Simon Tolkien - Orders from Berlin

Now, without warning, she was faced with a choice between lying to her husband and not going to her meeting with Seaforth. She had no means of contacting Seaforth to change the time, and she was sure he would assume that she’d decided not to see him if she didn’t show up. Moments before, she had been contemplating staying away, but she felt differently now that the decision was being forced on her. Talking to Seaforth for a few minutes had enabled her to find out more about her father than she had discovered in all the years he was alive, and Seaforth had told her at the bus stop that he had more to tell her. She didn’t trust Seaforth. How could she, when he had descended on her out of the blue without giving any adequate reason for his sudden interest? But she couldn’t give up on the chance to know more about her father, even if the price was lying — something she had always hated doing.

‘I can’t go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got plans.’

‘What plans?’ asked Bertram, sounding annoyed. ‘What are you doing?’ He seemed surprised that she should be doing anything, which spoke volumes, she thought, about what he thought her life was worth.

‘I’m seeing someone at twelve o’clock for lunch — my mother’s cousin. She was at the funeral,’ Ava lied, naming the first person who came into her head. But it was a bad choice.

‘Do you mean Mrs Willoughby?’ asked Bertram. ‘I thought she was only up in London for the day.’

‘No, she said she was staying on. And I’ve got no way of getting in touch with her to rearrange, so you’ll have to change the time with the solicitor. I can go later in the afternoon if you like.’

‘No, we’ll go in the morning. Mr Parker offered me an earlier time when we spoke, but I thought twelve would be better. I should have talked to you first, I suppose,’ he said grudgingly.

Ava breathed a sigh of relief. She’d got what she wanted, but she knew that the lie had moved her into uncharted territory. Before it, she could tell herself that there was nothing improper in seeing Seaforth, as he had important information to give her. Now it felt as if she were committing herself to something irretrievable — an act of betrayal.

At the police station, they were put into separate rooms and seen by separate policemen. Trave saw Ava. He waited, watching her carefully while she read through her statement. He sensed the tension in her. It was as if she were coiled up, hiding inside an inadequate shell, trying not to be noticed. But then when she glanced up from her reading, the flash of her bright green eyes made her seem an entirely different person — vivid and alive.

‘How have you been?’ he asked when she’d finished signing.

‘Surviving,’ she said with a wry smile, touched by the genuine concern in his voice. ‘The funeral wasn’t easy, but you had a ringside seat for that.’

‘I’m sorry. I should have told you I was coming,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘My inspector sent me. It’s standard procedure in these cases.’

‘Don’t worry — the more the merrier,’ she said with grim humour. ‘I’m just glad it’s over.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Trave, nodding. ‘Who was the man arguing with Mr Thorn? Do you know him?’

‘No, that was the first time I’d met him. His name’s Charles Seaforth. He worked with my father.’

‘And Mr Thorn and he don’t get on?’

‘No, apparently not,’ said Ava. She looked for a moment as if she were about to say more, but then she lowered her eyes. Part of her wanted to tell Trave about her encounter with Seaforth earlier in the day, but she resisted the temptation. It wasn’t as though she knew anything about the murder that the police didn’t, or at least not yet. And she felt obscurely that she wouldn’t be able to go through with her meeting with Seaforth the next day if it became public knowledge. She wanted to hear what he had to say. Afterwards she could decide what she should do with the information.

‘Have you seen this before?’ asked Trave, taking out a plastic evidence bag and laying it on the table between them. It contained a single black cuff link with a small gold crown embossed in the centre.

Ava looked at it carefully and then shook her head. ‘I don’t recognize it,’ she said. ‘Where’s it from?’

‘We found it on the landing outside your father’s flat, close to where he must have been struggling before he fell. It had rolled into a corner.’

‘Well, it could have been his, I suppose. My father liked his ties and cuff links, just like my husband. I wouldn’t necessarily recognize every one he had.’

‘We don’t think it was your father’s,’ Trave said quietly. ‘We’ve been through all his belongings and there’s no other cuff link that matches this one.’

‘So you think it belonged to the man who killed him — that my father tore it from his attacker’s sleeve while they were struggling?’ said Ava, looking back down at the cuff link with fascination. It seemed strange that something so small could become so significant.

‘Quite possibly,’ said Trave, watching Ava closely. ‘You mentioned that your husband likes cuff links. Could this be one of his?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. Is Bertie a suspect? Is that what you’re saying?’ Ava’s voice rose in sudden panic and she gripped the edge of the table.

Instinctively, Trave leant forward and put his hand over Ava’s for a moment, trying to reassure her. ‘I know this is difficult, but please try to stay calm,’ he said. ‘We’re looking at every possibility because that’s our job. As soon as we have some news, you’ll be the first to know.’

Ava nodded, visibly trying to control her anxiety.

‘But in the meantime, I think it would be best if we kept this evidence between ourselves …’

‘Don’t tell Bertie, you mean?’

‘Yes, if you don’t mind.’

‘All right, but Mr Trave …’

‘Yes?’

‘Please get this right. Find the man who killed my father — the right man, so you’re sure. Promise me you won’t leave any stone unturned.’

Ava looked at Trave hard, waiting with her green eyes fixed on his until he nodded his assent.

‘Well, did she recognize it?’ asked Quaid when Trave returned to their shared office after showing Ava and Bertram out.

Trave shook his head.

‘Pity,’ said Quaid. ‘But I’d still bet my bottom dollar it’s his. Do you think she’ll tell him about it?’

‘She said she wouldn’t.’

‘And did you believe her?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Well, it probably won’t make any difference one way or the other. We’ll see if we can dig up anything more on our friend the medicine man, tomorrow, and then, whatever happens, I’ll apply for a search warrant and we can find out what he’s got hidden away. I reckon we’ll find a lot more than just the matching cuff link.’

‘So you’re sure he’s guilty?’

‘Yes, have been from the moment I clapped eyes on him. I’ve got a nose for criminals, remember? And murderers are my speciality.’

‘But don’t you think we should look at other possibilities, even if just to eliminate them?’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, did you find out anything about what happens at that place where Morrison used to work — 59 Broadway?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. It’s exactly as I thought — the building’s a department of the War Office and the people there don’t need us poking our noses in where we’re not wanted.’

‘You were told to stay away?’

‘No, of course I wasn’t,’ said Quaid irritably. ‘I’ve got the right to take a search team into Buckingham Palace if that’s what a case requires, but this one doesn’t. We don’t need to complicate the investigation just for the sake of it, not when we’ve got the murderer staring us in the face. I’ve already told you that.’