Tomfoolery Page 15

  ‘Here.’ Rosie Webster handed her a tissue from a box on the window-sill.

  ‘And Murchison helped in this, of course?’ asked Fox.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you pretended to be the widow.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who else was involved in this funeral?’

  ‘A couple of men I’d never seen before.’ Jane glanced at Fox, anticipating the next question. ‘I only knew them as Ozzie and Sid,’ she said. ‘They acted as pall-bearers.’

  ‘That’s all very interesting,’ said Fox, ‘but tell me, where did you go after the heist? When Murchison dropped you and Dixon at Marble Arch?’

  Jane Meadows stared at Fox. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with the actual robbery.’

  ‘Then who was the blonde woman, about your build and age, who took part in the theft?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Harley didn’t tell you?’

  ‘No. I’d already been in Nice for a week when the robbery happened. That’s where I was living when your policeman found me.’ She looked at Fox reproachfully. ‘Tom rang me to say that it had all gone off all right, and that he was coming over to join me.’

  ‘So you are saying that when this theft occurred you were miles away. In a villa in Nice. Yes?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘Is there anyone who can vouch for that? Anyone you met or saw on that day?’

  She appeared to think carefully about that. ‘Not that I can recall,’ she said. ‘It’s a long time ago now.’

  ‘A pity, that,’ said Fox. ‘And afterwards Tom flew over and joined you?’

  ‘Yes. But then we came back and fixed up the fake funeral. We used Jeremy’s phone number and I was to pretend to be the undertaker’s secretary if there was a call.’

  ‘And what would have happened if Jeremy had answered the phone … to someone asking for Marloes?’

  She didn’t seem at all put out by the question. ‘I told him that was the name of my firm.’

  ‘And once this bogus funeral was over, you both went back to Nice and assumed the identities of Mr and Mrs Spencer? Is that right?’

  For some reason Jane Meadows seemed surprised that the police should know that. ‘Yes, but Tom only stayed a day or so, and then he went back to London again.’

  ‘Why did he do that, Mrs Meadows? Why did Harley return to this country so soon after arriving in Nice?’

  There was a lengthy pause before Jane Meadows answered. Then, ‘He said he wanted to collect the rest of the jewellery from Cray Magna.’

  ‘And why didn’t he?’ asked Fox.

  ‘I don’t know really. He rang me from England to say that it was going to take a bit longer.’

  ‘Was it because he’d heard that Murchison had been arrested?’

  ‘I don’t think he knew. I certainly didn’t, and he never mentioned it.’

  ‘And you waited … and waited, but he didn’t turn up.’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’ The girl looked momentarily sad at having been let down by a man who, she now realised, probably had no intention of marrying her after all.

  ‘No,’ said Fox. ‘I think he’s abandoned you, Mrs Meadows. But while you were there, you sold the jewellery you had stolen from Jeremy Benson.’

  ‘I certainly sold it, but I hadn’t stolen it. I told you before, Jeremy gave it to me.’

  ‘And you also sold some of the jewellery that had been stolen from the hotel,’ said Fox.

  ‘Yes.’ The girl spoke softly and looked despairingly at Fox. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’

  ‘That’s a matter for the Crown Prosecution Service,’ said Fox. ‘But for a start you’ll be charged with handling stolen property, if not with stealing it.’ He paused. ‘Then there’s the murder of Donald Dixon. You were certainly instrumental in helping to dispose of Dixon’s body —’

  ‘But I didn’t know that that was what had happened.’ She sounded desperate.

  Fox smiled. ‘So you say, Mrs Meadows. So you say.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘What do we do next, sir? Trip to Brixton to talk to Murchison?’ asked Gilroy.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Fox. ‘I’ve had enough of being ponced about by that little toe-rag.’

  ‘But he’s got to find some answers, guv. Like why his dabs were all over the house at Kingston Hill when he reckons he never went anywhere near the place. But more to the point, how he came to be burying Dixon when he reckoned he’d never heard of him.’

