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  Inspector Pebble’s mouth was still silently open as Fox swept out of the police station.

  *

  ‘I think that Mrs Harley knows more about all this than she told us, sir,’ said Gilroy.

  ‘You do catch on quickly, Jack. What in particular prompted you to say that?’

  ‘She didn’t say anything about the house being rented. And this reference — Jane Benson — she must have known about that, surely?’

  ‘As you say, Jack, as you say. I look forward to talking to her again. When we can find her. So send a message to all forces and all ports. And while you’re about it, a blue-corner circular to Interpol.’

  ‘That’s a bit heavy, guv,’ said Gilroy.

  Fox smiled. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’

  *

  Detective Sergeant Percy Fletcher was very familiar with the West End of London, and when Fox told him to find Sandra Nelson he knew exactly where to look. But he had dealt with prostitutes before, so he took WDC Rosie Webster with him.

  In fact, Sandra Nelson all but gave herself up. Fletcher, who had had the foresight to tell Rosie Webster to stay some distance from him, was moving casually through Shepherd Market when Sandra stepped out from a darkened doorway. ‘How d’you fancy a little bit of fun together, darling?’

  ‘What a good idea,’ said Fletcher. ‘You’re nicked.’

  ‘You rotten bastard,’ said Sandra in a shrill voice. ‘Can’t a girl earn an honest living any more?’

  Fletcher laughed. ‘Not tonight, Josephine,’ he said.

  Sandra looked as though she was going to make a run for it, but as she turned she came face to face with Rosie Webster. ‘Oh God,’ she said, ‘it’s you.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘Yes, it’s me, Sandra. We want to have a word with you. Or rather my guv’nor does, down at Rochester Row.’

  ‘What are we going there for? We usually go to Vine Street or Savile Row when we get nicked.’

  ‘We are going there because that’s where Mr Fox wants you to be. And he wants a chat with you, my girl,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘What for? What’s this about?’ There was panic now in Sandra Nelson’s voice.

  ‘Something to do with a large quantity of jewellery that’s been nicked. And a murder,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘What?’ Sandra Nelson now looked thoroughly alarmed. ‘I’ll own to tomming, but I don’t know anything about a murder. Honest, I don’t. And I’ve already said I don’t know anything about any jewellery.’

  When they got to Rochester Row police station, Sandra was placed in an interview room in the care of a uniformed WPC while Fletcher rang the Yard.

  ‘I’m Thomas Fox … of the Flying Squad.’ Twenty minutes later Fox strode into the room and sat down in the chair opposite Sandra Nelson.

  ‘I don’t care who you are,’ said Sandra. ‘I don’t know anything about any murder and I want a solicitor.’

  ‘Do you know one professionally, then?’ asked Fox. ‘His profession, I mean, not yours,’ he added.

  ‘Very funny,’ said Sandra.

  ‘Now,’ began Fox, ‘you remember when you and Murchison were arrested —’

  ‘Not likely to forget it,’ said Sandra sulkily. ‘Those horny bastards made me do a strip-tease in reverse.’

  ‘They have my sympathy,’ murmured Fox. ‘But when you were arrested my officers found a blonde wig in the room.’

  ‘Don’t know anything about it,’ said Sandra.

  ‘Look,’ said Fox, ‘I want the truth about that wig. Was it yours?’

  ‘I told you. I’d never seen it before. I wouldn’t be seen dead in a wig, blonde or any other colour.’ Sandra stared at Fox. ‘Can you imagine what would happen if a punter was giving it all he’d got and right at the crucial moment my bleeding wig fell off.’

  ‘Probably demand his money back,’ said Fox. ‘But if it’s not your wig I’m sure you won’t mind giving us one or two sample hairs from that ample crop of yours.’

  ‘What the hell is this? Are you kinky or something?’

  Fox smiled. ‘If it’s not yours you’ve nothing to worry about. I just want to satisfy myself that the hair found inside that wig doesn’t match yours, and we do that by scientific comparison.’

