The Reckoning (38 page)

‘I hadn't thought of that.' The chief super let out a sigh. ‘But I can see his point.'

On the way back to his office Billy stopped off at the detectives' room and caught Grace's eye.

‘Anything doing?'

‘Not so far, guv.'

The room was crowded with desks, half of them occupied at that moment by the men he was using to deal with calls coming in from police stations all over London. None of the reported sightings of Alma Ballard had so far proved genuine, but Billy knew from experience that with this sort of operation you just had to plough on, in the hope that one of them would eventually bear fruit. Meantime the phones kept ringing.

He noticed Lily Poole sitting at a desk in front of a noticeboard fixed to the wall behind her. A copy of yesterday's
Daily Mirror
with Lily's photograph – black eye and all – occupying most of the front page was pinned to the felt above her head. In spite of her attempts to hide the disfiguring mark with face powder, the shiner was still much in evidence, Billy saw. When she looked up he beckoned to her.

‘Come along,' he said. ‘There are enough bodies in here. Let's see if we can find something useful for you to do.'

When he opened the door to his office he found Madden sitting where he had left him, with the dossier sent from Woolwich spread out on the desk in front of him. He had a piece of paper in his hand, which he was studying with a thoughtful expression.

‘I've been through their service records.' He glanced up. ‘On the face of it they're no help: there's no indication that any of
these officers ever served on a court-martial board. But one thing did catch my eye. It may not mean anything, but I thought I'd mention it. One of these men received a promotion around that time – a major. It came only two months after Ballard was found guilty and sentenced to death. He was made colonel.'

‘Is that significant?' Billy asked.

‘It might be.' Madden weighed the piece of paper in his hand. ‘He wasn't only promoted; he was given a position on the General Staff. He was invited to join the brass. It could well have been a reward for services rendered.'

‘For managing the court martial, you mean?'

Madden shrugged. ‘I'm only guessing.'

‘What's his name?' Billy came over.

‘Blount.'

Madden handed him the piece of paper.

‘Initials P.C.M.'

Blount studied the photograph for several seconds. Then he tossed it aside. He fixed his cold stare on Lenny.

‘You're telling me she brought this?'

‘That's right, sir. She turned up last Friday saying she'd been ordered to deliver the envelope to me.'

‘To
you
?'

‘To your personal assistant. She said her instructions came from Lord Ackroyd's secretary, but when I rang her later she denied it.'

‘What made you do that?'

‘As Raikes says, there
was
something funny about her behaviour.'

Lenny had recovered his composure. He was up on his toes now, doing a tap dance, dodging the accusations Raikes had filled their employer's ears with, making sure his own version of the story was told.

‘Funny?'

‘Strange, sir. I can't explain it. I just had the feeling she wasn't telling me the truth. I know Raikes thought I had kept her up here with me – he told me so – but the fact is she left in a hurry when she realized I was on to her. And as I told Raikes, it's odds-on she slipped out with the typists. They usually leave in a group and it was right at the end of the working day. In fact, now that I think of it, she may have chosen the time for that reason.'

Lenny had accompanied Sir Percival into his office and put the offending envelope in his hands. He had watched as his employer ripped it open and then listened while a string of oaths poured from his lips.

‘Is this what all the bloody fuss is about?' Blount had glowered at the picture. ‘Who was this woman? Raikes says he thinks you know her. Is that true?'

Lenny had had his explanation of the incident ready by then and he'd gone into it at length.

‘After I'd spoken to Lord Ackroyd's secretary there was nothing more I could do.' He went on, ‘I did think of opening the envelope, but since it was marked “Personal” I thought I'd better leave it for you.'

Blount made a threatening noise, a sort of growl that gathered in his throat. Lenny had heard it before.

‘I go away for a few weeks and the place turns into a bloody madhouse. Get rid of this thing.'

He pushed the photograph towards Lenny.

‘No, wait.'

Lenny's hand froze. Sir Percival drew the photograph back and slid it to one side of his desk.

‘I'm going to get to the bottom of this.'

