Charters and Caldicott (14 page)

‘Yes, well, the layman can't be expected to understand the complexities of case law,' said Charters, mollified. ‘Now I hope this is important, Caldicott.'

‘I haven't come all this way to discuss the cricket score, Charters.'

‘No, I don't suppose you have. What
is
the score, by the way?'

‘Fifty-two for three at lunch, I'm afraid. And now I'll give you something to look even more glum about. Inspector Snow has found out that Helen Appleyard wasn't Jenny Beevers.'

‘Well he was bound to in the end, wasn't he? He knows she was Gregory's wife, presumably?'

‘It's what she was before she was Gregory's wife that's more to the point. He's got it all from the Hong Kong police.'

‘Yes?'

‘She was Jock Beevers' mistress.'

‘Good grief!'

‘That was, shall we say, her unofficial role. More formally she was Jock's secretary.'

‘Par for the course, I'm afraid. The old rascal always did have a weakness for...' The full implications of this piece of news suddenly sunk in. ‘Hold on a minute! Jenny Beevers didn't know who she was.'

‘Exactly,' said Caldicott, who'd had a tiresome bus journey in which to examine the information from all angles.

‘Didn't know her from Adam !Had never seen her before! Didn't know her name or anything about her!'

‘Precisely.'

‘How could Jock Beevers' daughter never have heard of her own father's secretary?'

‘There's only one explanation, Charters, isn't there?'

‘Jenny Beevers isn't Jenny Beevers.'

‘And come to think of it, we've only ever had her word for it that she
was
Jenny Beevers. We didn't recognise her after all these years – neither of us did.'

Charters was still busy trying to sort out the loose ends. ‘But the handbag she switched with Helen Appleyard was chock-full of Jenny Beevers' papers. Passport and everything. We saw them!'

‘Forgeries? Unless the real Jenny is dead and the bogus one has literally stepped into her shoes.'

‘Who the devil is she and what's her game?'

‘She's certainly well-informed enough about poor old Jock, that's plain enough. And in common with several others, she's after something in poor old Jock's trunk, that's equally plain. But who she really is, old lad, or where she's turned up from, I can t even begin to guess.'

Charters abandoned speculation as a new aspect of the situation occurred to him. ‘You've considered
our
position, I suppose?'

‘I most certainly have,' said Caldicott forcefully. ‘We've been taken for the most monumental ride!'

‘More than that, Caldicott. We've been harbouring an imposter – very likely a murderer – why else should she pretend to be what she's not? You know what this makes us, don't you? Accessories after the fact.'

‘I say! That's serious, isn't it, Charters?'

‘More so for me than for you. I'm a magistrate! I'm supposed to have knowledge of these things – I can't even plead ignorance!'

‘You think it'll come to that, do you Charters? Pleading?'

‘I sincerely hope not, Caldicott.'

‘You don't think we should make a clean breast, then?'

‘I'll tell you what I think we should do, Caldicott. Get the bogus Jenny Beevers out of Mrs Mottram's house and into a hotel, then tip off the police anonymously and hope she doesn't implicate us.'

‘Rather a caddish thing to do, turning copper's nark, isn't it?'

‘Murder is a caddish business, Caldicott. Does Mrs Mottram know about this?'

‘Not yet. I've kept ringing her but she's out.'

‘She must be informed as soon as possible. It's not very nice, you know, having an imposter eating one's bread and using one's towel and linen.'

‘I know – I haven't been able to get hold of her yet.'

Charters nodded towards the phone. ‘Try her again. And if you do get through, bear in mind the call has to be paid for. It wouldn't do to impose the burden on our borough treasurer.' Caldicott picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Come,' Charters called in answer to a knock on the door and the sergeant brought in a copy of the evening paper.

‘I thought you'd like your cricket results as usual, sir.'

Charters thanked him. ‘Nice day for the show.'

‘It is that, sir.'

‘Are you exhibiting this year, Sergeant?'

‘Just in the orchid class, sir.'

‘Good man. I mustn't play favourites as one of the judges, but I wish you luck.'