  Sandra plucked a few strands of hair from her head and laid them carefully on the table. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘Good.’ Fox stood up. ‘Record those as an exhibit,’ he said to Fletcher, ‘and release Miss Nelson on police bail.’

  Sandra looked up in surprise. ‘You mean you’re not doing me for soliciting him?’ She nodded at Fletcher.

  ‘No,’ said Fox. ‘He’d never live it down.’

  *

  ‘Interesting, isn’t it, Jack,’ said Fox, as Swann swung the Granada on to the A3, ‘that the Harleys should have their bank account in Guildford? He lived in Kingston, robbed in London, frequented the South of France, played golf somewhere near Richmond and claimed a connection with Cray Magna.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Gilroy.

  ‘So why does he have his bank account in Guildford?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  Fox grunted and then lapsed into silence for the remainder of the journey.

  The bank manager had never seen a warrant issued under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act before and read it suspiciously. Then he laid it on his desk and looked up. ‘I think I shall have to consult my head office,’ he said.

  ‘There are quite severe penalties for contempt of court,’ said Fox, a certain menace in his voice, ‘and the warrant is addressed to you personally, not to your head office.’

  ‘Well,’ said the manager reluctantly, ‘it appears to be in order. What exactly is it that you want to see?’

  ‘Don’t know, really,’ said Fox cheerfully. ‘Better go through the lot, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh!’ The manager pressed a switch on his intercom. ‘Beverley, ask Clive to bring in all the papers on the Harley account, Thomas and Susan, will you.’

  Ten minutes later, during which time the manager had talked about little else but the weather, a young man appeared, laden down with computer printouts and a ledger or two, and hovered expectantly in the doorway of the manager’s office. ‘The Harleys’ account, sir,’ he said.

  After twenty minutes or so, Fox let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. ‘This is all too bloody straightforward, Jack,’ he said. ‘There are all the usual things, like household bills, weekly drawings, cheques for credit card payments, standing order for the rent of the Kingston Hill house, TV licence renewal, car tax … all that sort of stuff. It’s too damned honest. This bloke Harley doesn’t put himself on offer for anything.’

  ‘Well, he’s not going to get caught out for not buying a TV licence any more than he’s going to get stopped for having no car tax, is he?’

  ‘No, he’s not.’ Fox pushed the printout away. ‘To be frank, Jack, I don’t think this is the only account Harley’s got.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the bank manager, ‘did you want to see the other one? I thought it was just the joint account you were interested in.’

  Fox bit back a retort and waited another ten minutes while the manager’s assistant, Clive, found another set of papers. After some fifteen minutes of close examination, Fox looked up with a satisfied expression. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘And there’s an address in Godalming, Jack. Make a few enquiries, will you.’ He paused. ‘Better go mob-handed.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘The house in Godalming, sir. It’s a non-starter.’

  Fox gave Gilroy a pessimistic stare. ‘I thought for one minute you were going to surprise me there, Jack.’

  Gilroy grinned. ‘A Mr and Mrs Makins own the house now, guv. Bought it a year ago. They only met Mrs Harley a couple of times. And never saw our Thomas. The first time was when they looked at the house, obviously. And the second time to make sure that they hadn’t gone away with a false picture.’

  ‘And had they gone away with a false
picture?’

  ‘I don’t know, guv. But Mrs Makins said that Mrs Harley was probably in her late twenties, blonde and good looking.’

  *

  The shop in Regent Street was expensive. The moment that Gilroy stepped through the door he detected that it was an establishment whose customers did not concern themselves about cost so much as quality.

  ‘May I help you, sir?’ The girl, a petite Chinese, smiled.

  ‘I’m a police officer,’ said Gilroy. ‘I’d like to speak to the manageress, if I may.’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Good. I’m interested to know what this credit card transaction was for.’ Gilroy produced the details.

  The Chinese girl laughed. ‘Well, there’s only one thing it can be,’ she said. ‘That’s all we sell.’

  Gilroy laughed too. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘But can you tell me exactly what it was?’

  ‘No problem. Won’t keep you a moment.’ And the girl disappeared into a back room.