He glared down at the young face under the peaked cap. For just an instant he seemed to hesitate, as though a thought had struck him. Lenny watched, fascinated. Then Blount shrugged – angrily, it seemed.

‘I want a meeting of department heads in the conference room in fifteen minutes. Tell them to bring their files . . . all current business. I want to know what's been going on.'

‘Will you need me there, sir?'

‘No. You can deal with this.' He pushed the pile of correspondence across the desk. ‘Now buzz off.'

‘Here he is, guv, I've got him.'

Lily lifted eager eyes from the copy of
Who's Who
she was poring over. One of the few reference books that Billy's office boasted, it rested on top of a cabinet filled with case files. Before either of the two men could move she had grabbed hold of the heavy volume and lugged it over to her desk.

‘Percival Charles Martin Blount. He's a KBE. That means he's a “Sir”, doesn't it?' She looked up. ‘He was in the Royal Artillery all right – it says so. It gives his wife's name and his children's and his clubs . . . Oh, and it says he's chairman of something called Apollo Investments.'

Billy already had the phone book open.

‘I've got his home number. He lives in Mayfair . . . Mount Street. But he'll be at the office now.' He flicked through the pages. ‘Here we are: Apollo Investments. It's in Skinner's Lane – that's near Southwark Bridge.'

Madden and Lily watched as he dialled the number.

‘Hello . . . yes, I'd like to speak to Sir Percival Blount, please. This is Detective-Inspector Styles of Scotland Yard.'

Billy covered the mouthpiece with his hand.

‘I'm going to ask him straight out if he was the man who presided at that court martial.' He addressed the words to Madden. ‘There's no point beating about the bush.'

He took his hand away.

‘Yes, that's right, Scotland Yard . . . I see . . . No, there's no need to disturb him. But as soon as he comes out, tell him I
called and ask him to ring me back. Say I need to speak to him urgently . . . Yes, I'm sure he's very busy, but this is important.'

Billy went silent. He was listening to what the other party was saying.

‘You say he's been what?'

His brow darkened in a frown.

‘He's been
where
?'

He stared at Madden.

‘Now listen, Mr Loomis, and listen very carefully. The minute Sir Percival comes out of that meeting you're to tell him that I'm on my way over there, and I want him to stay in his office until I arrive. Impress on him that this is a serious matter. We think he may be in danger. Make sure he understands that. I'll be there soon to explain, but in the meantime other police officers will arrive. They're being sent as a precaution. No, I can't tell you what it's about. Just do as I say.'

Billy hung up.

‘That was his personal assistant, a chap called Loomis. He says Blount's been in America. He only got back yesterday. I won't know for certain whether he's our man until I've spoken to him, but if he is, that could be why he hasn't been topped. Either way, we can't take a chance. He's in a meeting with his senior staff at the moment. I thought it safest to leave him there.'

He turned to Lily.

‘Get hold of Grace. Make sure he's armed. The two of you get over to Skinner's Lane. Keep an eye on the lobby. There'll be more officers coming. If he's who I think he is, we'll have to give him round-the-clock protection. I'll be there shortly, just as soon as I've spoken to Mr Chubb, but if Blount has come out of that meeting he'll probably want a word with you. You can ask him about the court martial.'

Lily hurried from the room. Billy turned to Madden.

‘It looks like we got his name in the nick of time.' He watched as his old chief donned his coat. ‘I'll be having a word with
Blount shortly. You're welcome to come if you want to, sir. You might find it interesting to meet him again.'

‘I very much doubt it, Billy.' Madden picked up his suitcase. ‘Given how this whole business began, I'd just as soon never set eyes on him again. But let me know what he says, will you?'

‘I will, sir.' Billy rose. He accompanied Madden to the door. ‘Still, it's strange, isn't it?'

‘Strange?'

‘The way things work out. If anyone deserved a bullet in the head it was him – this Sir Percival. Now it looks like he'll escape without a scratch.'

The storm wasn't over yet. In fact it was still brewing. Blount's face was flushed. His features had thickened with anger. He glared at Lenny.

