Under Attack Read online

  ‘My brother, Les, works with him.’

  Burge went on to give a full account of how much White had assisted him. When he admitted that his hat had been stolen by gang members, he made Keedy laugh. Burge pointed out that he not only had his hat back, he had the old man in the junk shop on his side at last.

  ‘He wants this neighbourhood cleaned up as much as anyone.’

  ‘It sounds to me as if he got what he deserved. He was happy enough to work with the gangs when they sold him things they’d stolen. Can you trust him?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Burge, confidently. ‘He’s been sobered by the attack on his shop. He’s promised to keep his ear to the ground for us.’

  ‘I wish that we had someone like that.’

  ‘How is the investigation going?’

  ‘Slowly,’ replied Keedy. ‘It’s going very slowly.’

  Since she knew how eager he was to speak to her son, Clara Donohoe insisted on putting the car at his disposal. During the drive to the Northfield factory, Marmion tried to pump the chauffeur for information about the family but the man gave little away. When they reached the factory, they parked by the impressive entrance. The chauffeur opened the door of the car to let him get out and Marmion went into the building. He was startled to see Harriet Kane coming down the corridor towards him.

  ‘What are you doing here, Miss Kane?’ he asked.

  ‘This is where I work from now on.’

  ‘Didn’t your boss give you time to … adjust to the situation?’

  ‘He believes that the best way to keep grief at bay is to lose oneself in work and I agree with him. If I was at home, I’d be bursting into tears all the time.’

  ‘You were obviously fond of Mr Donohoe.’

  ‘I worshipped him, Inspector.’ She glanced at the door to her left. ‘Things will be different now. This is his son’s office,’ she went on, a hand on the doorknob. ‘I’ll just see if he’s free to talk to you.’

  She tapped on the door before entering the office and closing the door behind her. Marmion was left to reflect on the way that a murder had transformed her career. After being secretary to a highly successful property developer and enjoying the kudos of being employed in London, she was now occupying a more lowly position and was controlled by a man she neither liked nor respected to the same degree. Loyalty to the family kept her there. In time, it might begin to wear thin.

  She reappeared and kept the door open so that he could enter the office. She shut it gently behind him. Adrian Donohoe rose to his feet behind his desk and reached across to offer a reluctant handshake. Marmion sat opposite him.

  ‘I’ve just been speaking to your mother,’ he said.

  ‘You shouldn’t have bothered her, Inspector. She’s quite frail.’

  ‘Mrs Donohoe was desperate for news of the investigation. You told her very little, I gather.’

  ‘I’m trying to protect her from the unpleasantness of it all.’

  ‘The full facts will come out in due course, sir. You can’t hide them from your mother. While we’re on the subject of facts, there is a macabre detail I’ve been keeping from you.’

  ‘Why have you done that?’

  ‘I didn’t wish to shock you, Mr Donohoe.’

  ‘And what is this detail?’

  ‘Your father was not just murdered. His tongue was cut out.’ The younger man reacted with alarm and disgust. ‘What sort of person would do that to him?’

  Adrian needed a moment to recover. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he whispered.

  ‘Had he betrayed someone? Was the killer signalling that he’d been silenced for ever? There’s usually something symbolic in such an act.’

  ‘Well, I can’t see what it was.’

  ‘Your mother told me something interesting. Mrs Donohoe said that your father nurtured political ambitions. To achieve those, he’d have to make lots of speeches. Is that why his tongue was removed – to shut him up completely? Does he have political enemies?’

  ‘I’ve told you before. My father had rivals but no real enemies.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re wrong on that score.’

  ‘The murder must have been a case of mistaken identity.’

  ‘Nobody would ever confuse Mr Donohoe with someone else, sir. From all the evidence we’ve gathered, one thing is clear. He was unique.’

  ‘Yes, he was,’ said the other with sudden urgency. ‘My father was a genius in some ways. You’ll never meet anyone quite like him. He could do anything.’

  ‘Is that why he believed that he was God?’ asked Marmion. ‘That was the name inside his shoes. Two initials would have been enough to identify them as his but he used all three.’

  ‘It was a joke, Inspector.’

  ‘Then it’s a rather weird one.’

  ‘He could be eccentric.’

  ‘The last time we met, you were unwilling to talk about the Club Apollo.’

  ‘What was I supposed to say?’

  ‘Well, you might have told me why you resented Mr Ulverton, for a start.’

  ‘He’s nothing to me,’ said Adrian with a contemptuous wave of his hand. ‘He belonged to a part of my father’s life that I knew very little about – and that’s all I’m prepared to say.’

  ‘Then let me turn to someone else, sir.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s a man by the name of Thomas Day. Have you ever heard of him?’

  Adrian fell silent and averted his gaze.

  Ellen had spent the whole day on tenterhooks. The letter addressed to her son had raised all kinds of hopes. According to the postmark, it had been sent from Warwickshire. Was that where Paul had been all this time? Had someone discovered his home address and tried to get in touch with him? Inside the envelope, she came to believe, there was vital information yet something held her back from finding out what it was. Ellen needed someone to tell her that she had a perfect right to open any correspondence to their missing son. Ideally, that person would be her husband but she knew that she wasn’t allowed to ring him at work unless it was an emergency. In her mind, news about Paul qualified as an emergency and she lifted the receiver three times, only to put it back down again. When she plucked up the courage to pick it up a fourth time, she got in contact with Scotland Yard, only to be told by a voice she didn’t recognise that Inspector Marmion had gone to Birmingham.