  *

  ‘I’ve been doing a bit of digging, sir,’ said DS Percy Fletcher, sidling round Fox’s office door.

  ‘Not found another body, I hope.’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, guv.’

  ‘Oh!’ Fox put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. ‘Let’s have it then, Perce.’

  ‘You know that Jane Meadows said she was divorced about four years ago, guv?’

  ‘Yes.’ Fox leaned forward again, a sudden look of interest on his face.

  ‘She wasn’t. I thought I’d spend a few hours up at St Catherine’s House, having a bit of a poke about.’

  ‘Yes …’ said Fox again.

  ‘She’s still married, guv. And her old man’s in the nick. Doing seven for blackmail,’ Fletcher grinned triumphantly. ‘Copped it about four years back.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Fox. ‘Now there’s an interesting thing. D’you have paper to support this proposition of yours?’

  Fletcher placed a pile of files on Fox’s desk. ‘His CRO microfiche, and the General Registry docket, sir.’

  ‘Why wasn’t she done? She was part of this scam, whatever it was, surely?’ Fox couldn’t believe for one moment that Jane Meadows was not involved in her husband’s chicanery.

  ‘DPP’s office wouldn’t have it, guv. Reckoned she was young, pure and innocent. But mainly innocent.’

  ‘Bloody tossers,’ said Fox.

  *

  Gilroy laid the sheet of paper on Fox’s desk. ‘That’s a printout of her credit card account, sir.’

  ‘So it is, Jack, so it is. And?’

  ‘That item makes interesting reading, sir.’ Gilroy pointed at an entry that was highlighted on the printout.

  ‘Oh yes, doesn’t it just? Have you confirmed it?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and it’s what you think it is.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Fox. ‘However, that transaction was made after the jewellery heist.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Thought it might interest you though, sir.’

  ‘Oh, it does, Jack, though I’ve got this nagging feeling that it’s just a coincidence. But we’ll keep it in mind. The other thing about both the bank account and the credit card is that they interest me for what’s missing rather than for what is there.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Gilroy, not for a moment understanding Fox’s enigmatic comment.

  *

  ‘Got a minute, sir?’ asked DS Fletcher.

  ‘What is it, Perce?’

  ‘Got the results of the hair comparison, sir.’

  ‘The what?’ asked Fox.

  ‘The hair comparison, sir. You know, the hair in the blonde wig that we found when we nicked Murchison and Sandra Nelson, the tom.’

  ‘Oh yes. What about it?’

  ‘No go, sir,’ said Fletcher. ‘The hair inside the wig was definitely not Sandra Nelson’s.’

  ‘Terrific,’ said Fox. ‘Got any more good news for me?’

  Fletcher grinned. ‘Yes, sir. None of the prints found at the Kingston Hill house matched Sandra Nelson’s. Nor any of those found in the Bensons’ flat at Marble Arch.’

  Fox stared despairingly at Fletcher. ‘No, they wouldn’t, would they?’

  *

  ‘Oh, Mr Fox. Good morning. Have you come to see me?’ Lady Morton emerged from the lift just as Gilroy was about to press the button.

  ‘Good morning, Lady Morton. No, as a matter of fact I’ve come to see Mr Benson.’

  She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘He’s back, you know.’

  Fox beamed. ‘How very fortunate, Lady Morton,’ he said. ‘Well, mustn’t hold you up,’ he added and stood to one side.

  Jeremy Benson did not appear pleased to find the two detectives at his front door. ‘I rather thought that I’d be seeing you again,’ he said. ‘Come in.’

  The sitting room was identical in shape and size to the one in the flat opposite, but whereas Lady Morton favoured antiques Benson had opted for a curious mixture of art deco and art nouveau. In Fox’s view they fitted uneasily together.

  ‘Well, what can I do for you? Have you come to tell me that you’ve found Jane?’

  ‘Not specifically,’ said Fox, ‘but she is in custody.’

  ‘I see. And is she implicated in this murder?’

  ‘She’s certainly involved, but to what extent is not yet clear. However, that is not why I’m here.’

