Forests of the Night (10 page)

‘Eve,' I said. Just one word but she recognized my voice straight away.

‘Oh, it's you.' Hitler might have received a warmer response.

‘I'm ringing to apologize for last night.'

‘You needn't have bothered. From my point of view last night didn't happen … and neither did you.'

I feared she was on the verge of putting the phone down. I had to rush on quickly.

‘Please, please Eve … Miss Kendal … give me a chance to explain. I know it looks bad.…'

‘Bad? It looks like crazy to me. It seems you should be seeing a doctor or something. To go on a date with someone and then leave them to race round the cinema like a mad thing.'

‘I was chasing someone. A runaway boy.' As I said these words I realized how pathetic and unconvincing they were. I had to over-egg this particular frail soufflé pretty quickly or she'd slam the receiver down on me. ‘He's a boy involved in a murder case and in great danger. He's run away and was hiding in the cinema. When I saw him, I just had to try and catch him. It was a young life at risk.'

I was pleased with that last one: ‘… a young life at risk.' Surely that would break down the barrier. But Eve was not as easy a nut to crack as Tristan at Regal Films.

‘You could have said something,' she replied, more petulant than angry now. ‘You could have let me know what you were doing charging off like a bull elephant down the row. You know you stamped on one woman's corns and she complained to the usherette and I got such looks.'

I smiled at the thought. ‘I'm truly sorry,' I said. ‘I'll go away and shoot myself now and never bother you again. What more can I say?'

There was a hissing pause down the line and then: ‘Well, I suppose you could say … how about another date when I could really make amends for my strange behaviour?'

Bull's-eye!

‘I could? Yes, I could. And I will. Miss Kendal, I would be delighted if you would give me a second chance to show you that I can be a … a charming and attentive escort. Could we arrange another date?'

‘I'm doing nothing this evening.'

‘That's funny … neither am I.'

I couldn't believe this cheesy dialogue. I felt that at any minute we would go into our song. Than it struck me that Eve might be setting me up to get her own back.

‘Are you quite sure you'd like to meet up?' I said earnestly.

‘But not the cinema this time,' she said with a stern note in her voice. No doubt she had visions of being abandoned again in the dark with a scowling woman ranting about her corns.

‘How about Lyon's Corner House, Piccadilly Circus, at eight this evening?'

‘OK, but please be on time and promise not to run out on me once we've ordered a drink.'

‘I promise.'

‘In that case, I accept. I'll see you at eight.'

Before I could reply, she put the phone down.

At first I felt happy and pleased and then a doubt crept in. What if she really was getting her own back? What if she had me going to Lyon's and she didn't show. Or worse, she turned up and poured a cup of coffee over me before beating a hasty retreat. Well, it was something I'd have to risk.

I glanced at my watch. It was nearly five. I reckoned I'd time for a wash and shave … no a bath, even if it meant running the gauntlet of the cranky geyser in the bathroom down the corridor. I needed to smell sweet. And to look good, too, which meant slipping into my best suit – well, my other suit to be precise. Then I'd still have time to visit Peter in hospital, have a morale-boosting whisky somewhere and be five minutes early at Lyon's Corner House for my date with the delicious Miss Kendal. Suddenly life felt a lot brighter than it had been as I'd viewed it a few hours ago.

I'd just got myself into my dressing-gown, towel over my arm and toilet bag in my mitt when the doorbell rang. Who the hell…?

If it was a client, I'd tell them to come back in office hours. With some irritation, I pulled open the door, looking no doubt like a dodgy bath attendant.

My visitor was Leo Epstein.

He didn't bat an eyelid at my appearance. ‘I think we'd better have a talk,' he said.

thirteen

I'd never interviewed a visitor to my office in my dressing gown before and although I felt somewhat vulnerable and ridiculous, I attempted to adopt an air of nonchalance as I offered Leo Epstein a chair and, popping my towel and toilet bag on the filing cabinet, I took up my usual position behind my desk.

