A Spider in the Cup (Joe Sandilands Investigation) (20 page)

Joe shook himself. “Nowhere near, I’m afraid. It’s south of the Thames and over to the west a bit. I’m taking you to the country for the weekend—doctor’s orders, remember. We’re taking the Brighton road. I’ll tell you when to turn off. So far, so good. No one knows we’ve done a bunk yet, let alone where we’re headed. There’s certainly no one following us.”

“I hadn’t missed all that pulling off the road and do-si-doing about in back alleys! But shouldn’t you have told Armiger? He might start sounding the alarm when I don’t turn up.”

“I made one or two phone calls before we set off. The first was to book us in for our weekend. The second was a rather urgent
one to my Special Branch head, the third a message for Bill. I left it with the desk at Claridge’s. He doesn’t know our whereabouts either. I simply told him that if you weren’t back by midnight, he wasn’t to worry.”

“You don’t trust that guy much, do you?”

“No. But then I trust no one. Nor should you, Kingstone. Someone very close to you is going about metaphorically fouling your drinking cups with spiders. Whoever it is has watched your every move since you arrived in London. They have the muscle-power—the hired thugs—to kill and are unconcerned—even happy—that we should find the bodies of two people, two complete innocents, who’ve been murdered on your account. ‘Why should they want to?’ do I hear you ask?”

“You asked me that already. And you heard my answer: gold standard. Manipulation of. There are fortunes at stake.” The reply was terse.

“That’s what you’re still telling us? We’ll accept that for the moment. Just listen while I muse on. And do feel free to correct any misapprehensions, will you? They’ve put your mind in a torture chamber. Your body is at liberty to walk about annoying people, attending meetings, rubbing shoulders with the power brokers of the world. You smile, slap their backs and shake their hands and one of these men who looks you in the eye and calls you by your name is tightening the screws on your emotions. I think you know who he is.”

“I can think of five … no, make that four … men who’d like to see me bite the dust. Sure, we shake each other’s hands. I ask after their wives and daughters. I
like
their wives and daughters! So would you. But they’re all back home, not here in London. I’m a soldier, Sandilands, like you. I know a soldier’s fears. I don’t deny them. I know how to deal with them. I’ll have no truck with all this spider nonsense.”

Joe was pleased to hear Kingstone had calmed himself
sufficiently to disown his recent crisis of the mind. Whatever it was, it had not proved crippling, he was glad to note. He smiled to himself. The feel of a leather-clad steering wheel between the palms, the growl of an engine responding to the pressure of the right foot and an unknown destination below a dark horizon were all having their—not uncalculated—effect. Kingstone was a man who was used to being in charge, instigating action on his own territory and on his own terms. The doctor had seen the need to restore his power and balance and was modern enough in his views to conclude, with Joe, that a simple “Brace up, old chap—worse things happen at sea!” was never going to do the trick.

Joe had decided not to play the game. He’d overturned the board and made off with the king piece in his pocket. A good night’s sleep, a large English breakfast followed by a brisk walk on the Downs with a hound or two running ahead and skylarks spiralling up into the heavens and Joe would be ready to restart the game.

“Stay on the Brighton road for half an hour. After we turn off it gets a bit tricky. It’s all bosky beech woods sighing in the breeze and ancient tracks winding between high earth banks. Mysterious, lovely and hellish driving.”

Kingstone put his foot down and the modest six-cylinder engine did its gallant best to please.

“C
OD AND SIX-PENNORTH
o’ chips and a glass of lemonade! Blimey! You know how to treat a girl.” Julia Ivanova’s voice held a note of flirtatious challenge but her smile was wide as a child’s with delight at the sight of the steaming plate Armitage was putting in front of her. She sniffed. “And how did you know I liked it with vinegar?”

“No choice! When Sam’s at the fryer everyone gets vinegar.”

Julia looked enquiringly at the man directing operations
behind the counter in the small fish bar on the corner of Brewer Street. He returned her gaze, his large, sweating, moustached face taking in every detail of her appearance with more than polite scrutiny. Finally, the face broke into a beaming smile of welcome. He winked at her in appreciation. Julia laughed and winked back.