The sergeant departed. While Caldicott waited for someone to answer the phone, Charters turned to the cricket scores. ‘A hundred and twelve for four. That's better.'

‘Not much. See if there's a later score in the Stop Press.'

Charters turned to the back page. ‘No... Hello!'

‘Still no reply.' Caldicott hung up and took the paper from Charters. ‘“Viceroy Mansions murder mystery deepened today when dead girl believed to be colonel's daughter Jenny Beevers...”' he read, appalled. ‘Why the blazes did he have to give it to the papers? I wonder if Margaret's seen this?'

‘Has the so-called Jenny Beevers she's harbouring under her roof? That's more to the point. Who knows what that girl might do in her panic?'

Caldicott looked worried. ‘You know, it's odd, there being no answer from Margaret's phone. When she goes out, she usually puts her answering machine on.'

‘How do we know she
is
out, Caldicott?'

They stared at each other. ‘How quickly can we get to London, Charters?'

Charters looked at his watch. ‘Have you ever judged a lily, Caldicott?'

‘No more than I've trained bees, Charters.'

‘No matter – I'll mark your card. First prize to our worthy Sergeant, second to Miss Elphinstone, third to the school caretaker, Mr Nebbs. If I go through the marrow class like a dose of salts we should just catch the express coach to Town.'

Charters and Caldicott, each wearing an orchid buttonhole presented by a grateful prizewinner, completed their journey to Margaret's house by taxi and hurried up to the front door. Getting no answer to his determined ringing, Caldicott groped along the ledge over the door and found the key.

‘Idiotic place to leave one's latch key, if I may say so,' said Charters.

Caldicott unlocked the door. ‘Not so idiotic that it hasn't saved us from shinning up the drainpipe.'

The door to the guest bedroom stood open and the room bore clear signs of a hurried departure. Drawers had been left open, tights and a glove dropped and abandoned on the floor and a copy of the evening paper read and discarded.

‘Our bird's flown, Charters, that's for sure.'

‘I'm afraid there's been a struggle, Caldicott,' said Charters, glancing towards an overturned chair.

Caldicott threw open the living-room door in some trepidation. Here were more signs of a fight. Rugs had been scuffed up, small tables knocked over, lamps overturned. In the middle of this chaos sat Margaret, bound to a chair and gagged. While Charters hurried over to unfasten her gag and begin work on the knots, Caldicott, with a fine sense of priorities, went for the decanter.

‘I think we'll omit your usual dash of soda under the circumstances,' he said, pouring out a stiff brandy.

Margaret stretched her arms and winced. ‘None of your small ones, Caldicott. And if that little bitch has taken my best pigskin suitcase, I'll kill her.' 

Golf was not Charters' and Caldicott's favourite game but their club lay outside the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Police, none of the few women members called herself Jenny Beevers and there was no cricket at Lord's or the Oval.

‘Do you know what I regret, Caldicott?' said Charters as they pushed their golf-trolleys gloomily towards the first green.

‘The demise of the old-fashioned caddy.'

‘Now how the deuce did you know I was going to say that?'

‘You always do, old boy – every time we approach the first tee.' Caldicott waved disparagingly at his own trolley. ‘I do see what you mean, though. You know what these things always remind me of?'

‘Shopping at Niceprice supermarket.' Charters had also heard it all before.

‘Actually, I've transferred my allegiance to More Store, but let it pass,' said Caldicott, nettled. ‘Your usual five, Charters?'

‘What do you mean, my usual five?'

‘I traditionally allow you five strokes over and above your handicap.'

‘There's nothing traditional about that concession, Caldicott. You were kind enough to allow me five strokes when I sprained my wrist.'

‘Better now, is it?'

‘It still plays me up from time to time,' Charters halted his trolley and turned to his companion. ‘Caldicott, before we tee off, shall we make a pact?'

‘Omit the lake hole? Now just because you always lose your ball, Charters.'

‘I'm quite prepared to take my chance at the lake hole, Caldicott, I didn't mean that. I was about to suggest that, as you seem a little on edge today...'

‘
I'm
not on edge, Charters,' Caldicott barked.

