Charters and Caldicott (24 page)

Snow nodded slowly. ‘That fits.'

‘Now I'll give
you
one. You keep saying she let herself into the flat
after
the murder.'

‘That's right. She was seen hanging about near the lift, nervously fiddling with a key. Evidently she thought she'd somehow missed Wrigley – that place is a maze of corridors – so she took a chance and let herself in.'

Margaret shivered. ‘And found him standing over the body.'

‘Yes.'

‘Then who let
him
in?'

‘Helen Appleyard.'

‘But for Pete's sake,
why
? Helen Appleyard wasn't supposed to be in the flat. Why the hell would she answer the door?'

‘Mrs Mottram. Do you remember when I called on you the other day and you looked through your little spyhole and decided not to open the door?'

‘I was in the loo, if you want to know,' said Margaret defiantly.

‘I sent the car away and waited. Five minutes later you peeped out to see if I'd gone. As you know, I hadn't.'

‘As
you
know, I came out to put out the milk bottles.'

‘You came out
with
the milk bottles, yes. Come on, Mrs Mottram. It's human nature. Helen Appleyard waited, had to reassure herself, opened the door a crack, and saw Wrigley still standing there. He must have heard a movement in the flat – like the chink of milk bottles.'

Margaret stretched across and retrieved her glass. ‘All right, I'll give you that round, Inspector. But you still don't know
why
he killed her, do you?'

‘I don't have to know why, Mrs Mottram. I expect he'll tell us, in the fullness of time.'

Wrigley was unwittingly in the process of clearing up that aspect at that very moment. ‘Panic, sheer blind panic. She was wetting her knickers.'

Charters frowned. ‘No need for that kind of talk.'

‘I can understand what the sight of you would induce a nasty turn in anyone, Wrigley, but why panic?' asked Caldicott. ‘What did Helen Appleyard have to fear from you?'

‘Everything. She knew all there was to know about the scheme I hatched with Jock Beevers out in Hong Kong. If she was interested in selling that information to Josh Darrell, as I thought she was, then very likely I'd be interested in stopping her.'

‘You say “if”. You can't be sure if Darrell was wise to your little plot or no.' Caldicott turned bitterly on Meg. ‘So our role in that foul house party of his, when we thought we were investigating a murder, was merely to pick up any crumbs he might drop about your tinpot little pop factory.'

‘I'm afraid so.'

‘I'll have you know,' said Charters, ‘that was the most disagreeable weekend we've spent since we were snowed up in a Scottish temperance hotel in the bad winter of '47.'

‘Not since – inclusive of. However, water under the bridge, old chap. So Helen Appleyard panicked?'

‘I bundled her back into the flat,' said Wrigley. ‘She wouldn't listen to reason, just went on struggling. Her hand closed on a knife of some sort on the desk. She tried to lunge it into me. I twisted her arm round and she stuck it into herself. Finito. It was her or me.'

‘Self defence and no witnesses,' said Caldicott scornfully.

Charters turned to Meg. ‘Then you arrived on the scene?'

Meg looked a little sick. ‘I was horrified.'

‘But not so horrified that you didn't calmly proceed to change handbags.'

‘That was my idea,' said Wrigley. ‘If Helen Appleyard was in London, Gregory had to be with her. She would have told him about Meg catching her coming out of Viceroy Mansions. As soon as he knew she was dead, he'd be on to us. So. His wife isn't dead but her pal Jenny Beevers is.'

‘But
he
must have known, even though no one else did, that it couldn't possibly be Jenny,' said Caldicott.

‘Right. He'd guess it was someone posing as Jenny – someone after the will for her own reasons. Helen Appleyard surprises her, there's a row, she kills her, panics and takes off.' Wrigley shrugged. ‘All right, so he was bound to rumble it sooner or later, but it did give us a bit of time to play with while we looked for the will. Once we'd got it, easy enough to prove it's all been a terrible mix-up by finding the real Jenny Beevers alive if not kicking in New York.'

‘I'd have given anything to have brought Helen Appleyard back to life, too,' said Meg sadly. ‘But as it wasn't possible, I couldn't see what harm we were doing – apart from causing a little confusion.'

Caldicott snorted. ‘A little confusion! One Jenny Beevers lying dead in my flat, a second Jenny Beevers lying in a nursing home bed in New York, a third Jenny Beevers getting us mixed up in one unpleasantness after another!'