Armitage relaxed. He’d done the right thing after all. He’d wondered about bringing her here. He’d stayed down below in the vestibule at Claridge’s, re-reading Sandiland’s message—which he’d summarised for Julia: “Don’t wait up!”—while she went to change. “To get the smell of death out of my clothes,” she’d said, “and give my hair a good brushing.”

She hadn’t kept him waiting long. She’d emerged from the lift wearing something in dark blue silk that he thought he recognised. It clung flatteringly to her slender shape and reached half way down her calves. He’d last seen it at the front of Natalia’s wardrobe, being held up to Sandiland’s inquisitive nose. Sandilands had even clocked the label:
VIONNET
or some such. French anyway. Must have cost a bomb. Borrowed without the owner’s say-so? None of his business. Perhaps she had blanket permission to help herself to her boss’s possessions? Girls did things like that. Even shared each other’s lipsticks. At least she didn’t smell of that musky scent her boss used. Before the strong chippy atmosphere of frying fat and vinegar hit them, he’d been aware of something flowery and innocent that took him back to kids’ outings in Epping Forest. Bluebells?

It came back to him with a rush, the moment of intense pleasure he’d had as a child when he’d stuck his head into a bunch of fresh-picked bluebells. Some insect had buzzed out and stung him and he’d cried into his ma’s pinny but that first breath of the forest to a kid whose nose and lungs were coked up with the reek of the city was unforgettable. Prattling away, she sat there, not knowing how she risked assault by a man who longed to grab hold of her and sink his nose into the warm place between her
neck and shoulder. Bill straightened his back and fixed on an intelligent smile. He knew what his old dad would have said: “Now wait for the bee, my lad! No pleasure in this life, without you paying for it.”

He looked at her with appreciation. He noted her animation, the colour in her cheeks, the mischief in her eye and it struck him that he was out on the town with a real head-turner. However she’d come by her outfit, she wore it with the poise of an actress. And all this for the price of a fish supper. He’d also noticed that, when she wanted to, she could move about, for short distances at least, with a grace of carriage that distracted from the weakness of her left leg. He could swear no one had noticed it when she’d entered the café holding tightly to his arm. For all anyone was aware, she might have sprained an ankle skiing at Chamonix. He’d enjoyed the feel of his arm around her slender waist as he’d lowered her into her seat.

“If that’s Sam—he seems to know you. How come?” she asked.

“It’s seven years since he saw me last but I’ve not changed much. He used to know me well. I worked here Saturdays when I was a lad.”

“What! You’re telling me you’re a Londoner?”

“Born and bred. Over Whitechapel way … Queen Adelaide Court, just off the Mile End Road.”

He gave her a self-flattering version of his departure from his native shores, touching on the ambition which had driven the able young fellow he had been to seek wider horizons, faster promotion, the rewards of a bigger salary and a police-issue revolver.

“Ah! I thought there was something going on between you and that policeman—Sandilands.”

“From way back, Julia. We were recruits together in the trenches. I still think of him as Captain Sandilands. He was a fine young officer in those days. An honour to serve with him.” His eyes shone with patriotic pride.

“He’s pretty impressive now, I’d say. Assistant Commissioner? London doesn’t seem to have held
him
back.”

Armitage glared. He looked about him and changed the subject. “Sam seems to be doing well for himself too. He’s survived the depression and squeezed in four more tables.”

“Catering for the after-performance theatre crowds? Slumming it in Soho? We’re not even the best-dressed here. The woman at the next table—have you seen her pearls!”

Armitage peered sideways and, informed by experience, declared, “Imitation. And her bust.”

“Well, either one’s better than anything I have to display. Some people still have a bob or two in their pockets. And people always have to eat.” Julia turned her full attention to the fish and chips. “Haven’t eaten since breakfast. You’d think the sight of two corpses would put me off food for a week, but not so.”

When she’d finished, she spent a moment straightening her knife and fork and dabbing her mouth with a lace-edged handkerchief, then said, “That was good. But I do wonder what’s next on the menu for this evening. Back to the hotel for a cup of cocoa? Or something stronger? Are you still on duty?”

“Sort of!” Armitage grinned and relayed Joe’s last-minute instructions on surveillance to him, not leaving out the champagne. A risky tactic but he knew she was aware he was all kinds of a rogue. A touch of honesty added to the mix might just gain her trust. At the least, it would intrigue.

