John Creasey - Alibi

“Even last night, when we talked, I hoped I was right first time. But I now have proof that Maisie lied in the witness box and that the other witnesses also lied to me. And I’ve made another discovery, Mr. West, in its way just as bad.” She leaned forward, her eyes seeming to grow bigger and bigger. “I’ve had a private investigator checking. I know that the two men who saw the attack on Verdi, your two witnesses I believe, were approached and offered a substantial sum of money to renege. Smith- son refused, but Campbell agreed.” Now, her face seemed nothing but eyes. “Smithson is dead, and Campbell switched right round and tried to compromise you.”

When she stopped, Roger said evenly, “Do you know who killed Smithson?”

“Fogarty, of course.” Rachel paused, as if to find the right word, then went on, “I believe Fogarty was paid to run Smithson down. I know he claims to have been drunk but—did you know that he was practically a non- drinker?”

“The medical reports say that he had little or no alcohol in his blood that night,” said Roger.

“I should have known you would have discovered that,” remarked Rachel. “My father—” She caught her breath. “My father begged me not to take this case. Why was he so anxious I shouldn’t take it? Why — ?” She caught her breath again, and added, “If the worst thing that happened as a result of this were a blow to my pride, it wouldn’t matter a fig. But—”

Roger believed that she was coming to the crux of the visit. But there was a reservation in his mind, one he had to consider although emotionally he found the suspicion difficult to justify.

She could be fooling him.

These huge; brown eyes which looked so weary could be affected by eye drops or by drugs. Her story could be partly false; she could be presenting the case in such a way as to disarm him, to convince him (and so the police) that if she had committed any crime it was unwittingly: that she was the victim of criminals who had used her as a front. Roger knew that any solicitor who knowingly represented an accused man who was bribing witnesses, would be struck off without mercy, and she must know this too. She could be fighting for her whole future in her profession.

He wanted to believe what she said, but so much would depend on what she was going to say now.

Through tightly set lips, she went on, “I don’t think you know this, Mr. West, but Mario and I used—used to see a great deal of each other.” The words came as if she had to force each one out with a conscious effort. “I—I loved him, Mr. West—but when I discovered he was meeting Maisie Dunster and going to all these odd parties, I stopped seeing him. Then, the other day, he telephoned me and said he was in trouble. It was such a shock, both what he told me and hearing from him again—I was just beginning to forget him—” Rachel bit her lip “—I told him I couldn’t possibly take the case. Then, almost at the last minute, I changed my mind. That was why he looked so startled when I appeared in court. I believed what he’d told me, Mr. West—after all, it was because of Maisie and those—those parties, that I gave him up.” She laughed bitterly. “But it now appears that he paid —bribed—all these people to lie for him. And bribed them before he attacked Verdi. If he’d struck Verdi in a fit of rage, I wouldn’t have been so troubled. If he’d told me exactly what had happened, I’d have done everything humanly possible, I would have paid for the best possible counsel. But he deliberately lied to me. Deceived me. Found the money to pay these false witnesses. Yet he earns scarcely enough to keep himself; he has often borrowed from me.”

She paused, as if for breath, and now Roger no longer doubted her sincerity.

“Where is he getting the money?” Rachel asked chokingly. “Who is financing him, and why? Did he attack Verdi for personal reasons, or was there some other reason? Why was my father so desperately anxious I shouldn’t take this case? Can you find out, Mr. West? Before next Thursday when Mario comes up for the second hearing? I need to know before—before I decide whether to defend him or not. Can you, please? ”

And now Roger thought he knew what she was asking.

She realised he would find out all he could about Rapelli and the murder, that he would go ail out to get at the truth; and she wanted him to tell her, the defending solicitor, in advance. But he simply could not tell her except through the normal channels—and that would have to be at the trial. To help her before the police court hearing he would have to betray not only the general police code but his own standards.

Yet how could he say no?

• • •

Roger heard Janet come down the stairs, and guessed she would soon be in with the coffee. He wasn’t at all sure that her presence would help this situation, but knew, after what had happened, that he could not keep her away. But he could prepare Rachel for her arrival and at the same time give himself the chance to think.

“Rachel,” he said, suddenly, “my wife will bring some coffee in a few minutes. I would like to ponder this until she’s gone.”

Rachel made no protest of any kind, and showed little reaction.

“You will consider it?” She sounded pleading.

“I will.”

“You—you’re very good,” she said huskily.

Five minutes later Janet came in, looking fresh and elegant in a dark brown dress, her hair attractive, her make-up perfect. She was at her beautiful best, and carried off a situation like this as few others could. She was obviously curious but didn’t ask questions; was pleasant and friendly but overdid nothing.

Suddenly, she stood up.

“Roger dear, do pour Miss Warrender some more coffee, when she’s ready. I have to go out. Miss Warrender, I don’t know whether to hope you win, or Roger, but I do hope you both come out of this case with credit.”

“Especially your husband,” Rachel said drily.

“If it has to be one or the other—yes!” Janet laughed, shook hands, and left. Rachel watched her go out of the room and then looked at Roger wonderingly.

“What a lovely woman!”

“We certainly agree about that,” Roger said, laughing. “And I agree”—he sobered immediately—” that we have a difficult problem. I would like to help, but helping at this stage, if it were known, could create an intolerable situation for me. You have no idea what happens when a police officer stretches the law.”

“I can imagine,” Rachel said. She looked better, brighter, but there was tension in her voice again. “Are you telling me nicely that you won’t help?”

“No,” Roger said. “I am simply saying that I need to study all the angles before I make you any promise. When must you know?”

“I don’t need to know until Wednesday morning, I suppose,” she replied. “An hour would give me time to find someone else to represent Mario. Will you let me have word one way or the other by Wednesday at nine o’clock?”

“Yes,” promised Roger.

She rose to her feet, her expression even brighter, and clasped his hand with both of hers.

“You’re very kind and understanding,” she said. “Thank you very much. And now I must go. I’ve taken up far too much of your time already.”

He showed her to the door and she stepped along the path too quickly for him to reach and open the gate for her. He did not want to attract much attention from his neighbours, so he turned back into the house. It was too early to reach any kind of conclusion, but he had become very predisposed towards helping the girl.

But supposing he did, and it were found out? What would Trevillion do or say? What would be his chances of staying in the Force, and what would be the result if he didn’t? If he were dismissed ignominiously, would he still be eligible for the Allsafe job?