  ‘We didn’t mention Kingston to him, Jack.’ Fox sighed. ‘But even if we had, he’d have denied being there. He said that he drove a man and the blonde, whoever she turns out to be, and dropped them off at Marble Arch after the heist. Then he said that he was supposed to meet this Harry bloke in a boozer in Dulwich to pick up his wages. He reluctantly admitted to having heard of Harley under the name of Wilkins, but denied ever having met him. As for having buried Dixon, he could put up the same defence as Madam Meadows, namely, he didn’t know what was in the box.’

  ‘So what’s the plan, sir?’

  ‘The plan, Jack, is to wait until I’ve got enough to screw that little bastard good and proper. Jane Meadows has told us some of the story, admittedly, but I don’t think she knows it all. I want some more before we have another go at Murchison. I think it’s a waste of time talking to him again … yet, anyway. You see, Jack …’ Fox paused to light a cigarette. ‘The trouble with small time tea-leaves like Murchison is that it’s second nature for them to tell lies. It’s the way they’re brought up. Anyway, he’s not going anywhere.’ He stood up. ‘In the meantime, we’ll have a look at Benson’s bank account, and while we’re about it we’ll have a look at Harley’s as well … both the Harleys.’

  ‘Do we know where the Harleys’ account is?’

  ‘Oh yes. Mrs Harley obligingly left the address of her bank with the furniture depository in Wimbledon. So get Crozier to get a warrant.’

  ‘Under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, sir?’

  ‘Of course, Jack.’

  ‘Application has to be made to a judge, sir … by an inspector.’

  ‘So it does, Jack,’ said Fox. ‘Well, just got yourself a job, haven’t you?’

  *

  The manager of Jeremy Benson’s bank looked unhappily at the letter of authority that Fox had obtained from Jeremy Benson and shook his head. ‘We have a problem here, Chief Superintendent,’ he said.

  ‘Do we really?’ said Fox. ‘Oh dear. And what might that be?’

  ‘Well, it’s a joint account. Mr Benson’s letter of authority needs to be signed by Mrs Benson as well. Otherwise, I can’t grant you access.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Mrs Benson is in custody,’ said Fox. ‘And I’m afraid the law is so protective that we cannot ask her to provide evidence against herself. Apart from which, she isn’t Mrs Benson at all. She is Mrs Meadows.’

  The bank manager pushed his glasses back up his nose. ‘Oh!’ he said, and blinked. ‘Unfortunately, that does not alter my position.’

  ‘Can’t win ’em all,’ said Fox with a shrug. ‘Still, I’m sure that a warrant issued by a Crown Court judge will set your mind at rest.’

  The bank manager smiled. ‘If you can get one,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, we shall,’ said Fox. ‘Don’t go away.’

  It took an hour and a half, and Fox and Gilroy returned to the bank just before closing time. ‘There we are,’ said Fox, producing the warrant. ‘Now we can get down to business.’

  ‘Ah, yes, quite so,’ said the manager, who did not seem any happier than on their last visit.

  Fox and Gilroy settled themselves in an ante-room and started on the tedious task of going through the Bensons’ account. Apart from regular drawings, cheques for moderate amounts had been cashed at intervals in Nice, confirming what Benson had said about the couple’s frequent travels to the South of France. Some were signed by him, others by Jan
e Benson. The interesting one was for twenty thousand pounds, and that was dated the nineteenth of July. And had been drawn by Jane Benson.

  Fox tossed the cheque across to Gilroy. ‘Well, he was certainly right about her having twenty grand out of his account, Jack,’ he said and turned to the manager. ‘This cheque,’ he continued. ‘Would you have queried it? Being so big?’

  The manager pushed his glasses up his nose once again and studied the cheque. Then he turned it over. ‘We did, as a matter of fact,’ he said. ‘I remember it quite clearly. It was a much larger sum than was usual for that account and the cashier referred it to me. Because it was a joint account, I considered it prudent to speak to Mr Benson.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  The bank manager looked surprised by Fox’s question. ‘He approved it. Said it was all right to go ahead and honour it.’

