A Spider in the Cup (Joe Sandilands Investigation) (39 page)

But it was not about to turn out well for Joe. For the second time in his short tenancy in this office he’d overstepped the mark. Swinton would surface eventually and raise hell. Better prepare for it. Wearily, Joe took a sheet of headed writing paper from his desk and wrote out his resignation. He signed it, put it into an envelope and wrote the commissioner’s name on the front. The least he could do was save the old fellow’s face and reputation.

Suddenly free of the tiresome grind of fifteen years, Joe recognised that he didn’t want to grow old sitting at that desk. He’d had enough of investigating dubious people doing nefarious things in London’s underbelly. He was sick of politicians using him to poke their scorching chestnuts out of the fire. He promised himself he’d leave at once, pack a bag, go and find Dorcas and take her off to the south of France. Married first or unmarried, he didn’t much care. Always provided that she’d be willing to hitch herself to a man freshly without profession—and not much in the way of resources, come to think of it. And assuming her affections weren’t being directed to some other quarter. Bloody Truelove! He’d probably left it too late.

Two hours to go before he picked up Kingstone at the conference hall. At last a quiet moment when he could get up to date with his notes. He reached for his notebook and began to write.

As he wrote, an insuperable snag occurred to him in the matter of Natalia’s death. If the powers who decided these things were, when all the evidence was in, minded (or directed) to declare
a suicide, they would come upon the problem of the absence of any .22 pistol in her hand, in the car or in the immediate vicinity. What the devil had Armitage done with it? How many more guns had he managed to smuggle into the country? Where was the .22 now? Joe lifted the phone again and left a message for Bacchus.

“B
ill! Shouldn’t you be with Cornelius?… What are you doing?”

“God! You startled me! I thought I had the floor to myself this afternoon. Kingstone said you were tying up Natalia’s loose ends. I thought you must have gone over to the clinic. What have you been up to, Julia? How long have you been standing there?”

“I haven’t started standing here yet and with a welcome like that I’m not going to. I’ve just come back from town. I’ve been to see Natalia’s lawyers. Had to be done. I sorted out her things before I left. There wasn’t all that much. There’ll be more at the theatre but I’ll do that tomorrow when I break the news that they’ll have to field a substitute for the opening night. Cornelius brought back some of her stuff from wherever it was she went and I’ve repacked everything in the cabin trunk. No idea what to do with it though. There it is if anyone wants it. Are you going to shoot me with that thing? If not, put it away. I don’t like guns.”

“Come off it, Julia! You know what I do. You’re lucky, creeping up on me like that, that you caught me re-loading. I might have drilled you.”

Armitage regained control of himself and began again. “Come on in! No need to pad about. There’s half an hour to go yet before I pick the boss up. He took pity on me and sent me
out of the conference half way through. Too damn boring. Come and have a look. Don’t pull that face! You ought to learn how to load a gun.”

Doubtfully, Julia approached the bureau where Armitage was standing and watched him. He slipped the big gun back into its usual place in the holster in the small of his back.

“Colt Police Positive,” he told her as he tucked it away. “Thirty-eight, four-inch barrel. Not the fastest in a draw but no one talks back to it. That’s for distance work or for making seriously big holes. This is what we use for close up. It’s a twenty-two.”

He produced what Julia thought to be an entirely more acceptable pistol. A neat little thing so long as no one was using it in anger, she ventured to comment.

“And this is how we load it.” He demonstrated. “Why are you shuddering? It’s only a piece of metal when it comes down to it.” In an effort to cancel the impatience in his tone, he added more gently, “Think of it as a life-preserver.”

“Didn’t do much to preserve my Dad’s life. He was mixed up in all sorts of political trouble here and in Russia. I’ve watched him many a night doing just what you’re doing. Playing with his guns. Big old things, not like that one. More likely to blow your hand off than kill anybody. They brought his body back one winter’s night. Dumped it on Ma’s doorstep. I found it when I went out for the bread. Three things I can’t stand the sight of: blood, snow and a man loading up.” Suddenly afraid, Julia kept her voice level and asked, “Bill—are you expecting trouble when the conference turns out?”