  ‘Oh, there’s something else, then.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Benson. We took advantage of your authority to inspect your bank account —’

  ‘You did?’ Benson sat up.

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘Well it was a joint account and I didn’t imagine that they’d let you see it without Jane’s authority.’ Benson paused. ‘But she wouldn’t have given permission, surely?’

  ‘No, we didn’t ask her,’ said Fox. ‘Not cricket, you know, asking suspects to convict themselves. Her Majesty’s Lords of Appeal in Ordinary take a rather dim view of that sort of thing.’

  ‘Well then how —?’

  ‘We got a warrant from a circuit judge.’

  ‘Oh!’ Benson eased himself into a more comfortable position, as though it had all become too much for him.

  ‘One of the things that fascinated me, Mr Benson,’ said Fox, ‘was that the last time I spoke to you, you said that Jane Benson had stolen twenty thousand pounds from you. She had drawn it from your account, you said. And yet when I spoke to the manager of your bank he said that he’d queried it with you, and you’d given authority for that cheque to be honoured.’

  Benson sighed and let his arms hang loose over the sides of his chair. ‘It was blackmail,’ he said.

  ‘Was it really?’

  Fox waited for some time before speaking again. ‘Well, are you going to tell me about it?’

  ‘I think I’ve got myself into trouble here,’ said Benson.

  ‘Well, I shan’t know unless you explain.’

  ‘What I told you about advertising for a holiday companion was true. Well, I showed you the cutting …’ Fox nodded. ‘It wasn’t until later that I realised that I’d become the victim of an elaborate trap. We were in bed one night — it must have been about eleven, I suppose — when the bedroom door opened and this man walked in.’

  ‘And who was he?’ Fox thought he knew.

  ‘It was Jane’s husband. At least that’s what he said, and she agreed with him.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Fox. It demanded a great deal of will-power on his part not to smile at Benson falling for one of the oldest tricks in the book.

  ‘And how did he get in?’

  ‘He said he’d found the key in her bag and followed her.’

  ‘How did that happen? I thought she was living there with you.’

  Benson shrugged. ‘How it happened didn’t really matter. The fact is, it had happened. After you came to see me I thought about it and realised that it must have been planned. She probably gave him the key and told him where and when to come.�
� He had a resigned look on his face. ‘Well, you can imagine the scandal that it would’ve caused if it had got out.’

  ‘Scandal?’ Fox couldn’t quite see where any scandal would arise.

  ‘Of course. I am a respected businessman, Mr Fox. What d’you think my partners would have said if they’d heard that I’d been sleeping with a girl many years my junior? Particularly as it happened to be someone else’s wife. I’d never have been able to look my neighbours in the face again.’

  Fox certainly understood Benson’s concern about that and tried to imagine the devastatingly censorious glance that Lady Morton, for example, would be able to summon up. ‘It was then that they made their demands, was it?’

  ‘Not they … him,’ said Benson miserably. ‘But there was more to it than that.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He said that he was expecting a phone call for a firm called Marloes —’

  ‘You mentioned that before,’ said Fox.

  ‘Yes, but he said that if I didn’t play along, he’d make sure that my fellow directors got to hear about me sleeping with his wife, and that he’d probably make up some story about me interfering with children as well. I couldn’t afford that sort of story to circulate, could I?’

  So that was what Benson meant about scandal. Fox’s eyes narrowed. ‘And have you interfered with children?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Benson’s answer was spirited.

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘Nothing, as a matter of fact, but I suspected that something illegal was going on …’

  ‘What made you think that?’

  ‘For one thing, I didn’t like this man’s menacing attitude, and then there was the man Dixon. He seemed to know the other man, and they both came and went more or less as they pleased. It was as if they’d taken over my flat.’

  ‘But what about Jane?’ asked Fox. ‘Why did you go after her to the South of France, if she’d been blackmailing you?’

  ‘I didn’t think she had at first. I thought that she was just as much an innocent party as me. Once or twice, when I got her on her own, she said that she was terrified of the other two, but begged me not to do anything about it, or they would kill her.’

  ‘Why did you agree to the payment of the cheque, then?’