  Sitting down again, she examined the envelope once more. It was obviously not an official communication. The handwriting was little more than a scrawl and there was a smudge. As the day wore on, she became more and more frantic. Every time she decided to tear open the envelope, however, something made her draw back. Ellen couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. Since her husband wasn’t able to help her, she caught a bus to central London and turned to another member of the family.

  ‘Mummy!’ exclaimed Alice. ‘I never expected to see you here.’

  ‘I just had to come.’

  ‘Why – what’s happened?’

  ‘This letter came for Paul,’ said Ellen, taking it from her handbag. ‘I’ve been in agony, not knowing whether to open it or not.’

  ‘It’s private.’

  ‘But it might be able to give us a clue as to where he is.’

  Alice had just finished work and was leaving the building with the other policewomen. She could see how agitated her mother was. With an arm around her shoulders, Alice led her along the street and around a corner. They found a quiet spot where they could talk without interruption. Taking the letter, Alice inspected it.

  ‘It’s very sloppy writing.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. It’s been sent by someone who knows Paul’s address.’

  ‘What do you want me to do, Mummy?’

  ‘I only came to you because I couldn’t get in touch with your father. I know this is a feeble excuse,’ said Ellen, ‘but I just need someone to give me permission to read this letter.’

  Alice made the decision for her. ‘Open the envelope,’ she said.

 
; Her mother tore it open and took out the letter.

  ‘Thank God!’ she cried. ‘Paul is still alive!’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Marmion had finally got him at a disadvantage. Ironically, it was in a place where Adrian Donohoe would be expected to have maximum defence against intrusive questioning. He occupied an impressive office in a large engineering factory employing a substantial number of people. He was also the main beneficiary of his father’s death and would soon take control of Gilbert Donohoe’s empire. In doing so, he’d acquire a higher status, untold wealth and almost unlimited power. An already arrogant man would thereby take on new layers of self-importance. He should be unreachable yet he’d suddenly been flustered by the mention of a name. Marmion was bent on finding out why.

  ‘You haven’t answered my question, sir,’ he said.

  ‘The name is … vaguely familiar. That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘Oh, I think you can tell me a lot more than that. From the moment you first heard about your father’s murder, you’ve been singularly unhelpful. Since you’re the person in the best position to help us, we find that very frustrating. Don’t you want us to catch the killer?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Then why don’t you cooperate with us?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to do, Inspector.’

  ‘Well, you haven’t been trying very hard, sir. There are two areas of great interest to us. One is the property company set up by your father and the other is the club that he helped to found. You dismissed the first with a sentence or two and won’t even discuss the second. It’s not what we’d call cooperation.’

  ‘Then what would you call it?’

  ‘It’s a case of wilful obstruction.’

  Adrian was stung. ‘Nobody has a stronger reason to want the murder solved,’ he said, vehemently. ‘While you’re dealing with the crime, however, I’m trying to cope with the consequences of it. You don’t appreciate how complicated and time-consuming that is. My father’s empire has lost his guiding hand. I have to speak to everyone in senior management and make major decisions about the future. Do you know how long that will take?’

  ‘That’s your problem, sir.’

  ‘I’m letting you get on with your job,’ said Adrian, jabbing a finger. ‘Please let me get on with mine.’

  ‘I’ll do so on one condition.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Tell me why you’re afraid to talk about Thomas Day.’

  ‘I hardly know the man.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Marmion, quietly, ‘and we both know it.’

  He met the other’s gaze with steely determination. However long it took, Marmion was not moving until he got an honest reply. After resorting in vain to an attempt at browbeating, Adrian Donohoe realised that he’d lost the battle.

  ‘Tom Day was a business associate of my father,’ he admitted, finally.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He’s an estate agent and property developer.’

  ‘Where is he based?’

  ‘Right here in Birmingham – but he has branch offices elsewhere.’

  ‘Did he work closely with your father?’

  ‘He did until they fell out.’

  ‘When did that happen? Was it when your father set up a property company?’

  ‘Yes, it was. Tom felt … excluded.’

  ‘Did he expect to be a partner in the new enterprise?’

  ‘I don’t know the full details,’ said the other. ‘All I can tell you is that the relationship turned sour. I can’t say that I was sorry. Tom was a prickly character. My sister found that out.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Before she was married, Doreen made the mistake of letting him court her. I think she still bears the scars. Tom Day is no gentleman.’

  ‘Right,’ said Marmion, summarising the situation. ‘Thomas Day was an associate of your father’s and a friend of your sister’s. In short, he was closely involved with your family – so much for the name being vaguely familiar to you.’

  ‘We’ve put him out of our minds, Inspector.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My father had a strict policy. When someone let him down, he flushed them out of his life as if they’d never been there. That’s what happened to Tom Day.’

