Hardcastle's Frustration (19 page)

‘Over!' exclaimed Hardcastle. ‘I've only just begun, Marriott.'

Detective Sergeant Herbert Wood set about his task immediately. His first call was to the London County Council's offices in Spring Gardens, a turning off The Mall. There he discovered that the previous owner of Lawrence Mortimer's car was a Mr Marcus Sawyer of Dordrecht Road, Acton.

Wood boarded an Underground train at Trafalgar Square and, after a change at Holborn, eventually alighted at Shepherds Bush. He walked the rest of the way to Dordrecht Road, hoping that after such a tortuous journey he would find Mr Sawyer at home.

A maidservant answered the door and cast a discerning eye over the detective.

‘Yes?'

‘Is Mr Sawyer at home?' asked Wood.

‘Who shall I say it is?' asked the maid.

‘I'm a police officer, miss.'

‘I see. Wait a moment.' Leaving Wood on the doorstep, the maid disappeared into the house. Moments later, she returned. ‘Come this way, please,' she said, and showed Wood into the parlour. ‘The policeman, sir,' she announced.

Sawyer was about fifty, wore a black jacket and striped trousers, and had a beard and a moustache. He was standing in the centre of the room, reading a docket.

‘Sarah tells me you're a police officer,' he said, allowing the monocle to drop from his eye as he closed the file he was holding.

‘Yes, sir. Detective Sergeant Wood of the Whitehall Division.'

‘And what can I do for you, Sergeant,' said Sawyer as he shook hands. ‘Does it concern some case I'm dealing with?'

‘Case, sir?' queried Wood.

‘Yes, I'm a solicitor. I presumed you wished to see me on some official matter.'

‘No, sir, it's to do with the car you once owned.'

‘Oh, I see. You'd better sit down, and tell me what you wish to know.'

Wood referred to his pocket book. ‘I understand that you sold a Morris Oxford tourer to a Mr Lawrence Mortimer of Ashley Gardens, Thirleby Street, Westminster, on the fourth of October 1917, sir.'

‘That's correct, Sergeant, but it was all perfectly above board.' Sawyer walked across to a bureau in the corner of the room. ‘I can show you all the documentation,' he said, opening the bureau's flap.

‘That won't be necessary, sir, but we're rather interested in Mr Mortimer.'

‘Why is that?' Sawyer closed the bureau and turned.

‘I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, other than it might concern a matter of national security.'

‘Ah, you interest me, Sergeant. What can I tell you, then?'

‘I wondered what sort of opinion you formed of Mortimer, sir.'

Sawyer placed his forefingers in the top pockets of his waistcoat and gazed thoughtfully at a picture on the wall behind Wood.

‘A strange sort of chap,' he said, redirecting his attention to Wood. ‘To be perfectly honest, I don't think he knew a damned thing about cars. He didn't ask the sort of questions that most people would ask, like how many miles it did to the gallon, or how long I'd owned it and why I was selling it. Neither did he quibble about the price. I rather thought that any potential purchaser might try to knock me down a bit, and I'd purposely raised the price a little in anticipation of some bargaining. But he just wrote me a cheque, there and then.'

‘Do you happen to recall which bank his cheque was drawn on, sir?'

Sawyer went back to the bureau and sorted through some paper. ‘Yes,' he said eventually, ‘I made a note of the cheque details in case it was returned “no account”, but it was in fact paid. It was Williams Deacon's Bank at their Victoria Street branch.'

‘Did he, by any chance, happen to say what he did for a living, sir?' asked Wood.

‘Yes, he mentioned that he was a commercial traveller of some description and needed a car for his business. I think he said that he sold corsets. It seemed a damned odd thing for a chap of his age to be doing, especially with a war on. Couldn't understand why he wasn't at the Front.'

‘How old was he, then, sir?'

‘Nearing forty, I'd've thought. On reflection, perhaps he was a bit younger.'

‘He didn't happen to mention the company he worked for, I suppose.'

‘Not that I recall, and I certainly didn't bother to ask him. All I wanted to do was dispose of the Morris. I've bought a rather splendid new Vauxhall. Perhaps you saw it on your way in; that's it outside. Are you interested in cars, Sergeant?'

‘Yes, I am, sir, but I can't afford one. What would people say if they saw a policeman driving about in his own car?'

