Charters and Caldicott (4 page)

‘Delighted. And of course it makes an excellent base camp for the Odeon, Kensington High Street.' Caldicott paused in the act of returning the 1979 Wisden to the shelves. ‘You found that batting average?'

‘Yes – and I owe you and the shade of Jock Beevers an apology. Do you think I should send a correction to
The Times
?'

Caldicott was considering the matter when the telephone rang. ‘If this is the gutter press after a juicy interview they'll get short shrift,' he said, lifting the receiver.

The call box bleeps stopped and a young woman's voice said, ‘Mr Caldicott? It's about the murder in your flat – something you ought to know.'

Caldicott put his hand over the receiver and reported to Charters, ‘Unspecified female. Says she knows something about the murder.'

Charters buttoned up his raincoat. ‘Crackpot, most likely.'

Caldicott listened. ‘Craves a meeting at Cuddles Restaurant in the Earl's Court Road,' he informed Charters, covering the mouthpiece again.

‘Never heard of it. Anyway, I have my Green Line bus to catch,' said Charters, rolling up his umbrella in a decisive manner.

‘Don't you think we ought to find out what she has to say?'

‘Publicity seeker. Waste of time.'

Peeved by Charters' lack of co-operation, Caldicott said to his caller, ‘I'm sure I shall find the place. Perhaps you'll allow me to buy you a cup of tea?... In about ten minutes then.' He was about to replace the receiver when a thought occurred to him. ‘By the way, I don't know your name.'

‘Yes, you do, Mr Caldicott. You found my body. This is Jenny Beevers.' She hung up.

Caldicott replaced his own receiver slowly and stared at it pensively for a moment before turning to Charters. ‘Could I persuade you to take a later Green Line bus, old chap?'

 

Cuddles turned out to be a glorified hamburger joint, furnished with ledges instead of tables and the sort of high, narrow stools designed to discourage customers from lingering. The lighting was harsh, the colours blinding and the walls and floors chipped and peeling. Charters and Caldicott, had passed happily through the colourful, noisy, polyglot crowds of the Earl's Court Road, reminded, perhaps, of some Far Eastern bazaar long ago, but in the doorway of Cuddles they came to an abrupt halt, stunned by the plastic squalor that lay before them.

‘Good God!' Caldicott gasped at Charters, appalled.

Charters, determinedly up-to-date in the face of Caldicott's helplessness, said caustically, ‘What did you expect in Earl's Court? Ann Hathaway's Tea Rooms?' and looked round for Jenny Beevers. A young woman, sitting with a Coke and the evening paper at one of the ledges, glanced up and smiled at them. They hesitated, not recognising her immediately, then went over and introduced themselves with their usual punctiliousness. Regardless alike of the tawdriness of their surroundings and the smirks of the mainly punkish clientele, they raised their hats, shook hands and exchanged greetings, creating a small oasis of civilisation where none had existed before. These formalities completed, Caldicott perched himself on an absurdly high stool beside Jenny while Charters approached the service hatch.

‘A pot of tea for two, please,' barters ordered, ruthlessly cutting into the two assistants' private conversation. When he rejoined the others he was carrying, with immense distaste, a small plastic tray upon which reposed two Styrofoam beakers of tea, two paper sacks of sugar, two mini-cartons of cream and two plastic spatula devices for stirring.

‘That's very noble of Charters,' said Caldicott. ‘He could have got a waitress to do that. Jenny, you're sure you wouldn't like something before Charters sits down? A muffin, perhaps?'

Charters, now wise in the ways of Cuddles, snorted. ‘Don't be absurd old fellow. This isn't Gunter's, you know. And he accuses
me
of being out of touch with the world,' he said to Jenny, putting the tray down on the ledge and taking the stool on the other side of her.

‘I shouldn't have dragged you into such a dump but I couldn't think of anywhere else,' said Jenny. ‘I'm afraid I don't know London very well.'

‘You live where these days?' Caldicott asked.

‘New York. And I didn't go back to Hong Kong as often as a good daughter should have done. The last time, of course, was for the funeral.'

‘We were both so sorry to hear about Jock's death.'

‘Yes. I wrote a little appreciation in
The Times
, you know. Perhaps you'd like to read it?' Charters fumbled once more in his wallet but was again thwarted.

