A Medal For Murder (33 page)

‘And there’s more bad news. Monsieur Geerts has been arrested for the murder of Lawrence Milner.’

I wanted her to protest his innocence, to come up with some miraculous little comment that would shed a new light on the situation.

‘How awful! I hope people won’t think there’s a jinx on taking out advertisements in theatre programmes. Poor Mr Milner took a full-page advertisement. It paid for the set. And the Geerts advertisement, well, that was a very useful contribution. And Croker & Company also took a half page, and there’s poor Dylan lying in hospital. Do you think the Harrogate papers will make something of it, Kate?’

Sykes looked from her to me. He does not usually betray his feelings, but I could see he regarded Meriel with the same kind of astonishment a child might view a performing seal.

I said, ‘I don’t know what the papers will make of it. It’s not exactly the best kind of publicity for the Spa.’

She sighed. ‘Ah well, never mind. Perhaps it’s just as well that I shall be crossing the Pennines.’

I would not let her get away with pretending to be entirely flippant. ‘It was kind of you to call and see Rodney earlier.’

In her most sincere voice, she said, ‘Well of course I had to offer condolences to the poor boy. Though what can one say? It’s not my place to speculate whether poor old Geerts tipped over the edge and did for Milner. Everyone knew Mr Milner and Olivia Geerts were . . . close. It may have been that Monsieur Geerts could tolerate adultery but that the public humiliation of Olivia pouncing on Milner in the bar was quite another matter, from a male point of view. Isn’t that so, Mr Sykes?’

Sykes looked for a way to escape her question, but she fixed him with a stare. ‘I wouldn’t like to speculate, Miss Jamieson.’

‘Besides,’ she added, ‘Mr Milner had kindly offered me a loan and Rodney was a real gent and came good for me on it. I said he shouldn’t, what with his raw grief and the shock, poor lamb, but he insisted on opening the safe and giving me twenty guineas.’

More fool him, I thought.

My bag was already packed from this morning. I placed it by the door. Meriel successfully laid her hands on the cooking sherry and found two glasses and an egg cup.

‘Not for me thanks,’ Sykes said. ‘I’m not a sherry drinker.’

She poured the sherry.

We clinked glasses. ‘To your new job, Meriel. I hope it will be a great success.’

‘I shall make sure it’s a success.’ She took a sip. ‘Vile isn’t it?’

‘Not too bad,’ I lied, valiantly. ‘Now there’s something else I have to ask you. About Lucy.’

‘What about her?’ Meriel asked.

‘She didn’t stay with Alison last night and we don’t know where she is. Do you have any ideas? It’s very important that I find her.’

‘Good for her,’ Meriel said. ‘I told her she should strike out on her own. But I’d be sorry to lose touch with her.’

‘If she’s safe, that’s all well and good. But I still need to speak to her, just to make sure.’

‘Doesn’t Alison know where she is?’

‘No. Meriel, you’ve worked with Lucy for weeks and weeks. You’re in the same house. You know all the cast, her friends, her comings and goings. You must have some idea where she may have gone, even an inkling. Anything.’

Meriel scratched her head with both hands. ‘Such as?’

‘Where did they rehearse, I mean when they went out and about?’

‘Oh that! I couldn’t say. You see, I have this technique. I set the cast the task of being in the role of their characters, in different settings. I might say to Lucy and Alison, meet up as Anna and Beatrice. You have agreed to make – I don’t know – lace for an antimacassar, or a Berlin woolwork creation for the chapel sale of work. Do it in character. Choose where and when. Leave Lucy and Alison behind and become your new selves. That kind of thing. I had them all at it. I know they went on a picnic – supposedly the chapel picnic. They were full of that. But I said “I don’t want to know where you were
and what you did. I only want to see the results in rehearsal”. It’s a brilliant technique. I picked it up from a Hungarian Jew in Switzerland.’ She paused, as if expecting admiration.

‘Meriel, you know where Lucy is, don’t you?’

‘I really and truly don’t know. Swear on my mother’s grave, wherever that may be.’

‘If she doesn’t know . . .’ Sykes began, watching Meriel as she smiled and sipped at her sherry. Meriel fascinated him, and for some reason that irritated me enormously.

When I didn’t speak, she said, ‘Oh dear, poor Kate. You really do want to find Lucy and I’m no help.Well, I shall think about starting to pack.’ She stretched out her leg and kicked the tea chest. ‘And in my next digs I shall have a chest of drawers. Now what’s this about a champers in our room at the Grand Hotel? My badger boy has gone back to Manchester so I’m free as a bird and open to all invitations. You and I should visit the Turkish baths, Kate. Bit of a splash, eh?’

‘We have to go. Meet you in the hotel later, Meriel.’ I glanced at Sykes. ‘We’ve got one or two things to attend to.’

A loud knocking came from the front door. For a second Meriel froze. Then she said, ‘Why doesn’t the captain answer?’

‘Perhaps he’s not in.’

‘He’s always in.’

As the knocking started again, Miss Fell’s Pekinese began to bark.

Meriel scooted up the back stairs, shot back the bolt on the inner door, and listened. A moment later, she ran back downstairs.

‘Miss Fell’s answered them. It’s the police, asking to talk to me.’ Alarm flickered in her eyes. ‘What do they want now?’ She moved the flower vase from the table to the corner of the room.

‘It won’t be about that,’ I said. ‘Perhaps because they’ve arrested Monsieur Geerts, they have further questions.’

‘Why me?’

Footsteps came along the hall, followed by a gentle tapping on the door at the top of the back stairs, ‘Miss Jamieson?’ Miss Fell’s voice trilled. ‘A visitor.’

