Princes Gate (11 page)

The burly young barman looked at the clock above the spirit bottles. “Alright sir, but make it quick.”

Something suddenly troubled him. He hadn’t really looked at the couple who had passed him at the door but he felt there was something familiar about them. He had caught a quick glimpse of a dark male face and an abundance of red hair. Of course, he thought. We’re just around the corner from the Ambassador’s residence. Johnny Morgan and a girl. Probably that nice Irish girl. He turned and pushed through the pub doors.

“Hey. Your drink’s here, guvnor.”

Merlin looked to his left and right in the darkness. The bright moonshine gave him a glimpse of someone disappearing around a corner. He went back into the pub and tossed a coin to the barman. “Sorry. Something’s come up.” He turned and walked briskly after the couple. He was probably wasting his time but a capacity for idle curiosity was no handicap for a policeman.

He saw them as he took the first left turning. They were leaning against a wall thirty yards or so ahead and he could hear murmurings of mild resistance from the girl as the man kissed her.

The couple moved off and he followed them until they suddenly disappeared from view. Merlin kept going and found a short alleyway leading off the street. He heard muffled footsteps and followed. He found himself in a cobbled mews street which appeared to be a cul-de-sac. A door nearby closed. He walked slowly down the street and halted opposite where he thought that door was. A light above briefly flashed before the window was covered by the blackout curtains.

He stood outside gradually feeling more and more uncomfortable. I’m a policeman, he thought, not a moral enforcer, nor a Peeping Tom. He waited for a quarter of an hour and was about to leave when he heard a cry from above.

Soon after he heard footsteps approaching down the alleyway. He was leaning against a garage door opposite the house. A few yards away there was a recessed doorway into which he moved. The footsteps stopped close by but he could not see the new arrival. He could now hear the sound of laughter from above.

Time passed. After another fifteen minutes, Merlin heard the sound of a window opening and he could see the small pinprick light of a cigarette being waved in the window frame above. A dustbin near the alleyway entrance fell noisily to the ground and he saw a shadow move. His heart jumped as something touched his leg. The something began to purr and rubbed itself back and forth against his leg. He held his breath and tried to nudge the cat away gently with his foot.

While he was attempting this, a blaze of light hit the mews as Morgan’s front door opened. He saw someone of medium height wearing a long overcoat and a hat move quickly through it. Two male voices acknowledged each other with grunts and the door closed.

Merlin fell exhausted into his bed with numb feet and tingling fingers. He had waited another half-hour outside the flat, hoping for the late visitor to depart so that he could follow and identify him. No one had emerged and he had considered whether the visitor might be a flatmate without a key – but then why had he waited so long outside? Something didn’t add up but the cold had got to him and he had packed it in. He reached out to switch on the radio and attempted to find one of the continental stations. He always found it easier to go to sleep to music. The other night he’d found a French station playing the songs of Charles Trenet and Tino Rossi. Alice and he had seen them both at the Lido on their Parisian trip and had loved them. He had been particularly enthusiastic. Perhaps a little of his Latin blood coming out? His father had sung Spanish lullabies to him when he was little. Some of the tunes still lingered in his head. Javier Merino had had a beautiful tenor voice. He wasn’t aware of any popular Spanish singers in the same category as Trenet and Rossi. Not much to sing about in Spain in recent years of course. There was an Argentinean chap, what was his name? Gardel, that was it. Carlos Gardel, a tango singer. He wasn’t bad at all. He’d have to go and see if he could find some of his records. He twiddled on the radio some more but couldn’t find anything good. It didn’t matter as within seconds he was asleep.

CHAPTER 4

Wednesday January 31st

Bridges arrived outside Princes Gate a few seconds after his boss, who greeted him with a concerned look.

“You’re looking a little peaky, Sergeant. Are you alright?”

“I’m not feeling great, to be honest.”

“What’s up?”

Bridges took a deep breath of the morning’s freezing air and rubbed his stomach.

“Might have been something I ate.”

“Weren’t you having a special meal last night?”

