The Bee's Kiss (31 page)

‘And he was an Irishman! How much worse if a woman regarded by some as an English heroine were similarly exposed!’

‘More or less the conclusion the department arrived at, sir. Thought you’d get there in the end.’

‘So, they send in Armitage under cover – and what cover! A CID sergeant no less! He watches his subject go up to her room – noting that she’s alone – sets off outdoors on patrol wearing a cape and, on his two good legs, shins up the building, breaks in, murders the Dame and spends some time laying confusing evidence that will send the Plod off in several wrong directions.’

Joe paused, deep in thought. ‘No. You didn’t break in, did you, Bill? No sound of glass smashing reported by anyone . . .’ Then, seeing his way through, ‘You let yourself in by means of an unlatched casement. You’d been on patrol throughout the building earlier that evening. What was to stop you getting into her room – pass key part of the security man’s kit? Perhaps you borrowed one from a maid on her 9 p.m. rounds? And you unlatched the window while she was down below at the party? Then, when the hour comes for your external patrol, you simply push the window open silently from outside. You kill the Dame, steal her necklace, mess up her clothing to make it look personal, bash in the glass, muffling the sound with a Ritz towel, and redistribute the glass from the window. There, that’ll give someone a double headache! You probably put the jemmy and emeralds inside the pockets of the cape . . . I did wonder what that bulge was when you sat by me at the coffee stall . . . no, all right! I didn’t! Any blood splashing would have been fended off by the waterproofing of the cape and would have been invisible outside in the dark on a wet night.

‘So you go back out through the window, parting company with the poker halfway down . . .’ Joe hesitated. ‘Then you smarten up, with all the time in the world, in the staff cloakroom and rush about efficiently when called upon later on the discovery of the body. Of course, as it turned out, you didn’t have all the time in the world. You hadn’t bargained for Tilly Westhorpe taking it into her head to pay the Dame an impromptu visit. Very nearly wrecked everything for you, Bill. No wonder you wanted her off the job. Sharp-eyed, saucy young Tilly watching your every move! Playing detective! Nightmare!’

‘You’re doing well, sir,’ said Armitage affably. ‘There’s only one thing wrong with it and I don’t mind mentioning it as I see you’ve clocked it as well. Doesn’t quite make sense, does it? I
didn’t
kill Dame Beatrice. They’ve paid me for it all right but I had to confess that someone had already done the job for me. She was lying there dead when I went in. Just as you saw her later.’

‘So what happens now, Bill?’ Joe sighed.

For a moment he thought he might have overplayed his role. Indecision from his commanding officer was not what Armitage would have expected. But he seemed to think it a reasonable question in the circumstances and replied with a perceptible relaxation of his taut muscles. ‘Only one thing that can happen, Captain. You say, “Case closed and let’s look forward to working on the next one.” Then I bugger off.’

Joe narrowed his eyes, flinched, exclaimed sharply and examined the end of his cigarette which, unregarded in his absorption with the story, was burning his fingers. Armitage’s eyes followed it. A tap on the door divided his attention for a split second. It was long enough.

‘Come in, Ralph!’ Joe called.

The inspector entered to find Armitage still seated, staring, unbelieving, down the barrel of the Browning Joe was holding steadily in his left hand.

‘Ralph, did you bring them? Good. Cuff him to the chair, will you, and remove his gun. It’ll be on his inside left. Holstered. Try and stay out of range, Ralph – if he moves, I’ll shoot him.’

A pale but defiant Armitage, hands locked behind his back and a further set of handcuffs fastening him to the chair, listened in silence as Inspector Cottingham produced a warrant for his arrest and began to read it out.

‘This is a bloody farce!’ he hissed, exasperated. ‘There’s nothing you’ll be allowed to stick on me. Don’t think it! And I told you,’ he sneered, ‘I didn’t even bloody well do it.’

‘I know you didn’t. Just have a little patience, old chap, and hear the inspector out. He’s about to do you for . . . what have we got, Ralph? . . . breaking and entering the premises of the Ritz, stealing an emerald necklace, interfering with evidence to a murder, pre- and post-commission obfuscation . . . Carry on, Ralph. You read it – I’ll sign it.’

Cottingham, having completed his arrest manoeuvres with professional smoothness, now stood to one side, agitated and questioning. His eyes flicked nervously between the revolver which Joe still held at the ready and its target.

