A Backwards Jump Read online

  Arkwright went to see the registrar, an elderly man, who might protest that he married hundreds of couples, and couldn’t expect to remember them all. Arkwright had a photograph of Roger Clayton with him, and showed it.

  “Have you ever seen this man, Mr. Green?”

  “Oh, yes,” answered Green. “I married him only about three weeks ago. There were two witnesses, both on the bride’s side. Let me see.” He went to his precious books and began to check, while Arkwright felt a quickening excitement, and at the same time a sense of guilt. He should have brought that photograph in before, had actually thought of doing so; but this wasn’t strictly speaking “a case” and he hadn’t troubled.

  “This is the address from which he was married, and this is the address she gave,” reported the registrar. “I can’t be sure they are living at either of the addresses now. I do hope there is nothing serious, Sergeant.”

  “Just routine,” Arkwright said, and went first to the house where Marion Lane had lived on her own, after turning it into two flats. It was there that he learned that she had let the flat to an old friend who had been a witness at the wedding ceremony: a Miss Ethel Jones. But Ethel Jones wasn’t in during the day.

  Arkwright decided to go back to see her that night; she might know where the Carnes alias the Claytons had gone to live.

  It did not then occur to Arkwright that there might be any desperate hurry, and he went back to the Yard and began to inquire,’ at routine speed, into the history of Marion Carne, née Lane.

  It didn’t take him long to discover that she had inherited a small fortune; then Arkwright really felt the need for haste.

  Arkwright was on his way to see Ethel Jones, Marion was driving the car round the block, for practice after dark, the child Peter lay in a coma on the floor of the cupboard, Ma Higgs still stormed at her captors, Tod Cowan had admitted nothing and was on his way with Hemmingway to the Yard, where Gideon was waiting for him, and Jane Wray was in a back street pub, drinking gin and water.

  A little before eight o’clock, Gideon had finished all the office work he wanted to do. He did not feel really relaxed, and still condemned himself for slackness and for allowing others to be slack. When the telephone bell rang he thought it was to announce Hemmingway and his prisoner.

  “Will you speak to Superintendent Warr, sir, from Bognor?”

  There was another job to nag at him.

  “Yes, put him on.” There was a pause, and then Warr spoke. “Gideon speaking,” Gideon said. “How are things going?”

  Warr said: “We’ve got Martha Smallwood, George. Got her early this afternoon, but I didn’t worry you then, I wanted to be absolutely sure, and to get the story straight.”

  The bloody fool, thought Gideon, to keep this to himself! But Warr was going on, obviously relieved and satisfied.

  “She was housekeeper to a blind man, seems to have robbed him already. He cottoned on to what she was up to and ran into trouble, but he’s all right now – in hospital, suffering from shock, but nothing serious. As a matter of fact,” went on Warr reluctantly, “no one can really claim any credit. A neighbour happened to see . . .

  “But at least the rest of it is sewn up,” Warr finished, confidently. “I’ve got all the evidence the Public Prosecutor could want for half a dozen murder prosecutions. I’ll need a couple of days down here, then I’ll be ready.”

  “Fine,” said Gideon. “Take an extra day if you need it.”

  He rang off, muttered: “Fool,” picked up his pipe, and was filling it when he heard a man coming briskly along the passage. The footsteps stopped outside, there was a tap, and on Gideon’s “Come in” Hemmingway entered.

  “Hallo, George!” His lined face was bright with deep satisfaction. “I’ve got Tod Cowan downstairs in the waiting-room. Brought him along myself.”

  “He said anything?”

  “Not yet,” said Hemmingway, “but I think he’ll soon crack.”

  18

  TOD COWAN

  Gideon walked downstairs to the waiting-room with Hemmingway, and as he neared the room he saw Detective-Sergeant Arkwright, his expression clearly one of excitement, hurrying towards the lift. Just coming in, too, were two hefty Flying Squad men with a little chap sandwiched between them. The little chap was Hungry Dory, who looked as if he would collapse if touched, but was the quickest and most able cat burglar then operating.

