Princes Gate (39 page)

Arthur Norton was very angry and very drunk. His day had started badly with a rebuff from Nancy Swinton, with whom he had belatedly decided he might start to put his love-life on a more regular footing. She wasn’t his ideal but he felt he had to put the whores behind him, and there was no doubt she had a certain style. Infuriatingly, however, she had declined his luncheon invitation because, as she put it in her fancy English way, she had it on recent good authority that ‘not only was he an appeaser of the first rank but also a frequent habitué of the sleaziest of London nightclubs.’ Then, following his upsetting conversation with Zarb, he had tried to track down the Ambassador. It took him an hour to get a connection. Eventually he had reached Hyannis Port but had been told that they thought the Ambassador was in Washington. Then, after another delay, he had got through to the Ambassador’s New York office to be told that he had gone down to Florida overnight. Finally he got through to Palm Beach to be told that the Ambassador had just gone out on the golf course and had given instructions that he wanted no interruptions during his game. By this time it was past five and he had turned his attention to Jack Daniels.

He was due at a reception in the Italian Embassy at six-thirty. Before Zarb’s call he had been dithering as to whether to send his regrets to the Embassy in light of Douglas’ morning message. In his fury with Zarb he had then forgotten all about the reception. Now slumped in his chair and, emptying another shot of bourbon into his glass, he remembered. He blundered into his bedroom, pulled a clean shirt out of his chest of drawers and took down his tails, which were hanging on the outside of his wardrobe. “Damn them all,” he muttered. He could do what the hell he liked and didn’t care what Douglas, Zarb or anyone told him. He would go to the reception tonight and later he’d have some fun. Maybe he’d pick up someone new – or perhaps he’d search out Edie’s friend. She was game! Tomorrow he’d speak to the Ambassador and sort out this stupid business about returning to the States. He didn’t want to go and he wasn’t going to, at least not until he thought the bombs were about to fall and that was probably a few months away yet, even if the British government was idiotic enough not to pursue the terms he knew were on offer from Berlin.

He went into the bathroom and shaved. His hand was unsteady and he cut his chin. He swore loudly before mopping the blood away with his facecloth and applying a piece of cotton wool.

He was going to be late. He went back into the bedroom and, as he was dressing, he glanced up at the box on top of the cupboard. After he’d pulled on his trousers, he reached up – he wanted to look at the latest addition again. He was seated on his bed examining it with immense pleasure when the doorbell sounded.

They made sure that the Braithwaites had a good view of the handcuffed Owen and Reardon being bundled into the cells as they themselves were led into their interrogation room. Bridges left them on their own for an hour before starting and by then, as he anticipated, Mrs Braithwaite’s nerves had been strung so taut that it took little time for the full story of her husband’s sideline to come out. They made slower progress with the professionals. Confronted with the photographs of the two girls, Owen shrugged and said they were nothing to do with him. Confronted with the ownership details of the flat, he shrugged again and said that if a solicitor he used occasionally wanted to invest in property, what was it to him? When Merlin in due course told him that the Braithwaites had given sworn statements describing the drugs racket with Owen, he simply said he knew nothing about it and, furthermore, wasn’t going to discuss anything further without his lawyer being present. Reardon, meanwhile, looked uncomfortable but just shook his head and said he was saying nothing.

When they had finished, Merlin suggested putting the two men in the same cell. “Perhaps being stuck with Morrie for a while will loosen Jimmy’s tongue.”

Bridges led them into the holding cell opposite the interview room and within seconds Owen was whining and swearing at his cell mate.

The wind had dropped finally but it had started to rain when they arrived outside Norton’s apartment block. They waved their cards at the porter, who smiled nervously back at them and gave them the flat number. In the lift, Bridges smiled at his boss. “Think we’ll get a warm welcome?” Merlin winked back.

“What the hell do you want? I can’t see you now. I have an important engagement. I’ve got nothing to tell you anyway.”

“Let us in please, Mr Norton. It is important that we see you.”

“I don’t think the Foreign Office will be very happy with you when I tell them that you’ve been harassing me again.”

“If you’re talking about Mr Douglas, sir, things have moved on a little. He’s got other things on his mind now.”

“I’m a senior diplomat, you can’t speak to me if I don’t want you to.”

“That’s bollocks now, isn’t it? We know that you are being sent home to America in disgrace. We need to talk before you go.”

The door opened wide. Norton stared at them wildly. A drop of blood fell from his chin on to his white shirt.

“Goddamit.” Norton picked with a fingernail at the mark on his shirt and succeeded in expanding the size of the smudge. “Look. I’m not going home. It’s all a misunderstanding, which the Ambassador will sort out shortly. That bastard Zarb is jealous of the relationship the Ambassador and I have. He’ll…”

“We’re not here to listen to your petty grievances against Mr Zarb. May we come in?”
“If you must.”

He opened the door and they followed him into the drawing room. “Wait here a minute while I change my shirt.” He lurched unsteadily down the corridor.

When he emerged he made directly for the drinks cabinet. “Like one, would you?”

“What we would like is for you to sit down and answer our questions.”

Norton poured himself a drink, then wandered unsteadily towards a chair by the window. “Eighteenth century.”

“Pardon?”

“Eighteenth century French chairs. Louis XV. The chairs you’re sitting in, got them for peanuts on my last trip to Paris before the war started. Very fine, aren’t they?”

