Full Fury (3 page)

‘
Quiet tonight.’ I was standing next to Troy.

His
eyes came into focus. ‘Staying long, Mr Mallin?’

I
’d been quite friendly about it. There was absolutely no cause for the distrust in his voice. ‘I may be.’

‘
Then later, if there’s time…’ His mouth fought for it but didn’t quite achieve a smile, ‘…a game of chess?’ And he produced a pocket set from somewhere inside with his gun.

The
poor devil was bored. I laughed, ran a finger down behind his lapel. ‘Sorry, I don’t play. Too deep for me.’

He
was lost again, bereft. I left him to his sorrow, stepped down on to the gaming floor, and watched idly as somebody in a grubby old smoking jacket lost £100 on 23. I’m not a gaming man. I don’t believe in luck. I never take chances, and sure enough I never win. I winked at Harry Klein. He almost choked over ‘
faites
vos
jeux’
. He called it fate.

But
I had spotted a sign that said Grill Room.

Yet
I was sure I’d appreciate much more fully the delights that awaited me in there once I’d spoken to Paul and told him it was all off. At the far end of the gaming room there was a wall consisting almost entirely of glass, and beyond it an unearthly glow. The conservatory, that must be. As it was the only place, apart from the Grill, that I hadn’t been, I looked. He was there all right.

They
had extended it and lighted it discreetly so that it provided a restful retreat for persons such as Smoking Jacket who’d just flipped their last hundred down the drain. Greenery curled and looped, and a monstera scared me a little. The smell was hot and fleshy. Paul was kissing a girl where the fronds hid most of the action except the fact that he’d got his hand where a hand only gets after the kissing has been going on for some time—and was likely to continue. I withdrew.

She
had been wearing a gold sheath dress and tights and a nice little watch.

I
climbed five steps into the Grill. It was nearly empty. Tiny tables swam in a red glow so dim you could barely reach them. My steak and mushrooms were so expensive that I passed up the french fries, and when I clicked my lighter for a few breaths of tobacco until it came, the flash nearly blinded me in the gloom.

The
steak was rare. I could tell that the moment my knife parted the surface. How it tasted I never found out.

A
voice at my elbow said: ‘Mrs Finn will see you now, sir. If you’ll just follow me.’

He
had a short jacket and a waist like a young girl, and he was bald. I looked in despair at my plate.

‘
Now?’

‘
If you don’t mind.’

‘
And what if I do?’

Such
an eventuality had never sullied his mind. Harsh reality tortured his face. ‘Sir?’

Madam
was waiting. To hell with food. I stood up. He relaxed, and his life slumped down into its placid groove.

There
was a felt-lined door off the gaming room, and suddenly we were in the morose and echoing hall. Stairs mounted in triumph from the centre, the balustrades in hand-carved oak. They spread out at the top in both directions along a balcony. We went left. The carpeting pressed aside to let me through. There was no sound.

‘
In here, sir,’ he said, and opened a door without, as far as I could see, touching it. I went in there.

It
seemed I was in their private lounge.

For
one thing, I had had no intention of seeing Myra Finn. For another, I wasn’t keen on Myra Finn sending for me. After all, she wasn’t even paying me. So all in all I was in no mood for pleasantries.

When
she had been Myra Gaines I had seen her only a couple of times. She had then been getting on for thirty. Say forty to forty-two now. I was looking at a woman I’d have said was thirty-five, eager, alive—and welcoming.

She
was slim, dressed very simply, but obviously with the intention—the habit—of circulating with the customers. Her dress was so simple they’d never be able to reproduce it, and she had a small diamond and turquoise brooch just over her left breast. There was a single gold band round her wrist, a wedding ring, no more jewellery than that. Her hair was worn high, with touches of grey in the chestnut. Maybe she’d put them in there for dignity’s sake. She came towards me smiling, one slim hand extended, and her face was alive. There were fine planes between her jaw and her eyes, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. But it was her eyes that caught and held me, wide brown eyes with gold flecks and some hint of mischief, shared illicit joy… I don’t know. But she knew I was there. She knew and was glad I was there. I was made aware of it, and should have been warmed by the experience.

‘
I’m so glad you could find time to help me, Mr Mallin,’ she said.

I
liked the voice. It was deep and attractive. I wasn’t keen on what it said, though, because there had been nothing in my brief about helping her.

‘
Can I get you a drink?’ she asked.

I
nearly said something about drinking on an empty stomach but managed to iron it down to a neutral smile. Let her play it her way, I thought.

She
brought me a dry martini. I waited while she made something very elegant about lowering herself into one of the huge easy chairs, then I allowed its companion to accept me and conform to my eccentric shape. I was really living.

‘
Perhaps you’ll explain in what way I can be of help,’ I said very carefully.

‘
By finding an answer to this ridiculous business. It’s really so worrying.’

Living
as she did, in the very vortex of club life, she’d spent a lot of time looking at people over the edge of a glass. She did it to me quite expertly.

‘
If it’s been worrying, I’m surprised you haven’t done something before.’ I looked at her over the edge of my glass, but I haven’t got the eyes for it.

‘
Poor Neville,’ she said. She paused, making a decision. ‘Shall I tell you something, Mr Mallin?’

‘
I’m here to listen,’ I assured her gravely.