Epstein looked nervous, quite different from the smooth, smug, silent fellow he had appeared the day before. Something had ruffled his oily feathers. I decided to play on this and I waited for him to start the ball rolling. With measured deliberation I extracted a cigarette from the packet and lit it, blowing the smoke sideways as I stared at my solicitor friend with interest.

‘It's about Pamela Palfrey,' he said at last in a voice that was high and nervous.

‘I thought it might be,' I smiled, taking another drag on my cigarette.

His hands fluttered to open his briefcase and he extracted a copy of that morning's
Daily Mirror.
It was open at page four and the blurred picture of the dead girl stared out at me. ‘I recognized her picture in the paper this morning. A terrible business. Murdered.'

I nodded.

‘I wasn't completely honest with you yesterday, I'm afraid,' he said gazing at me from under hooded lids.

‘Oh?'

‘Yes.' The eyes fluttered furiously with embarrassment. ‘I knew Pamela somewhat more … more intimately than I admitted.'

‘You slept with her.'

Leo Epstein looked shocked. His brown skin paled and his jaw dropped. The truth has this effect on some people, especially when it takes the form of a confession.

‘Just the once,' he added as some kind of exoneration.

‘That in itself is not a crime, Mr Epstein. Indeed there were many men who slept with Pamela, so you are not alone. Tell me about it.'

He ran his long-fingered hand over his high forehead. ‘She was working late one night and we got chatting. She was a very attractive girl, you know. It wasn't just her looks, it was the way she talked and moved. She had a very warm personality. I invited her into my office for a drink. It was harmless to begin with – at least I think it was. She got talking about how she dreamed of the better things in life. She was leading me on, I knew, and I was foolish enough to be led. Then she started playing with my tie and saying that there was nothing she wouldn't do to have some of my wealth. I knew what she meant. She was offering herself to me.…'

‘For money.'

Epstein turned his head sideways away from my gaze. ‘Yes, I suppose you could put it like that.'

‘No, let's only put it like that if it's true, Mr Epstein.' I steepled my fingers as he had done on the previous afternoon.

‘Yes, it was for money. We made love on the rug in front of the fire in my office.'

‘A sum of money changed hands.'

‘One hundred pounds.'

I whistled. ‘She didn't come cheap.'

‘She wasn't cheap – not in the way you're suggesting. There was something very special about Pamela.'

‘You got your money's worth then?'

Epstein flashed me an angry glance and his body tensed as though he were about to leap from the chair, probably to land one on me. That was no problem to me. I could handle myself but I reckoned he'd be more competent in smacking me with a writ rather than a left hook. And I wanted him riled; it would loosen his tongue further.

‘I looked on the money as a gift rather than payment. And it was just the one occasion. It never happened again and neither of us alluded to the … incident. The next day we just resumed the normal secretary and boss relationship.'

‘That was rather strange.'

‘I suppose so, but I think we both realized that we had crossed over a dangerous line and it was best to retreat as far back as possible.'

‘Did you know that she slept with other men for money?'

Epstein shook his head. ‘I didn't know – but I suppose I guessed she must. Her clothes and jewellery were too smart to have been bought on the salary I paid her.'

I stubbed my cigarette and leaned back in my chair. ‘I see. Well, that's been very interesting, but why are you telling me all this?'

‘Well, the last time we met it was just a case of a missing girl, but now it's murder.…'

‘And you're worried you'll be implicated.'

‘Why, yes of course.'

‘And it will become known that you sleep with your young secretaries.'

‘Don't mock me, Hawke. I told you that this was just the one time anything like that had ever happened.'

‘And you've regretted it ever since.'

He paused and threw me a wry smile. ‘No, I have not. I have not. It was wonderful. She was wonderful. It is a treasured memory.'

He meant it too. The girl had really got under his skin. You could see it in his eyes. The more I learned about Pamela Palfrey the more I'd wished I'd met her. Immoral or at best amoral though she was, I was becoming fascinated by this creature.

‘The question remains, why have you told me?'