‘A friend of my father showed it to me. I was very touched.'

‘Thank you.'

Jenny turned to Caldicott who was having trouble opening his customer-proof mini-carton of cream. ‘Let me do that.'

‘Thanks awfully. Never been able to get the hang of these things.'

‘Oh, it's just a knack,' said Charters airily, thrusting his thumb through the foil lid of his own carton and spurting cream all over the place. While he fumed and mopped himself up, Jenny calmly poured cream into Caldicott's tea.

‘You know, looking at you now, Jenny, I don't see how we could possibly have mistaken anyone else for you, even after all these years,' said Caldicott. ‘I'm mightily relieved, I must say.'

‘Amen to that,' said Charters.

‘There was no resemblance, then? You see, I hardly saw her face. I just saw her lying there and...'

Charters patted her hand awkwardly. ‘Don't upset yourself, my dear.'

‘I'm sorry, but I think I've got plenty to be upset about.'

‘Of course you have, after an ordeal like that,' said Caldicott. ‘No I don't think there was any resemblance at all, Jenny. The thing was, we both knew we'd seen her before but couldn't place her. When the poor girl was identified as you, of course, the penny dropped – or we thought it had.'

‘The question that arises now – this tea is disgusting. It tastes like detergent – is who the unfortunate woman was, and what she was doing with your papers,' said Charters.

‘She was called Helen Appleyard. Or, at least, that's the name on
her
papers.' Jenny produced a driving licence and a couple of letters. ‘I switched handbags,' she explained, seeing that Charters and Caldicott were baffled.

Caldicott struck his forehead. ‘I see. Simple when you know how, isn't it.'

Charters didn't pretend to understand. ‘What do you mean, you switched handbags?'

‘Oh, really, old man, you're a bit slow on the uptake today,' said Caldicott. ‘Jenny let herself in with the spare key from the lobby – we'll inquire into the whys and wherefores of that in a minute...'

‘I did have a reason,' Jenny put in.

‘I'm sure you did, my dear.' Caldicott turned back to Charters, elaborately patient, delighted to get his own back for the mathematics lecture. ‘You savvy? Lets herself into flat, finds body, swaps handbags.'

‘Why?'

‘Come along, Charters, wakey, wakey. Oh dear, oh doctor,' he gloated as Charters continued to look blank. ‘You may be hot on the price of lamb cutlets, old man, but logic seems to defeat you. Look – watch closely.' Caldicott, having a whale of a time, doubled his fists and crossed them one over the other, demonstrating what he believed to have happened. ‘This is Jenny. This is the body. Jenny swaps places – as you were, handbags – with dead girl. Whereupon what's-her­name, Helen Appleyard, becomes Jenny Beevers and Jenny becomes Helen Appleyard. Switch of personalities. Savvy?'

Charters, who had watched this elaborate pantomime with grim patience, said, ‘Yes, I've understood that all along.'

‘Well then.'

‘But why?'

‘Why what?'

‘Why switch personalities?'

‘Well because,' Caldicott began, then stopped, frowning. ‘Yes, dash it, why?' he demanded, turning to Jenny.

‘Can I tell you first what I was doing in your flat? I knew Dad had sent you a trunk brimful of diaries and notebooks and stuff.'

‘Yes, it's in my custody as it happens,' said Charters.

‘I wanted to read them.'

‘My dear girl, they're your property now,' said Caldicott. ‘You only had to ask.'

‘Yes, I know – and that's what I meant to do when I first called round to Viceroy Mansions and you were out. But then I got to thinking that you mightn't let me see what you mightn't wish me to see.'

‘What a bizarre idea!'

‘Why on earth should we prevent you reading your own father's diaries? See them whenever you like,' said Charters.

‘Now?' Jenny asked.

‘Well, I
am
in the country, you know.'

‘Of course. I remember seeing a snap of you and your wife in the garden.'

‘Ruth died, you know.'

‘I'm sorry – I never heard.'

‘No, I didn't want a song and dance made of it. They were happy years, the few we had.'

Jenny took a deep breath. ‘Mr Charters, Mr Caldicott, can I ask you something? What did you actually do before you retired?'

‘Do?' Charters asked.