  ‘How interesting,’ said Fox with a satisfied grin. ‘It’s got bugger all to do with anything but we shall have another little chat with our Mr Benson, Jack.’ He glanced again at the documents in front of him and a minute or two later jabbed a finger at an entry. ‘Can you tell me which of the account holders made that drawing?’ he asked the manager.

  The manager glanced at the item that had attracted Fox’s interest. ‘Yes,’ he said and referred to one of the other printouts in front of him. ‘It was Mrs Benson.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Fox. ‘Have a look at that, Jack. That requires some answers. And there’s another thing, Jack …’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘There have been several payments to a credit card company. Have a word with them. I seem to recall that we’ve had a bit of luck with them in the past.’

  *

  ‘Call for you on line seven, guv,’ said the DC on duty in the main office of the Flying Squad as Gilroy walked in.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Duty officer at Kingston, sir. Something to do with that drum on Kingston Hill you turned over last week.’

  Gilroy picked up the phone and pressed down the switch. ‘DI Gilroy.’

  ‘Inspector Pebble, duty officer at Kingston.’

  ‘Inspector who?’

  ‘Pebble … as on beach.’

  ‘Oh, right. What can I do for you, Mr Pebble.’

  ‘That house on Kingston Hill that was searched …’

  ‘What about it?’ asked Gilroy.

  ‘Well, I looked it up in the Premises Searched Register and found your name against it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Gilroy. ‘You would have done. I put it there.’ He looked up at the ceiling, then glanced at the DC who had taken the call. ‘Tell Mr Fox something’s come up about the Harley’s house at Kingston, lad, quickly.’

  ‘Well,’ continued Inspector Pebble, ‘I’ve got a man in the nick now. Reckons he’s the owner of the house and that it’s been broken into.’

  ‘It was,’ said Gilroy. ‘Police broke in.’

  Fox appeared in the office. ‘What have you got, Jack?’ he asked.

  Gilroy put his hand over the receiver and quickly repeated the story before speaking to Inspector Pebble again. ‘What name did he give?’ he asked.

  ‘Davidson,’ said Pebble.

  Gilroy turned to Fox. ‘Says his name’s Davidson, sir.’

  ‘Are you still there?’ asked Pebble.

  ‘Yeah, hold on a minute,’ said Gilroy. ‘I’m just repeating this to my guv’nor.’

  ‘Saucy bastard,’ said Fox. ‘So Harley’s now calling himself Davidson. Like the motorbike, see. Harley Davidson. Tell them to hang on to him … on my authority, Jack.’

  Gilroy repeated the instructions to the Kingston duty officer. ‘We’ll be down there before you can say Sweeney Todd,’ he added.

  Fox’s driver, the mournful Swann, sat stoically behind the steering wheel of the Ford Granada and pushed it to unbelievable speeds on the way to Kingston. The siren and the circulating blue light, attached to the car’s roof by magnets, ensured that other traffic kept well out of its way. Fox sat hunched in the front seat, occasionally rocking forward as if to urge the vehicle on to even greater speeds.

  Twenty-three minutes after leaving Scotland Yard, Swann steered the car into the yard at Kingston police station. Fox and Gilroy hurried inside, leaving Swann to follow them at his usual slow amble. ‘Here, mate,’ he said to a PC. ‘Where’s the canteen?’

  ‘Well?’ demanded Fox as he strode into the front office of the police station. ‘Where’s this Davidson, or whatever he calls himself?’

  ‘This way, sir,’ said Inspector Pebble, and led them through the custody suite to an interview room. ‘I’ll have him brought up.’

  The man who appeared a few minutes later was about sixty years of age and was clearly of Indian origin, albeit light skinned. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded. ‘I come in here to inform the police that my house has been broken into and the next thing is I’m arrested.’

  ‘You’re Mr Davidson?’ asked Fox, an element of doubt in his voice.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘If you’re wondering why I have an English name,’ said Davidson. ‘It came from my grandfather on my father’s side. He was a regimental sergeant major in the Indian Army.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Fox. ‘Now about this house that you say you own —’

  ‘But I do own it. And I want to know why I am arrested because of it. It was broken into, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I do know, Mr Davidson. It was the police who broke in. The house was properly secured, but if any damage was done our Accident Claims branch will —’

  ‘But why? Why did you break in?’

