Princes Gate (20 page)

The door opened to reveal Morrie “The Lorry” Owen, wearing a tattered brown dressing gown under which a shabby white vest and long johns could occasionally be glimpsed. Merlin noticed the flicker of surprise on Bridges’ face. Behind Owen, they could see a small, skinny woman, her hair set in paper curlers, holding a black cat. “What’s the boy got up to then?” Morrie Owen asked. He made no attempt to move back from the doorway to allow the policemen entrance.

“May we discuss this inside please, sir?”

“We’re not dressed yet, but I suppose you might as well come in. Go and get decent, Annie, and then pour me a glass of Tizer, will you? I’m parched.” Owen shuffled back through a small hallway and into his lounge. He apparently had no worries about his own decency and, lowering himself into an outsize armchair, he waved his hand in the direction of the two chairs facing him and an unlit gas fire. “Annie. When you’re dressed come and light this fire, will you? It’s bloody freezing.”

The room was large and well-furnished. A tall antique grandfather-clock stood in a corner and there were some attractive old prints on the walls. Everything was spick and span and Merlin guessed that Owen made sure his wife earned her keep. “What’s this about Johnny then?”

“You obviously haven’t heard, Mr Owen. There’s really no easy way to say this but your nephew is dead. His body was found the day before yesterday. His throat was cut.”

Owen’s mouth turned down and his jowls sagged further into the folds of his neck. His pudgy hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly.

“I know this must be a bit of a shock, but we would like to ask you a few questions.”

Owen’s eyes moved slowly from Merlin to Bridges and back. “Got any suspects ’ave you? If you people can’t find out who did it, I bloody well will. Bastards whoever they are. Does his mother know? She’ll never recover, you know. Already lost one boy down the mines.”

“I understand the Embassy were trying to notify the family in Wales yesterday, Mr Owen. They should know by now.”

Owen sighed heavily and an expanse of hairy flesh emerged from under his nightwear. “What is it you want to know?”

“We understand that you helped Johnny to get his job at the American Embassy.”

“I gave him a reference if that’s what you mean. He was a good driver and I told them so.”

“It was a little more than that, wasn’t it?

We understand you introduced Johnny to someone who works in a senior capacity at the Embassy, who then procured the job for him.”

Owen scratched at one of the folds of his neck. “Same difference. The American Embassy needed a driver and I gave Johnny a reference.”

“Did you learn about the job opening from a Mr Norton, a Mr Arthur Norton?”

“Norton? Is that his name? I’m not very good at names. If that’s what you say his name is, I’m sure you’re right.”

“We understood that Mr Norton might be some sort of friend of yours.”
“I don’t know about that. Just heard about the job through the grapevine really. Johnny had only been up in London for a short time. I didn’t really need him as I already had a driver so I was just making work unnecessarily. Heard about the job and gave him a reference, as I said. What’s all this got to do with his death anyway?”

Mrs Owen entered wearing a floral housecoat, with a handkerchief tied over her head to cover her curlers. She handed her husband his drink, knelt down a little creakily, lit the fire, then disappeared.

“Mr Owen, we need to investigate Johnny’s background thoroughly to identify any possible enemies. It’s also helpful to know who his friends were. Would we be right in thinking that Mr Norton was a good friend to Johnny?”

Owen shifted in his seat and some of the sticky liquid in his glass spilled on to the arm of his chair. He wiped the mess with the sleeve of his dressing gown and stared pugnaciously at the policemen. “Better ask Norton that, copper. I don’t know.”

Merlin decided to change tack. “Could you tell us a little about your business activities, Mr Owen? You’re in the restaurant and entertainment business, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us about it?”

“What’s to tell?” Owen said sourly. “I have some premises. Eating or drinking places with sometimes a bit of music. That’s it.”

“Would one of these premises be called The Blue Angel?”

Owen leaned forward in his seat and slopped more Tizer over the armchair. “Annie, come and clean this mess will you?” His eyes became more alert and he looked carefully at the policemen. “Thought I’d seen you before.” He peered under the brim of Bridges’ hat. “Nice shiner you’ve got there. You upset some of my staff last night, didn’t you? Were you there too, Merlin? Yes, I think you were. What were you doing skulking around like that in my club? And why all these games? Yes, alright, I do own The Blue Angel. What of it? Perfectly proper club it is. What’s it got to do with Johnny?”

“Was Norton one of your customers last night?”

“Might have been. I have lots of customers you know. Don’t know all of them.”

Merlin felt himself becoming impatient of Owen’s limited acquaintance with the truth. “Come on. Norton’s a customer who was friendly enough to find a cushy opening for your Johnny in the American Embassy. Perhaps he owed you a favour, perhaps you owed him a favour. Which is it?”

Owen’s face became flushed. He kicked out with his right foot at his wife, who had reappeared as commanded and was on her knees mopping away at the stains. “Get out of it, woman. That’s tidy enough.” She picked up the cat which had followed her into the room and scuttled away.

“Alright. He’s a customer. A friendly customer. What of it? He mentioned where he worked one night and I asked him to bear Johnny in mind if there were any jobs going. Simple as that. I have lots of friendly relationships with customers like that. This one worked out well for Johnny. That’s all. I don’t like to talk about my customers, see, as they expect discretion. Without discretion I’d be out of business, wouldn’t I?”

Merlin put his hand inside his jacket pocket. “Have you ever seen this girl before?”

Owen snapped open a glasses case on his side-table and examined the Harris family photograph through thick-rimmed spectacles. “No. Never.”

