Death by the Book (5 page)

He looked at her for a long moment, and she put one tentative hand over his.

“Please, Mr. Farthering. You mentioned a merciful God and a living Savior. I presume you’re a Christian man yourself.”

Drew nodded.

“Won’t you help me? For His sake?”

“Mrs. Montford—”

She pulled her hand back, a little flush of pink on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be quite so maudlin. But I’ve already lost my husband. I can’t lose his good name, as well. Not for my sake alone, but for my son’s, too. And because, as you have said, good Christian men have stumbled before. It’s what the world expects of us, isn’t it? Frailty and hypocrisy?”

That was true enough. The world was always waiting to exult over the failings of anyone who claimed the name of Christ. Did
every man who tried to live his principles have to have a dirty little secret? Must he absolutely be a fraud?

Surely there were good men in the world, men who weren’t perfect but who meant to be honest and true to their faith. Was it so very impossible that Montford hadn’t betrayed his wife and his beliefs?

Drew nodded, smiling a little. “Maybe so. And maybe there’s more yet to be known.”

Tears sprang into her eyes once more. “Oh, thank you. Thank you.”

“I can’t promise anything.” He stood up, bringing her with him. “I don’t even know where I’ll start, but I’ll see what I can find out. Fair enough?”

“Bless you, Mr. Farthering.”

O
nce Mrs. Montford had gone, Drew made his apologies to Madeline and to her aunt and then excused himself for the afternoon. He wasn’t quite sure where to start or what to do to shed light on the Montford murder, but he’d given Mrs. Montford his assurance that he would try. Best to start at the beginning, at any rate, and that meant at the Empire Hotel in Winchester.

He parked the Rolls round the corner from the hotel and, after making sure there was no obvious police presence, went inside. With a nod to the flame-haired boy lounging near the lift in brass-buttoned uniform and organ-grinder’s-monkey cap, Drew rang the bell on the front desk. The clerk immediately appeared, a large, smiling, smooth-faced man with light hair that had been brilliantined into submission.

“Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. . . .” Drew peered at the little pin on the man’s coat. “Mr. Leonard. How are you this afternoon?”

“Very well, thank you, sir. Did you wish to book a room?”

“Not just at the moment, thank you. Are you generally here on duty in the afternoon?”

“Generally, sir. Not on the weekends, of course, but during the weekdays, yes.”

Drew leaned on the counter and lowered his voice. “Did you happen to be here the day Mr. Montford was killed?”

Mr. Leonard’s accommodating smile faded. “Are you with the police?”

“Not strictly, no, though I do work in conjunction with Chief Inspector Birdsong. I presume he’s questioned you already.”

“He’s cautioned all of the staff. We’re not to discuss the incident with anyone besides the police.”

“He couldn’t have meant you weren’t to talk to me, Mr. Leonard, I’m certain of it. When I last spoke to the inspector, he said he was going to have one of his men available for the sole purpose of taking my telephone calls whenever I have a breakthrough in the case. That sounds rather as though he’d want me to have whatever information you might be able to provide, don’t you think?”

Mr. Leonard looked very prim. “Perhaps if you gave me your name, sir, I would know whether or not the chief inspector mentioned you specifically.”

“Didn’t I say? I beg your pardon. I’m Drew Farthering from Farthering St. John.”

The lift boy grinned. “I remember taking you up on the lift that day.”

The desk clerk gave the boy a reproving glance, but his expression was less guarded. “I read all about all the goings-on at Farthering Place in June and at your company, too. How terribly interesting that must have been.” At a grim look from Drew, he cleared his throat, solemn and professional. “Of course, it must have been quite dreadful for you, as well.”

“Quite.”

Turning red in the face, Mr. Leonard looked round and then leaned closer to Drew. “I don’t suppose I’d be telling tales out of school, then, if I were to answer whatever questions you have. Seeing as it
is
you, sir.”

“I should be most grateful. What can you tell me about that day? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“I don’t know, sir. There was a young lady called for him. For Mr. Montford. It was after the police had arrived, perhaps three o’clock. We told her no one was allowed up on the first floor. Then there was a telephone call. It was the same girl, I’m sure, asking to be connected to Mr. Montford’s room. We told her we couldn’t put any calls through at present, but she wouldn’t leave a message.”

“Do you know who she was?”

The desk clerk shook his head. “No, sir. I’d never seen her before, and she wasn’t registered here. I’d remember.”

“Begging your pardon, but I might know who she is, sir.” The boy at the lift came over to the desk. “I mean, I think she’s been here before a few times. Always comes in on her own for just the one night, but don’t always stay till morning.”

“Did you tell the police this?”