Sawyer laughed. ‘They'd probably say you were being paid too much.' He paused and laughed again. ‘Or that you were up to no good.'

‘I'm much obliged to you for your assistance, sir,' said Wood, rising to his feet. ‘I'll not take up any more of your time.'

W
ood stopped off at a pub and treated himself to a ham sandwich and a glass of light ale. He returned to Westminster at about two o'clock and made his way to Thirleby Road. According to the address held by the motor vehicle licensing authority, the apartment in Ashley Gardens occupied by Lawrence Mortimer was on the first floor.

But Wood had no intention of calling there. Instead, he rang the bell of the apartment immediately beneath it.

‘Good afternoon, sir?' said a trim housemaid, as she opened the door.

‘Is your mistress at home?' Wood deliberately asked for the lady of the house assuming, correctly as it happened, that her husband would be at work. ‘I'm a police officer, but please tell her that there's no cause for alarm. I'm merely making some routine enquiries.'

‘If you care to step inside, sir, I'll enquire if the mistress is at home.'

After a short delay, the maid reappeared and conducted Wood into a sumptuously furnished sitting room.

‘My maid Ethel tells me that you're a police officer.' The young woman standing by the window was wearing a bottle-green silk day dress with close fitting, full-length sleeves. She regarded Wood with a forbidding expression, as though his intrusion had just disturbed whatever she had been doing. Her long hair was parted in the centre and braided into a plait that was draped over the front of her left shoulder. The cigarette in a long holder that she had in her right hand lent her a raffish air that rather shocked Wood; he was unaccustomed to seeing women smoking. But his first impression of severity was immediately dispelled by the woman's welcoming smile as she crossed the room with a rustle of silk. ‘Please sit down.'

‘Thank you, ma'am. I'm Detective Sergeant Wood of the Whitehall Division.'

‘And I'm Felicity Talbot. How may I help you, Sergeant?' The woman sat down opposite Wood, hitched her skirt slightly, and crossed her legs to reveal trim ankles, a glimpse of art silk stockings and glacé kid court shoes.

‘It's nothing really important, Mrs Talbot.' Wood paused. ‘It is
Mrs
Talbot, is it?'

‘Oh yes, I'm well and truly married.' Placing her cigarette holder in an ashtray, Felicity Talbot smiled and twisted her wedding ring, as if to lend credence to her marital state.

‘We've received a complaint of noise, unnecessary noise, that is, from one of the residents in these apartments, Mrs Talbot. It's all really a waste of time, but the police are duty bound to follow up such matters.'

‘Really?' Mrs Talbot appeared surprised. ‘I can't say I've ever heard any untoward noise, and my husband has never mentioned anything either. When he's here.'

‘As I thought,' said Wood. ‘And the people on either side of you are quiet, are they?'

‘We never hear them.'

‘And the people upstairs, immediately above you, they're quiet, too?'

‘We wouldn't know there was anyone there, Sergeant. As a matter of fact, we hardly ever see Mr Mortimer. He lives there by himself, you know. We've occasionally passed the time of day when we've happened to meet, but that's all.'

‘I see. A businessman, is he?'

‘I don't really know, but I rather got the impression that he's a man of private means.' Felicity Talbot laughed; it was a tinkling and engaging laugh, and she picked up her cigarette holder and put a fresh cigarette in it. ‘Well, I say that because he seems to go in and out at odd times. I don't mean in the middle of the night, or anything like that, of course. Not that I'd know about that; I'm always in bed rather early. And I sleep like a log.' She paused to light her cigarette. ‘Is he the resident that the complaint was about?' she asked, expelling smoke towards the ceiling. ‘Or was he the one complaining?'

‘Oh no, it wasn't him,' said Wood. ‘But I can't reveal the source of the complaint, you'll understand, particularly as it seems to be groundless. These things lead to bad feeling among neighbours.'

‘Of course.' Felicity Talbot paused, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her. ‘Would you care for a cup of tea, Sergeant?'

‘That's very kind, ma'am,' said Wood, ‘but I don't want to put you to any trouble.'

‘It's no trouble. It's probably made already. The girl usually brings it in about now.' Mrs Talbot leaned across to press a bell push. ‘Would you bring us the tea, Ethel,' she said, when the maid appeared. ‘Your job must be very interesting, Sergeant Wood,' she continued, while they were waiting for the tea. ‘Have you investigated any murders?'