  Gideon paused.

  “Half a minute,” he said to Hemmingway, and saw

  Hungry Dory looking at him with pretended pathos, his huge eyes and hollow cheeks wrongly suggesting that he was on the verge of starvation. “Why don’t you keep out of trouble, Hungry?”

  “It’s me wife,” said Hungry, in a whining voice. “Don’t ever make the mistake I did if your wife dies on you, Gee-Gee. Married a girl young enough to be my daughter, I did, you can guess why, and I’m not saying I’ve got any complaints in that direction, but talk about greedy! Proper voracious, that’s what she is. Silver fox and Persian lamb are beneath her, she’ll only settle for mink. And when I come to thinking of all the old hags in London dripping with mink, and my Susie all ready to win a beauty competition I couldn’t resist it, Gee-Gee, that’s Gawd’s truth.”

  It probably was, too.

  “Where’d you pick him up?” Gideon asked the Squad men.

  “Climbing in a house in Wyman Square.”

  “All right, take him in to Mr. Squires, he might be able to knock some sense into him.”

  “If only I’d had the sense to stay a widower, that was my big mistake,” Hungry said, and flicked his hand in salute to Gideon as they took him off. Hemmingway stood by impatiently, but Arkwright was still hovering.

  “Want me, Sergeant ?” asked Gideon.

  “If you could spare a minute, sir.”

  “Half an hour’s time do? I’ll be more free then.”

  “Any time to suit you, sir.”

  “Wait down in the canteen. I’ll call you,” Gideon said, and went to the waiting-room with Hemmingway. Arkwright walked towards the stairs and the canteen, to wait.

  Robert Carne was in a pub, at the top of Putney Hill. The steepness of the hill was exactly right, if he could only think of a way of getting Marion up to the top, ready to drive down. He knew she would put all her weight on the brakes when she started the descent, she wouldn’t think of changing gear, and the fast-running car would scare her. The brakes were fixed so that they couldn’t stand any sudden pressure.

  Putney Hill was perfect.

  If he told her to drive to Wimbledon first, and if he wasn’t at a rendezvous there, to come and pick him up by the traffic lights at Putney Bridge, it ought to be all right, unless she came the long way round, to avoid the hill. If he told her Roehampton, say out by the Star and Garter

  Home, it would be safer.

  The little tailor with the jaunty manner, standing outside his shop door and rubbing his hands on a crowded Sunday morning, was hardly recognisable. Gideon looked at him intently, and wondered whether he was frightened only of the police and what they could do. Tod looked shabby, too; it was an old trick to make oneself seem poor and hard-done-by. Here was the man who had been a collector for Lee, who probably knew most of Lee’s secrets; who might and probably did know who had killed Lee.

  Hemmingway was by Gideon’s side, a Sergeant from the Division and a Yard constable were by Tod’s. Tod licked his lips, and closed his heavily-lidded eyes as if he would faint.

  Gideon said: “Well, you’re in for a stretch, you bloody fool.”

  “Mr. Gideon,” began Tod, and couldn’t go on. He swallowed hard, and tried again. “Mr. Gideon, you’ve no right to say a thing like that. I can’t understand it, I always thought you were a fair-minded policeman, and now I find you’re as bad as the rest of them. I’m disappointed, I . . .” He couldn’t finish, a
nd his lips were quivering as the words faded away.

  “All I want and all any policeman wants is a clean East End,” Gideon said, “and we thought you were one of the people we could rely on. You’ve let us down so hard that you deserve twenty years.”

  “But I haven’t!”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Gideon said. Tod Cowan didn’t yet know about the witnesses against him, he was ostensibly here because of the investigations into Frisky Lee’s death. “Let’s have the truth now. What did you say to Ratsy to make him leave your shop that Sunday morning? He came to you for help and you drove him out.”

  “I swear I didn’t, Mr. Gideon!”

  Gideon kept silent for a few seconds, staring down, and guessing at the anguish in Cowan’s mind. No one moved or spoke, but now Cowan began to rub his hands together, with a sliding noise; and his mouth worked more.