‘We were with HMG,' said Caldicott. ‘I thought you knew that.'

‘Yes, I know, but which branch?'

‘The, ah, sort of, general branch,' said Charters.

‘Were you spies?'

‘Ha! The idea,' said Caldicott, pleased as Punch at the suggestion.

‘No, no, no, nothing of that kind at all,' said Charters, delighted.

‘Flattering though the suggestion is.'

‘What did my father do?' Charters and Caldicott looked even more puzzled. ‘Oh, I know what he put in Who's Who: first the Army then the Trade Commission. But he didn't know anything
about
trade, did he?'

‘What's that got to do with it?' Charters asked, genuinely baffled.

‘I think that was a cover and he was an agent of some kind.'

‘Old Jock?' Caldicott chuckled. ‘A secret agent? Nonsense. With all due respect.'

‘How do you think he died?'

‘Heart, according to what one heard,' said Charters.

‘Your “general” branch of HMG really didn't tell you?' Jenny asked ironically.

‘No reason why anyone should tell us anything. We really were very unimportant cogs in a very big wheel,' said Caldicott.

‘No need for false modesty, old chap,' said Charters.

‘He was murdered.'

‘Good God!' and ‘How terrible for you!' Charters and Caldicott exclaimed.

‘Why, or by whom, I've yet to find out.'

‘So you were hoping to find a clue in your father's papers?' Caldicott asked.

‘Instead I found the body of this Helen Appleyard, who, for whatever reason, was looking for the same thing. And that's why she died – I'm sure of it.' Jenny paused while a Cuddles assistant cleared the ledge by the simple method of sweeping the debris with his sleeve into a plastic bin. Momentarily silenced, Caldicott and Charters watched this operation with acute distaste.

‘I wonder if they mistook her for me?' Jenny went on as the assistant moved away.

‘Is that possible?' Caldicott asked.

‘You two did. You see, ever since I arrived in London a few days ago, someone – a man – has been trying to find me. He rang the Hong Kong trade people here, posing as my cousin. They gave him the address of the flat I'm renting.'

‘Very remiss of them,' said Caldicott.

‘Since then I've felt very strongly that I was being followed.'

‘If you were, then he could well have taken up a lurking position outside Viceroy Mansions,' said Caldicott.

‘All of which explains Jenny's handbag-switching ruse,' said Charters triumphantly.

Caldicott had completely lost track of this strand of the story. ‘Quite,' he said unconvincingly.

Charters explained, ‘If the police think the dead girl is Jenny, so will the criminal when he reads his
Times
or
Daily Telegraph
tomorrow.'

Caldicott got the point at last. ‘Smart girl. So whoever the murderous swine is, you've now got him off your back.'

‘Unless that porter of yours spills the beans, Caldicott.' Charters turned to Jenny. ‘He's seen the body and he's met you as Miss Beevers, so he must know you're not one and the same.'

‘Yet he didn't let on to Inspector Snow,' Caldicott pointed out. ‘Knowing Grimes, he has his own reasons for keeping mum. I shall have a word with that lad later.'

Charters turned irritably to address a sulky young couple with loaded trays who had taken up positions immediately behind him. ‘Would you mind? We are engaged in a private conversation.'

The couple stayed mutinously put. Caldicott murmured to Charters, ‘I believe it's the custom in these establishments to leave the moment one's finished, old chap.'

Jenny stood up. ‘I think we've outstayed our welcome.' Pursued by snickers from the young couple, they made as dignified a departure as they could. Outside, it had started to rain and the three paused in the doorway to button up their raincoats.

‘Where to now?' Caldicott asked.

‘That's the problem,' said Jenny. ‘I don't live anywhere.'

‘I thought you were renting a flat?'

‘Jenny Beevers is renting a flat. But she's dead, isn't she?'

‘You don't belong to any of the ladies' clubs, overseas membership?' Charters asked.

Caldicott shook his head. ‘The same objection applies, old chap. You can't have the world believing you're dead then roll up to the club bar demanding whisky and soda.'

‘No. No, I suppose technically one would no longer be a member.'

‘It s a quandary,' said Caldicott frowning. Then he snapped his fingers. ‘Got it! Margaret Mottram. An old friend,' he explained to Jenny.