‘
Then… you wouldn’t believe… but in the past year or two I’ve hardly given a thought to Neville. Now, isn’t that a terrible thing to say?’

Was
it? I don’t know. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘You went through a harrowing experience. Your husband was hanged.’ Her eyes did not even flicker. ‘It’d be nonsense to suggest you ought to spend the rest of your life brooding.’

‘
How very understanding you are.’

‘
It would have driven you insane.’

‘
It would. I’m sure it would.’

‘
So you’d hardly welcome its intrusion into your life at this stage,’ I suggested.

She
carefully put down her glass and followed the movement with her eyes. ‘Welcome it?’ She inclined her head sideways, considering it, being fair to the idea. ‘One doesn’t use such a word as welcome when it’s a matter of duty—don’t you think?’ Then at last her eyes came back to me. ‘I’d never done anything but assumed he was guilty, but of course if there’s any ghost of a chance that fresh evidence could bring any new light to bear…’ She made a little gesture of annoyance at her confusion.

‘
And is there?’ Her eyes were blank. I prompted: ‘Fresh evidence.’

‘
I’m sure I don’t know.’ Her eyes moved. ‘It’s all so vague. You must ask Paul.’

I
’d ask Paul, right enough. I’d ask him what the hell he was playing at, tossing me in without all the facts.

‘
But he must have told you.’

‘
Oh… something most confusing about the second gun.’

‘
What about the second gun?’

‘
Where it was found.’

I
sipped my drink delicately. The dryness curled my tongue, and perhaps prevented me from blurting out something angry. What were they talking about? What could it possibly matter to Neville Gaines where the second gun was found? Paul Hutchinson had dug out a widow who had let the whole thing drift into the blissful past, and now we’d got a widow who felt she ought to make a gesture and launch a campaign. The ‘should Neville Gaines have hanged’ brigade. With Dave Mallin at the head, probing inconsequential little details that weren’t going to do anything but raise a snarl here and there. But I supposed it’d be useful to have Dave Mallin around to be snarled at.

‘
So he came to you,’ I said. ‘This Paul Hutchinson. He came with some nonsense about where the second gun was found, and all of a sudden you’re running round in little circles wondering whether the trial was fair…’

‘
One has to do something.’

Did
one? ‘You could leave it alone.’

She
got up then. I’d been prodding at her in a tone as near to contempt as I dared to go, hoping for some reaction. She got up, and managed to translate the movement into a simple and unforced journey to the compact bar in the corner. She was a very controlled woman.

‘
Perhaps I’ve left it long enough.’

She
had her back to me, probably prickling with anticipation of what I would say. So I said nothing. I waited while she brought the drinks. She was wearing a patient smile, but with her eyes blank. I took the glass.

‘
So what’s new about the second gun?’

Where
it had been found hadn’t been the important point. That there’d been a second gun at all was what had mattered.

I
’d managed to coax an edge into her voice. ‘I don’t know. You must see Paul. I’m so vague about this sort of thing.’

Vague?
But she’d been in the middle of it. The damned murder had circulated round her; she had been the motivating force.

‘
What can you hope for?’ I demanded. ‘After this time any number of small points could arise. It’d be easy to say this should have been done, or that should’ve been said. Then where would you be? Neville Gaines shot Andy Paterson, and there’s not any doubt about that. You can’t alter the fact that he was hanged. The best you could hope for would be to show he might have been found not guilty. How would that suit you? Would it make you rest any sweeter at night, to think he might have got away with it?’

Her
eyes hadn’t left me for one second, large, wide, surprised. When I stopped she glanced down at her glass. ‘But I’d still need to know.’

‘
You don’t need anything of the sort.’

‘
Still
have
to.’ She glanced up angrily, then managed a smile. ‘So you’ll look very carefully, please, Mr Mallin.’

‘
And report to you?’

‘
You must report to your client, of course.’

And
how was that going to help her? It wouldn’t, as far as I could see. It seemed to be time I left.

‘
I can let myself out,’ I told her.

Her
eyes agreed, so I did. He was hovering in the corridor, baldy, making sure I didn’t leave with any of the silver.

They
were no longer in the conservatory. The exercise they had been conducting would have had to be concluded, one way or the other, long before. I thought maybe I’d ring Elsa there and then, and have done with it, but I decided to give him one more chance. They were in the ballroom, dancing to a sleazy tango. Neither of them was smiling. Paul looked a little flushed. Oh well—no time to lose. I went in and tapped him on the shoulder.

It
wasn’t what I meant. He flashed me a look almost of gratitude, and handed her over. The tango is not one of my greater accomplishments.

She
was, as Paul had said, willowy. She wore her blonde hair short, and her eyes were definitely smoky, somewhere between grey and blue, and deep. She had not been smiling at Paul, but she found one for me.

‘
You’re Karen,’ I said, because I’m very quick.

‘
And you’re David.’

So
there we were, my hand stuck in the cleavage at her back, and she moving beautifully against it.

‘
He’s told you, then?’ I asked. It was getting around.

‘
Silly boy.’ I was not sure which she meant.

‘
I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,’ I said.

‘
You’re a private eye, aren’t you?’

‘
I need to have something to look at.’

She
smiled again. There were signals in the smoke. ‘But as long as you’re paid...’

She
was very close. Her hair smelt of heaven. ‘I keep making the necessary movements,’ I agreed.