“So they are. Perhaps we can get down to business.”

“Ah yes, business. And what is that?”

“The murders of Joan Harris and Johnny Morgan.”

“I’ve told you before that I hardly know these people and that I know nothing about their deaths.”

“If you’ll just hold your horses, there are some specific things we are not clear about. Sergeant, please.” Bridges held out a photograph.

“This is a picture of Joan Harris. Not very edifying, but there it is. Have you ever seen a photograph of her like this?” Norton glanced briefly at the photograph and snorted. Then he started to rise but Merlin reached across and kept him in his chair.

“Answer the question.”

“I want another drink.”

“By the smell of you, I’d say you’d got the annual production of a medium-sized distillery inside you, so forget the drink. Does this photograph ring any bells?”

“The bells it rings, Inspector, are to remind me that Miss Harris was a pretty girl and that it’s a pity that she’s dead.”

“Do you recognise anything particular about the picture?”

Norton’s lips spread in a leering smile. “Which parts in particular of Miss Harris would you like me to recognise?”

Merlin just managed to avoid putting his fist into Norton’s smug face. “Look chum, I don’t like you very much and every second I spend in your company makes me like you less and less. Answer the question. Do you recognise the location where this picture was taken?”

Norton shook his head.

“Did you ever take Miss Harris out?”

“Would a man in my position do such a thing?”

“Why not? I understand there are others of exalted status in the Embassy who don’t mind putting it about a bit – how about the Ambassador’s sons, perhaps, or even the Ambassador himself?”

Norton shrugged his shoulders and looked warily at the policemen.

“We have reports that you were seen with Miss Harris in a nightclub.”

“Not me.”

“We understand you were responsible for recruiting Johnny Morgan for the Ambassador’s residence.”

“I don’t know who told you that.”

“Johnny Morgan was recommended to you for a chauffeur’s job by Morrie Owen, a nightclub owner – he owns a club called The Blue Angel, which you denied knowing and where you were seen by more than one witness with Joan – and you put in a word at the Embassy. We have the records. Please don’t waste our time by denying it.”

Norton’s mouth turned down. His hand trembled as he stroked his empty glass.

“The same Morrie Owen owns the flat where this photograph was taken. We’ve got Owen in a cell at the Yard, by the way. Helping us with enquiries he is, as they say. Not being very cooperative but he will be. Amongst other things, we found out about his drug business.”

Norton swirled the glass around as if to dislodge any remaining dregs.

“Be more surprising if someone like Fat Morrie wasn’t providing drugs, I suppose. In any event, the thing is, we have solid evidence about his racket. He’s going to realise shortly that he’s facing a long stretch on that alone and that none of his fancy friends are going to be able to save him.”

“What’s your point, Merlin?”

“My point is that I would expect to have all the details of Owen’s involvement with you and your diplomatic friends and Miss Harris sooner rather than later. You associated with Owen and with both murder victims. You have lied to us throughout about everything. You seemed to have something going with Johnny Morgan, which you have been unforthcoming about. As they say in your country, you are right in the frame. If I were you and I were innocent, I think I’d decide to tell the truth, however dirty that truth might be.”

“You can’t scare me. You forget that I have diplomatic immunity.”

“Dear, dear, Mr Norton. Is that the best you can come up with? We know that you’re not very popular with your own Embassy at present. You say this is all going to be ironed out but who knows? Perhaps your friend the Ambassador hasn’t got as much clout as he used to. And of course he’s not on the spot. Now, if I wander round to Mr Zarb and tell him that the only conclusion I can form from your failure to provide us with honest answers to our questions is that you killed Miss Harris and probably Mr Morgan too, what do you think he’s going to do, since he’s such a great fan of yours? I don’t know quite how these things work but if you’ve been recalled and overstay your welcome here, presumably your status ceases. Or given the potential for unpleasant repercussions arising from the Embassy’s having employed and then protected a murderer, who’s to say that the powers that be might not cut a little deal under which you are thrown to the wolves?”

“Alright, alright.” Norton undid his bow tie and removed the stud from his collar. He was sweating profusely. “Damn thing’s choking me to death.”

“Make yourself as comfortable as you like – provided it helps you to tell us the truth at last.”

Norton wiped his face with a handkerchief, gave the policeman a look of deep loathing, then sighed in resignation. “Johnny Morgan was referred to the Embassy through me. I was introduced to The Blue Angel by some other diplomat, I can’t remember who. I went there several times and Owen was always very attentive. At some point he mentioned that he had a nephew looking for a position as a driver, could I help? I met the boy. He was very presentable and had a cheeky sort of charm. I thought the Ambassador might like him. Not Irish of course but close to, being Welsh I mean.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I noticed that Morgan had a way with the ladies.” He toyed nervously with the collar stud. “One evening I bumped into him at the pub. He was with a pretty young girl. He was rather drunk. We were all rather drunk in fact. And he… he asked me at the end of the evening whether I’d like to come back with him and watch.”

“You mean watch him and the girl making love?”

“Yes. So we went to a flat…”

“This flat.”

Merlin pointed at the picture. Norton nodded.

“Didn’t the girl object?”

“Only for a short time. She was drunk when we got to the flat and he had some pills or drugs he gave her. She didn’t really know where she was.”