‘I don't expect you'll believe me, but now she's dead, I just wanted to tell someone, to share our secret. To set the record straight.'

‘Wouldn't you be better telling the police rather than me, Mr Epstein?'

He looked away again. ‘I hope it won't come to that. I had no connection with her once she'd left my employment. I was not involved with her at the time of her death. I cannot see how what happened between Pamela and myself has any bearing on her murder.'

‘The police need the full picture to help them with their investigations. You can't withhold information like this.'

‘But I've told
you.
Surely that's enough.' He was growing agitated now and his hands were flapping like an injured bird in his lap. ‘This can have no connection with the murder of Pamela. Surely you can see that.'

‘The fact that she slept with you for money before she left home may have a great bearing on matters. You cannot keep stum on this, Leo, old boy, you must bite the bullet and tell all.'

‘I can't.'

I sighed in a theatrical fashion. ‘Oh, yes you can and you will. Look, I'll give you twenty-four hours to contact the Yard – Inspector Knight's your man – or I'll have to do it for you. And the consequences of that will be far worse than spilling the beans yourself.'

Epstein shook his head in despair and got to his feet. ‘I should never have come. I should never have told you.'

‘You'll think differently when you've had chance to think about things. Confession is good for the soul.'

‘Think about things!' he snapped. ‘I've thought of nothing else since I saw her picture in the paper this morning.'

He made for the door.

‘Don't forget Leo: twenty-four hours. Inspector Knight.'

My visitor swore and slammed the door behind him, rattling the pictures on the wall and rearranging the dust everywhere.

Well, I thought, when the vibrations had died away, another piece to my puzzle, but again one that does not join up with any other in any really meaningful way. Unless, of course, Mr Epstein was cleverer than I thought, and his story was some kind of smokescreen. I stored that observation away and continued with my ablutions.

*   *   *

Leo Epstein's visit had thrown my timetable into disarray. I realized that now everything had to be carried out at double speed if I was to get to Lyon's Corner House on time. God forbid that I was late. Certainly Eve would never forgive me. I doubt if
I'd
forgive myself. So I had to get ready in quick sticks. I had no sooner slipped my goose-pimpled body into the tepid waters and sloshed around in the rusty old container that professed to be a bath when I was out again, drying down my damp frame. A hurried, skimpy shave and then I was sloughing on my suit and knotting up my tie. A quick skim of the hair with the merest blob of Brylcreem to perk it up and I was ready.

It was nearly dark when I hit the streets and I was tempted to save time by taking a taxi to the Charing Cross Hospital but I decided to save money instead and walk. One never knew how expensive this night out might be. I didn't want to run out of cash just as it was getting interesting. However, I was able to shorten my journey by taking a direct route, more or less. This meant traversing a great number of side streets which occasionally ran out into one of the main thoroughfares – Oxford Street, Regent Street and The Haymarket – and then I slipped back into the maze. I was within a bandage's roll of the hospital, moving at a reasonable pace down Mitchum Street when I sensed that I was being followed. I just felt it. It's all very strange. I've heard other detectives say that you develop a sixth sense about it. I had no real proof at all except the soft footsteps I heard several yards behind me. And they could have belonged to some innocent pedestrian – but I just knew they didn't.

I avoided looking round in case I scared the feller off so I pretended that my shoelace was undone and knelt down to tie it up. Oh, I wish I hadn't. I wished I had turned round and scared him off. Kneeling down, I had put myself in a very vulnerable position. The next thing I knew I heard an angry cry and felt a blow to the back of my head. Someone switched on a vivid array of fairy lights which danced angrily before my eyes and I felt a searing pain. I fell face downwards, the cobbles seeming to enfold me in their stony embrace. I realized that I was losing consciousness as I struggled to catch a glimpse my attacker. All I saw was a dark shape with a scarf across the face. The bastard raised his weapon to strike again. I was too far gone to feel fear and too far gone to do anything but lie there. I just remember hearing a voice crying out in the darkness, ‘Hi there, stop that!' before I slipped from this conscious world completely.