Princes Gate (17 page)

“So, the owner or driver of that car would have reasonably expected to have the car repaired in the privacy of a government department rather than in a public garage.”

“Exactly. And if it were not for the Foreign Office garage having to sub-contract out some of its own work temporarily, the damage would never have come to my attention. That was my bit of luck.”

“And are you sure the car’s the right one?”

“Our scientists have had a good look at it, sir. The damaged area has obviously been cleaned but there appear to be minute traces of cloth there. The scientists believe there is a match to Mr Goldberg’s suit.”

“Those material matches can prove tricky at trial. What else have you got?”

“Naturally I’ve asked them to see whether they can find any traces of blood. Nothing found as yet.”

Bridges stuck an enquiring hand in the air. “So who is the owner of the car, sir?”

“I went along to the Foreign Office car pool and spoke to a couple of the mechanics. One of them checked his paperwork and said the car had been put in for repair by a civil servant at the Foreign Office called Edward Fraser. The other mechanic then remembered someone from the Foreign Office dropping the car off and saying it had been in collision with a deer somewhere in the country.”

Johnson finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the brass ashtray in front of him. Merlin leaned forward. “It’s not a bad story for a diplomat, Peter. They’re off having country weekends hunting, shooting and fishing all the time. Unless you get some clear scientific back-up or of course a confession, you’re still some way short of the finishing line.”

“I know.”

“You’d better get off and see him.”

“Is there any particular advice you can give me, given the fact that the man’s a diplomat? Should I ring ahead and inform his superiors that I need to interview him?”

“To avoid any awkwardness between the Home Office and the Foreign Office, you mean?”

“Well yes.”

“No, I don’t think you need to give Mr Fraser any advance warning. You’re a sensible fellow, with or without a ‘tache. You’re not going to behave like a bull in a china shop, are you?”

“You mean you’d like me to go easy on him?”

Merlin shook his head and grinned. “Not at all, Peter. I know you can be a tough interrogator, and I expect you to be. Just use your common sense. If Mr Fraser whinges to his superiors, I’ll back you up, don’t worry. Of course, if you prefer I can go with you, although my time is a bit tight.”

“No thanks, sir. I’ll handle it. I’ll take Sergeant Windsor with me.” Johnson stood and looked to Merlin more like his usual confident self.

“Before you go, Peter, remind me one more time about the background of the victim?”

“He was a Jewish gentleman. Originally from Vienna but escaped to England in 1938. From what I understand, a very clever chap and very useful at the Ministry of Defence, but I haven’t been able to find out much more than that. Naturally they’re pretty cagey at the Ministry.”

“Chances are he was valuable to the war effort. The A.C. said there was some concern as to whether he might have been run over intentionally.”

“I am bearing that in mind.”

“Good.”

Johnson stroked his moustache again, this time a little apprehensively, before disappearing through the door.

“Diplomats on all fronts for us at the moment, eh, Sergeant? Fancy a little walk?”

They walked in silence across Parliament Square, past the sandbagged Parliament buildings and the Abbey. Cutting through the back streets behind Victoria Street, they came out into Birdcage Walk.

A gust of wind disturbed a pile of leaves in front of them as they entered St James’ Park. A little old lady in threadbare clothes was standing by the lake feeding the birds with stale crusts of bread. Two men in bowler hats and British warm coats strode along the path, debating some issue vehemently. Big Ben struck two o’clock.

Merlin nodded in the direction of an empty park bench overlooking the lake and they sat down, avoiding the bird deposits at one end. “In the midst of all the tears and the story of her night with Morgan, we forgot to ask Kathleen about what the two old ladies told us.”

“Joan Harris’ late night, you mean?”

“Yes. We’ll raise it when we see her next. Hopefully she’ll be a little calmer. I’d also like to have another go about the late visitor. She must be able to remember something even if she was drugged up. Did you get her brother’s address?”