“Are you sure?”

Owen removed his glasses and snapped the case closed. “Don’t recognise her, copper. What more can I say?”

“We believe she visited your club.”

“Lots of girls visit. Can’t expect me to recognise them all, can you?”

“This one was called Joan. We think she visited the club in December with Norton.”

“No. Rings no bells.”

Merlin could feel his blood pressure building. “If your bells peal out at any time soon, please let us know, won’t you? You see, if you care about us finding your nephew’s killer, information about this girl might help us. Her full name is Joan Harris, does that mean anything to you?”

“Nothing at all.”

Merlin rose abruptly to his feet and stepped forward, placing his hands on the arms of Owen’s chair. He leaned down. “Nothing at all? Well, Miss Harris was also employed by the American Embassy and, like Johnny, recently met a violent death. Johnny knew her, Norton knew her and they are both linked to you. We will be digging deep, Mr Owen, and it would be best if you were honest with us. If you’re not then we may be bound to make life a little difficult for you, do you understand me?”

Owen’s chins shuddered. “That’s no way to speak to a recently bereaved man. Here I am in mourning for my nephew and you’re threatening me. Shame on you, copper!”

“Come on, Sergeant.”

At the bottom of the stairs they passed the Owens’ cat, which had a mouse in its jaws. It glared at them with a lack of warmth matching that of its owners.

“You might have mentioned that you thought he’d be the club owner, sir.”

“I wasn’t sure it would be him, Sam. Just had a hunch after the girl told me his first name and then Norton turned up. I didn’t know for sure till he opened the door.”

“Hmm.”

“Got Miss Donovan’s brother’s address yet?”

“No, sir.”

“I think we can leave it for the weekend. We’ll see her on Monday. She should be fully recovered by then.”

At the Yard, on their way up to the office, a heavily-built man in a trilby hat rushed down the stairs towards them. They were climbing two abreast and the man twitched his small nose furiously at them as he waited for one of them to move aside and let him past. Bridges obliged and the man hurried on.

When he reached his floor Merlin turned, looking puzzled.

“Did that man look familiar to you?”

“Can’t say he did, sir. I didn’t really get much of a look at him.”

Inspector Johnson appeared at the other end of the corridor and joined them. He had shaved off his moustache as ordered.

“How goes it, Peter?”

“I’ve just had my suspect in. He was here because I missed him at the Foreign Office yesterday. If I’d known you were going to be here now I’d have held on to him.”

“Hmm.” Merlin stroked his forehead thoughtfully. “Would I be right in thinking that Edward Fraser is a portly gentleman with a snub nose?”

“You would. Did you see him on his way out?”

“He barged past the Sergeant and me on the stairs. A rude fellow.”

“‘Arrogant’ and ‘bumptious’ are the words that come most immediately to my mind.”

They went through into Merlin’s office and sat around the desk.

“How far did you get with him?”

“He persisted with his story about hitting a deer. He was very upset that I’d been to look for him at the Foreign Office. Said it looked really bad for him. Interesting line in swear-words he has. Must have had a few years in the army before joining the diplomatic corps.”

“Find any chinks in his armour?”

“Not really. He gave me chapter and verse about where he’d been on his country weekend – some place in Surrey owned by a Lord and Lady Pelham. Said he hit the deer somewhere in the country near their estate as he was driving up for the weekend. Didn’t think he’d killed it. He was on his own in the car and there was no one about, so no witnesses to the accident, although he said that several people at the house party could vouch that the car was damaged when it arrived at the Pelhams’ place.”

Merlin picked up a pencil and tapped out a tune on his front teeth. “Did he give the location of this accident?”

“A rough idea, but I don’t think a hunt for an injured deer in order to check his story is really on.”

“No, of course not. So, he’s given you a just-about plausible story without third-party confirmation. He could just as well have killed Mr Goldberg and driven to the Pelhams and told everyone the story of the deer to give himself some credibility. Have the scientists got any further?”

Johnson stroked his bare upper lip wistfully. “Not really. They’ve told me that the cloth they’re examining is extremely common, so even if there’s a match with Mr Goldberg’s suit, Fraser could say that the cloth could have got there in other ways – someone else might have leaned against the car. It’s circumstantial and weak.”

They were interrupted by clanging noises. There was still some sort of activity going on on the roof of County Hall, but Merlin couldn’t tell exactly what they were up to. “I’m sorry. Still some distance for you to cover.”

Johnson shrugged and looked more carefully at Bridges.

“That’s a beauty you’ve got there, Sergeant.”

“Looks worse than it is. I got a little roughly handled by the staff of The Blue Angel. I gave as good as I got though.”

“You see, Peter, I try to introduce the Sergeant to smart London night life and he shows me up. Can’t take him anywhere!”

Bridges shrugged his shoulders with a smile.

“Our outing was not wasted though. We learned that Miss Harris visited the club with Arthur Norton, and that Johnny Morgan’s uncle owns the club.”

“That’s interesting.”

“I think so.”

Merlin closed his eyes and kneaded his forehead, a mannerism which Bridges had noticed was becoming increasingly frequent, then chuckled to himself.

“And, I think we’ve learned one other interesting thing today.”

“Oh?”

“I knew the chap looked familiar and now I’ve got it. Norton’s chubby companion last night, Sergeant – it was Fraser, I’m sure! Your Mr Fraser, Peter, was at The Blue Angel with Norton. They’re both diplomats and I suppose it’s not surprising that they know each other but, nevertheless, a strange coincidence. And coincidences always worry me.”