Under Attack Page 6

  ‘I could have three snooker rooms in a place that big.’

  ‘Are you thinking of putting in a bid, Joe?’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Keedy. ‘It’d be ideal for me and Alice.’

  Two large lamps illumined the portico. The door opened before they even reached it and they were beckoned into the hall by a maidservant. She escorted them to the library where they found Sprake ensconced in a high-backed leather chair with a blanket over his legs. Putting aside the book he’d been reading, he indicated the walking sticks beside him.

  ‘Forgive me if I don’t get up,’ he said, looking at Marmion. ‘You, I take it, must be the inspector to whom I spoke.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the other, gesturing at his companion. ‘And this is Sergeant Keedy. I’m sorry that we had to call on you so late, sir. Given your condition, it was very brave of you to offer to come to us in Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Gilbert Donohoe was my partner and best friend. I’d have been ready to crawl to you, if need be.’

  Sprake was quite unlike the person Marmion had envisaged. What the inspector had heard on the telephone was the strong, compassionate, educated voice of a middle-aged man. What he was actually looking at was a wizened old character with sagging shoulders and wavy grey hair. The company he ran with his partner had been hugely profitable but it was clear that Donohoe had supplied the dynamism needed. Sprake’s abilities lay elsewhere.

  ‘May I offer you a drink of some sort?’ he said.

  Marmion shook his head. ‘No, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Not even a glass of the finest malt whisky?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘I’d have loved a whisky,’ said Keedy under his breath.

  Waved to seats, the detectives settled down and glanced around the room. Shelves covered two of the walls and there were various photographs separating the books into neat rows. On a table beneath a silver-framed mirror was a large model yacht. Above the mantelpiece, occupying pride of place, was a map of the British Isles with a series of tiny flags stuck in it. Sprake saw them looking at it.

  ‘That’s not the full extent of our empire,’ he said. ‘We own property abroad as well but, unfortunately, the German army is currently preventing us from getting anywhere near it.’

  ‘How long has the company been in existence?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘Ten years, Inspector – we were about to celebrate our first decade. Somebody, it appears, was determined to stop us in our tracks.’

  ‘Have you any idea who that person might be, sir?’

  ‘I wish I did. When you told me what had happened, my mind went blank. I’d be grateful for more detail before I make any comment.’

  Keedy already had his notebook out. Marmion gave him his cue and the sergeant delivered a concise report that covered the previous ten hours. Sprake was duly impressed.

  ‘My word!’ he exclaimed. ‘Bond Street tailors, a trip to Birmingham and back, a visit to the Devonian Hotel, then a drive in the dark out here – your feet can hardly have touched the ground.’

  ‘Speed is of the essence in a murder investigation,’ said Marmion. ‘The first day is always the most important because it may be your only chance of gathering evidence that will otherwise disappear.’

  ‘And have you found such evidence, Inspector?’

  ‘We’re not entirely sure.’

  ‘If there’s any way in which I can help, please tell me.’

  ‘There are some questions we’d like to put to you, sir. Principally, they’re about the day-to-day operation of the property company. Before we get on to that, what really intrigues me is this: since you and Mr Donohoe were so close, why did he stay at a hotel in central London when you could have offered him accommodation here? That seems strange to us.’

  ‘Very strange,’ said Keedy.

  Sprake smiled wearily. ‘It was a necessity,’ he said. ‘All work and no play is a very sensible adage. I’ve abided by it all my life. If Gilbert had stayed here, work and play would have overlapped dangerously. He simply couldn’t stop formulating new ideas for the expansion of our portfolio. This is not a criticism of him, mark you,’ he emphasised, ‘but the fact is that work had taken over his whole life. I, on the other hand, have preserved my leisure. I’m a keen sailor, for instance, or at least I was. On that table over there is a scale version of my yacht, Gloriana. My wife and I used to spend three or four weeks every year sailing around the Greek islands. It was wonderfully refreshing.’

