Peter Lovesey - Abracadaver

With a simper and a sigh Mrs Body pulled her peignoir about her and withdrew. Cribb closed the door after her and stood with his back resting against it for several seconds.

‘It’s a scandal,’ said Albert’s mother, depositing Beaconsfield on a chair.

‘What’s that, Ma’am?’

‘Why, that bold-faced hussy masquerading as housekeeper. She has no notion at all how to cater for people of taste. She is a charlatan, Sergeant. If the owner of this house knew what was going on here in his name, she would soon be back on the streets where she belongs. The vapours! Did she look as though there was the least thing wrong with her?’

‘Perhaps she was a trifle feverish,’ said Cribb.

‘Over-rouged. She’s no more ill than you or I. Her curiosity got the better of her when she heard the commotion downstairs. Now that she’s satisfied, she won’t be down again for days. I shall be obliged to carry out her duties.’

‘That’s very handsome of you, Ma’am. Must be appreciated by the other residents. But the experience won’t be wasted, I dare say.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Ma’am, I was reflecting that if Mrs Body lost her position for any reason, and you were carrying out the duties so capably—as Mr Fagan appeared to imply—it would seem prudent on the part of Sir Douglas Butterleigh to offer you the position.’

‘Really?’ Albert’s mother beamed altruistically at Cribb. ‘The thought had not occurred to me. But there must come a time, of course, when I shall have to consider retiring from the boards. A widowed woman must think of her future.’

‘Naturally,’ said Cribb. ‘Come to think of it, Mr Plunkett might be disposed to put in a word on your behalf. That’s if his daughter hasn’t come to any harm, of course. You saw Miss Blake when she visited Albert yesterday, I believe?’

Albert’s mother blinked at the sudden swerve in the conversation. ‘Er—yes, I did.’

‘She seemed quite well, did she?’

‘Oh yes. She is quite attached to my Albert, I fancy.’

‘Sounds like it, Ma’am. She’s shown a lot of concern about his injury, I understand, bringing him embrocation and the like.’

‘That’s quite correct, Sergeant. Miss Blake will make a very agreeable wife, don’t you think?’

‘If she’s still alive, Ma’am,’ said Cribb. ‘Did you hear her say anything that might help us to find her—whether she had anyone else to visit, for example?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help at all. The two young people met in the drawing-room, and you know how large that is. I was there as chaperon—a rule of the house—and I remained at the opposite end, out of earshot, mending a pair of Albert’s tights. One observes decorum, but one tries not to intrude, you understand. The only words I heard from Miss Blake were the formalities at the beginning and end of the visit. She left soon after four o’clock. You don’t really believe this is connected with the death of Lola Pinkus, do you?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ asked Cribb.

‘Lola was a totally different class of person, as brazen as any I’ve met on the halls, Sergeant. As a cheap figurante, I’ve no doubt she performed a useful function, but she was good for nothing else. Her behaviour here was unpardonable. You could tell the Sergeant, couldn’t you, Dizzie?’

Beaconsfield, panting rhythmically on his chair, almost appeared to nod.

‘I expect you’re referring to the incident with the meringue, Ma’am,’ ventured Cribb.

‘You heard about that? She was a Jezebel, Sergeant,’ continued Albert’s mother, inspired to more vituperative flights, ‘a mischief-maker and a trifler with men’s affections, too. Oh, I’ve a lot of sympathy for the poor wretch who took it upon himself to put an end to that young woman’s capers.’

Cribb got up to answer a tap on the door. Thackeray and Major Chick were there. From the state of their clothes the search had left nothing unturned.

‘We’ve been right through the house, Sarge. Basement to attic, including Mrs Body’s rooms.’

‘So I understand.’

‘And the outbuildings. We found no-one, Sarge. I’m sure she ain’t here.’

‘No evidence of recent digging in the garden, either, so far as I could make out in the blasted fog,’ said the Major, ruefully.

‘But I told you that she left here yesterday afternoon,’ insisted Albert’s mother. ‘If you would listen—’

She was interrupted by a loud ringing at the front door.

‘Answer that, Thackeray,’ ordered Cribb. He asked the Major to escort Albert’s mother back to the drawing-room.

The visitor was Plunkett, ashen-faced. He sank into a chair without removing his coat.

‘What can we do for you, sir?’ asked Cribb.

‘I must speak to Albert, the strong man—in private. It is a matter of the gravest urgency.’

‘The gravest urgency?’ Cribb tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets in the manner of a farmer assessing a pen of sheep. ‘What would that be, then—something pertaining to your daughter’s disappearance?’

‘It’s no concern of yours.’

Cribb shook his head slowly. ‘This time it is, sir. You can see Albert if you wish, but I’ll be present, and Constable Thackeray. I’ve reason to believe what’s happened to your daughter is closely connected with the case I’m conducting at present, into the death of Miss Lola Pinkus.’

Plunkett started at the name. ‘What? You believe that the murderer of that girl—’

‘I believe it so strongly, Mr Plunkett, that I demand to hear what you’ve got to say to Albert, and I don’t mind if you protest to my Inspector or the Chief Superintendent or the Director of Criminal Investigations himself. Charitable peep-shows may be out of the law’s reach, but killers of young women are not. Fetch Albert,’ he told Thackeray, ‘and keep all the others out, including the Major.’

Plunkett wheeled round in his chair as though to stop Thackeray, but found no words. Instead, he turned back to the table and slumped over it, his fingers clawing at his hair.

‘I won’t mince words,’ said Cribb. ‘I’ve little sympathy for you, Mr Plunkett. I went to a deal of trouble to learn about the methods you employ to stock your music hall with performers. In the end I got enough to paper the walls of the Paragon with charge-sheets. But, by God, those walls are protected, aren’t they? All I got for my trouble was a sizeable flea in my ear from Scotland Yard. But it’s a queer sort of world, ain’t it? You’re going to have my help in finding your daughter, whether you want it or not. Now that’s altruism, ain’t it? Better not waste any more time, then. It’s a letter you’ve got, is it?’

A murmur from Plunkett confirmed that it was.

Thackeray returned with Albert, clearly nervous at the prospect of a second interrogation. He and Plunkett exchanged nods.

‘Now, sir,’ said Cribb.

Plunkett swore violently, more at his own predicament than Cribb’s intransigence. Then he took a letter from his breast-pocket. ‘This came by the second post. You had better read it.’ After a pause, he added, ‘All of you.’

Albert spread the two sheets of writing-paper on the table so that their contents were clear to all:

Friday

My dearest Papa,

By now you will know that after my visit to Albert this afternoon I did not reach home. The reason is that I have been abducted and am being held captive until arrangements can be made for my release. I want to assure you, Papa, that I am unharmed so far, and have been treated with civility. As proof, I am permitted to write this letter to you, sections of which I am allowed to say will be dictated for me to write in my own hand. A lock of my hair is to be included with the letter as further evidence of my identity.