‘He wasn’t armed. Sir! It’s Armitage! He’s one of us!’

‘
Was
one of us. Technically still is. He goes through the motions, draws the pay, uses the cover but his loyalties are with some other department. Probably under the same roof, though we’ll never know it.’

‘Special Branch?’ asked Cottingham. ‘One of McBrien’s busy boys?’

‘Special? No, I’d have said rather – Extra Special. We’re not allowed even to think about it. A branch of a branch of the Branch, perhaps? A twiglet?’ He composed his features. Mistake to descend to levity. In a voice of purring conspiracy he added, ‘And if I guess rightly, there’ll be several firewalls between the grandee who first murmured from the depths of his leather armchair in a St James’s club that perhaps the Dame had gone too far and the time, sadly, had come . . . and, at the end of the line: the finger on the trigger, the hand on the poker.’

Cottingham was uncharacteristically nervous. ‘Dangerous work perhaps, sir, to meddle in matters like this?’

‘Oh, yes! Which is why I’ve taken certain precautions. I sent off this weekend a thick envelope for delivery to my lawyer. In the event of my unforeseen death, the letter will be copied to . . . and there follows a list of ten influential people. And, just to be sure, memos have gone to Sir Nevil, the Head of the Branch, the Foreign Secretary, the editor of the
Mirror
and, perhaps most importantly, to the Leader of His Majesty’s Opposition, to inform them of my insurance policy. A mixed bag of heroes and villains there! Having this in common – none of them will want what I’ve said to become public knowledge. I’ll be roundly cursed in some quarters but – what the hell! – this is England, not bloody Russia!’

He wondered if he’d been melodramatic but Cottingham seemed impressed by the speech.

‘Should have included your resignation with that little lot,’ Armitage growled.

‘But what will happen to
him
?’

‘Yes, Ralph. I share your concern. The situation is most dangerous for the sergeant. Broken tools get thrown away. If we let him loose on the streets we’d probably find that a passing hackney cab driver would accidentally lose his grip on the wheel with disastrous consequences for the sergeant within the week.’

‘Harsh retribution, sir? Considering you seem to agree with him that his only crime was burglary and tampering with evidence. That’s five years maximum.’

‘It’s just a holding charge, Ralph. He’ll be out of our control – and protection – as soon as his papers reach a certain level. Get your coat and hat. We’ve some ground to cover before he gets released. We’re going to pick up evidence of his other crime and then we’ll have to think about a further warrant. Get on the phone, will you, and whistle up an escort down to the cells?’

Armitage had turned pale and was frustratedly tugging at his handcuffs. He glared in silence as Ralph asked, ‘
Other
crime, sir? What have you in mind?’

‘The murder of Miss Audrey Blount. Let’s not forget Audrey.’

‘Where are we going, sir?’ Cottingham asked as Joe commandeered a police car and driver.

‘We’re going to pay a call on Armitage senior. According to the file, Bill’s home address is Queen Adelaide Court, just off the Mile End Road beyond Whitechapel. Being unmarried, his next of kin is a Mr Harold Armitage, his father. Retired soldier. Nothing so helpful as a search warrant in our pockets, Ralph, so we’ll just have to charm our way in. And while we go, I’ll fill you in on the latest developments in the Hive you discovered.’

‘What are we hoping to find
chez
Armitage, sir?’

‘Audrey’s handbag? The negatives? If Armitage is motivated by money he might have kept them back to do a little business on his own account. He claims to be motivated by patriotism but . . . I don’t know, Ralph . . . I think perhaps financial reward might play a starring role in all this. And let’s not lose sight of that necklace. No information from the usual sources?’

‘None, sir. Usual fences claim no knowledge. Could have gone abroad by now.’

‘Or been hidden until someone thinks we’ve taken our eye off the ball.’

‘But what’s the connection between Audrey and Armitage?’

‘She was prowling the corridors well before the murder – we only have her word that she saw nothing untoward. Did she catch sight of Armitage doing something questionable? Like letting himself into the Dame’s room with a pass key? She needed money in her changed circumstances and I think she was bold enough to attempt a spot of blackmail. She was certainly giving him a close inspection when we interviewed her down in Surrey. I put it down to the sergeant’s charming exterior but I think she very probably recognized him. She’d only have to ring up the Yard and leave a message. He would ring her back and arrange a meeting. The whole murder scene on the bridge has a professional ring to it. The rendezvous was set for exactly the time of poorest visibility. The witness, Arthur, said she turned to greet someone when the beat bobby approached. Wrong chap in fact but she could have been expecting to see a man in uniform.