  ‘What sort of holidays did your partner have?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘He didn’t believe in them, Inspector. He and his wife did sometimes go to music festivals on the Continent but Gilbert never viewed those as holidays. He used the trips to befriend other businessmen. That was his goal in life.’

  ‘We’re curious about his arrangement with the Devonian Hotel.’

  ‘It suited him perfectly.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he spend more time there?’

  ‘He had other fish to fry in Birmingham. Gilbert never lost sight of his many commitments there.’

  ‘I was talking about his habit of reserving his room at the hotel without actually staying there. According to the manager, he was supposed to stay for a week this time but disappeared for three days.’

  ‘Can you explain why, sir?’ asked Keedy.

  Sprake looked mystified. ‘Frankly, I can’t.’

  ‘He didn’t, for example, come here?’

  ‘No, Sergeant, we never transacted any business in this house. We have offices in Barnes. That’s where we always met.’

  ‘Does that mean you didn’t know about his disappearances?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘It means exactly that.’

  ‘Yet you worked so closely together for ten years.’

  ‘We didn’t live in each other’s pockets, Inspector.’

  ‘Can you suggest where he might have gone?’

  ‘No,’ said Sprake with a shrug. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘What about his attitude to money?’

  ‘He liked making it – and so do I, for that matter.’

  ‘Would you pay for a room at a luxury hotel then not use it?’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t.’

  ‘Would you expect your former partner to do so?’

  ‘No, it’s quite out of character.’

  Keedy changed tack. ‘Did you ever visit him in Birmingham?’

  ‘Yes, I did, Sergeant. My wife and I stayed with them a couple of times. It was very pleasant. Clara played the piano for us.’

  ‘Was her son there at the time?’

  ‘Yes, of course – Adrian lives with his parents.’

  ‘But he’s not involved with the property company, is he?’

  ‘He has other responsibilities, Sergeant.’

  ‘What did you think of him?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘He has his father’s capacity for hard work,’ said Sprake, guardedly, ‘though he hasn’t dedicated his whole life to it. We found him … pleasant enough. Adrian didn’t have a chance to say much with his father around.’

  ‘How did they get on?’

  ‘Very well, in the main, I suspect. I daresay there were a few strains and stresses but that’s the case in all families. I speak as the father of three daughters.’

  ‘But they’re not involved in the business, are they?’

  ‘No, they’re not.’

  ‘Adrian Donohoe is. We formed the impression that he wasn’t entirely happy with the role he was asked to play.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that.’

  ‘We sensed an underlying anger,’ said Keedy.

  ‘None of us is immune to feelings of anger and frustration at that age, Sergeant. You must belong to the same generation as Adrian. Both of you are still trying to make your way in the world and hate any obstruction put in your way.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Then I’m sure that you get restive at times.’

  ‘I’ve a lot to get rest
ive about,’ said Keedy, thinking of Chatfield. ‘But there’s a big difference between Adrian Donohoe and me. I had to compete every inch of the way for what I’ve achieved. He’s had everything handed to him on a plate. Anybody else in his position would feel grateful. It’s obvious that he doesn’t.’

  There was a taut silence. Sprake refused to be drawn on the subject of the Donohoe family. Since there was no point in pressing him, Marmion changed the topic completely. He glanced at the book on the table beside the old man.

  ‘May I ask what you were reading when we came in, sir?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Sprake, picking the book up. ‘It’s my favourite novel and has been since I first read it. It’s Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.’ He saw their amazement. ‘You don’t like the book?’

  ‘It’s not a question of liking or disliking it, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘It just seems peculiar that, when you hear about the murder of your business partner, the first thing you do is read a novel.’