Julia appeared satisfyingly incensed. “Are you sure that’s what he told you to do?” She made him repeat Sandilands’ actual words. “Well! Now I’m asking myself why you would turn down the offer of a midnight feast at Claridge’s for a plate of fish and chips. Let me guess. Sandilands suggested—no,
told
you—though I’m sure he thought it was delicately done—to feel free to help yourself to a dirty weekend with me. Am I getting this right? Cheeky bugger! And you’d do anything to defy him, wouldn’t you? Even though
he’s not present to see you sitting here dripping with chip fat. Here, give us your chin …” He presented his anvil of a jaw and she reached across and whisked her hanky over it. “He’s not here but you still know you’ve gone against his lordship’s wishes and, for you, there’s satisfaction in that.”

He smiled back easily. “Yes, you’re right. Could never stand being told what to do.”

“Must come hard for someone not born into the officer class?”

“I make my own class,” he said briefly. “And one day I’ll be giving the orders. But look here, Julia, I didn’t invite the Assistant Commissioner to join us at our table and I wish you’d leave him out of this. He’s ruined enough of my life. I thought you might like to reconnect yourself with your London roots, see a bit of life outside theatres and hotels. Have a friendly chat with a
real
man for a change—not a la-di-da fancy-pants who’d just talk down to you—a man who thinks you’re a very special and very attractive lady. But above all—I wouldn’t want you to think I’m the kind who’d fall for a suggestion of an indecent nature.”

“Hang on—isn’t that
my
line?” She was laughing at his speech. “I hadn’t realised you were such an old sober-sides, William Armiger. How would
you
know—an indecent suggestion from a good-looking bloke might be just what I’d fancy to round off my day. The Assistant Commissioner might understand me better than you do. I wonder if Sandilands’s date’s having a fun-filled evening. He seemed to be rather eager to get away towards the end, did you notice? As though he’d suddenly realised he was running late for something. He kept looking at his watch and clearly wanted to be rid of the lot of us. Is he married?”

“No idea.”

“He doesn’t behave like a married man. He’s quite flirty. And very good-looking. There’s a whiff of something exciting about him … something very masculine … Danger? Authority?”

“That’ll be his Coal Tar soap.”

“I expect he’s dashed off to a night club with some Admiral’s daughter called Arethusa.”

Her remark was lightly made but Armitage didn’t quite like to hear the yearning in her voice. “Nothing of the sort! Didn’t you catch on? And I thought you were smart! He
has
got a date for the evening but his date’s not having much fun, I can tell you! Kingstone! Sandilands has shoved him in the back of his car with a rug over him and driven off for the weekend. We won’t be seeing them back at the hotel until Monday morning. He left me a note at the desk telling me not to worry if they didn’t get back tonight.”

“Where’ve they gone, Bill?” He was surprised by the concern in her voice.

“Oh, Brighton would be my guess,” he replied casually.

“Where does everybody go when they’re in trouble? Loose living, London-on-Sea. You can lose anyone there. Half the inhabitants are on the run. The second half are providing cover for the first.”

“Isn’t that going to be a teeny bit awkward?”

“Damned uncomfortable for Sandilands, I should think! Being stuck out there in the back of beyond with a love-lorn lunatic on a hit-list? Rather him than me!”

“No, I was thinking—Kingstone had no luggage with him. He’s gone off with just what he was standing up in. Evening dress. Not so much as a toothbrush in his pocket.” Her concern was growing.

“That’s a thought.” Armitage narrowed his eyes and sank into speculation. “A thought that ought to have occurred to
me
. It does limit their choice of destination a bit.” He froze his face and put on his Mayfair voice: “After all, one simply may not be seen in dress clothes one minute after breakfast time on a Saturday morning on the promenade. Just not done, my dear.”

Julia shivered. “Don’t talk like that, William. You scare me. Do your American. It suits you. That’s who you are.”

“Okay, okay,” he said easily. “Come on! Let’s think about this. They’ve gone somewhere there’s a change of clothes available.”

“I bet he’s taken him home with him? Where
is
Sandilands’s home?”

“He had a flat in Chelsea and he’s still there after all these years, he tells me. By the river. Right where they dowsed the body. I’ve got his number.”