“No, sir, on account of they never asked me about any girl and I didn’t think of it till now.”

Drew frowned. “How is it you remember her and Mr. Leonard doesn’t?”

“Mr. Leonard ain’t been here as long as me. And this girl, well, she don’t come round like she did earlier in the spring and summer.”

“And her name?”

“Oh, I couldn’t say that, sir. Wouldn’t be proper, me striking
up acquaintances as it were, though I might could pick it out if I heard it again.”

“Do you remember the last time she was here? Before the murder, I mean.”

The boy screwed up his face, thinking. “Not the last time particular, no, but I remember
a
time. It was my girl’s birthday, and I remember I wanted to ask this lady what perfume she had on.” He grinned. “I could tell it was real class. I thought I might get some for my Doris when I finished work that day.”

“And did she tell you?”

“No, sir, ’cause I never asked her. Wouldn’t be proper, as I said.”

“And when is Doris’s birthday?”

“May nineteenth. Wouldn’t hardly forget that, not after I did last year.”

“May nineteenth, is it?” Chief Inspector Birdsong walked up to the desk. “We’ll need to see your register for that day.”

The desk clerk’s eyes widened. “Chief Inspector, how good to see you again, sir. We didn’t know you were coming.”

“I can see that. I hate to interrupt your little conference, Mr. Leonard, but perhaps I might join you? Not that I’d want to inconvenience Mr. Farthering here. I mean, we’re just the police and that.”

The lift boy whistled low. “Lumme.”

Drew smiled. “Ah, the very man. Good afternoon, Chief Inspector. It is lovely out today, isn’t it?”

“There’s some would say so, Mr. Farthering.” Birdsong rocked back on his heels, glumly contemplative. “There are others, those in charge of official murder investigations, who might have more to concern them.”

“Oh, no doubt. No doubt. Must be an intolerable burden.”

“I, uh, I hope I haven’t done anything wrong, Inspector.” Mr. Leonard rubbed his podgy hands together, his little eyes round and concerned. “He said he was working with the police and all, and I knew about what happened at Farthering Place before. I didn’t think . . .”

Birdsong sighed. “No, that’s all right, Mr. Leonard. The gentleman has been of some small help to us now and again. But mind you check with me the next time anyone wants to ask you questions, understand?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Now then.” Birdsong turned to the lift boy. “Do you remember when this girl started coming to stay here at the hotel?”

“Dunno. Sometime in the spring, I reckon. Can’t say exactly.”

Birdsong studied the diminutive young man. “We spoke to you before, didn’t we? Phipps, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. Ronnie Phipps.”

“All right, Phipps, what else do you remember about this girl?”

The boy glanced at Mr. Leonard and then shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Perhaps Mr. Leonard could get the register for May nineteenth for you, Inspector.” Drew smiled at the desk clerk. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, of course.”

“Oh, certainly. Right away. You mind things here, Phipps. Won’t be a minute.”

Mr. Leonard disappeared through a narrow door behind the desk. Drew then moved closer to the lift boy. “We haven’t much time. What else do you know about the girl?”

Phipps shrugged. “I don’t know nothing. I told you, I don’t make acquaintances with the guests. Wouldn’t be proper.”

Birdsong fixed him with a baleful eye. “We can discuss this when Mr. Leonard comes back, if you like. Or maybe you’d prefer police headquarters?”

Phipps turned rather green under his freckles. “I don’t want to lose my job here. Have a bit of pity, eh?”

Drew shook his head. “You’re wasting time.”

“All right, here it is. I told you I wanted to know about her perfume. Honest, that was all. I waited on the corner after my shift was done until she left that day and followed her back to the shop where she works.”

Birdsong pursed his lips. “To ask about perfume?”

“That was all, and don’t go saying it was anything else. Lumme, it was four o’clock in the afternoon!”

“All right, all right,” Drew said. “What did she say?”

“I lost my nerve. I never did anything but walk on past. I was afraid she’d remember me and tell someone here and I’d be sacked.”

“Where’s the shop?”

“Two streets over. The toy shop on Southgate.”

“And you’d know her again if you saw her?”

“Oh, sure. Tall, sort of thin girl. Dark-haired. All right enough, I expect, but nothing special.”

“All right then.” Birdsong leaned down until he was within a few inches of the little man’s face. “You play us fair and there’s no reason this needs to be official, understand?”

Phipps nodded.

“We’d like you to come round to the shop to identify the girl,” Drew said. “She needn’t see you at all. Afterwards you can come back here and Mr. Leonard will be none the wiser.”

“But what about—?”

“Here we are.” The desk clerk came back into the room with a large register book. “Of course, someone had mislaid it, but I did finally find it. May nineteenth, did you say?”