‘Couldn't you at least have found out what this is about?'

‘I did try, sir. But Inspector Styles said he'd explain it to you in person when he arrives. He shouldn't be long.'

‘Scotland Yard, eh . . . Well, you'd better be telling the truth, Loomis.' Sir Percival's eyes had narrowed to slits. ‘If this is another one of your little games . . .'

‘Games, sir? I don't know what you mean.'

Lenny was starting to get anxious. He'd managed things well enough up to now. But this latest bombshell had knocked him sideways. He'd still been racking his brains, wondering what could be behind the inspector's call, when the doors to the conference room at the other end of the reception area had opened and the participants had begun leaving. Blount was the last to emerge, and Lenny had found that his knees were knocking when he'd got to his feet to intercept him.

‘What about this photograph? You still haven't explained that.'

They had gone into Blount's wood-panelled office, lit by
lamps even at that hour, thanks to the fog that still clung to the windows, blocking out the daylight. Seated behind his desk now, Sir Percival jabbed his finger at the print, which lay where he had left it.

‘There's something going on here and I don't like it.' He treated Lenny to a long, cold stare. It was his insect-under-the-microscope look. ‘Raikes says you're up to no good. If that's the case, I'm warning you now: you're for the high jump. What did that inspector say exactly?'

Lenny swallowed. ‘I was to warn you to stay in your office until he gets here: that you might be in danger. He didn't say how, or why. He was sending police officers over for your protection.'

‘Christ Almighty! If he thinks I'm going to have a bunch of bluebottles cluttering up the lobby, he's got another think coming. I don't want them in the building. Is that clear?'

Lenny nodded.

‘Now get out of here and leave me alone. And, Loomis . . .'

Lenny paused in the act of turning.

‘Take care. I've got my eye on you.'

30

‘C
AN
'
T SEE A BLEEDING
thing.'

Grace peered into the gloom. As its name suggested, Skinner's Lane was a cramped thoroughfare hardly wide enough for two cars to pass. Hampered by the fog, the driver who had brought them from the Yard had nosed his way carefully down it, finally coming to a halt in front of a solid-looking four-storey structure flanked on either side by bomb-damaged buildings boarded up, but not yet rebuilt. Glassed doors gave onto a lighted lobby. Lily could see a commissionaire sitting at a desk at the back of the hall. They hadn't gone inside yet. Joe had said he wanted to get the lie of the land. Well, good luck to him, she thought. Here, near the river, the fog was so thick you could hardly see your hand in front of your face.

They had arrived a few minutes earlier with the bell on their car ringing and their driver, egged on by Grace, chancing his arm with the traffic in a way that would probably have earned him a suspension if anyone had been there to observe it. Nor had there been any delay in their departure. Having repeated the instructions she'd been given, Lily had watched with a scowl as Joe had drawn a service revolver out of the drawer of his desk and slipped it into his jacket pocket. On the chief superintendent's orders, both he and Styles had paid a visit to the
armoury the day before: they had been told to keep their weapons handy until the hunt for Alma Ballard was over. Acutely aware that she herself had been excluded from this precautionary order – despite the fact that she had passed the required firearms course with satisfactory marks – Lily had been chewing over this piece of blatant discrimination for the past twenty-four hours, but was yet to come up with any suitable response that would show her displeasure.

Didn't they realize she was primed for action? That she, more than anyone, had a score to settle with Alma Ballard? Lily felt she'd been hard done by. The blow she had received at the Regal Hotel had done more than lay her out – it had made her a laughing stock, and the subsequent mockery by her male colleagues had only served to rub salt into the wound. If anyone deserved a chance to lay their shooter by the heels, it was she, Lily Poole, and the fact that she'd been deprived of a weapon seemed to suggest there was a plot afoot (a male plot) to prevent her from being in at the kill.

As they stood there in front of the entrance another police car, a Flying Squad vehicle, drew up behind theirs, its aerial swaying back and forth. There were two uniformed officers inside. One of them climbed out.