“Yes – it was a little, er, exotic.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“The thing is, her old dad, he spent a long time in India in the army. Got keen on the local food. Curry and so on. He taught Iris a few recipes and she tried one last night. Very nice it was too, but I’m afraid it was rather spicy.”

“How’s Iris?”

“She’s right as rain. A cast-iron stomach, she has.”

“Better get her to stick to plain English fare from now on. Or if she wants to try some foreign stuff, I can give her a few wholesome and safe Spanish recipes.”

“Sir.”

Bridges took in another lungful of air and followed his boss up the stairs.

The reception hall smelt wonderful. Vases of freshly-cut flowers had been scattered about the place. He’d had a girlfriend years ago who had been passionate about flowers and he had learned much from her. She had written learned articles for magazines about her favourites. She had been particularly interested in orchids. There were no orchids as far as Merlin could see, but pansies, primroses and several other winter varieties he couldn’t name.

“Take in some of this wonderful scent, Sam. Should help clear the system.”

“I’m surprised you can smell anything, sir, with all those lethal mints you eat.

“Very funny, Sergeant.”

Miss Edgar appeared from behind the staircase and hurried up to them.

“There you are, Chief Inspector. Enjoying the flowers I see. I thought I needed to do something to cheer the place up. Everyone is so affected by poor Joan’s…” She dabbed a handkerchief to her nose then pulled herself together. “Come along. I’ll put you in my office again.”

They followed her up the stairs. On the way they met Kathleen Donovan hurrying down, her arms piled high with files. As they stepped aside for her she tripped and fell, spilling papers everywhere. She jumped to her feet before they had a chance to help her, and ran down to the lobby in tears.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with that girl this morning. I know she’s upset about Joan but so are we all. I’ll be back in a second.”

Miss Edgar went back down and they made their own way to her room.

“Poor girl. Perhaps she had a dodgy meal last night too.”

“Drink in her case rather than food, Sergeant.”

“You seem to be speaking from knowledge.”

“I’ll tell you about it later. Here’s our first interview.”

A smartly-dressed male figure hovered at the door to Miss Edgar’s office. He didn’t look happy.

“Come on in, Mr Norton. I believe we’ve met before. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Merlin and this is Detective Sergeant Bridges.”

Arthur Norton ignored Merlin’s extended hand. “You realise that it is an impertinence to request this interview. I am an accredited US diplomat and have no obligation to speak to you. It is highly inconvenient and I am only here because Miss Edgar, whom I respect, made a particular request that I do so.”

“Well, thank you very much indeed for agreeing to speak to us. I apologise if this interview is in any way inconvenient. I doubt very much that we shall detain you long. We are just asking a few simple questions of the staff here…”

“Staff, Inspector? I would hardly call myself staff. I am one of the Ambassador’s key aides. A senior diplomat in my own right.” Norton’s squeaky twang reverberated around the small room.

“Didn’t mean to cause offence, sir. All I was saying was that we have a small number of straightforward questions to ask and then you can be on your way. Would you like to remove your overcoat before we begin – or are you comfortable as you are?”

“As you assure me, Inspector, that this is likely to be a brief interview, I think I’ll keep my coat on. Please proceed.” Norton sat down heavily in the indicated chair.

“As you know, an Embassy employee, Miss Joan Harris, has died in unfortunate circumstances. We’d just like to know about any dealings you may have had with the lady?”

“I hardly knew the girl, Inspector. She did a little typing for me. That’s all.”

Norton identified a few flecks of dirt on his otherwise immaculate grey trousers, and picked at the offending areas with his forefinger.

“She was a very good typist, I understand.”

“She was competent, Inspector. Nothing to brag about, though, I’d have thought.”

“I understand that you preferred her to do your typing.”

Satisfied with his trousers, Norton looked up and faced the policemen directly for the first time. “I probably used her more because most of the others are incompetent.”

“What sort of things would she type for you?”

“My reports, of course, and occasional correspondence.”

“Would there be anything particularly confidential in those reports, sir?”