“I’m always expecting trouble. That’s why I spend some time checking the guns before I leave to go on duty. Do it carefully and you know it’s done. No need for last-minute twitchiness. Never double-check once you’re out there—that’s a dead giveaway. A man’s hand goes to his holster—you shoot. It’s not ten paces, turn and fire at will in this game.” He put the safety catch on the
pistol, showing her how that was done, and then slipped it away in his pocket.

“Why do you need two guns this afternoon?”

“Because the senator doesn’t make my life easy. The risks he takes freeze my blood! He and that Sandilands are two for a pair. The silly buggers parade about without any protection but their own swagger. They’ll have not a gun between them when they get out this afternoon! Armaments are not allowed in the conference building—that’s why I’m picking the boss up when he gets out. And anyway, Kingstone had to hand his pocket gun in to the country police force after his little adventure down in Surrey. Sandilands?—well, London policemen don’t go about armed, however high their rank. He’s got an old Browning somewhere but he probably keeps it in a glass case.”

“What are they supposed to do if they get into trouble?”

Armitage grinned. “They have to find a phone and ring for backup from an armed unit. Unbelievable!”

“Kingstone doesn’t need a pistol if he’s got you, Bill,” she said comfortably. “Are you escorting him straight back here? I need to talk to him. I’ve got some news for him.”

Armitage looked at her speculatively. “Oh, yes. You were down at the lawyer’s, weren’t you? Has the little madam done the decent thing and left her ill-gotten goodies back where they came from—to Kingstone?”

“I think he should be the first to hear, Bill.”

“Sure … The boss has decided that since he’s going home early, he’s at least going to get a look at some pretty part of London while he can. He’s going to take a breather walking back from the conference hall. He plans to cross the road into the park, taking in a bit of statuary: the Albert Memorial, Peter Pan and the Achilles statue, topped off with a visit to the park tea rooms and a sing-along with the band, sitting in a deck chair. Itinerary suggested to him by—you’ll never guess—Joe Sandilands, the
Kensington Boulevardier. There’s an arrogant bugger who assumes bullets will bounce off him. I had to save his bloody skin more than once in the war. And he hasn’t learned.”

“Why would they be taking a walk? Aren’t there taxis down there?”

“ ’Course there are. Walking in parks is what English gents do when they’ve got secret stuff to exchange. No one overhearing or hiding a microphone in a wall or a lamp. More business gets done out there than in the conference hall—or in Parliament. They read newspapers then leave them on a bench with a message in code.” Armitage rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Bloody boy scouts! They look at a park full of trees and bushes and they see a bird sanctuary, haunt of wagtails and willow-warblers. I see perfect ambush country. Three Irish blokes damned nearly got Winston Churchill in Hyde Park. I nipped out to do a recce this afternoon. It’s not good. You could stash ten assassins with machine guns away in there and never see them. And they’d all get away. Because there is no Plod. They only patrol after dark, would you believe! Protecting unsuspecting Members of Parliament who’ve taken a wrong turning from falling into the clutches of lipsticked ladies with short skirts and big handbags.”

“I know that park,” Julia said. “It is a lovely place on a June afternoon.”

“Now they’ve stopped using the Serpentine as a sewer. Little boys sailing their boats on the Round Pond, nannies out walking with prams …”

“Perhaps they’re right. I expect the two gents want to say their goodbyes. They seem to have hit it off.”

“Well I’d better not keep them waiting. Ta-ta, Julia, love. See you later.”

“Enjoy the statuary! The Achilles looks a bit like you, without your clothes on, Bill! Best sculpted fig leaf in London! I’ll stay
and have my tea at the hotel. Sorry to hear you’ll not be staying much longer … Bill, I was wondering …?”

He gave her a radiant smile as he eased into his jacket. “I thought you’d never get round to it. We’ll talk about that, shall we? And not in a draughty old park. We’ll take a table to ourselves, this evening. At the Ritz? Go easy on the cream buns, gel!”

K
INGSTON EMERGED FROM
the Geological Museum Hall at five o’clock as arranged, looking tired and anxious. Joe hardly liked to ask him: “Did all go well?”

“Fine. Just fine. Your King George was kingly, your Prime Minister was magisterial. A gold-plated microphone transmitted the messages of good will and resolve to millions all over the world. You can read the text in the papers tomorrow. The World Economic Conference is off to a good start, I think we can say.” And, in an undertone as he settled his homburg on his head, “Where can we talk?”

