Реймонд Маршалл - The Paw in the Bottle

‘Was that Harry shooting?’ Theo asked. ‘Did he kill anyone?’

‘We don’t know. It depends if this is his gun.’

Theo closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

‘It’s his gun all right. Who did he shoot?’

‘Are you sure?’ Dawson demanded.

‘Cos I’m sure,’ Theo lied. ‘I didn’t want him to carry a gun. But he wouldn’t listen. He said he’d kill anyone who got in his way.’

‘Will you sign a statement?’ Dawson asked quietly.

Theo nodded. There was a glazed look in his eyes now.

‘You’d better hurry,’ he said. ‘I ain’t going to last long.’

Dawson was already scribbling in his notebook. He got Theo to sign the statement after a little difficulty.

Theo was dead by the time the ambulance arrived.

They were bringing Harry Gleb down in the lift as Dawson re-entered the lobby of Park Way. Harry was handcuffed to a burly plain-clothes man. Another detective walked just behind him.

Harry’s face was livid. When he saw Dawson, the automatic pistol in his hand, he made a dive towards him, only to be roughly jerked back by his escort.

‘I didn’t do it, Dawson!’ he cried in a cracked, despairing voice. ‘It’s not my gun. I’ve never had a gun. You know me; I wouldn’t do a thing like that. For God’s sake, Dawson, don’t pin this on me. I didn’t do it!’

Dawson’s hard blue eyes surveyed Harry up and down.

‘Don’t give me that stuff, Gleb,’ he said roughly. ‘Your little pal, Theo, gave you away. I’ve got a signed statement from him swearing the gun’s yours. You’ve pulled one job too many, Harry. This is your last little effort.’

‘He’s lying!’ Harry shouted. ‘Bring him here! I’ll make the rat speak the truth! Bring him here!’

‘He’s dead,’ Dawson said brutally, then, turning to the escort, he went on, ‘Take him away.’

‘Dead?’ Harry cried, then as the escort began to hustle him to the door he started to struggle like a madman, and it was all the two detectives could do to get him out of the lobby and into the waiting police car.

Newspaper reporters with a battery of cameras were waiting outside and the darkness was split open by the flash-bulbs exploding as they photographed his struggling exit. His wailing, protesting voice could be heard even as the car drove rapidly away.

Garson, Dawson’s assistant, came up to Dawson.

‘Mr. Wesley’s arrived,’ he said in a low voice. ‘He’s up there now.’

Dawson nodded.

‘What I want to know is how the devil she got through the cordon?’ he said, rubbing his heavy jaw. ‘And why did she come back on her own like that?’

‘I didn’t question Mr. Wesley,’ Garson said. ‘He’s a bit knocked over. I thought I’d give him a moment or so to recover. Will you question him, sir, or shall I?’

‘I’ll see him,’ Dawson said grimly. ‘There’s going to be a hell of a row about this, Garson. We had the place surrounded and we knew what Gleb was up to and we calmly let him shoot her. She’s a well-known figure, too. Just wait until the papers know what’s happened. They’re already asking how it is we were on the spot before the robbery. What’s happened to the girl, Holland?’

‘She’s still up there. The M.O.’s having a look at her.’

Dawson walked over to the lift. Garson followed him.

‘Theo’s dead,’ Dawson said. ‘Broke his back. The little horror had it coming to him. Jackson’s looking after the remains.’

They rode up in the lift.

‘How did Wesley take it?’ Dawson asked abruptly.

‘Seemed knocked right out. He came in quietly. I didn’t notice him at first. There was a lot going on. The body hadn’t been moved and he practically stepped on it. Then he bent down and touched her just as I reached him. It gave him a pretty horrible jolt. I took him along to his study and left him I thought I’d let him get over it.’

‘Well, I don’t think there was much love lost between those two,’ Dawson said. ‘He was planning to make Holland his mistress. From what I’ve heard Blanche Wesley was a bit of a bitch. But all the same it isn’t funny to come home and fall over the dead body of your wife, is it?’

He stepped from the lift and walked in through the front door of Wesley’s flat.

Blanche’s body still lay where it had fallen. Police photographs were busy taking photographs and finger-print men were working in the hall.

Dawson didn’t stop, but went immediately to Wesley’s study.

Wesley was sitting in an arm-chair, his hands folded in his lap, his face white and set. He turned his head as Dawson came in. The black-lensed glasses emphasized his pallor.

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

‘Dawson. Bad business, sir. I can’t say how sorry I am.’

Wesley nodded.

‘Yes.’ His voice sounded flat. ‘Couldn’t your men have stopped her coming in?’

‘They had no instructions to stop anyone entering the building, only to prevent anyone leaving,’ Dawson reminded him. ‘None of my men saw Mrs. Wesley come in. If they had and had known who she was they would have stopped her. We had no idea she was in the fiat. Why did she return?’

Wesley made a little gesture. It revealed a controlled despair.

‘We quarrelled,’ he said. ‘To tell the truth, Inspector, we didn’t get on well together. In many ways my wife was very difficult to live with. She had no patience with my blindness, and I suppose I’m not particularly easy myself.’ He hesitated, went on. ‘She drank a bit, and when she was like that she had a pretty violent temper. She had been drinking rather heavily before we started for the theatre. In the cab we got into one of those interminable arguments that always seem to be cropping up between us. It developed into a heated quarrel, and as I was paying off the driver she left me. I had no idea she had gone until I had got into the theatre. It is very difficult, as you can imagine, for a blind man to be left suddenly high and dry in the middle of a crush of people, all moving to their seats. I left her ticket with the programme seller, thinking she might have gone to the bar or the ladies’ room. But after the curtain had gone up, and she hadn’t come to claim her seat, I guessed she didn’t intend to see the show. I decided to go to my club. Then it occurred to me that she might have returned here and I became alarmed. I had some difficulty in getting a taxi. At last someone took pity on me and stopped one for me. When I arrived here I learned she... she—’ He broke off and turned away.

‘But how did she get in? No one saw her. Can you explain that?’

‘I think so. I suppose she told the taxi driver to drop her at the garage entrance. The garage of this building is below ground and has a separate entrance. You can take the lift from the garage to our flat without entering the hall. She often does that.’

‘But no taxis were allowed through after Gleb was in the flat.’

‘Perhaps she walked. I don’t know. I’m just making suggestions.’

Dawson stared at him.

‘Oh, yes, I understand that. I didn’t know about the garage. I’d better find out if anyone saw her in there. Well, we’ve got the man who did it. He won’t get away with it.’

Wesley seemed to turn a shade paler.

‘If there’s nothing more, Inspector, perhaps you wouldn’t mind leaving me? This has been a bit of a shock.’

‘Of course,’ Dawson returned, suddenly feeling sorry for him. ‘We’ll try not to bother you. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘If you see Gerridge — he’s my secretary — tell him to come to me,’ Wesley said. ‘He should be in in a little while.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Dawson said, turned to the door.