Birdsong took the book from him. “I’ll have to put this into
evidence for the time being, Mr. Leonard. I can give you a receipt, if you like.”

“Well, yes, if you must, but—”

“And we’ll need to borrow Mr. Phipps here for a few minutes.” Drew smiled at Mr. Leonard. “You can manage without him for a bit, can’t you? Yes, I thought so. Come along, Ronnie.”

He escorted Phipps out through the front door, leaving the chief inspector to deal with a bewildered Mr. Leonard. Birdsong caught up to them beside the Rolls a couple of minutes later.

“Just what did you have in mind here, Detective Farthering?”

“A mere matter of identification. Simple, quick, and painless.” Drew took his coat from the back seat of the car and handed it to Phipps. “If you’ll just put this on over your uniform and give the chief inspector charge of your hat, we’ll go into action. Can’t give ourselves away at first glance, eh?”

Phipps put on the coat and was nearly swallowed by it. Then, looking defensively at Drew, he surrendered his cap to the inspector, who immediately turned it over to Drew, who stowed it safely in the boot of the car.

“Very good. Now, if you’ll be so kind, you can take us round to the shop. You and the chief inspector can stand very inconspicuously across the street while I go inside and see if they have someone who fits your description of the girl we’re looking for. I’ll ask her to show me something they have in the front window, and you can tell us afterwards if I’ve found the right one. Then you pop right back here and no trouble. Agreed?”

“All right.” Phipps grinned a little. “Sounds a bit of fun actually.”

Drew gave him a hearty swat on the shoulder. “Good man. Seem like a sound plan to you, Inspector?”

Birdsong gave him a grudging nod, and the three of them
made quick work of the walk to Hirsch’s Toy Shop on Southgate Street. Drew left his companions at a discreet distance across the way and, after a convincing few moments of examining the items in the store window, went inside.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?”

The girl who greeted him was dark-haired, tall and thin. All right enough, but nothing special. Drew removed his hat and had to force a bland, impersonal smile. At this point he couldn’t allow a touch of triumph to glimmer in his eyes.

“Yes, good afternoon, Miss . . . ?”

“Miss Allen. May I show you something?”

She was young, a few years younger than Drew himself, he’d have bet.

“I was wondering if you might show me one of those dolls in the window.”

“Certainly, sir. Which one did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know how to describe it really. I’m not much of one for baby dolls, but it’s the one in the very front of the window. In the center. It has on a long white dress.”

“That’ll be our Dy-Dee doll, the very latest thing just in from America. Isn’t she darling?”

“Terribly attractive. If I were a five-year-old girl, I shouldn’t leave off kicking and screaming until I had one, no matter the cost.”

Miss Allen smiled politely and led him to the front window. As she leaned in to retrieve the doll, Drew glanced across the street to see if Phipps had a clear view. A discreet nod from Chief Inspector Birdsong told him their mission had been successfully accomplished.

“Here you are.”

The girl put a white-clad bundle into his arms, prompting
a bleating coo from its puckered rose-colored lips. Startled, he nearly dropped the thing.

“It talks.”

“Oh, yes, sir. Besides having eyes that open and close and movable arms and legs, the Dy-Dee doll coos, drinks, and wets.”

Drew thrust the infant phenomenon back into her arms. “Perhaps something a bit less authentic.”

“Very well.” Miss Allen put the doll back into the window and brought out another, this one glancing sideways out of painted blue eyes, her bobbed hair and headband molded and painted on her composition head. “This is Patsy. She doesn’t talk, drink or wet, but she has a large variety of clothes and accessories to choose from, and her—”

“It’s quite lovely, really, but I don’t think it’s quite the thing.”

“All right. If you’d prefer, we have some lovely French dolls from the eighties and nineties from the House of Bru.” She picked up a fussily dressed doll in a lace cap. “The Bru dolls are all authentically outfitted.”

Drew began to gracefully decline. “Actually, Miss Allen—”

“My grandmother has one of these and just adores it,” the girl gushed. “You wouldn’t think older ladies would care for dolls, but—”

Drew gave her a nod. “Come to think of it, Miss Allen, you have just made a sale. Wrap it as a gift, if you would, please.”

A few minutes later, package in hand, Drew tipped his hat and hurried out the door and round the corner, where Birdsong and Phipps were waiting for him.

Ignoring their curious glances at his purchase, Drew looked at Phipps. “Well?”

“That’s her, sir, the very one.” Phipps was ecstatic. “I’ve seen her round the hotel half a dozen times if I’ve seen her once.”

They walked back to the Rolls, where Drew reclaimed his coat, stowed his package in the boot of the car, and returned Phipps’s hat to him with the utmost respect.