Barry Maitland - The Marx Sisters

‘Who did he tell you he was?’

‘He didn’t, and he said I couldn’t contact him, and this really presented a problem for me. You see, the chain from Marx forward to the present had been broken. I mean I could readily accept that an old inscribed book on the shelf of Karl Marx’s great-granddaughter would be genuine, but how could I be sure the same would be true of a book sold to me by a mysterious dealer who wouldn’t identify himself? The photocopies did look identical to those I’d seen in Eleanor’s room that day, but for all I knew he might have had half a dozen versions forged into ordinary copies of those books, which would be worth only a few hundred dollars, and be selling them to universities around the world. Ever since the Hitler Diaries fiasco we’ve all been paranoid.

‘The only way I could see of testing him was to tell him something about the manuscript of which Meredith had given me that first page. So the next time he called me I said that that was what I was really interested in, and if it was what I expected, it would be worth hundreds of thousands to my research sponsors. But I didn’t mention the word Endziel, or my theory about the fourth volume of Das Kapital , and I could see no way that anyone could work that out in order to forge something.

‘We arranged that I would come over to London this week to see the books and anything else he might have been able to get hold of, and he would contact me here at the Connaught. He never did, but when I saw a newspaper on Thursday saying that the second sister had been murdered, I took fright and booked out on the next available flight.’

‘You assumed he would have been responsible?’

‘Well, it was one hell of a coincidence if he wasn’t.’

‘If what you say is true, Dr Naismith, and the manuscript of your fourth volume does exist, and your mystery dealer doesn’t have it, then the remaining sister, Peg Blythe, is still very much at risk.’

‘Yes. I wish I could say that that was my reason for telling you all this now.’

‘But instead you just wanted to go home.’

‘Actually, no.’ She looked up at Brock defiantly. ‘The reason is that I realized that if the dealer, or anybody else for that matter, ever does get their hands on the manuscript, the thing that’s going to prove its provenance-its unbroken line back to Karl Marx-is your investigation. You may think that you’re trying to find a murderer, Chief Inspector, but to my mind you’re doing something much more important. You may find Karl Marx’s Endziel, and when you do, I’d like to be around.’

Bren Gurney was back in top gear when Brock and Kathy returned to Jerusalem Lane, issuing instructions over the phone in Brock’s office while munching something held in his big paw.

‘Brass monkey weather,’ Brock complained as they bustled in. He stopped and sniffed the air. ‘That bacon sandwich smells good, Bren. Where’d it come from?’

‘Mrs Rosenfeldt’s Sandwich Bar next door, chief.’ Gurney put down the phone. ‘Chip butties and mushy peas the specialites de la maison.’

‘What! That’s sacrilege! What happened to Rosenfeldt’s Continental Deli?’

‘Swept away by market forces, chief. She did a careful market survey among the DCs here and the lads on the site over the road, got a few recipes from them, did a few sample tastings, and now she’s flogging greasy bangers and mugs of hot soup as fast as she can churn them out. She’s taken on two girls and she’s making a killing.’

‘Unfortunate choice of words,’ Kathy said, smiling.

‘You’re allowed to use phrases like that when you’re in Serious Crime, love. Sets people’s teeth on edge.’

‘Never mind about that,’ Brock said gruffly. ‘Get someone to fetch me one of those bacon sandwiches. No, better make it two.’

‘Yuck.’ Kathy curled her lip in disgust, and Brock began shuffling guiltily through the mail on his desk.

When Gurney returned, Kathy told him about their meeting with Judith Naismith.

‘You believe her?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Yes, I do. At least I believe that what she told us was probably true, although it may not be all she knows. I think she sees us now as being at least a possible route to the stuff she wants, and probably the only way of authenticating it when it turns up.’

‘Do you have a list?’

Kathy gave him the list of book titles that Judith had written out for them.

‘Mmm,’ Brock said, speaking with his mouth full. ‘Better get it typed up and some teams out straight away. Every second-hand and antique book dealer. That’s got to be top priority.’

Kathy nodded.

‘I don’t know.’ Gurney was still unconvinced.

‘A dozen books, Bren,’ Brock said, ‘worth five thousand pounds each. That’s a reasonable motive for putting a couple of old ladies to sleep.’

‘But so traceable,’ Bren objected. ‘What professional dealer is going to get involved once they realize where they’ve come from?’

‘Hence the need to contact Judith Naismith. Get rid of them out of the country.’

‘But what do we really know about this dealer? That he’s male and that he knew how to contact Bob Jones. How? In fact how do we know it wasn’t Bob Jones?’

Kathy shook her head doubtfully.

‘All right, then,’ Bren continued, the bit between his teeth, ‘whoever it is, he contacts Naismith and she tells him that she really wants something else, something that Meredith had that was even more valuable than the books. A manuscript, probably wrapped up in old newspapers or something so you wouldn’t even realize you had it. What does he do? He tries the sisters, and they tell him they haven’t got anything and to get lost. So then he contacts…?’ Gurney raised his eyebrows and looked at Kathy.

‘Meredith’s next of kin,’ Kathy said.

‘Mr Terry Winter, exactly.’ Gurney folded his arms with satisfaction. ‘So now our Terry knows about the manuscript. And he knows he doesn’t have it. So it’s got to be at Jerusalem Lane. He tries every way to get in there to search for it, but the old dears hardly ever go out. Eventually, as the date for Naismith’s trip gets closer, he has to break into his own house in Chislehurst to get his keys to Jerusalem Lane, and then pay his aunts a night-time visit. Eleanor’s the best bet for having the stuff. It was probably in a suitcase under her bed. She wakes up and sees him groping around, and he has to kill her to silence her. Then he makes off with the manuscript. It’s too late to get to Naismith or the book dealer by this stage, but it doesn’t really matter. He can wait. And the beauty is that when he finally does produce it, he can say he inherited it directly from his mother, and Naismith’s provenance is intact. No wonder he can afford Connell!’

Brock wiped his mouth and beard with a paper napkin appreciatively. ‘Good as far as it goes, Bren. Where is the manuscript now, then?’

‘In a security box in the bank, or a left-luggage locker, or with a friend-the missing Geraldine maybe. It’s the first murder that bothers you in casting Winter as the villain, isn’t it, chief?’

Brock nodded. ‘Winter is a spoilt boy who’s never really grown up. I think his mum was still number one. He might try to manipulate her, exploit her, even bully her, but I can’t see him killing her. And besides, he’s got a plausible witness who says he was never within five miles of Jerusalem Lane at the relevant time.’

‘All right. But we’ve been assuming that both sisters were killed by the same person. Why? If Winter did the second, he would want it to look like the first, for which he has an alibi, right?’

‘Who killed Meredith, then?’

‘I don’t know. I think we’ve got to start from the beginning again with that one.’