Callander Square (31 page)

He did not doubt for a moment that Freddie Bolsover had been murdered because he was a blackmailer. He was inclined to think that it was not Reggie Southeron, if only because he lacked the nerve, and had seemed to be totally shocked by the news of the discovery of the body. Surely if he had known anything about it, he would have been prepared with a more plausible story.

But if it was not Reggie, then who were the other suspects? Surely in Callander Square there were enough secrets worth paying to keep!

He would begin with Balantyne.

He found him at home and quite willing to see him. He was shown into the morning room and a moment later the general came in, still looking grave from the news of Freddie’s murder the day before.

“Good morning, Inspector. Have you discovered something further about poor Freddie?”

“Yes, quite a lot, sir. None of it very pleasant, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. Wretched business, poor fellow. You said yesterday he was stabbed. Was there something else?”

“Perhaps I didn’t explain myself very well. I meant that what I had discovered was about Dr. Bolsover himself, not the murder; although I believe it was the cause.”

“Oh?” Balantyne frowned slightly. “What do you mean? Not something to do with the babies in the square, surely? Always thought Freddie was a pretty sober sort of chap, not given to playing the fool with other women.”

“Not directly to do with the babies, but perhaps indirectly. He was a blackmailer.”

Balantyne stared at him.

“Blackmailer?” he repeated foolishly. “Whatever makes you think anything—so—vile?”

“One of his victims.”

“Must be lying! Fellow who would do something fit to be blackmailed for could well be a liar as well. In fact must be! Or others would know about his crimes.”

“Doesn’t have to be a crime, sir,” Pitt said gently. “Could be something he merely preferred kept private, an indiscretion or misfortune. Perhaps like his daughter having an affair with a footman, and being with child before she was married, or—” he stopped. It was unnecessary to go on, Balantyne’s face was scarlet. Pitt waited.

“I’d see the fellow in hell before I’d pay him,” Balantyne said very quietly. “Believe me!”

“Would you?” Pitt asked, his voice mild, not a challenge, but a soft probing. “Your only daughter, just before her marriage to a most suitable man? Are you sure? Would you not perhaps consider it worth a small expense to protect her?”

Balantyne stared at him, his eyes wavering.

Pitt said nothing.

“I don’t know,” Balantyne said at last. “Possibly you’re right. But it didn’t happen. Freddie never came anywhere near me.” He looked down at the carpet. “Poor Sophie. I suppose she had no idea. Often wondered how Freddie managed to live so high on the hog. I had some knowledge of the size of his practice. Never occurred to me in the wildest moment—what a wretched business. Do you suppose he knew whose the babies were?”

“Perhaps,” Pitt replied. “But I rather doubt it. If he were pressing on that one, I think he might well have been killed a good deal earlier than this. Of course he may have known something without realizing its importance. I don’t know, that’s why I must question all the people upon whom he may have put pressure.”

“Nautrally. Of course you must. Well, I had no idea. I would regret having to do so, but if I could help you, I should.”

“Thank you. May I speak with Lady Augusta, please, and then with young Mr. Balantyne?”

Again Balantyne flushed uncomfortably.

“Lady Augusta can tell you nothing, I assure you, she has most certainly never done anything in her life to make blackmail possible! And she is not the manner of woman to be intimidated.”

Pitt agreed with this last observation, but if she had done anything, then in all probability it would be the general from whom she wished to keep it secret. He forbore pointing this out; it would only embarrass without serving any purpose.

“All the same, sir, she might be able to help me. I’m sure she is not a woman to gossip, but we are dealing with murder. I need any help I may be able to obtain.”

“Yes—yes, I suppose so. Very well.” Perhaps he also knew that the request was only a formality. Pitt could not be refused; he came with official power.

Augusta received him in the withdrawing room, still chilly with a newmade fire.

“Good morning, my lady,” Pitt began formally as the footman closed the door behind him.

“Good morning,” Augusta replied. She was a handsome woman, and she looked, if anything, a little more relaxed than when he had seen her last. “What can I do for you, Inspector? I have no idea who killed Freddie Bolsover, or why.”

“Why is not difficult,” Pitt replied, facing her squarely. “He was a blackmailer.”