‘And you really believe it was self-defence, do you?' asked Charters.

Meg met his eyes squarely. ‘I have to. The alternative to believing it is not believing it.'

‘How does he account for Gregory's death?'

‘An accident.'

‘It was,' said Wrigley. ‘I didn't know he was going to be at Josh Darrell's. As soon as he saw me he put two and two together. Figured I'd killed his wife and thought why shouldn't I pay for it.'

‘Blackmail?'

‘Attempted. He pulled a knife on me and unfortunately got the worst of it.'

‘St Clair. Do you believe that was yet another accident?' Caldicott asked Meg.

‘Look, all these people – Helen Appleyard, Gregory, St Clair – were criminals. Desperate with greed. They'd have killed either of you, both of you, just to get what they wanted. They'd have killed me; they'd have killed my husband.'

‘If he hadn't killed them first.'

Meg had fine-tuned her moral judgement in the interests of self-preservation and there was nothing more to be said. Now that all aspects of the mystery had been cleared up, Charters was conscious again of the call of Old Trafford. Caldicott caught him surreptitiously consulting his watch and did the same himself. ‘Yes, time is getting on, Charters, isn't it? I enjoyed our chat Wrigley, Mrs Wrigley, but now we really must be making tracks.'

‘Perhaps you'd be kind enough to call us a taxi,' said Charters.

‘The will,' said Wrigley.

Caldicott shook his head regretfully. ‘I'm afraid after all we can't help you on that one.'

‘Please!' Meg pleased. ‘Not for me, for Jenny and my father.'

Charters looked down his nose. ‘One doesn't wish to be sanctimonious...'

‘Well, dammit, I
do
wish to be sanctimonious,' said Caldicott. ‘You got into all this to protect your father. Sooner or later he's going to learn that however far he may have strayed from the straight and narrow, his daughter has strayed a good deal further. Whatever you do now, you can't shield him from that.'

‘As for poor Jenny,' said Charters. ‘From what you tell us, she's regrettably beyond the help of worldly fortune.'

‘But she isn't!' said Meg. ‘With money there are operations she could have – a new clinic in Texas. But you know what these things cost over there.'

Caldicott wavered. ‘What do you say, Charters?'

‘What I say, Caldicott, is that provision for Jenny may safely be left with us. There are ample funds available and I'm sure it would be her father's wish. As to handing Jock Beevers' last will and testament over to this blackguard, I should sooner be roasted over a slow fire.'

‘Hear hear! Shall we go, old man? We'll probably pick up a cab at the corner.'

Charters and Caldicott stood up defiantly and prepared to take their leave like ordinary guests. Wrigley picked up the gun that had been lying unregarded on a table.

Meg pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘Gordon – no!'

‘Don't worry, my dear. I'm sure if precedent is anything to go by, the verdict will be self-defence,' said Caldicott.

‘Sit down,' said Wrigley. ‘You already have the will, don't you?'

‘As we used to say at school, Wrigley, that's for us to know and you to find out,' said Charters.

‘We went to different schools, Charters.' Wrigley raised his revolver and pressed the barrel to Charters' temple.

 

Margaret changed into something suitable for watching cricket, summoned a taxi and set off for Old Trafford. A minute or two later her taxi stopped abruptly, made a speedy U-turn and dashed back to the hotel. Margaret, very agitated, hurried across the lobby to where Snow and Sergeant Tipper were going over some papers spread across a coffee table.

‘Charters and Caldicott are with Gordon Wrigley.'

Snow leaped to his feet. ‘The stupid old...! Where?'

‘At his house. My cab driver took them there.'

‘Is he sure it was Charters and Caldicott?'

‘He remembers them vividly,' said Margaret laconically.

‘I'm going to count to ten, then it's your turn,' said Wrigley to Caldicott, holding his gun to Charters' head.

‘Gordon, you can't!' Meg pleaded.

‘Look here, Wrigley! Charters doesn't know where the blasted will is.'

‘Decent of you to bluff, old man,'. said Charters gruffly. ‘The secret dies with me, Wrigley. Caldicott knows nothing.'