  ‘The fact is, Mr Davidson, we are investigating a murder.’

  ‘A murder? Whose murder? In my house?’

  ‘I must apologise for the over-reaction of the officers at this station,’ said Fox, ignoring Davidson’s question, ‘but I’m sure that as a responsible citizen you would wish to assist the police. Particularly when I say that you are probably the one man who can help us solve this dastardly crime.’ Fox smiled disarmingly.

  ‘Well, of course,’ said Davidson, somewhat mollified. ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Good, good,’ said Fox. ‘I knew the moment I set eyes on you that I could rely on your every assistance. Now then, have you ever heard of a man called Harley, Thomas Harley?’

  ‘Of course. He is the man who rented my house.’

  ‘When would that have been, Mr Davidson?’

  ‘The twenty-fifth of March,’ said Davidson promptly. ‘He agreed to take it for six months.’

  ‘I see. Where did he come from, this Thomas Harley?’

  ‘He told me that he had been living abroad. In the South of France, actually.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll bet he did,’ said Fox.

  ‘Please?’

  ‘Did he produce references?’

  ‘Of course. I would not have let him have the house otherwise.’

  ‘Can you remember details of any of these references, Mr Davidson?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Davidson opened his Filofax and thumbed through the pages. ‘Ah yes, here we are. There were two from persons who had previously let their houses to him in France, and one other in London.’

  ‘And did you follow them up?’

  ‘Most certainly. One has to be very careful to whom one lets one’s house, you know.’

  Fox grinned. ‘Of course. Do you have the telephone numbers or the addresses there, by any chance?’ He pointed at Davidson’s open Filofax.

  ‘Yes, indeed. I’ll write them down for you.’ Davidson scribbled the addresses and telephone numbers on a separate sheet and tore it from the book. ‘There you are,’ he said.

  Fox read through them and then handed the piece of paper to Gilroy. ‘Funny how that Marble Arch telephone number keeps cropping up, isn’t it, Jack? Get on to our friend Inspector Ronsard in Nice and ask him to take a look at the other two.’ He turned back to Davidson. ‘This Marble Arch address, did you go there or did
you telephone?’

  ‘I telephoned.’

  ‘Who did you speak to?’

  Davidson referred once more to his Filofax, and Fox offered up grateful thanks to whoever ordained that Harley’s erstwhile landlord was such a meticulous man. ‘I spoke to a lady. A Mrs Jane Benson. She knew Mr Harley socially, she said, and could vouch for him absolutely. She said he was a jolly good chap. She even offered to give me a banker’s guarantee if there was likely to be any problem.’

  ‘And did you take her up on that?’

  ‘No, I did not think it was necessary. Anyway, Mr Harley paid in advance for the whole six months and, of course, I required a substantial deposit against possible damage.’

  ‘And what about the French references?’

  ‘I don’t speak French, but I got a friend of mine to telephone them. The same. All very satisfactory.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Fox, standing up, ‘they would be. Well, thank you very much indeed, Mr Davidson. I can’t begin to express my gratitude for all the assistance you have given me,’ he continued blandly. ‘It is very refreshing these days to find someone prepared to spare a little time to help the police. In fact, I shall get my Commissioner to write you a letter of thanks. And I do apologise, once again, for the mistake that caused you to be detained by the officers at this station. I merely told them that I wanted to talk to you. Believe me, I shall speak to them most severely about the need to understand instructions correctly.’

  Davidson waved a deprecating hand. ‘My dear sir,’ he said. ‘Please do no such thing. It is comforting to know that the police are so keen to apprehend wrongdoers. I just hope you catch this one.’

  ‘Everything all right, sir?’ asked Inspector Pebble as Fox and Gilroy watched Davidson leave the station.

  ‘Yes,’ said Fox gravely. ‘It is now. By dint of some fast talking I managed to persuade Mr Davidson not to make an official complaint that you had wrongly arrested and falsely imprisoned him.’ But he winked at Gilroy as he said it.