Ruling Passion (32 page)

What am I doing here? wondered Pascoe as he  gazed at the Chinese watercolours which decorated the walls. Backhouse would not be pleased  if Culpepper found me and started making a fuss.

Stuff Backhouse.

He began searching. It didn't take long.

No attempt had been made to hide it. It lay beside the pastel-green telephone on the bed-side table.

The Sellotape binding was still intact. Whatever  the packet contained, Culpepper hadn't felt the  need, or perhaps had the time, to check.

Unpicking the Sellotape as neatly as possible,  Pascoe pulled the white wrapping paper open.

It didn't look very much at first glance, but a  quick check gave him the exact figure.

It was surprising how little space was taken up  by a thousand pounds in fivers.

Chapter 10

It took Pascoe a moment's thought and a five-minute telephone call to decide what to do. The  time had come for drama.

He pushed open the lounge door, stepped in,  and threw the money on the coffee-table. They  all looked at him in amazement. A slow-motion  camera and a trained psychiatrist might have made  much of the kinds of amazement displayed, but  Pascoe had to make do with snap judgements.  Honest bewilderment from Palfrey and Dixon, but  something else from the other three. A reasonable  division.

'There's a thousand pounds there,' he said.  'What's it for?'

Culpepper was white with indignation.

'What right have you to search my house? This  is an outrage!'

'Yes. Why did you bring it here, Mr Pelman?'

Pelman and Marianne exchanged glances, not  easily readable.

'I think that's my business, don't you?' said  Pelman.

'Perhaps. Blackmail is a crime, of course. And  that's my business.'

Pelman looked flabbergasted, then began laughing. It sounded genuine.

'I'm glad you can be amused, Angus,' said  Culpepper. 'I'm sorry, but I can't be. Excuse me.'

He strode from the room.

'What the hell's going on?' asked Dixon, his open  face creased in puzzlement, while Palfrey reached  for the coffee-pot, eyeing the money greedily.

Culpepper returned. With him was Backhouse,  with Crowther and Davenant bringing up the rear.

'Superintendent,' said Culpepper, 'I should like  you to explain by what authority a police officer,  uninvited and without warrant, can search a private house.'

'The end sometimes justifies the means,' said  Backhouse. 'What did you find, Inspector Pascoe?'

Wordlessly Pascoe showed him the money.

'Interesting, but not incriminating. I presume  you've got a theory.'

He's not going to blow his top, thought Pascoe.  Not yet. He's going to let me do his dirty work  for him.

'This is not the point,' said Culpepper angrily.

'Yes, sir. I've got a theory. Mr Pelman brought  this money with him. Let's call it a loan for the  moment.'

'He thinks I'm being blackmailed,' interjected Pelman. 'What I'm supposed to have done this  time, God knows! Oh, and Hartley, too, as I presume he's doing the blackmailing.'

'This gets worse!' said Culpepper.

'I trust not,' said Backhouse seriously. 'Inspector!'

'Let's call it a loan,' repeated Pascoe. 'The more  important question at the moment is why did  Mr Culpepper want it so quickly and in cash?  My suggestion is simple. You wanted it for Mr  Davenant.'

'But why should I wish to give Davenant a  thousand pounds?' asked Culpepper.

'Why? Because he has been supplying you with  pieces for your collection which you may have  known or suspected to be stolen. Now he's in  a hurry to get on his way. He realizes we're on  to him. He heads straight down here, and is just  hanging around for the money to arrive when  unfortunately I turn up.'

Culpepper smiled. His anger seemed to have  left him now, which was a pity. He looked cool  and alert.

'You tell a good story, Inspector. But it's a fairy  story, of course. You're very welcome to inspect  my collection for stolen articles.'

'I don't doubt they've been removed since Mr Davenant's arrival,' replied Pascoe. Pelman, he  noted, was looking more worried now than at  any time hereto, which was interesting. It was time Backhouse made a move. He had been very insistent that the Brookside Cottage case was his.  Pascoe had delivered into his hands Davenant,  who admitted he was there on the night of the  murders, and now also Pelman, who had just  delivered a thousand pounds in used notes to the  house of the woman whose story supported his  alibi. Let the superintendent pick the bones out  of that.

But Backhouse showed no sign of being ready  to make a move. Palfrey glanced at his watch and  stood up.