Wrigley began to count – slowly. He'd got as far as nine when the drawing-room door burst open and Jacob Norton was wheeled in by his nurse. Regardless of the circumstances, Charters and Caldicott rose with automatic courtesy. Wrigley hurriedly hid the gun.

Norton glared at his unexpected guests. ‘What are you two doing in my house?'

Meg kissed him, greatly relieved. ‘Father, this is Mr Charters and Mr Caldicott. We met in Hong Kong – they were very old friends of Jenny's father.'

‘Is that what they told you? It's not what they told me.'

‘Told you what? I didn't know you'd even met,' said Wrigley.

‘You don't have to know all my business, Gordon. Meg, what have they been saying to you?'

‘Oh, just chewing the fat, don't you know,' said Caldicott reassuringly. ‘About this morning, sir – I believe we may owe you an explanation.'

‘You do that.'

‘Possibly in private,' said Charters, a plan of escape occurring to him.

‘We don't need to bother Mrs Wrigley with our tiresome business affairs,' said Caldicott.

‘You can wheel me round the garden.' Norton turned to his nurse. ‘Lunch in ten minutes.'

Powerless to stop them, Wrigley watched Charters and Caldicott push Norton's chair through the french windows and down the garden path, Jock Beevers' letter safely in their charge once more.

Always the appreciative guest, Caldicott glanced about him. ‘Wonderful show of roses you have.'

‘Betty Uprichards, I believe,' said Charters.

The party came to a halt at the far end of the garden beside a door set into the wall. ‘This'll do,' said Norton. ‘We're out of earshot now.'

‘And eyeshot, too, which is more to the point,' said Caldicott. ‘That door, Mr Norton. Does it lead to the outside world?'

‘Never mind that. Come on, let's have it then! What's your game, the pair of you?'

‘Cricket, sir. We've already missed the first morning's play.' Charters opened the door and peered out. ‘A most convenient alley.'

‘Sorry to desert you, Mr Norton. I'm sure your nurse will be along in a jiffy. Good morning.' Caldicott joined Charters in a hasty retreat through the door.

Wrigley looked round as Norton's nurse brought in his lunch tray. ‘He's still in the garden. You'd better go and fetch him.' He turned to his wife. ‘Come on, Meg.'

‘Where are we going?'

‘The same place they're going.'

‘It's no use, Gordon. It's all over.'

‘I'll be the judge of that.'

Their car, Wrigley at the wheel and a set-faced Meg beside him, sped out of the drive seconds before a police car carrying Margaret, Snow and Tipper drew up outside the house.

Charters and Caldicott took a fast bus back to their hotel and hurried up to Charters' room. As soon as they were inside, they tugged open their shirt collars and let out simultaneous sighs of relief. Caldicott shed his jacket and picked up the phone. It was time to bring Inspector Snow up to date with developments. While he waited for London to answer, he peeled off his braces and began to unbutton his shirt.

While Charters undressed, he heard Caldicott, in the surprising absence of both Snow and Tipper, prepare to bring enlightenment into the life of a very junior, unknown police­officer. The constable refused the part allotted to him. ‘He says they know who the murderer is too,' Caldicott reported in a hurt manner as he accepted Charters' shirt in exchange for his own. ‘Are we talking about the same chap?' asked Caldicott, still hoping to surprise Scotland Yard. ‘Oh, very well. One was only trying to do one's duty as a citizen.' He hung up in a huff. ‘Says Inspector Snow has everything in hand and will we please keep our noses out of it.'

‘Impertinent little pipsqueak! You got his name, did you?'

‘Well, I'm glad we've got that sorted out,' said Charters, fingering his, collar with relief as they got out of the lift.

‘So am I, Charters, much more satisfactory.'

‘You know, these reach-me-down shirts are really quite comfortable.' Charters dropped his key at the reception desk on the way out. Venables, the clubman, paused in the middle of signing himself in and watched their departure for Old Trafford with a smile.

Charters and Caldicott were fortunate enough to find seats in front of the pavilion. As they settled themselves in, score­cards at the ready and hats adjusted against the sun, an English fielder welcomed them with a spectacular catch. They applauded the returning batsman, recorded his innings on their cards and sat back contentedly. Unexpectedly, a frown flickered across Caldicott's face. ‘I'll tell you something that's been puzzling me on and off, Charters. Why are we here?'