Maxim Jakubowski - The Best British Mysteries III

‘For heaven’s sake, man, it’s Louis,’ Chilton protested, ‘pronounced Boo-car.’

‘- and he’d also been holding out on you with regard to a mysterious portrait. To wit, this.’

He indicated the easel in the corner draped in black velvet.

‘Inspector,’ Orville cut in, ‘I have explained how Mr Westlake was in plain view of everyone at all times this afternoon. I don’t see how you can possibly follow this ridiculous line of questioning.’

In true political style, the Hon. Member then rephrased his argument in fifteen different ways. Somewhere between the fourth and the fifth, Gloria came across and took both Fizzy’s hands in hers.

‘Are you all right, darling? You look terribly pale.’

‘Yes, I’m fine, really, I am. Just a shock, that’s all, seeing death at close quarters.’

She glanced at Teddy Hardcastle, who had seen more of it and at far closer quarters, then looked back into Gloria’s permanently sad eyes.

They’d been laughing, that was the terrible part. Celebrating because Fizzy had landed her first job with A la Mode and Gloria had just received confirmation that baby number two, already well advanced, was healthy and ready to hatch out on schedule. Yes, they’d been laughing fit to burst when that telegram came…

Fizzy shivered. ‘The police don’t really suspect Chilton, do they?’

‘Darling, if they had a man standing over the body waving a placard written in Louis’s own blood which read “It was me”, they’d still think the butler did it.’

Gloria glanced at her husband, boring the inspector into submission.

‘Orville will set them right,’ she assured her.

Shouldn’t be hard, either, Fizzy supposed. To compensate for his physical shortcomings, Chilton upholstered himself in the loudest checks he could find. Top that with a purple bow tie and spats, and who could miss him?

‘For goodness sake,’ Chilton snorted. ‘I’m hardly likely to kill the goose that lays my golden eggs, am I, you clod?’

The inspector, who wasn’t entirely won over by being labelled a clod, didn’t take to having his chest prodded either.

‘You’re wasting time,’ Chilton snapped, ‘and anyway, what about the theft of my picture, eh? Eh? Why aren’t you investigating that?’

‘What picture?’ Fizzy asked Gloria.

Patrician eyes rolled. ‘Wouldn’t you just know that while this kerfuffle’s been going on, someone would filch one of the exhibits? Of course, it’ll be worth a fortune on the black market after today. Chilton’s incandescent.’

‘Nonsense,’ Fizzy murmured. ‘He probably snitched it himself, to drive up the price of the others.’

‘So true, darling. No artist is ever worth so much as when he dies.’

Meanwhile, the combination of being branded incompetent, a dim-wit, having a finger poked in his breastbone and being blasted with the notion that theft ranked higher than murder was doing little to enhance the inspector’s opinion of Chilton. Especially since the accusations were being made in front of the Hon. Member for Knightsbridge & Chelsea.

‘What Mr Westlake is forgetting, sir,’ he told Orville, ‘is that apart from Lewis Buckard playing him for a sucker over the publicity, he’d borrowed money from him totalling nearly one hundred pounds, which he apparently had no intention of repaying, and we know he was holding out on him.’

He indicated the velvet-draped easel as he read from the press.

‘…the likes of which has never been on public display before in this country – a portrait so daring, so scandalous that he’s keeping it under velvet until the official opening. “Revelation”, Mr Buckard called it.’

With a flourish that could only be described as smug, he whisked off the velvet.

Revelation indeed. Six pair of eyes gaped at the empty frame.

Teddy Hardcastle let out a soft laugh.

‘B-but -’ Chilton couldn’t find words to express what he felt.

‘Well, I say!’ Orville could.

The inspector rubbed his jaw for what seemed like an hour, pausing only to glower at Chilton in the way a lioness might watch her marked zebra leap the gorge into safety

‘Do you suppose,’ he asked eventually, ‘that it was within Mr Buckard’s character to pull a fast one to drum up publicity? That there never was a scandalous portrait to unveil?’

Five voices responded as one, the verdict unanimous. Such a stunt was well within Boucard’s capabilities, they replied.

Cue more jaw-rubbing by His Majesty’s servant.

‘Whoever killed Mr Buckard did so by holding the weapon in this -’ he held up one of numerous soft cloths used in the gallery to dust the frames ‘- to avoid leaving fingerprints. Unfortunately, we have no witnesses to say they saw anyone go in or come out of this room.’

‘Why would they?’ Orville asked reasonably. ‘We were all facing the podium, inspector, anxiously awaiting the moment when the doors to the exhibition would open and we could be one of the first to see, and hopefully grab a slice of, this new and prodigious young talent.’

‘There were nearly eighty people crammed into my gallery,’ Chilton snapped, ‘and not all of them with gilt-edged invites, I might add. You mark my words, one of those low-lifes killed Louis.’

The inspector turned his scowl on Teddy Hardcastle, making it clear who was responsible for diverting precious resources on this ridiculous wild goose chase when the police had had it sussed all along. With a loud ‘Harrumph’ he stomped back into the gallery, trailed by Chilton and Orville, with Gloria adding poise to the rear and leaving Fizzy alone with Teddy once more. This time, though, the silence between them stretched to infinity.

‘The question,’ he said at last, ‘isn’t who killed Louis Boucard, is it?’

‘No?’ Frogs croak louder, she thought.

‘No.’ He let the wall take his weight at the shoulders. ‘The question is, why should two people want to kill the same man.’

Turning out of the gallery into the glorious midsummer sunshine, a mischievous breeze whisked off Gloria’s hat and carried it halfway down Mayfair. Biff, of course, would have tackled it before it had gone fifteen yards, but Biff was already ensconced in Jo-Jo’s Cellar sinking his second martini and by the time the Hon. Member for K &C had picked up sufficient speed, a Ford with an unnecessarily heavy foot on its accelerator had flattened Gloria’s masterpiece right between the tulle and the rosebuds. Another time and the group would have hooted with laughter. Today, though, a man’s life had been taken and the crushing, in an instant, of something so vibrant and bright stood for all that had happened.

On the other hand, it’s an ill wind. Fizzy couldn’t help but notice the look of gratitude and affection that Gloria shot her husband as he handed the battered titfer back to his wife and her heart gladdened. He was a good egg, the Hon. Member, and whilst he wasn’t – and would never be – the love of her friend’s life, she’d always felt he deserved more than mere recognition.

‘Well?’ A long stride fell into step alongside her, its fedora angled low over one half of his forehead.

‘Any more thoughts?’

In front of them, Orville had offered a chivalrous arm to his wife and although Fizzy had hoped for a similar offer from Teddy, none came. She adjusted her beads, smoothed her drop waistline, tucked her clutch bag under her arm and thought, who cares about floppy hair anyway?

‘I mean,’ he added evenly, ‘you must know it’s one of us.’

‘Don’t you mean two of us?’

Dammit, Pekinese dogs don’t snap that hard, but if Teddy Hardcastle noticed, it didn’t show.