  ‘So you’ve had no contact with him since then?’

  ‘None at all – we treat him like a pariah.’

  ‘And what was Mr Day’s attitude to your father?’

  ‘Tom hated him. He kept well clear of our entire family.’

  ‘That’s a myth, I’m afraid,’ said Marmion. ‘It may interest you to know that, on the night of your father’s murder, Thomas Day was staying at the Devonian Hotel. Now why do you think he did that?’

  Their elation was fringed with alarm. Such as it was, the letter seemed to confirm that Paul Marmion was alive but it was not sent by a friend. Three words had been written in spidery capitals on flimsy lined paper – DON’T COME BACK. Two pound notes had been enclosed. Ellen and Alice were befuddled.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ said Ellen. ‘The message is hostile yet there’s money for Paul. I don’t understand.’

  ‘There’s the explanation, Mummy,’ said her daughter, pointing to the address at the top of the letter. ‘Paul must have been working at Corley Hall Farm. This is money he earned there.’

  ‘Then why wasn’t he given it at the time he left?’

  ‘Judging by the tone of this message, I think he might have been thrown off the farm by someone in a temper. It was instant dismissal. Maybe the farmer felt guilty at not paying him. That’s why he sent the unpaid wages.’

  ‘What on earth could Paul have done?’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out. Someone must go to the farm.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be your father,’ said Ellen, sadly. ‘He’s had all the leave he was due and is deep in his latest investigation.’

  ‘That settles it, then.’

  ‘What do you mean, Alice?’

  ‘Since Daddy is tied up, one of us will have to go instead.’

  Arriving back at Scotland Yard, he went straight to the superintendent’s office. As well as reporting on his visit to the Devonian Hotel, Keedy was able to pass on the encouraging news from Clifford Burge. Chatfield was pleased.

  ‘He was my recommendation,’ he said.

  ‘Constable Burge was a good choice, sir. He blends in.’

  ‘Had you not already been involved in a case, you’d have been a possibility for the assignment. On balance, however, Burge was the better man.’

  Keedy shrugged off the put-down. ‘I’m sure you’re right, sir. As for the Devonian,’ he continued, ‘I had a long chat with the manager.’

  ‘Was he still in a truculent mood?’

  ‘No, he seemed to have calmed somewhat.’

  ‘That’s my doing,’ said Chatfield. ‘I had to slap him down.’

  Having been slapped down by the superintendent many times, Keedy had a fleeting sympathy for Patrick Armitage. It soon disappeared. He went on to recall his conversation with the manager and told how the latter had finally conceded that he did remember the name of Thomas Day, after all.

  ‘Why didn’t he tell you that in the first place?’

  ‘He was anxious to get rid of me.’

  ‘It’s to your credit that you hung on until you squeezed the truth out of him.’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ said Keedy, ‘it wasn’t the whole truth. What I got was only a partial confession. What he told me was just enough to qualify as a reasonable answer but he was definitely holding something back. The Devonian offers such excellent service that the bulk of its guests are regular patrons. They come back time and again. When a new face appears, Mr Armitage makes a point of speaking to the person.’

  ‘Well, I hope he adopts a more friendly tone than the one I had to endure.’

  ‘That’s how he came to meet Thomas Day.’

  ‘So the fellow was st
aying there for the first time, was he?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How did Armitage describe him?’

  ‘He said that Day was a pleasant, affable man in his late thirties with a trace of a Midland accent. In some ways, he claimed, Day looked a little like me.’

  ‘That means he was fit, healthy and therefore capable of murder.’

  ‘I haven’t murdered anyone so far,’ said Keedy with a grin, ‘but I take your point. He sounds as if he was physically powerful enough to strangle Mr Donohoe.’

  ‘Did the manager ask him what he was doing in London?’

  ‘Mr Day said he was there on business. He’s often in the capital, it seems.’

  ‘There you are,’ said Chatfield, pouncing on the information. ‘A regular visitor would have a regular place to stay. If he singled out the Devonian Hotel for this particular trip, there had to be a reason.’

  ‘That was my immediate thought.’

  ‘So what have we got here? Thomas Day is a fit, able businessman with a Midland accent that could link him to Birmingham. He chooses to stay for the first and only time at a hotel where one of the guests is murdered. I think that takes us beyond coincidence.’

  ‘So do I, Superintendent,’ said Keedy, glad that his theory was at last being given credence. ‘He has to be regarded as a suspect.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Chatfield. ‘Where the devil is the man?’

  Marmion was asking the same question in a more polite way. He’d called at the offices in New Street from which Thomas Day ran his business. The estate agent was clearly successful. The premises had been recently refurbished and all of the properties on display in the shop window were at the more expensive end of the market. Day, he noticed from a large poster, was also responsible for building some luxurious houses in the city suburbs. While not in the same league as Gilbert Donohoe, the man was a definite presence on the Birmingham business scene. Day’s secretary was a tall, shapely woman in her thirties with an educated voice and a welcoming smile. Marmion was bound to contrast her with Harriet Kane. The two women were worlds apart. Thomas Day and Gilbert Donohoe looked for very different things in a secretary.