  Gideon said: “We picked up Ma Higgs today. We’ve picked up a lot of other people who’ve been in the game. We know you were in with Frisky Lee. What happened, Cowan? Did he press you too hard? Did you kill him?”

  Cowan really swayed, and would probably have fallen but for the policeman’s quick grab. What little colour he had faded, even his lips seemed to be colourless. Gideon stood over him like an avenging angel.

  “I didn’t kill him, Mr. Gideon, I swear I didn’t. A long time ago I committed a serious crime, and Lee knew about it: he said he would shop me if I didn’t do what he wanted. How could I help myself, Mr. Gideon? I didn’t want to lose everything I’d got, did I? I tried to stand aside, I swear I did, but Lee sent a couple of his bruisers round to see me, they—well, Mr. Hemmingway will remember what happened,” Cowan went on, in the same helpless voice. “I had an accident, said I’d fallen down the stairs, but Lee’s men beat me up. I was three months a cripple, Mr. Gideon, and just couldn’t stand out any longer. That’s the truth. Lee made me agree to act as his agent. I never kept the stuff long, always got rid of it quick, Lee had a dozen outlets, see. I did the work and took the risks, while he—”

  “Did you kill him, Cowan?”

  “No! Ratsy did, I’ve told you!”

  “What made Ratsy leave your shop?”

  Cowan hesitated, hands rubbing together almost fiercely. Gideon didn’t prompt him; just waited. And the answer came at last, the answer to a question which might never have been asked.

  “I—I had to send him out, he—”

  “After Lee was dead?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “You weren’t scared of Lee when he was dead.”

  “No, I can’t explain, I just can’t.”

  “Who made you do it, Cowan? What made you drive Ratsy out? Come on, tell me.”

  Sweat was trickling down Cowan’s face, and Gideon felt sure that he would soon crack, provided the pressure was not eased.

  “Let’s have the truth now. No one made you, you killed Lee yourself, and then you framed Ratsy.”

  “Mr. Gideon, it’s not true!”

  “Superintendent, take careful note of what I’m going to say,” Gideon said to Hemmingway formally. “Cowan, I’m going to charge you with the murder of Harold James known as Frisky Lee at his home in Medd Alley at or about six o’clock in the morning of . . .”

  “No!” Cowan gasped, and Gideon had never seen a more piteous sight. “It was Ratsy who killed him, but they drove him to it! They told Ratsy Lee was going to throw him over, they drove Ratsy almost mad. They drove him—”

  “Who drove him?” roared Gideon.

  “God forgive me,” Cowan whispered hoarsely, “it was the women. Ada’s mother and”—he almost choked—”and my wife. They—they both worked with Lee for years, my—my own wife did, even before me. It was Ada’s mother who fixed Lee’s marriage. Then Lee said he was going to clear out to Australia and leave them all flat. They drove Ratsy to kill him, then made me cover up. I had to do it, Gideon, my own wife was involved. What else could a man do?”

  So his fat chunk of a wife with her dyed hair had squashed him. And Ada Lee’s mother had fooled Gideon and the others with those bold flashing eyes, and her fierce “protectiveness” towards her daughter.

  Poor Ada?

  “Yes, I knew they’d driven Ratsy to do it,” Ada Lee admitted helplessly, “but I daren’t say anything. They—they said if I did they’d take my baby away. They said they’d take my baby.”

  “Hallo, George,” Lemaitre greeted, when they got back to Gideon’s office. “’Lo, Hemmy. George, an old pal of yours wants to talk to you. Says he’s acting for Ma Higgs, and two poor, misunderstood, ill-treated sweet little women. Name of Gabriel Lyon. He says he’d like to talk to you personally.”

  Gideon looked thoughtfully into Lemaitre’s eyes, and then said: “We’ll let him call again.”

  “He’d defend the swine who killed his own mother,” Hemmingway said disgustedly.

  “I dunno,” said Gideon, and for some inexplicable reason, he felt flat. “It’ll be interesting to see which way he tries to jump. Lem, ring the canteen and have them send Sergeant Arkwright up, will you? Hemmy, anything else tonight?”