‘Caldicott, after the sum of our recent experiences we are
both
on edge. Now I'm about to propose that we put those wretched murders and all associated with them out of our minds for one day, and concentrate on a relaxing round of golf.'

‘I'll drink to that, Charters.'

‘Good. I'll accept my usual five strokes if that's all right with you.'

They played the first two holes amicably enough. By the time he reached the green on the third hole, Caldicott, at least, was restored to good humour. Amused and patient, he waited to make his own, easy putt while clods of earth and sand from the adjoining bunker showered round him. Charters' ball finally trickled up onto the green followed by its perspiring owner.

Caldicott tapped his ball into the hole. ‘Seven. That's only two over, Charters. I'm somewhat on form today. Good God!'

Charters, about to tee off, looked up and stared ahead in amazement. A club-carrying figure had emerged from a distant bunker and was ambling towards them straight down the middle of the fairway. ‘What the blue blazes! Fore! Fore, I say!'

‘You there! Wrong way!' Caldicott called.

‘The secretary shall hear of this, Caldicott. The man's a complete ignoramus.'

‘This is what we get when we tout for business memberships, Charters. Commercial travellers whose natural habitat is a seaside putting-green. Fore!'

The errant golfer, deaf to their shouts, disappeared into a dip in the ground. As he came up the other side he proved to be the ubiquitous Venables. Charters and Caldicott leaned on their clubs in exasperation as he strolled towards them. ‘Good morning to you,' said Venables, genially.

‘What's the meaning of this, Venables?' Charters demanded.

‘My anti-clockwise approach? Awfully remiss of me, I know, Caldicott.'

‘No, I'm Caldicott,' said Caldicott.

‘He knows that perfectly well,' Charters snapped. ‘I could have done you a serious injury, man, do you know that?'

‘I had my eye on you, never fear. By the way, I'd advise a three iron from this tee.'

‘Thank you, Venables, but I've always driven off from the third with my trusty number two wood.'

‘Then that's all right. Even if you had hit the ball, you'd have sliced well clear of me.'

‘Is this a social visit, Venables? You're interrupting a match, you know.'

‘Ah, then you've started. Not just limbering up, then?'

‘I should jolly well say not,' said Caldicott. ‘I'll have you know I took the first in six as against Charters' nine, and the second in seven as against his fourteen. And that's not counting the five I gave him over and above his...'

‘Venables doesn't require a blow-by-blow account of our game, Caldicott,' Charters interrupted. ‘I haven't played for some while on account of a sprained wrist – I'm just finding form.'

‘Then you won't mind starting again?' said Venables.

‘Starting again,' said Caldicott, puzzled.

‘In a threesome. You see, my partner hasn't turned up and I've no one to play with.'

‘But as a threesome, the rules say we must start from the tenth.'

‘I've no objection to starting at the tenth,' said Charters, cheering up and at once moving off with Venables.

‘Of course you haven't, because then you miss the lake hole,' said Caldicott, trailing after them. ‘Besides, I always do better on the first nine.'

‘I'm sure you'll run rings round us, Charters,' said Venables.

‘No, I'm Charters,' said Charters, cheerfully.

Charters' good humour turned out to be justified. At the tenth hole he drove off after Caldicott and watched the progress of his ball with satisfaction. ‘Not far short of the green, I fancy.'

‘Well done,' said Venables.

‘Shame your landing in the rough like that, Caldicott. I'd advise discouraging your right shoulder from rolling with your drive.' Charters demonstrated what he imagined to be Caldicott's fault. Caldicott fumed and ignored his advice.

‘Your friend Jock Beevers, by the way,' said Venables, teeing up last.

‘Yes?' said Charters.

‘I thought we'd agreed to give the topic a rest,' said Caldicott crossly.

‘If Venables has something to say, let him say it.'

‘Thank you. You'll be relieved to hear he wasn't a Soviet spy after all. Not that he's been given an entirely clean bill of health. No, it transpires he was a considerable smuggler of Russian icons.'

Charters and Caldicott forgot their differences and stared at each other in astonishment. ‘The old rascal!' said Caldicott as Venables swung his club back.