‘We’ll go,’ I said. ‘Leave you to it.’

‘One sec,’ Meriel said. ‘Take something to the Grand for me would you? Save me breaking my arms carrying all my worldly goods.’

She grabbed a carpet bag, dropped a pair of shoes into it, scooped skirts and blouses from the tea chest, a small attaché case and theatre scripts from a pile on the floor. ‘Just save me a trip. I shall collect it later, when we meet up for our drink.’

Sykes took her bag, and picked up mine. ‘Of course, if it helps.’

‘Shoo, shoo,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you don’t want to be caught up.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘They’ll probably want to speak to me again too. Good luck.’

We left by the side door, walking up the outside steps as she mounted the inner stairs to let the policeman come down.

‘What’s she up to?’ Sykes asked as we walked to the Jowett.

‘Search me.’

‘I’d rather search this bag. I know she’s your friend . . .’

‘I don’t fool myself that she’s my friend. When she soars in theatrical circles, I’ll never hear from her again.’

Sykes laughed. ‘Unless you book a room at the Grand Hotel.’

‘And champagne. Though I’m sure she’ll have her fill of that from her badger boy.’

We got into the car. I sat in the driver’s seat, Sykes in the passenger seat. The carpet bag loomed between us.

‘You or me?’ Sykes asked.

I pulled on my gloves. ‘If you’ll put the clothes in the back . . .’

With the shoes, clothes and scripts removed, the attaché case sat lonely at the bottom of the bag. I lifted it onto my lap, half-expecting to find a set of matching knives, missing the one which had been left in Mr Milner’s heart. Though what motive could Meriel have had for murdering Mr Milner? After all, he had taken out a full-page advertisement in her programme and his son had proved an able leading man, as well as stumping up twenty guineas.

The catch did not give.

Sykes went to the rear of the car, taking the carpet bag and the clothing with him. He returned with a set of small keys.

The fourth key opened the case. The two blue cloth bags contained three watch chains, a diamond bracelet, two wedding rings, an emerald and pearl ring and a set of gold cufflinks and tie pin, and two pocket watches.

 
 

I started the car. The last thing we needed was to draw attention to ourselves.

‘Where are we going?’ Sykes asked. ‘The bobby will already have spotted the car.’

‘Yes but we needn’t rub it in. Don’t want to be sitting here admiring stolen jewellery when he comes out. ’

I did not drive far, turning the corner and drawing in a few yards, towards the gates of an athletic club where two other cars were parked.

Sykes climbed out and retrieved the carpet bag. Carefully, I replaced the attaché case in a nest of skirts and dresses next to a pair of dance pumps.

‘Do you remember that Mr Moony described a heady smell, like polish and roses, when the robber brought out a handkerchief to wipe his brow?’

‘Yes,’ Sykes said.

‘It was from Meriel’s Darjeeling tea chest.’ Fury with Meriel tightened every muscle in my body. Stealing milk, eggs, flowers, I could understand. I had even pitied her poverty. But this was in a different league.
‘And the false address she gave Mr Moony when pretending to pawn a watch chain – she knew I lived in Headingley.’

‘Yes,’ Sykes agreed. ‘It was the first thing that came into her head. Your friend’s next theatrical production will be in Holloway. Do they have a theatre there?’

‘Not last time I looked. Anyway, she’s not my friend. She made use of me – to provide free photographs for her production, chat to her main programme sponsor and butter up her producer friend. The captain’s right. She’s an adventuress.’

‘But you can’t help liking her,’ Sykes said.

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘A lot of criminals are charming, Mrs Shackleton,’ Sykes said gently. ‘Not the everyday fools and knaves, but the smart ones.’

‘Our priority is to return the goods to Mr Moony. Ask him to confirm that these are the stolen items.’

‘And have Miss Jamieson arrested on suspicion,’ Sykes said.

A whopping snowdrift of reluctance hit me in the chest. ‘I want to confront her about this now, but without the complication of a Harrogate bobby on the scene.’

‘He’d be a good witness,’ Sykes said thoughtfully.

‘We’re the ones holding the stolen goods. She’ll deny all knowledge.’ I could picture the puzzled shake of Meriel’s head, and hear her denial, “Nothing to do with me. Can’t imagine where that’s come from.”

‘Mr Sykes, I’m getting to know her. Too well. I don’t want her to have the opportunity to wriggle her theatrical bottom out of this one.’

Sykes jumped out of the car. ‘I’ll tell you when the coast is clear.’

After a few moments, he returned. ‘The bobby’s gone.’

I turned round the car and headed back to number 29.

I walked slowly round to Meriel’s flat, Sykes behind me. Through the window, I saw that Meriel was packing a second bag. The dismay at seeing me and Sykes lasted no longer than a fraction of a second. A glowing smile lit her face as she opened the door.

‘Kate, do you mind if I see you down at your hotel? Apparently I’m wanted at the Prince of Wales for a further interview. The police have set up an HQ there. Don’t they just like to be mysterious? I expect they’ll want you too. I’ll need to tell the police where I can be contacted in case I’m needed for poor Mr Milner’s inquest or anything of that sort.’

‘Just a couple of questions first, Meriel.’

Reluctantly, she opened the door.

Sykes swung her carpet bag onto the table. He opened it. I lifted out the attaché case.

‘Goodness me, what dramatic gesture is this?’ Meriel asked.

Sykes stepped back, leaving the two of us to confront each other across the table.

‘What were you doing last Monday morning?’

‘Monday morning? Having my breakfast probably.’

‘Meriel, you know what’s in this attaché case. Do you have anything to say about it before we call the police?’

‘No idea what’s in it. I’m looking after it for someone.’