  ‘Each of us copes with tragedy in his own way, Inspector. I reached for this book when my parents died and it brought me great succour when the doctor told me that I’d never be able to walk properly again. It’s so beautifully written,’ he went on, holding it up, ‘and it’s defined my working life. It was the same for Gilbert Donohoe. Whatever dangers lay in the way, we were both in pursuit of a hidden treasure.’ He gave them a cold smile. ‘Does that answer your question?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When he finally got back to his lodging, Clifford Burge was still wondering if he’d been attacked by the Stepney Warriors or the Evil Spirits. His pride had been hurt and he wanted retribution. Looking in the mirror, he saw that his hair was plastered to his head and that his coat was still glistening with moisture. He was wearing the suit he intended to put on for the interview the following morning. If he turned up in that state, he knew, he’d be summarily dismissed as a candidate. Burge had to look his smartest to impress the commissioner. The loss of his hat rankled. He’d bought it for himself as a present to celebrate an important arrest he’d recently made. By his standards, it had been expensive. It suddenly dawned on him that wearing it in Stepney along with his suit had not been the wisest thing to do. He didn’t fit in. Even in the patchy light, he’d have been seen as an interloper and that made him a target. Burge made a mental note that, if he was given the new role, he’d dress in old clothes and wear a flat cap so that he didn’t stand out. He needed camouflage.

  After taking off his things, he hung them carefully on clothes hangers and hoped his only other suit wouldn’t look too wrinkled when he faced the interviewing panel. Unlike his brother, he wasn’t taking anything for granted. Other people would be competing with him. Some of them might have better qualifications. On the other hand, he remembered, Claude Chatfield had singled him out and that was something that made him optimistic. The superintendent was a difficult man to please, always more inclined to dispense criticism than praise. To be favoured by him was a positive sign. Though he might not get this particular assignment, Burge had put down a marker. It was a definite step towards the promotion for which he yearned.

  Putting on his dressing gown, he picked up a towel and went along to the bathroom he shared with the others in the house. Burge dried himself off completely then combed his hair. He then realised that he had a problem. When he met the interviewing panel, did he tell them about the incident or say nothing whatsoever about it? It was a dilemma. If he admitted that he’d had a preparatory stroll around Stepney, they might applaud his initiative. They’d be less enthusiastic, however, when he recounted how easily he’d been tricked by three young lads who robbed him of his hat then lured him into a trap. On balance, he decided, drawing a veil over the whole episode might be the best plan.

  That didn’t mean he’d forget it. As soon as he got back to his room, he reached a dog-eared map book of London from its shelf and leafed through it until he came to the appropriate page. He then traced his journey from the Mermaid Tavern to the street where he was ambushed. Burge jabbed his finger at the lane where he’d been given an unexpected shower. If he was successful at the interview, he promised himself, it would be the first place he’d visit.

  ‘Where can he be?’

  ‘I’ve asked myself that until I’m blue in the face,’ said Alice.

  ‘And why doesn’t Paul get in touch?’

  ‘It’s because he doesn’t want to, Mummy.’

  ‘He wrote us such lovely letters when he first joined the army. He was keen to let us know how he was getting on.’

  ‘It’s different now.’

  ‘Do you think he’s deliberately hiding from us?’ asked Ellen.

  ‘I just hope that he’s … found whatever he was looking for.’

  ‘We’ve no way of knowing. It’s cruel of him not to get in touch.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that. You saw that message he left in the bin. That was where he belonged, he said. He believed he was nothing but rubbish. Paul didn’t feel he had a right to stay here.’

  ‘He’s part of the family, Alice. He has every right.’

  ‘He has every right to go in search of another life as well,’ said the other, gently. ‘He’s an adult. He’s old enough to vote and to fight for his country. And he’s under no obligation to tell us where he is.’

  It was late and they were both tired but they kept asking the same questions over and over again. Alice turned the conversation back in her direction.

  ‘So you believe that I shouldn’t show my letter to Joe?’

  ‘It would be a mistake.’

  ‘I meant every word I said in it, Mummy.’

  ‘Tell him to his face. It’s the only way.’

  ‘But I can hardly ever get to see him. I feel very strongly about this. If the only way to reach him is by letter, I’ll post this first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘And what will that do?’

  ‘To start with, it will remind him that we’re engaged.’