“Indeed?” she raised her eyebrows slightly. “How very unpleasant. I had no idea. I suppose you are quite sure.”

“Quite,” he waited, wondering what she would say next.

“Then surely his victim is the one who murdered him? You cannot need me to tell you that!”

He smiled very slightly.

“That is to presume he had only one victim, my lady. Why should I presume that?”

She looked at him and the corners of her mouth curled upward very faintly.

“Quite. I should have thought of that myself. When you remark it, it is quite obvious. What is it you imagine I can tell you? I assure you, Freddie Bolsover was not blackmailing me.”

“Not over Miss Christina’s unfortunate business with the footman?”

She barely flickered.

“It is hardly police business, I would have thought.”

“Not at all. Its discovery was incidental. But you haven’t answered my question—did Dr. Bolsover not approach you on the matter?”

“Certainly not,” she smiled very faintly and looked at him without dislike. “I should not have paid him. I should have found some other way of dealing with him; as I did with Max, who did try it. I have more brain, and more imagination, Inspector, than to resort to violence.”

He grinned widely.

”I believe it, my lady. I hope if you think of anything that might help me, however slight, you will let me know, immediately. For heaven’s sake, don’t deal with this yourself. He has killed once, maybe more than once.”

“I give you my word,” she said convincingly.

He saw Brandy a little later in the same room.

“What’s happened now?” Brandy demanded. “Not someone else dead!”

“No, and I want to see that it does not happen again. I must find out who killed Dr. Bolsover, before he feels threatened again.”

“Threatened?” Brandy looked worried.

“Dr. Bolsover was a blackmailer, Mr. Balantyne. That is almost certainly why he was killed.”

“Who was he blackmailing, do you know?”

“Mr. Southeron, at least.”

“Good—Reggie didn’t kill him, surely?”

“You think that unlikely?”

“Well—yes—I do. Somehow Reggie just doesn’t seem like—to be honest, I wouldn’t think he had the nerve!” Brandy smiled apologetically.

“Nor I,” Pitt agreed. “He said it was Jemima Waggoner who killed Dr. Bolsover—”

“What?” All the color blanched from Brandy’s face. “Jemima? That’s idiotic! Why on earth would Jemima kill anyone?”

“Because she was his partner in blackmail, and she became greedy over the spoils, and they quarreled—”

“He’s a liar!” This time there was no mistaking Brandy’s emotion, it was rage. “That’s your answer! Reggie killed him, and is lying to protect himself. There’s the proof of it! If he said Jemima blackmailed him, then he’s a liar!” His face was set, angry and defensive.

“One can lie to cover many things, Mr. Balantyne,” Pitt said quietly. “Not necessarily murder. Mr. Southeron panics rather easily.”

“He’s a liar!” Brandy’s voice was rising. “You can’t believe she—Jemima—” he stopped suddenly, struggling to control himself. He swallowed and began again. “I’m sorry. I feel very strongly about it. I’m sure Jemima is innocent, and I shall find a way to prove it to you.”

“I shall be grateful for all help,” Pitt smiled. “Did Dr. Bolsover approach you, sir?”

“No. Whatever for?”

“Money, favors, anything?”

“Of course not!”

“I thought you might have been prepared to pay, for example, to protect Lady Carlton.”

Brandy flushed deeply.

“How did you know about that?”

Pitt evaded an answer.

“Did he?”

“No. I’m pretty sure he had no idea. It was hardly a thing he would come in contact with. I mean, he might have known she was with child, being a doctor, and so on; but nothing about me. But all that is less important than seeing that Jemima is cleared. Please, Inspector,” he hesitated, “please get to the bottom of that.”

Pitt smiled very gently.

“You care about her, don’t you?”

“I—” Brandy seemed lost. He looked up. “Yes—I—I think I do.”

P
ITT ALSO VISITED
Robert Carlton, more to inform him that Freddie had been a blackmailer than with any hope that Carlton might admit to having been a victim himself. He made his questions discreet, almost to the point of nonexistence, as he felt Carlton’s cooperation was of more value than any possible involvement he might reluctantly divulge.

He could think of no reason why the Dorans should have attracted Freddie’s attention. The whole business of Helena was laid bare for public speculation before Freddie was killed, so he left them to the privacy of their grief.

