Francis Durbridge - Paul Temple and the Margo Mystery

As the engine almost stalled the other man rammed the lever with a crunch into a lower gear. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘I think you know what I’m talking about. You’ve been following that car all the way from Eaton Square. Now I suggest you drive into the Park – we can have a little talk there.’

‘I—’ He started to protest again, then suddenly caved in. ‘Yes, all right.’

‘I should switch the engine off, Mr Wyman.’

Docile now, Tony Wyman reached forward and turned the key. Following Temple’s instructions he had driven into Hyde Park and stopped on a yellow line on the stretch parallel to Bayswater Road.

‘You recognised me, then?’

‘Yes, I recognised you.’ Temple smiled. It would have taken more than a pair of dark glasses to disguise the pop singer, with his outrageous hairstyle. ‘Now, what can I do for you? Why are you following us around?’

‘I’ve read a lot about you in the papers, Mr Temple, and I thought – well, I’m in dead trouble, see? And I thought maybe you could sort of give me a line. I hung around your flat hoping to catch you, but I couldn’t pluck up enough courage to…’

‘All right, so you have a problem?’ Temple was watching a yellow delivery van with a rent-a-van sign painted on the side, which had cruised past slowly and stopped a couple of hundred yards further down.

‘It’s the police, Mr Temple. They’ve put the wind up me. That Superintendent Raine gave me a proper going over. Practically accused me of doin’ the murder.’

‘You mean Julia Kelburn?’

‘Yes, and I never even knew she’d been killed, straight I didn’t. That chap Raine was at me for the best part of an hour, but all I could tell him was that I finished at the club just after one and went straight home.’

‘Just how friendly were you with Julia Kelburn?’

‘Depends what you mean by friendly.’

‘How did you meet her?’

‘Some of the gang – the reg’lars – brought her to the club one night. She was dressed all sloppy like with her hair all combed up and dyed. I thought at first she was one of them punks. But we got talkin’ a bit and she seemed to go for me. Next time she come in, I hardly knew her. She looked like a film star.’

‘Did you know her father was well off?’

Down the road the yellow van was taking advantage of a lull in the traffic to make a three-point turn.

‘Well, not at first – she never let on. But later she started throwing the lolly around and I guessed somebody had the dough. She wasn’t a bad kid. I was fond of her in a funny sort of way, but – well, she started getting in my hair. Hanging around the club, meeting me in restaurants, waiting for me at the TV studios – you know how it is.’

‘No, I don’t know how it is. You tell me.’

‘Well, you know – she was a bit of a mixed-up kid. Bit dotty, perhaps, I don’t know. Spent quids with one of those psychiwhatsits.’

Gathering speed, the yellow van was now heading back towards the parked Escort.

‘Oh – who told you that?’

‘She did. She used to visit a shrink in Wimpole Street. Benkaray, I think the name was. Yes, that’s right – Dr Benkaray.’

‘Did you tell the Superintendent about this?’

‘No, I didn’t tell him any more than was necessary.’

Keeping an eye on the yellow van, Temple had a hand on the door lever.

‘I know the police only too well. When I was a kid in Bermondsey I –’ Wyman broke off and his voice rose to a falsetto shriek. ‘Hi, look at this van!’ The truck had suddenly veered left, just as if a steering linkage had broken, but instead of braking the driver was accelerating. ‘He’s coming straight for us!’

Temple flung his door open and yelled: ‘Get out, quick!’

He dived out through the door, hitting the grass with his shoulder and rolling over. As he went he heard Wyman cursing his sticking door. There came the sickening thud of metal on metal, the tinkling of glass, a hiss of steam, followed by a high-pitched scream of agony.

A passing taxi driver had seen the accident and had the good sense to drive straight to the nearest call-box and dial 999. A police car, ambulance and fire brigade van were there within minutes. While the ambulance men slid the truck driver into their vehicle and the firemen cut Wyman free of the tangled wreckage of the car, Temple gave the police a preliminary report of the incident.

‘We’ll want you to give us a written statement, sir,’ the patrolman said.

‘Yes, I know. But in the meantime I suggest you call Superintendent Raine at Scotland Yard. Tell him someone just damn nearly killed Tony Wyman and Paul Temple.’

Raine was at Paddington Hospital within ten minutes of Temple arriving there in the police car. Despite the fuss he had made, Tony Wyman was not seriously injured. He had escaped with a couple of broken fingers, some nasty cuts and a mass of bruises. According to the doctor who had attended him he would not be detained in hospital.

‘That must have been quite a spectacular little crash,’ Raine said.

‘It was – and a deliberate one too.’

‘A good thing you managed to get clear.’

‘I was dead lucky. What have they done with that truck driver?’

‘He’s at Paddington Green police station. Got away with a few bruises and a cut cheek. He was carrying his licence so we know who he is. A Scot, name of Ted Angus.’

‘Ted Angus?’

‘Do you know him?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I’ve been on to Glasgow. They know him but have never been able to pin anything on him. He’s done all sorts of jobs. Barker in a fairground, Wall of Death rider. May have been mixed up in a couple of smash-and-grab jobs but always got clear. You know, I hardly think it was you he was after. It was Wyman’s car.’

‘Maybe you’re right. Are you going to charge him?’

‘We can only hold him for an hour or two but I intend to try and make him talk. You can come along if you feel up to it.’

‘Oh, I’m up to it. Just give me a moment to ’phone my wife.’

But even Raine’s and Temple’s questioning failed to extract any admission from the tough little Scot. His story was that the steering had broken and he was sticking to that, knowing full well the whole front of the truck was smashed.

‘What do you make of him?’ Temple asked, as the cell door was closed on Angus. He was still protesting vociferously at being ‘treated like a criminal’.

‘About as straight as the Tower of Pisa, but we’re still going to have to let him go.’

The Temples were just finishing tea when Charlie came in to announce that a Mrs Kelburn had called.

‘Show her in, Charlie. And take this tray away.’

‘Are you expecting Laura?’ Steve asked.

‘No, but I did ask her to find out where Julia bought her clothes.’

Laura Kelburn was still wearing the same dark suit, but she had added a pair of ear-rings and a gold neck-chain.

‘No, I won’t, thank you, Mr Temple,’ she said, in reply to the offer of a drink. ‘I’m in rather a hurry. I’m dining with some people in Hampstead. Mr Temple, I’ve made one or two enquiries about Julia’s clothes, and I’ve been through her wardrobe. There’s nothing with the name Margo on it, but I’ve discovered that most of her clothes – most of the respectable clothes, at any rate – were bought from a shop in Ogden Street called Daphne Drake Limited. You must have heard of it, Steve.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard of it. It’s a very good shop.’

‘Did Julia have many clothes?’ Temple asked.

‘Yes, she did, but she was a frightfully erratic sort of person. She’d probably wear nothing but jeans and a sweater for a month or so, and then suddenly buy herself half a dozen dresses and suits. There was no telling what she’d do. Unfortunately, it wasn’t only her clothes that she was erratic about.’