  ‘I don’t think Joe will forget that for a second.’

  ‘He’s forgotten that it brings obligations and he needs to be told that.’

  ‘Then wait until you can tell him in person,’ said Ellen, worriedly. ‘If he reads that letter, he’s not going to agree to a date for the wedding there and then. I think he’s more likely to be annoyed.’

  ‘I’m the one who’s annoyed,’ asserted Alice.

  ‘And it shows. Yes, I know you’ve tried to be as restrained as you can but you’ll still make Joe feel as if you’re holding a gun to his head.’

  ‘I’ve been forced into giving him an ultimatum. It’s my last resort.’

  Though she sympathised with her daughter, Ellen was afraid that her letter might have the opposite effect to the one intended. Instead of bringing Alice and Keedy together, it might actually sour the relationship. Even though it was couched in the most reasonable language, it had the potential to cause damage. For that reason, Ellen wanted to stop it ever being sent. For her part, Alice felt let down. In coming to the house, she’d expected to get the usual loving and uncritical support from her mother but it was not forthcoming. That had shocked her.

  ‘You don’t understand the pressure I’m under,’ she protested.

  ‘Yes, I do, Alice. It must be unbearable or you wouldn’t have written that letter.’

  ‘Iris Goodliffe keeps badgering me about Joe. She can’t believe that we aren’t married already. It gets on my nerves sometimes.’

  ‘Have you told her that?’

  ‘Yes, but it makes no difference. Because she has no boyfriend herself, she’s got this fascination about me and Joe. She’s desperate for someone like him. At one point, she even asked me if she could meet Paul.’

  ‘Thank heavens you kept her away from him!’

  ‘Iris has her heart in the right place but she can be so irritating at times.’

  ‘I shudder at the thought of what might have happened.’

  ‘So do I.’

  �
��Paul just doesn’t know how to be with women any more. He terrorised Sally Redwood and ruined my friendship with her mother. Then there was that girl in Gillingham he used to sneak off to see. What he tried to do with her was … well, it was disgusting. And it happened in a church,’ said Ellen, tearfully. ‘It made me feel so ashamed of my son. I used to take such pride in both of you but that’s changed. Whatever’s got into Paul?’

  It was past midnight when they finally left the house and they had to wake up the driver who’d dozed off at the wheel. When they clambered into the rear seats, the car set off for Scotland Yard.

  ‘I feel guilty,’ confessed Marmion.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We kept that old man up so late. He’s disabled. He should have been tucked up in bed hours ago.’

  ‘I don’t agree,’ said Keedy. ‘We were the ones who were yawning. He may have looked as if he was at death’s door but, in fact, he was quite spry. Those glasses of whisky helped him to keep going. I was so envious.’

  ‘We don’t drink on duty, Joe.’

  ‘You sound like Chat.’

  ‘We have to keep a clear head.’

  ‘Sprake had three or four tots and he was as sober as any of us. He certainly made me work. I wasn’t just taking notes. It was like writing a novel.’

  ‘What kind of novel?’

  ‘A tale of mystery.’

  ‘And who’s the villain in your story?’

  ‘Big business.’

  ‘Good answer.’

  They’d learnt a great deal from the visit. Gilbert Donohoe had taken on much more definition now. Sprake had explained how his friend operated in the partnership and what drove the man on so relentlessly. At the start, they seemed a rather unlikely couple and the detectives wondered what they talked about when they were alone together. Sprake was urbane, cultured and devoted to sailing. Though he had a passion for music, Donohoe’s only real interest was in expanding his empire and increasing his power. For most people, war was nothing short of a disaster, shattering lives and creating endless bereaved families. For Gilbert Donohoe, it was simply a commercial opportunity to be exploited. He’d somehow contrived to get a contract to supply some of the army’s food. Crouching in their trenches and listening to enemy bombs and bullets whizzing past, Britain’s soldiers on the Western Front were routinely being served with tinned meat from one of Donohoe’s factories.