Norton snorted derisively. “Of course there was confidential stuff in there. All of my reports are confidential.”

“And what exactly are your reports about?”

“Are you off your head? You can’t expect me to tell you that.”

Merlin bit his lip. Before his marriage he’d been known for having a short fuse. Alice had worked hard to cure him of it and since her passing he’d resolved to live up to her standards in this regard. He felt that Norton was going to test this resolution severely. “I am not attempting to pry into state secrets, Mr Norton. I am simply attempting to pursue one potential line of enquiry with regard to Miss Harris’ death, that being whether her possession, through her work, of confidential information might in some way have had a bearing on her murder. Can you assist me in any way on this point?”

Norton crossed his legs and yawned. “I am retained by the Ambassador for a number of purposes, one of which is to be his eyes and ears among London society. I report to him on a regular basis details of my encounters with, and observations on, leading figures in British life. I do this, primarily, you understand, in order to contribute to his evaluation of British morale and to the development of political trends. While he is resident, of course, my reports are merely supplementary to his own wider experience of political and social developments. While he is away consulting our government, as at present, I would pride myself that my reports are of great importance.” Norton paused to remove a cigarette from a silver case and to light up. “No doubt my reports contain much that might interest other people. That being said, I can’t conceive of a poor mite like Miss Harris being able to understand the content of the reports to such an extent that her safety might in any way be put at risk. Now, if that’s all you want to know I take it we are finished and that I may take my leave of you.”

He rose to his feet.

“Just a couple more questions, if you please. Did you ever see Miss Harris socially?”

Norton sat back down with a petulant grunt. “What in heavens would I be doing seeing Miss Harris socially?”

“Pretty girl wasn’t she, sir?”

Norton pursed his lips. “You are sorely mistaken, Sergeant, if you are suggesting that I had any kind of relationship with this girl.”

“Miss Harris was a natural beauty, I’d say. It is not unheard of for men of the most exalted position to have affairs with their secretaries, particularly pretty ones, so the Sergeant’s question is not out of order. You have given us a clear answer for which I thank you.”

“I’ll be damned if I don’t complain to your superiors, Merlin.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We wouldn’t want your highly valuable time ‘encountering leading figures in British life’ to be sullied by the requirements of the Metropolitan Police complaints process.”

Norton scowled across the desk and got to his feet once more. “I take it I may leave now?” Merlin nodded but as Norton went through the door he had an afterthought.

“Sir?”

“Goddamit! What now?”

“A man like you, out and about amongst London society, would know most of the fashionable clubs and nightclubs in town, would he not?”

Norton’s features relaxed a little. “I am sure I know most of the best places.”

“Do you know a club called ‘The Blue Angel’ by any chance?”

Norton studied the ceiling. “The Blue Angel – sounds familiar. It’s a film, isn’t it, with Marlene Dietrich? A sleazy nightclub in Berlin I think. I can’t say I know of one in London. Sorry I can’t help you there.”

“That’s alright. I’ll find it one way or another. I am something of an expert on sleazy clubs – sleazy people as well for that matter.”

Norton sneered before making his departure. They listened to his steps clattering down the corridor.

“Quite a charmer.”

“Indeed, Sergeant. ‘Culo pomposo’, as my father would have said.”

Bridges returned a bemused look.

“Pompous arse, Sam.”

“I think I might have ruder words, sir. Think he’s got anything to do with this?”

“Probably not, although it’s tempting to think the worst of a man like that.”

Merlin sucked on a lozenge and breathed eucalyptus fumes on his colleague as he smoothed out the list of the day’s interviewees that had been left for him on the desk.

“You were going to tell me about Kathleen Donovan, sir.”

“So I was.” Merlin related as succinctly as he could the story of his adventures of the previous night.

“If my stomach wasn’t already turning of its own accord, it would be now. Poor girl. Do you think it bears on the case?”

“Perhaps. Morgan likes girls. They like him. Joan Harris was pretty.”

“He says Joan was never a girlfriend. Says he hardly knew her.”

“We’ll just have to find out if he’s telling the truth.”