Lastly he visited the Campbells. He knew of no reason why they should have been put under pressure either, but it was always possible there was some indiscretion as yet unguessed at, although of course they would hardly be likely to tell him. But many small clues were to be found in the most guarded conversations: frequently the very guard itself was an indication of the existence of something to hide.

He saw Mariah first, since Campbell himself was busy in his study writing letters. She was very calm and expressed nothing more than a deep sympathy for Sophie. He learned nothing from her whatsoever, beyond the increasing impression that she was a strong woman who had already surmounted hardships, even griefs, and would bend herself willingly to assist Sophie to endure the shock that was overwhelming her now, and the shame which was doubtless to come.

He was obliged to wait some quarter of an hour before Garson Campbell sent for him to come to his study. He found Campbell standing in front of the fire, feet wide apart, rocking a little backward and forward. He looked angry.

“Well, Pitt, what is it?” he said tersely.

Pitt decided immediately there was no point in trying to be subtle. This was a clever and aggressive man who would see and avoid any attempt at verbal traps laid for him.

“Did you know Dr. Bolsover was a blackmailer?” he asked.

Campbell considered for a moment.

“Yes,” he said slowly.

Pitt felt a quickening of excitement.

“How did you know that, sir?”

Campbell’s cold gray eyes looked at him with bitter amusement. “Not because he was blackmailing me, Inspector. One of his victims came to me for advice. Naturally I cannot tell you who.”

Pitt knew there was no purpose at all in pressing him. Some people he might have been able to coerce, or frighten, or even overcome by power of personality—but not Garson Campbell.

“Can you tell me what advice you gave this person?” he asked instead.

“Yes,” Campbell smiled slightly. “I advised them to pay, for the time being. It was an indiscretion, not a crime. The danger of its becoming public and doing any real harm would shortly pass. I also promised to speak to Freddie and warn him that such a trick would not work a second time.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“And what was Dr. Bolsover’s reaction?”

“Not very reliable, I would think, Inspector. A man capable of blackmail would not jib at a little lying.”

“Blackmail is a sneaking, underhanded crime, Mr. Campbell. A blackmailer relies on secrecy, and is usually a coward. He might well have been frightened by a more powerful man—which Mr. Southeron is not, but you are.”

Campbell’s eyebrows went up in amusement.

“So you knew about it?”

“Of course,” Pitt allowed himself the luxury of a little arrogance.

“And you have not arrested poor Reggie? He’s an awful ass. Panics very easily.”

“So I notice,” Pitt agreed. “But also something of a coward, I think. And not, by any means, the only person in Callander Square who might warrant a blackmailer’s attentions.”

Campbell’s face darkened and his big body tensed. It seemed for a moment as if a spasm of pain shot through him.

“I would be very particular what you say, Pitt. You could lay up a great deal of wrath for yourself if you make careless accusations about the people in this square. We all have our foibles, some of them no doubt unpleasant, by your standards, but we do not like them talked about. All men do what they like, as far as they dare. We have the good fortune to dare more than most; we have earned or inherited that position. Find out who killed the babies, by all means, if you must. And look into who stabbed Freddie Bolsover: but have a care for Sophie, and don’t go stirring up a lot of scandal just to see what floats to the surface. You won’t enhance your career, I promise you. You’re a damn sight more likely to finish up back on some beat down by the dockside.”

Pitt looked at his face for a moment or two. He did not doubt even for an instant that he meant precisely what he said, and that it was more than a warning.

“Freddie Bolsover was a blackmailer, sir,” he answered levelly, “and blackmail feeds on scandal. I can hardly hope to discover who killed him without discovering why.”

“If he was a blackmailer, he deserved to die. Perhaps for the happiness of those still in the square, it would be better if you left it at that. I have no scandal to hide, as I imagine you know by now; but there are a good many powerful men who have. For their safety, and my convenience, I would advise you not to press your dirt shoveling too far. We have had the police in Callander Square for a long time now. It is bad for us. It’s time you either came to some conclusion, or gave up and left us alone. Has it occurred to you that your persistent poking around may have precipitated these tragedies, that far from doing any good, you are making worse that which was bad enough to begin with?”