'I think this is outrageous, Hartley,' he said,  shooting a malicious glance at Pascoe. 'If you want any witnesses to this gross misuse of police authority, just let me know. But I've got to push off  now and see to my pub.'

'Thanks, JP,' said Culpepper. 'Your story falls  down elsewhere, Pascoe. For example, if I wanted  money in that much of a hurry, why should I go  through the complicated business of contacting  Angus? Why not just get it myself?'

He smiled round as if he had produced a rabbit out of a hat.

You poor bastard, thought Pascoe.

He felt reluctant to go on. A man had a right to  his areas of privacy. Why should Culpepper's small  secret be revealed here?

Because, he told himself looking round at the  ring of expectant faces, because it had or might  have or could have something to do with a crime.

And perhaps also because of something in those faces - wariness, expectancy, warning, or in the case of Marianne Culpepper, supercilious disinterest. That especially.

'Because, Mr Culpepper,' he said, 'you no longer  work for the Nordrill Mining Company. In fact I believe you no longer work for anyone. You  are unemployed, have been unemployed for six months and are practically destitute.'

If he had expected this to be an explosive revelation, he was disappointed.

True, Culpepper stood very still, his expression freezing as though a film had stopped on a single frame. But the others were manifestly unsurprised.

'I don't see what Hartley's financial affairs have  to do with you,' said Pelman scornfully.

'So what?' said Dixon with a surprising amount  of aggression.

Even Palfrey risked a contemptuous sniff, and  Marianne merely turned away.

Only Davenant looked surprised.

'You all knew?' he said. 'Well, well. Isn't that  an interesting thing? They all knew, Hartley, old  son.'

'So much for your bombshell,' murmured Backhouse, taking Pascoe into the window bay. 'Even I knew. It was in Crowther's first batch of background notes. How did you find out?'

'I rang up Nordrill, put on a bit of an act,'  admitted Pascoe, feeling suddenly rather shame-faced as well as very foolish. 'There were some  discrepancies, the date of the AGM and Sotheby’s sale clashed, for instance; other things. I thought  I was being pretty clever.'

'It's cleverer than getting into fights, anyway.  But I fear you've bowled over our genial host.'

Culpepper certainly looked unwell now. The  little colour in his cheeks had ebbed away and he  seemed able to pay little attention to the attempts  at polite chat which the others were directing at  him. Only Marianne was not joining in the general rally-round-Hartley movement. Presumably  she had known - or had he imagined he had kept his insolvency a secret from her also? Impossible. Pelman knew and Pelman would surely have told her.

It was Pelman who returned to the attack now.

'We've had a lot of accusations and hints of accusations, Superintendent,' he said to Backhouse. 'I  think it's time we saw some cards on the table.'

'A splendid idea. Perhaps you'd begin, sir, by  telling us why, when you knew Mr Culpepper was  in financial straits, you were so willing to lend him  a thousand pounds?'

Pelman momentarily looked uncomfortable, but  recovered quickly.

'Why, you've just said it! Because I knew he was  in a bit of trouble financially, that's why. What better reason for giving a neighbour a loan? You don't  lend money where it's not needed, do you?'

'I didn't realize you were such good friends,  sir,' said Backhouse with a smile. There was a  thoughtful pause.

Surely, thought Pascoe, he knows Pelman's got  something going with Marianne. It's conscience  money, if anything. The important thing is, what  was Culpepper going to do with it? Davenant was still standing at the periphery of the group,  apparently casual and very much at his ease. It  would be a good idea to get him out of the room  and isolate him from the present discussion. But  before he could suggest this, Backhouse started  talking again.

'The question still does remain,' he said, addressing himself to Culpepper who all this time had  retained his statue-like pose by the doorway,  'what, in fact, were you going to do with the  money?'

'I think I ought to clear up something first,'  interjected Davenant. 'Everyone's entitled to have all the facts, don't you think so, Superintendent?  I've already told you that I was at Brookside Cottage that night. Oh yes. Gasp gasp all round. But I left shortly after seven when all was still well and  made my way to dear old Hartley's pad where we  sat sipping his super whisky and talking of matters  cultural until - when was it, Hartley, my love? -  about half past ten?'

