John Creasey - Alibi

“Yes, sir,” Roger said, very quietly. “I have been in the Force for twenty-six years. And in countless cases I have managed to get results by taking some risks. Once that alibi evidence was given, the damage was done, and I felt impelled to try to discredit the witness. The very fact that a junior partner of a highly reputable firm of solicitors—”

“ That ’ s enough, West! ” roared the commissioner. “Rules are rules, and by God I’ll have you know it !”

“Commissioner,” Coppell interrupted, in a strangely mild voice for him, “West found the girl witness in another man’s bed this morning. The bed of a man who ran down and killed one of the prosecution’s witnesses in the Rapelli case.”

The commissioner stared, his lips parted; his expression one of complete bafflement. Coppell, having said his” piece, crossed his thick legs and fell silent. Roger felt an unexpected surge of appreciation, of gratitude; but he was far from being out of the wood yet. He would have to be extremely careful what he said and how he said it; the trouble was that although he knew he had stuck his neck out and that the commissioner’s manner wasn’t at all unjustified, he himself was seething with resentment, and it would be difficult to keep a hold on his tongue. He tried to relax—eyes, lips, set of his chin and shoulders, but the effort wasn’t very successful.

Then he saw the change of expression in the commissioner’s eyes. An “I’ve got him” look which he had seen in the eyes of senior officers often, when he had been younger. He steeled himself for whatever was coming.

“You found the girl in another man’s bed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In his bedroom, presumably.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was she asleep? Awake? Was the man with her?”

“She was alone, sir.”

“And how many police officers did you have with you?”

“None, sir.”

“Ah.” The commissioner looked triumphant. “The girl was in bed—by herself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were in the room, unaccompanied by any police officers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“No, sir,” Roger stated. “Two men, one a photographer, were in the passage outside.”

The commissioner rode that like a cruiser riding an Atlantic wave; he ignored it.

“Was the door locked or unlocked?”

“Locked, sir.”

“I see, Superintendent. You, a police officer—” He gulped. “Did you have a warrant to search the room?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Had you been freely admitted to this young woman’s room?”

“No, sir,” Roger said very stiffly. His mouth was dry, his temper high, and his heart was in his boots. The commissioner was conducting this examination as if it were a court-martial, and it was not material that this kind of aggressive questioning was almost unique—that a commissioner might be called upon to decide on what kind of disciplinary action should be taken was permissible, but such direct participation was unheard of.

“So,” said the commissioner, looking at Coppell. “Not satisfied with a public display of questionable behaviour, you entered a room occupied by a young lady unbidden and alone. Commander, I propose to suspend Superintendent West from duty for an indefinite period, until in fact his conduct of this case can be fully investigated.”

Roger clenched his teeth, and met the older man’s gaze when it switched back to him. Coppell caught his breath with a curiously choking noise. Roger waited for dismissal, still not saying a word. If he once opened his lips a torrent would spill out.

“Ach—sir,” Coppell choked.

“Yes, Commander?”

“West was—ah—shot at.”

“By the woman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t I understand that the laws of this country make it justifiable to shoot or otherwise attack an intruder in his own home?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“Shall we discuss this matter in private, Commander?”

“Ah—if you say so, sir. But I think it would be a great -. disservice to suspend Superintendent West at this juncture.”

Roger was as astounded as the commissioner, who obviously could not believe his ears. He turned open- mouthed towards Coppell, who was now on his feet. And Roger, glancing at Coppell, saw a beading of perspiration at his forehead and upper lip, although it was not really hot in here.

“Indeed,” the commissioner said. “Wait outside, Superintendent,” he added to Roger.

Roger drew a very deep breath, turned smartly, and went towards the door. He did not glance at Coppell, but went out, closing the door softly behind him.

He was in a passage in an unfamiliar part of the new Yard building. This was the Administrative Section, where C.I.D. men seldom came, and he had not been here before. The passage was wide, the floor carpeted, the walls panelled. There were chairs and couches, all of brown leather. He moistened his lips and wished above all things for a drink, but there was not even a cloakroom in sight. He walked stiffly to the end of the passage and saw a door marked Gentlemen. He went in, and found paper cups and a drinking-fountain. He rinsed his mouth with cold water several times, then drank a little before returning to the other passage. The commissioner’s door was still closed, he hadn’t been gone for three minutes. He began to walk up and down, stiffly; began feeling again. He had been quite numbed. Shock, of course. Shock, and repressed resentment and anger. The commissioner had behaved like the governor of a prison rather than the Chief of Police.

Well—what had he done?

There wasn’t any argument about it, though: by going to that room and using the key and entering by himself, he had driven roughshod over regulations. Even though, had the room been empty, there would have been no trouble, he was still in the wrong, and he couldn’t really blame the commissioner for saying so.

Two men and a girl passed, all of them startled at the sight of him; C.I.D. men were not here often. They went on. He could hear nothing from the commissioner’s room and began to wonder how Coppell was doing. Coppell was obviously in awe of the commissioner but he had put up a fight. Good God! What was happening to the Yard to have a man at its head who could cow a commander of one of the departments!

Without warning, the door opened, and Coppell stood there, a pale-faced Coppell, who licked his lips before he said, “Come in.”

There was nothing in his expression to tell Roger what had happened. Roger had an almost overwhelming temptation to turn and walk away. Better anything than face such an indignity. No, no, no, that was crazy thinking. He must face the situation . . . Good Lord! He had a luncheon appointment with Benjamin Artemeus about a possible new job. The thought was like a shot in the arm, and must have shown in his face and his manner as he went in.

The commissioner was standing up; was that a concession?

Roger stopped a few feet away from him, and waited.

“Superintendent,” said the commissioner, “I am given to understand that you have made considerable progress in the current investigation. Further, I am aware that there were extenuating circumstances to your gross failure to observe regulations. In these circumstances the matter of suspension is held over. I want you to understand, however, that the rules and regulations of the Force must be observed.” He paused, and then barked, “Do you understand?”

A wave of relief greater than he had ever known surged over Roger as he answered, “Perfectly, sir.”

“Very well,” said the commissioner, and nodded dismissal.

• • •