Peter Lovesey - Abracadaver

‘Are you saying they’re above the Law, sir?’

‘Good gracious, no, Sergeant. But the Law takes account of circumstances, and the circumstances into which you insinuated yourselves last Tuesday were quite foreign to your experience. Such private performances are not unknown in London. The patrons know what to expect when they attend, and we receive no complaints about the nature of the entertainment. If there is anything one learns at the Yard about administering the Law it is the importance of discretion. Discretion, gentlemen, discretion in everything.’

This was orthodox Jowett, now. Cribb passed Thackeray a knowing look, almost a wink. ‘So you’d like us to concentrate our investigations on the death of Miss Pinkus, sir, and exercise our discretion over the matter of the midnight shows?’

The inspector nodded contentedly. ‘Precisely, Sergeant. Devote your energies to the matter in hand. It shouldn’t take you long to discover why she killed herself. There’s a houseful of wagging tongues at Kensington ready to give you information. Gossip is part of the music hall tradition. You’ve already got your statements from the Paragon. No need to waste any more time there, eh?’

Cribb shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir. Location of death. We’ll be returning there, for sure.’

‘Sergeant, Sergeant,’ appealed Jowett, waving his pipe at Cribb, ‘where’s the discretion you agreed to exercise? Mr Plunkett has a reputation to keep up. He doesn’t want detectives blundering about his stage.’

Cribb stood up decisively. ‘If that’s the way you see our work, sir . . .’

‘For God’s sake, Sergeant! Don’t take umbrage, man. We’re all members of the same Force, dammit. Surely we’re not so confoundedly sensitive that we can’t speak a few plain words to each other. I simply suggested that you concentrate your inquiries on Philbeach House and leave Mr Plunkett to—’

‘Continue with his charitable work, sir? Yes, I understand you,’ said Cribb, ‘and if it’s an order you’re giving me to lay off Mr Plunkett I’ll not defy it. But I’d be obliged if you’d give it to me as an order, because I’m apt to take suggestions for what they are, and set ’em aside if I don’t see the logic in ’em.’

Jowett sighed. ‘You’re a difficult man, Cribb. Very well. I order you not to enter the Paragon again without consulting me.’

‘Thank you, sir. And while we’re exchanging plain words I’d like to make it clear that blundering about ain’t an accurate description of the way your officers conduct ’emselves. I’m not sure what prompted that remark, sir, but if it’s Constable Thackeray’s part in last Tuesday’s performance that’s in question I should tell you that I take full responsi- bility. It was immaculate detective work, as discreet as you could wish and deserving of the highest commendation. That’ll be in my report, sir.’

‘I shall look forward to reading it, Sergeant,’ said Jowett icily. ‘The expression I used was a mere form of words. I was trying to see things from the point of view of Mr Plunkett. Nothing personal was intended. I have no more to say to you at this stage.’ He indicated that the interview was over by walking to the window and looking out.

‘There is one other matter, sir,’ persisted Cribb. ‘Woolston, the prisoner in Newgate. Stage-illusionist. Drove a sword through his assistant’s leg, if you recall the case.’

‘Dimly,’ answered Jowett without looking round.

‘He’s innocent, sir, if our theories are correct. The charges should be dropped. He was almost certainly destined for Philbeach House and the Paragon. I’ve no doubt that Mr Plunkett—’

‘I’ll look into the matter. Good-day, gentlemen.’

As they emerged into the balm of a soft October drizzle Thackeray was moved to express his gratitude to Cribb. ‘It was handsome of you, Sarge.’

‘What was?’

‘Speaking up for me like that. Immaculate detective-work and all that. I didn’t look upon it as anything special myself.’

‘Nor I,’ said Cribb. ‘But I’m damned if I’ll accept insults from the likes of Jowett.’

They entered Whitehall in silence and stepped out briskly, indistinguishable in their bowlers from the Civil Servants hurrying from the Admiralty to secure early lunches in the pubs around Charing Cross.

‘Do you really think it was suicide, Sarge?’ Thackeray asked eventually.

‘No,’ said Cribb. ‘Never said so either.’

‘But the Inspector did, and you didn’t take him up on it. He seemed to have made up his mind.’

‘His mind stops at suicide,’ said Cribb. ‘Murder’s unthinkable in his situation.’

‘Why should that be, Sarge?’

‘We’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest, Constable, and there’s some pretty big specimens in it.’

‘Members of Parliament?’

‘Yes, and others. There were a couple of faces at the Paragon the other night I couldn’t place for the life of me. Heavily-built fellows with cropped hair and Prussian moustaches, sitting in a box feeding oysters to their doxies. I lost most of a night’s sleep trying to remember where I’d seen ’em. It came to me quite sudden this morning—the Director’s offices at the Yard.’

‘Good Lord!’

‘Now a murder’s going to bring all manner of unwanted publicity to the Paragon if the Press get a sniff of it. It wouldn’t do much for Jowett’s career if the names of Tuesday’s audience became known. Remember all that talk about discretion? So it’s probably best if Jowett continues to think of Lola’s death as suicide. If I mention murder, someone’s liable to panic. You and I might find ourselves back on the beat.’

‘It makes your blood run cold, Sarge.’

Two or three pints of half-and-half were found necessary at this juncture to revive the circulations of both detectives. ‘Do we go to Philbeach House as the Inspector suggested, Sarge?’ Thackeray asked, when he felt Cribb was ready to discuss the case again.

‘I’d have gone there anyway. I need to find out more about the Pinkus sisters and how the other guests regarded ’em. In fact, I want a picture of what really goes on at Philbeach House.’

‘But that’ll take days, Sarge, questioning all them guests.’

‘There’s a short cut,’ said Cribb. ‘If you remember, I received an invitation to return there on a social call.’

‘Mrs Body!’

‘No-one’s better placed to tell me what I need to know. There’s nothing else for it, Thackeray. I’m going to take up Mrs Body’s offer to inspect the box from the old Alhambra.’

‘Her private room? She’ll compromise you for sure. Don’t consider it, Sarge. Why, it’s moral suicide. The Yard hasn’t any right to expect that of you. I’m damned sure Inspector Jowett wouldn’t go.’

‘Jowett hasn’t had the invitation,’ said Cribb. ‘The Yard’s got nothing to do with it. This is my decision absolutely. If I tell the truth, I’m rather looking forward to it.’

This was the man Jowett had labelled a prude . . . Thackeray walked to the bar to order a double whisky.

CHAPTER

13

CRIBB’S INITIATIVE SUFFERED A temporary rebuff that afternoon at Philbeach House. The same battle-scarred manservant who had confronted the detectives on their first visit announced in a tone of finality that the Mistress was engaged. She was not to be disturbed. The visitor should return another afternoon. There the assignation would have foundered if Cribb had not thoughtfully placed his foot against the door. Did he have a visiting-card then? He had no card, but his C.I.D. identification was proof of respectability. Was this an official visit? No, social: Mrs Body had invited him to call. In that case he might wait inside, but there was no certainty she would see him. She could not be disturbed on any account before tea-time.