‘Suppose, Ralph, our killer is waiting on the Embankment wearing, let’s say, a river policeman’s slicker and cap. No one would take any notice as their headquarters is right there by the bridge. They’re coming and going all the time. So he waits until the beat bobby has done his job and gone on his way then he approaches Audrey, grabs her bag and throws her over. Bag goes into the inner pocket of the cape and he strolls off unnoticed. I got taken for a policeman by a tram conductor myself, leaving Waterloo Bridge in a borrowed cape.’

‘Then perhaps I should be arresting you, sir? But, to answer my original question myself – we’re looking for a police cape possibly still stained with Group III blood and this item will have, secreted in an inner pocket, a lady’s bag containing photographic evidence of a dubious nature. If our luck holds, in the other pocket we’ll find an emerald necklace and a jemmy. And it will, no doubt, be hanging handily on the back of the door. With a confession pinned to the collar.’ Cottingham sighed.

‘Ralph, go home!’ said Joe on impulse. ‘I shouldn’t be involving you in this underhand operation. You’ve a wife and family to think about. I’m sorry! I was getting carried away. You’re right. I haven’t a clue what there may be to be found in Armitage’s house. He’s a careful type and has, of course, got rid of anything incriminating days ago. I just want to give it a try. Nosy, I suppose, but I wanted to get an impression of the man from his surroundings. He’s many-layered and I’m sure I don’t know all there is to know about Bill Armitage. Go back to the Yard. I’ll go on by myself. Constable! Stop here!’

‘Constable! Drive on!’ Major Cottingham of the Cold-stream’s authoritative voice countermanded Joe’s order.

‘Ralph, you’re not obliged –’

‘I know that. But I’m not happy about closing down this case any more than you are. It’s like looking at a suppurating wound and being ordered to slap a sticking plaster on it in the hope that it’ll go away. No, this calls for the scalpel and if I can help you wield it, I will. You said it, sir – “This isn’t bloody Russia!” We didn’t give our all in that hell for four years to emerge into an autocratic state where faceless men decide for us what the Law should be.’

They were dropped off at the City end of the Mile End Road and the driver assured them that if they struck out to their right they’d find what they were looking for. He didn’t risk taking his motor vehicle down into that warren – he was likely to emerge with bits missing and lucky if it was just the motor. He arranged to wait for them on the main highway.

They found the narrow entrance to Queen Adelaide Court. A grand-sounding title for a Victorian collection of slum dwellings erected for workers in the nearby docks. They stood, silently taking in the squalor and overcrowding of the terraced houses grouped around a central square. Joe spotted four outdoor lavatories and a central water pump. Washing lines crowded with drying linen filled most of the yard, reminding them that it was a Monday. Doors stood open on gloomy interiors; a few inhabitants were out on the doorsteps gossiping and casting an occasional eye on the bands of young children who played together in groups.

Springtime games were in full swing. Skipping ropes, whips and tops and hoops were being used by groups of girls, the inevitable football game, much circumscribed by the washing lines, raged around the perimeter. Once his initial shock at the noise and obvious poverty of the court had subsided, Joe noticed that all the children seemed happy and busy. A gang of small girls were first to challenge the strangers. Arm in arm, they were strolling along chattering and one was pushing a cart made from an old wooden fish box mounted on two perambulator wheels. It was lined with a dirty blanket and contained a selection of rag dolls. Joe bent to admire them as a friendly overture and was alarmed to see one of them move. The girls shrieked with laughter at his startled reaction.

‘’Sawright, mister! That’s just our Jimmy. ’E won’t bite yer! Not ’less you was to put yer finger in ’is marf!’

Joe explained that they were friends of Bill Armitage and were looking for his house.

‘Rozzers, are yer? That’s all right then. I’d took yer for gennlemen – watch chain an’ all,’ said the oldest with a sharp look at Cottingham’s waistcoat. ‘Well, come on then. ’Is dad’s in.’

Joe handed them a penny each and they set off, an unlikely cortège, to weave their way across the court, their every step followed by dozens of pairs of eyes.