  “All okay by me, George. Wouldn’t like to come across for a quick one, would you?”

  “Not tonight, thanks,” said Gideon, and leaned back in his chair and picked up a receiver. He said to the operator: “Get my wife, will you? I’ll hold on.” He smoothed the bowl of his pipe with his free hand, while Lemaitre talked to the canteen, and Hemmingway looked steadily at him, as if trying to see what went on inside the mind of George Gideon. “Hallo—hallo, Kate . . . I’m fine . . . Eh . . . No, I shouldn’t wait up, that’s what I called about. Several things to do, and I’m sure to be late. Just thought I’d save you wearing the armchair out . . . No, don’t leave anything, I’ll have something to eat before I leave here . . .” Gideon grinned. “Yes, I promise! . . . ‘Bye, dear.” He rang off, and for a moment looked almost as if all anxieties had been lifted off his shoulder, but that was not for long.

  Lemaitre said: “Arkwright’s on his way.”

  “Anything else in?”

  “Only the usual. Couple of beatings up, nasty job out at Camberwell, two men broke into a doctor’s place, and knocked him about badly. They . . .”

  “The Division checking for any stolen drugs?”

  “I’ll make sure,” said Lemaitre, and jotted down a note. “Then there was a girl on Clapham Common, couple of swine attacked her. Cashier at the Roxy, Ealham Cross, robbed of the night’s takings, about three hundred quid. Must have a good show on there. Night’s only just started, of course.”

  Gideon said: “Yes,” and then Hemmingway went out, rather subdued, and Gideon wondered whether he should have gone across with the NE man for that drink, after all.

  Footsteps sounded in the passage.

  “Come in,” Lemaitre called, after a tap, and the door opened and Arkwright stepped inside, closing the door quickly but quietly, looking big and well-groomed, and showing signs of repressed impatience. He drew himself up to attention. Gideon let him stay like that; he would learn soon enough that it wasn’t necessary. For Arkwright, this was a big occasion, there was no need to spoil it.

  “The Carne job?” Gideon asked.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve made one or two discoveries today that might help.” Gideon heard of the coincidence of the R. C. initials, and the registrar’s quick recognition of the photograph, and then Arkwright went on: “So tonight I went to the place where the new wife used to live, sir. A friend lives there now. Carne decided to live somewhere else in London, and the two girls haven’t met since. The friend isn’t sure they’re back from the honeymoon – she doesn’t know where they spent it, but Marion Lane, as she was, wrote to her, postmark Brighton, and said she and her new husband are going into business in a big way. She didn’t say that she was putting up the money, but hinted at it. She said they’r
e getting some showrooms in Kensington High Street. Car accessory salerooms. It’s all remarkably like the original job when Clayton, as Carne was then, lost his wife. She had money, they started a joint business, and . . .”

  Gideon let him finish, and then asked: “What else have you done?”

  “Well, sir, I’ve found out where they’re living.” This was Arkwright’s reason for elation: he was really a fast worker. “Mrs. Carne said they were likely to take a service apartment, so I telephoned round to about fifty places, and finally got the one they’re at. Byng Court, Chelsea.”

  Gideon handed out the proper meed of praise. “Quick work, Arkwright, thanks. Now, we’ve got to be careful, but we still have to work fast. If he’s planning to do away with his wife, he may fix it soon. I think we’d better have him questioned.”

  Lemaitre broke in: “What for? Getting married?”

  “Using an assumed name,” said Gideon. “We can tell him we want to make sure he isn’t a bigamist. Get him on his own, though. We don’t want complications with his wife.” Gideon hesitated, knowing that he could detail Arkwright to his job, and give the Sergeant a chance he had been waiting for for a long time. But a more experienced man might do it better, this job was fraught with complications. Arkwright tried to look as if it didn’t matter, and that influenced Gideon to give him his chance. “Try and see Carne tonight, Sergeant, and if you can’t, get at him early in the morning. Question him closely about the change of name, and let me know his reaction.”