‘One or two,' said Wood, without mentioning that he was investigating one right now.

‘How exciting. Do tell.'

‘I'm afraid they're all rather mundane,' replied Wood. ‘Mainly what we call domestics. Husband kills wife and that sort of thing.'

‘Good heavens.' Mrs Talbot put a hand to her mouth, rather affectedly. ‘How fascinating, but not here in Ashley Gardens, I hope.'

‘No, ma'am,' said Wood, grateful that, at that moment, the maid appeared with the tea.

‘You can leave it, Ethel, I'll pour it,' said Mrs Talbot. ‘It's so nice to have someone to talk to,' she continued, as she busied herself pouring the tea into bone china cups. ‘It gets rather lonely here during the day and my husband works long hours. Milk and sugar?' But before Wood could ask what her husband did, she volunteered the information. ‘He's a major in the Royal Flying Corps, but he's stationed at the War Office now, thank God, helping to prepare plans for the new service.'

‘The new service?' Wood gave the impression of being puzzled by the comment.

‘It's no secret,' said Felicity. ‘They're busy drawing up plans to put the RFC and the Royal Naval Air Service into one organization next month. I believe it's to be called the Royal Air Force.'

‘Well I never,' said Wood, who was well aware of the proposal, but always believed in encouraging conversation however banal.

‘This Mr Mortimer, the man upstairs, seems to be a motoring enthusiast, you know,' Mrs Talbot continued. ‘He bought a new car – well, I don't think it was new – a couple of months ago. He once offered to take my husband and me out for a spin, but Robert, that's my husband, declined. He said he didn't trust the fellow.' Felicity laughed her same gay laugh again. ‘I think he thought that Lawrence Mortimer had designs on me.'

Wood laughed too. ‘Well, if, as you say, he doesn't go out to work, I suppose he has to do something to wile away the time.'

‘I don't know why he isn't in the army. My husband said that Mr Mortimer is the sort of man that women give white feathers to. But maybe he's engaged in some sort of secret war work that he doesn't dare to talk about.'

It's probably a case of him not daring
to admit that he sells corsets
, thought Wood, as he rose to his feet. ‘Thank you for the tea, Mrs Talbot. I'm sorry to have wasted your time on what seems to have been a pointless enquiry.'

‘Not at all, Sergeant Wood. As I said just now, it's nice to have a bit of company from time to time.' Felicity Talbot stood up and extended a hand. ‘But it seems an awful waste of a detective's time to be following up on trifling enquiries about people disturbing their neighbours. I'd've thought that they'd've sent an ordinary policeman.'

‘Not necessarily, ma'am,' said Wood, surprised at the woman's perspicacity. ‘In wartime it's always possible that a simple enquiry of that sort could lead to something far more serious.'

‘Golly!' exclaimed Mrs Talbot, ‘I'd never thought of that.'

Wood stepped out into Thirleby Road just in time to see a man turn sharply and walk swiftly away. But he was not so quick that Wood failed to recognize him. It had begun to rain and Wood put up his umbrella and hurried out to Victoria Street in search of a bus to take him home.

Arriving at Cannon Row on Tuesday morning, Wood made straight for the DDI's office.

‘Learn anything, Wood?' asked Hardcastle.

Wood explained in some detail what he had discovered from his visits to Marcus Sawyer in Acton and Felicity Talbot in Ashley Gardens.

‘Interesting,' said Hardcastle, when Wood had finished. ‘I suppose it's possible that he is engaged in some sort of secret war work, but I'm not buying it.' Clearly, he had made up his mind that Lawrence Mortimer was up to no good. ‘I mean to say, no self-respecting man claims to be a corset salesman if he ain't.'

‘There was one other thing, sir,' said Wood. ‘When I came out of Ashley Gardens, I spotted Gilbert Stroud of MI5. He legged it a bit sharply, but not before I'd recognized him.'

Hardcastle took his pipe from the ashtray and lit it, leaning back in his chair. ‘Well now, ain't that a curious thing, Wood? In my book, that means that Lawrence Mortimer is likely to be up to something that interests MI5. And that interests me.'

For some time, Hardcastle sat mulling over what Wood had reported. Then he shouted for Marriott.