Peter Lovesey - The False Inspector Dew

The master-at-arms, Mr Saxon, led Walter down another iron stairway and along a passage lit with bare electric light bulbs. Their shoe-leather clattered on the grating with a sound that offended the ear after the carpeted corridors upstairs. Yet Mr Saxon walked with a spring and a swagger suggestive of a millionaire on his way through the most exclusive section of the first class. This morning Mr Saxon felt like a millionaire. He had arrested the strangler.

'I decided not to disturb your sleep,' he told Walter with his words resounding from the sheet-metal on either side. 'There was no need for it, no need at all. You've had an exhausting time, Inspector, taxing your brain and drawing on all your experience at the Yard to dissect the motives of this crime. You deserved your rest. Why trouble you when we had the fellow safely in the cells for the night? I informed the captain, naturally. I think he was rather pleased that his own men cracked the case after all. Anyway, he agreed with me that we would tell you in the morning.'

Walter said nothing. He had already listened to Barbara's account of the incident last night. There was no doubt that the girl believed she had met the strangler. Jack Gordon had certainly forced his way into her stateroom. She was fortunate that her scream had been heard by another passenger sufficiently responsible to telephone Mr Saxon's office. And it was not in dispute that when Saxon and his assistant forced the stateroom door, Barbara was being held from behind by Gordon, who had one hand on her neck and the other over her mouth. Walter had inspected the bruising on her neck.

There was a man on duty outside the cell. Saxon instructed him to unlock the door and close it behind them. 'You and I are capable of protecting ourselves from a strangler of helpless women,' he remarked to Walter. 'They're craven cowards, men who do this sort of thing.'

Jack Gordon was still in his evening shirt and trousers. His bow tie and shoes had been removed. When he got up from the bare mattress on which they found him slumped, he had to support his trousers with his hand. His eyes were red-rimmed and his usually sleek hair drooped over his forehead.

Mr Saxon said, 'You've met Chief Inspector Dew.'

Gordon gave a nod.

Walter said, 'Sit down, please,' in the voice he used in the dental surgery. Mr Saxon placed a wooden chair in the centre of the floor for his prisoner, and retired behind it. Walter perched himself on the edge of a table.

He said to Gordon, 'I have just been talking to Miss Barbara Barlinski. I have seen the marks on her neck.'

'Marks?' repeated Jack abstractedly.

'The marks inflicted by your hand.'

Jack shook his head. 'Was I holding her that tightly?'

From behind him, Mr Saxon said, 'Don't put on that innocent voice, Gordon. I caught you in the act of strangling her.'

He twisted round abruptly and said, 'That's a lie! I was trying to stop her from screaming.'

'From breathing,' said Saxon.

'No!'

'Inspector Dew has seen the strangulation marks.'

'This is mad. I didn't strangle her.'

'You strangled the other one,' said Saxon.

'You don't know what you're talking about.'

Walter asked, 'Mr Gordon, are we to understand that you deny strangling Miss Masters?'

'I haven't strangled anyone, for God's sake.'

Mr Saxon stepped forward and said confidentially in Jack's right ear, 'We have two women, one dead, with the mark of the strangler's hands on her neck, the other fortunately, very fortunately, alive, with the mark of your hands on hers.'

'Will you listen to me? They're not the same.'

'What are you talking about?'

'The marks!' shouted Jack in desperation. 'The marks are not the same.'

'There was a pause. Mr Saxon straightened up. He smiled. He said in a voice so small that it was almost a whisper, 'How do you know?' He began to laugh. He said more loudly, 'How do you know, Gordon, how do you know, how do you know?' He was shaking with laughter and the elation of his triumph.

Jack Gordon's head sank on his chest. He covered his eyes.

'You know because you saw the marks you made,' said Mr Saxon, almost singing it. 'You saw the body.'

'Yes,' said Jack without looking up. He started to sob.

'They're all like this,' Mr Saxon commented to Walter. 'Full of self-pity when you catch them out. They don't show any pity for their victims.' He had broken out in a sweat, he was so excited. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead and the ends of his ginger moustache. 'We'd better take a statement now he's admitted it.'

'Well, you won't need me, then,' said Walter. 'You've got a man outside. I can find my own way back, thank you.'

Jack Gordon suddenly looked up and said, 'I'm not the murderer. For the love of God, listen to me. I didn't strangle Katherine. She was my wife.'

Walter glanced towards Mr Saxon, who had retired to a position behind his prisoner. Disbelief was written on Mr Saxon's face. He shook his head. He winked. He tapped his forehead with his forefinger. He said, 'All right, Inspector, if you would rather leave this to me…'

Jack got to his feet and grasped Walter's arm. 'No, please stay and listen. You're the only chance I have.' But as he was speaking he was grabbed from behind by the master-at-arms and thrust back into the chair.

'Something you should learn,' Mr Saxon breathed in Jack's ear as he continued to force his head back with his forearm. 'Never lay a hand on a police officer. It leads to ugly scenes.'

Walter turned towards the door and said, 'Will your assistant open it if I knock?'

'I'll call him,' said Mr Saxon. He released Jack and moved towards Walter's side.

Jack blurted out, 'Inspector Dew, do you think a man would murder his own wife and throw her in the sea?'

Walter's shoulders stiffened. He put out his hand to restrain Mr Saxon from calling his assistant. He turned and said, 'It does sound very unlikely. Very well, I'd better hear what you have to say.' He went back to the table and leaned on it, facing Jack.

Mr Saxon gave vent to his exasperation with a huge sigh.

'I'm a boatman,' said Jack in a more controlled voice. 'I make my living on the ocean, playing cards. If you don't believe me, fetch the deck that is in the top drawer of the dressing table in my stateroom and let me show you how I handle them. Kate was my wife and my working partner.'

'He's lying,' said Mr Saxon. 'He's lying to save his life.'

'She had the mark of a ring on her finger,' said Walter. 'The doctor believed she may have been married.'

'Yes, she always left it behind,' said Jack. 'I can tell you where it is in our flat in Park Terrace. We passed ourselves off as strangers on the ships. People won't take on established pairs. There are too many stories ofcard-sharping.'

'You can't tell me about card-sharping,' said Mr Saxon petulantly. 'I know them all, and you're not one of them.'

Jack was more in possession of himself. He said in a calm voice, 'You know the unsuccessful ones.' He addressed himself to Walter again. 'Our mark was a young American, Paul Westerfield. His father is a millionaire several times over, and the boy isn't short of dollars. I used a girl to lift his wallet '

'Poppy?'said Walter.

Jack's eyes widened. 'That's right.'

'How did you know that?' asked Mr Saxon.

'Go on,' Walter told Jack.

'I took the credit for finding it, and young Westerfield was suitably grateful. He bought me a drink, and while we were together, Kate approached us. She used the blind that she was from the concert committee. It was easy fixing up a game of whist. The boy enlisted his girlfriend Barbara as his partner, and we were away. Kate and I went into our routine. We won a few and lost a few more and got a little shirty with each other to soften up the opposition, and I went off to bed. Kate was supposed to suggest a game of bridge the next night.'