John Creasey - Triumph For Inspector West

“Don’t you know that? ”

“I want to know what you know.”

“It’s all because of that whore he was in love with, that Eve Franklin.” Mrs Brown stubbed out her cigarette, stung her fingers on the glowing end, and winced. “Tony made a proper fool of himself over her; he even gave up the band, because she was tired of it. He couldn’t see anything wrong in her, the little bitch! If I had my way, I’d tear the skin off her face! All she ever cared about was money. Tony never had a penny for himself when he was with her. Always buying her expensive presents, taking her places, spending money like water on her—and what did he get for it? She dropped him the minute she got her claws into a man who could spend more money on her. If I could lay my hands on her I’d poke her eyes out! Don’t talk to me!”

She stopped, gasping for breath. Roger kept quiet, and Turnbull, standing near, picked up the photograph.

“Oh, what’s the use?” Mrs Brown went on, in a quieter voice. “I didn’t want Bill to do anything about it, but he was always a fool over Tony. He wanted to bash Raeburn’s face in, that was all he was going to do; he wasn’t going to kill him, he was just going to mark him. There, now you know.”

“A lot of people would like to see Raeburn have a thrashing,” said Roger. “But why is your husband so sure that Raeburn’s behind Tony’s death?”

“Listen, copper,” said Mrs Brown. “Eve saved Raeburn from going down for a stretch, didn’t she? She said she saw the accident, and that Raeburn couldn’t help it. That night she was out with Tony, so she couldn’t have seen it.”

Turnbull raised his clasped hands, and shook them vigorously.

“You don’t believe me, I know,” Mrs Brown said. “You don’t really want anything on Raeburn, that’s the truth. You just want to put Bill inside, you just want to close his mouth. You damned coppers are all the same.”

Roger said: “Why didn’t you tell us about this after Raeburn’s trial, Katie?”

She bit her lips.

“You knew the case broke down because of false evidence, but you held your tongue,” said Roger. “That certainly didn’t help us to get Raeburn. Now you talk about him being behind Tony’s murder, and say you know Eve Franklin committed perjury, but can you prove either?”

“It’s all true! Tony told Bill it was.”

“When did he tell him?”

“What’s the use of asking all these questions?” she demanded, almost sobbing. “I don’t know when he told him, I only know he did.”

“Did he tell anyone else?”

“I don’t know, but we all know it’s true.”

“Whom do you mean by ‘all’?” Roger persisted.

Katie Brown began to talk more calmly. All three people who shared this flat knew what Tony had said, and it was clear that they believed that Tony had been killed to stop him from talking. Katie Brown did not say so, but obviously her husband had some good reason for avoiding the police, and had decided to punish Raeburn himself. One thing shone out clearly in her story: a deep attachment between the two brothers.

Roger let her talk while Turnbull made notes. When she had finished, she sat up, with her plump, shapely legs crossed, and looked at Roger nervously, as if afraid that she had said too much.

“You won’t regret any of this,” Roger assured her, “but I’ve got to find your husband, Katie. If Tony was killed because he knew where Eve Franklin was that evening, it’s possible that anyone else who knows is also in danger.”

She realised that all right, and said stubbornly: “If you think you can get anything from me about where Bill is, you’re making a big mistake, because I just don’t know. He and Frankie Deaken have gone off for a few days, but I don’t know where.”

“I don’t believe you,” Roger said flatly.

“I don’t care whether you believe me or not, it’s the truth,” she snapped. “You’re only trying to scare me, that’s all. There isn’t any danger for Bill.”

Roger said slowly: “There was danger for Tony.”

“Raeburn doesn’t know that Bill knows anything!”

“If Raeburn doesn’t know already, he’ll soon find out that Bill tried to attack him last night. Bill was seen by two people, and the resemblance between the two brothers is so great that they’ll soon guess who Bill is.” Roger’s voice was softly insistent. “I can’t force you to tell me where to find him, but you’re making a big mistake by keeping silent.”

“I tell you I don’t know!” she cried.

CHAPTER XII

THE BRIGHTON ROAD

THEY COULD get nothing more from Katie Brown, and Roger gave up trying after a quarter of an hour. She was still scared, but not really resentful when they left.

“What now?” demanded Turnbull. “Going to have another go at her, at the Yard, or keep digging?”

“Watch her, and keep digging,” said Roger.

One early result of the spadework was the discovery that Raeburn was going to Brighton for a week, staying at the Grand-Royal, and that Eve Franklin would be in the same hotel. Roger promptly telephoned the Brighton police.’

“Are you coming down yourself?” asked the Brighton Superintendent.

“Not yet,” said Roger. “I’m sending Turnbull and a younger brother of Peel. You know Turnbull, so don’t let him get too cocky. I’ll leave it to him to get in touch with you.”

“Right-ho,” said the Brighton man. “We’ll help as much as we can.”

Roger rang off, not sure whether to be pleased or sorry that Raeburn would be out of London for a few days. At least it would give an opportunity to concentrate on Katie, Bill Brown, and Tenby, but he had a feeling that he ought to find a new angle of approach. Brown was a possible angle, but might be in hiding for weeks, and Eve was the big chink in Raeburn’s armour. How could he widen it?

Months ago he had sent out a general request for information about Warrender, Ma Beesley, and Tenby, and now he took out the files which he checked every day. A report that must have come in that morning was on top of Ma Beesley’s file. It was from the Surety Nationale , typed indifferently, and with several misspellings.

The door opened, and Eddie Day came in.

“Watcher, Handsomer’

“Good afternoon, Mr Day,” Roger said with exaggerated politeness. “Since when have you been my office boy?”

“ ‘Oo, me? Not on your Nelly! If you mean that Paris report, it blew off the desk, so I put it in Ma Beesley’s file for safety. It’s about her, ain’t it? Says they think she was with a gang of confidence tricksters working the French coast ten years ago, and was married to a Frenchie who died after taking on British nationality. How does that help?”

“It might, later.”

“It might! ” Eddie was magnificently sarcastic. “And one day you might tell your pal Lessing that he didn’t ought to come straight into the building; he ought to send his name up, like everyone else. I’ve just seen him talking to Simister.”

“Mark is? I wonder what he’s after.”

“As if you didn’t know,” Eddie sniffed.

Roger didn’t, but word would soon come. He turned back to the Paris report.

Ma Beesley had been suspected of working with two men on confidence rackets in the less fashionable resorts on the Brittany coast. The Suret e had prepared a lengthy dossier on her. After marrying a Frenchman, she had lived in France until 1946, when the whole family had come to England. The husband had become a naturalized Englishman, taking the name of Beesley. There were three children of the marriage, two boys and a girl.

Roger rang through to the shorthand-writers’ room, and dictated a telegram to the Suret e Nationale :