thing was, I wasn’t really surprised, you know? Steve could be enormous fun to be with, but it was always a strain. Poor Steve,’ she added quietly.

Carrington looked at her sharply. ‘Poor Steve?’

‘He could have had so much, but he wanted everything. And no one can have everything, can they?’

Carrington sighed. ‘There’s only one thing he had that I want,’ he murmured. Molly looked at him enquiringly, but he shook his head. ‘Forget it. It’s all too soon.’

Molly didn’t say anything for a little while. Then she shook her herself and stuck out her chin. For a moment, she looked exactly like her father. ‘Gerry,’ she said reflectively. ‘Perhaps you could give me some advice. Hector Ferguson’s proposed.’

He gazed at her, thunderstruck. ‘
Hector Ferguson?
Damn me, what the devil does he think he’s playing at?’

‘I haven’t told you what he’s proposed,’ she said with a laugh. ‘He’s proposed that the merger between Otterbourne’s and Dunbar’s should go ahead.’

‘Oh.’

‘But I told him,’ added Molly demurely, ‘that I would have to consult my fiancé.’

‘But you haven’t got—’ Gerry Carrington broke off and, swinging round abruptly, caught her arms and held her firmly. ‘Molly! Me, you mean? Me? For God’s sake, Molly, will you?’ He searched her face anxiously then, oblivious of the startled comments from passers-by, gathered her into his arms and kissed her passionately.

She laid her head against his chest. ‘Hector Ferguson,’ she murmured, ‘will be pleased.’