“Sorry, not yet.”

“No matter. We can get it from Miss Edgar when we need it.”

Merlin shivered as an icy current of air blew into them from the lake. “We’ll need to visit the place where Morgan took Kathleen. I think I’ll be able to find it. There must be a key in Johnny’s possessions – they’ve been sent over, haven’t they?”

“They have.”

“And when do we get the full forensic report on Morgan?”

“Monday, sir.”

“That’s a pity. I’d like to have read it over the weekend.”

Merlin picked up a pebble and threw it into the water. It made a satisfying plopping sound. “Johnny Morgan’s background, Sergeant. Remind me again how he got his job.”

“He came up from Wales and his uncle helped him get a driving licence and then the job with the Ambassador.”

“Must be a man of some substance, this uncle, to get him a job like that. Have we got a name for him?”

Bridges took out his notebook and skimmed over the pages. He shrugged apologetically.

“You’ll be able to get that from Miss Edgar as well. Give her a call when we get back.”

Merlin bent down to tie a loose shoelace. “I found out where that nightclub is, Sergeant.”

“Sir?”

“You know, The Blue Angel. Remember the matches I found in Miss Harris’ room? The nightclub which I must presume she visited. It’s a clip joint. A friend of mine discovered it by accident.”

“Which friend would that be?”

Bridges knew Jack Stewart and laughed as his boss told the story. “And you believe he went there by accident?”

“He’s a good looking bloke and I doubt he’s ever had to pay for it. Anyway, I don’t care. Now we know where The Blue Angel is and I think we should pay a little incognito visit. If we go along as coppers I doubt we’ll find out much, but if we go along as punters we might pick up something useful.”

“Expensive places, aren’t they?”

“You can bet the A.C. will kick up a fuss about the expenses but what the hell.”

“When?”

“Let’s see how we get on looking for Morgan’s alternative accommodation, but we could go tonight. Friday night should be a busy night. We might not stick out too much. Better send a message to Iris that you’ll be late.”

“She’s got a sewing circle tonight. She won’t miss me.”

The little old lady who had been feeding the birds turned away from her task and walked past the two policemen. She smiled a grinning toothless smile at them. Merlin and Bridges touched their hats.

“Pretty birds. I love my birds you know. I’ve given them their lunch. They’re happy now. Pretty birds.”

The old lady wandered happily away round a corner, the sound of her prattling slowly fading away in the wind.
“My mother liked birds.”

“Did she, sir?”

“Kept a canary once. And a cockatoo. Very messy creatures. I hated them and so did my dad. ‘Ninos d’inferno’ he called them. ‘Children of hell’. Never a man for understatement, my father.”

“More of a dog man myself.”

“In fact my dad hated all animals. Must have been something to do with looking after those sheep when he was young.”

They got up and walked across the park into Birdcage Walk.

“I suppose Johnson’s hit and run happened somewhere around here.” Merlin kept his eyes trained on the gutter as they walked along.

“Can’t see any signs of the accident, can you?”

“Well it is a few weeks ago now.”

“So it is. I wonder how Johnson’s getting on.”

Passing the Westminster tube station they heard the hum of an aeroplane. Some passers-by looked up with anxious faces. A small, officious looking man wearing a bowler hat shouted out loudly, “Everyone keep calm! It’s one of ours.”

“It’s alright, dear. It’s not a German bomber so don’t panic.”

Miss Edgar looked severely over her spectacles at the taxi driver, a large man whose stare hung heavily on his sallow face. “I never panic, driver.” She paid out the exact two shillings fare, with no tip. The driver looked at her with disgust and the words “mean” and “cow” floated in the air as the taxi drove off. Despite wearing her warmest fur-lined coat she still shivered in the freezing fog which was now settling on the London afternoon. She stepped gingerly over the sand which had leaked from the bags outside the Embassy and ran as briskly as her high-heeled shoes would allow her, up the steps and through the main doors.