Joe led the way down Exhibition Road towards the park. “We’ll give the statues and the architecture a miss and go straight for the café if you like. Did you have any lunch?”

“No. No lunch. I spent the hour talking. Moving my counters around. Playing for my life.” Kingston rallied and made an effort, as they walked along, to take an interest in his surroundings. “Knightsbridge, you say this is called? I see no bridge.”

“Long gone. But it must have been right here where we’re crossing into Kensington Gardens, spanning the Westbourne Stream, which ran here in ancient times when the village was well outside the London boundary.” He spoke in the confident voice of a gentleman showing a friend around London but Joe recognised that Kingstone’s attention was scarcely on what he was saying. The man’s eyes were moving from side to side. Hunting for something or someone, grunting a response the moment Joe stopped talking.

“The place has a very ancient legend attached to it. Two knights leaving London to go to war—as far back as the Crusades possibly—had a quarrel. They fought on the bridge while their companions watched the struggle from the banks. Both of them fell dead and the bridge has been called after the knights ever after. They made a terrific duelling ground, of course, these open spaces. And were a haunt of highwaymen and footpads until a hundred years ago.”

“No law and order, then, in the early days?” Kingston roused himself to ask.

“Strangely enough,” Joe battled on, determined to entertain and amuse, “the concealing thickets of this park have been the setting for some strange conceptions over the years, no offspring so misbegotten perhaps as the Metropolitan Police Force! Right here. An armed troop was formed to protect the public crossing the park into the city from the thieves that infested it. There’s still a manned police station in Hyde Park about a quarter of a mile away, in the middle of a thousand acres of wilderness. Many men have died here over the years fighting each other with sword and bullet.”

“Sounds like a blood-soaked killing field to me. What are you leading me into?”

“Ah! That’s in the past. When you’ve seen it for yourself, all green and peaceful on a summer’s afternoon, you’ll agree with your countryman Henry James, who lived just round the corner, that this is Paradise.”

Joe pointed out the Broad Walk and its stately elm trees, the Round Pond busy with juvenile yachtsmen and the thickets of the Bird Sanctuary where, seven years ago, he and Armiger had arrested a would-be rapist. “Speaking of whom,” Joe said, “I don’t see your aide. I thought you’d asked him to be in attendance?” In some unease, he warned, “I have to declare I carry no gun myself. You?”

“Me neither. My Pocket Special’s with your police in Surrey. But Armiger is about the place somewhere. This is his style. He never walks with me. That just enlarges the target, he says and, when it comes to protection, you don’t argue with Armiger. Don’t worry, he always steps forward at exactly the right moment and he usually carries a spare. He’s a marvel at keeping himself hidden.”

“A quality I remember well,” Joe confirmed, not without irony. “How do you fancy a calming cup of tea in the café?”

“Order what you like,” said Kingstone when they had settled at a table as far as possible from the others. He straightened the rickety wooden table and banged a leg into place with his fist. When he’d tugged the white linen cloth into place he added, “Anything but Earl Grey for me.”

Joe placed a double order for ham sandwiches, Chelsea buns and Typhoo tea with the waitress and while they waited for the tray to arrive, looked about him, automatically scanning the other customers. Young mothers chatted happily together over the heads of jam-smeared infants or called unheeded warnings to older children playing games between the tables. A poorly dressed young couple were sharing a toasted tea-cake. Two Foreign Office mandarins, heads together, were plotting some skulduggery over their cucumber sandwiches. Joe searched beyond them, peering into the depths of the surrounding foliage and he recognised that the American had made him nervous. “Twitchy, Cornelius? You must have a reason. You said you were playing for your life. How did that game come out?”

“I lost,” the senator said simply. “You’re looking at a loser, Joe. Worse than that. A danger. I won’t make it back to the hotel.”

“You talk as though you’ve got the Black Spot on your back.”

“Damn right, I have! The Nine Men gave—or their spokesman gave—me a message. Useless to offer my services having got to this point. They don’t countenance failures or those who
don’t play straight. The gate clanged shut. There was no going back.”