Damn! thought Pascoe. This is what he had been  afraid , of. He couldn't understand Backhouse's  policy. Separation of suspects and witnesses was  usually as essential to a case as separation of  yolks and whites was to a souffle. Now here  was Davenant publicly inviting Culpepper to give him an alibi. Or reminding him of what they had  agreed.

But Culpepper's response could have brought little comfort to Davenant. He stared coldly, almost  unseeingly, at him, turned and left the room.  Marianne, with a quick perfect-hostess's apologetic  smile at the gathering, followed him.

'Well now, Mr Davenant,' said Backhouse. 'I'm  sure Mr Culpepper will be able to confirm your  story when he's feeling better. Or is there anyone  else who can help us? Did Mrs Culpepper come home while you were there?'

'No. No. Not exactly,' said Davenant. 'At least, I  didn't see her. For all I know, of course, she came  in earlier, heard Hartley and me talking, decided  not to interrupt and went up to her room. Now  that's a possibility of course. Oh yes, that's a very  distinct possibility.'

The cocky bastard! thought Pascoe. He's inventing  alibis publicly as he goes along and putting them on  display for all to see. Marianne's not here to hear  it, of course. But her boyfriend is. And Davenant  knows!

Slowly a picture was forming itself in Pascoe's  mind. It was not yet complete, but its main outlines were clear. And as he examined it and found its  composition more and more balanced, the ball of  rage in his breast began to swell and swell till it  was ready to burst in black hatred.

Against Davenant.

Against Davenant who had turned up at Brookside Cottage on that fatal Friday night. Against Davenant who had sat and talked and drunk with Rose and  Colin and Timmy and Carlo. Against Davenant  who for reasons still not clear had taken up a  shotgun and blasted Timmy and Carlo out of this  world. Who had met Rose in the garden and left her lying by the sundial, bleeding to death. Who had pursued and murdered Colin and stuffed his body  into a dark oozy culvert for the flies to discover.

Think logically, he commanded himself. Think! All right. Davenant knew Culpepper lived locally,  had visited him before on his 'fencing' trips. Perhaps he did go to see him that night. Perhaps it was just a useful invention to have in the background  in case it was ever needed. And it had been needed.  Pressure was on him from all sides. From Yorkshire  where Etherege's little empire was crumbling. And  down here where his car had been spotted in the  area that Friday night.

So back he comes to Culpepper. He needs two things. An alibi and money. By threatening to  reveal their business relationship - fence and  receiver - he aims at getting both out of Culpepper.  But Culpepper has no money. Borrow it, suggests  Davenant. Who from? Why not try Pelman? says  Davenant with a significant glance at Marianne. Yes, he would have dug up that bit of information pretty easily. And Pelman's willing to  play ball. Conscience? Fear of scandal? To protect Marianne? Who knows? A detail to be filled  in later.

But Davenant's plan was in jeopardy. The public revelation of Culpepper's unemployment had  thrown the man off balance. Perhaps that had  been an element in the blackmail threat also?  Certainly it had seemed to matter a great deal to Culpepper, relegating to second place his concern  for the immediate future. Now was clearly the time to be talking to him while he was still off balance and before he recovered sufficiently to support  Davenant's story.

But Backhouse did not seem ready to make a  move in that direction. He was talking to Pelman,  Palfrey and Dixon, none of whom now seemed  disposed to leave despite the casual reasons for  their presence. The door opened and Marianne  Culpepper came in. She looked worried.

'He's resting with his porcelain,' she said to the unspoken question which met her. 'He was  a bit upset. He's been trying desperately hard for  months now to find a new post, but only jobs in  selling, or factory accounts offices, that level of  thing, were ever available.'

'You could have helped, got a job yourself,' said  Pascoe sharply, stung by the tone of
that level  of thing.

Marianne looked at him wearily, dismissively.

'Mr Pascoe,' she said, 'why don't you piss off?'

The expression uttered in those smooth-vowelled tones, was surprising, almost shocking. And worse, Pascoe felt himself somehow justly reproved.

'Perhaps you'd take Mr Davenant back into the study and see if you can get an ordered account of  his movements from him,' said Backhouse.

At last he's woken to the danger, thought Pascoe.  And off I'm sent to do the dirty work again.

'Yes, sir,' he said.

In the hall by the front door stood Ferguson,  drinking a cup of coffee.