At the reception desk she announced that she had an appointment with Secretary Zarb. A handsome young officer in US Marine uniform looked down at a list on his desk.

“You’re new here, aren’t you, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The officer called through to Zarb’s office. “Yes, Miss Edgar. He is expecting you. Follow me please.”

She followed the lieutenant up the wide marble staircase, then through a maze of corridors, eventually arriving at an open pair of large, white double-doors.

Herman Zarb was a small, neat man. His brilliantined dark hair was combed across his head in a largely unsuccessful attempt to cover his growing baldness. He had piercing eyes, flaring nostrils and a small, thin-lipped mouth. His smile was wide and vaguely menacing.

Zarb sat at a large desk which commanded a panoramic view of the square. “Philippa! Thanks for coming over at such short notice.” He rose, extended both arms then grasped his guest’s right hand in his. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You’re looking wonderful today. Sit down. Take the weight off your pegs. Isn’t that the phrase?”

“Yes, Herman. You’ll make a cockney yet!”

“I doubt it. Anyway, to get straight to business, Philippa, I’d like to talk to you about what’s been going on.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Know?” Zarb gave one of his sinister smiles. “I think I know most of what I need to know. It’s got very messy, hasn’t it?”

“I take it you are referring to the murders, and yes it’s very messy indeed. It’s also very frightening but I don’t know that there’s much I can do about it. The police are investigating carefully.”

Zarb stared briefly out of the window into the foggy square. “I took a call from the Ambassador on the subject today. I don’t know how he had heard about it, do you?”

“I haven’t spoken to the Ambassador since he went back to America.”

“I suppose I would have been telling him myself shortly. The death of the secretary outside the residence probably didn’t merit his being bothered, but the death of his favourite chauffeur on the premises – on that I think I would have made a report. In any event, he was very upset. Said it had ruined a beautiful day. Apparently the sun is blazing down in Palm Beach and the golfing conditions are perfect. The Ambassador said he wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t heavily beaten today in light of this disturbing news.”

Miss Edgar pursed her lips.

“Hard to sympathise with him looking out at this freezing pea-souper, isn’t it, my dear?”

He leaned forward and pulled a piece of paper across the desk. His eyes skimmed over it. “I had a letter sent over from the Foreign Office this afternoon. A polite letter from Lord Halifax’s office, saying they had asked the police to be as discreet as possible in their enquiries. They are apologising for any inconvenience caused and say they’ve issued instructions to expedite the investigation. Very nice of the Foreign Office, I’m sure.”

Zarb removed a packet of chewing gum from his pocket, and waved it across the desk. Miss Edgar twitched her nose in distaste and declined. He noisily unwrapped the packet and popped a piece in his mouth. “Any idea what the police are thinking, Philippa?”

“Not really. They’ve interviewed pretty much everyone as you know. Did you glean anything from your own interview?”

“No, it was very perfunctory. A few questions about Joan Harris and the work she did. Asked whether she had done any secret work. I’m not sure how far they’re likely to pursue that line.”

“They spent a lot of time with Mr Norton, who, as you know, particularly liked Miss Harris to do his typing. I don’t know if he gave them any assistance in that area. He seemed pretty bothered when his interview finished. I saw him storming out of the residence in a temper.”

“Yeh. Arthur had a little moan to me about that. Said he was going to complain to the higher-ups in the Yard. I told him not to be so stupid. Anyway, if there’s some security angle involved, I can see at a stretch how Miss Harris might be embroiled, but how can there be any security angle with Morgan?”

“I don’t know, Herman.”

“Any other lengthy interviews?”

“The policemen spent a lot of time this morning with one of my girls.”

“Yes?”

“We have an Irish girl, I think you know her, Kathleen Donovan.”

“Pretty girl. Looks a bit like that film star, what’s her name?” Zarb screwed up his eyes and concentrated. “O’Sullivan, O’Hara, something like that.”