THERE WAS SILENCE for a few moments. Masefield spoke first.
“The good detective may see himself as a supporter of justice, but his concept of what that means and ours might not be the same.”
Wilf rubbed at his hair which was already springing up from his head. He looked as if he had encountered an electric live wire.
“At least he said we could go ahead with the play. So we will.”
“What does Hilliard have to say about this?” I asked.
“Not much. He’s too caught up with his family problems.”
“But he thought it would be better to open the Cave with some musical entertainment.”
I knew all too well Wilf had seized on Hilliard’s absence to put on this play. They’d been bickering about it for weeks.
“We can do that later, when he gets back. By the way, Hill asked me to tell you that he’d be away for at least another week. He’ll call or write as soon as he can.”
I wished he’d picked a different time to tell me this. I nodded, aware that Miriam had taken in the conversation.
She, too, was preparing to leave, smoothing at her hair that didn’t need smoothing. She addressed me.
“I presume you are not in fact in need of a job at Superior Ladies’ Clothes, Miss Frayne? You are employed by the police department?”
“Actually, I’m a private investigator.”
“So, you were there to investigate?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I had to be there under false pretences, but there was no alternative.”
“Really?” Her tone was acid with sarcasm. “Did this have anything to do with what transpired?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She walked over to get her coat from the rack by the door. Wilf jumped up to help her. I noticed Miriam Cohen seemed to have that effect on men. She brought out a powerful impulse toward gallantry. This seemed never to happen to me.
Coat suitably on, she called out goodbyes and left. Wilf came back to the table.
“Splendid woman. She’d face down a marauding tiger without blinking.”
“She’s faced worse than tigers,” said Masefield. “At least they tend to be afraid of us humans.”
Perhaps unreasonably so, all these metaphors were irritating me. I decided to face my own challenges.
“Wilf, I know it’s getting late, but I wondered if you’d mind if I had a few words with Mr. Masefield in private.”
“Sure. I’ve got to clean up the kitchen. I think Calvin is still in there.”
“I’ll help,” jumped in Gramps. “Come and get me when you’re done, Lottie.”
Masefield had slipped back into his guarded expression.
“I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Masefield? Believe it or not I was trying to find you earlier tonight.”
“Me? Why?”
I waited until Wilf and Gramps had retreated into the kitchen before answering.
“The supervisor at Superiors, Oscar Klein, was killed sometime last night. I have been helping the police to investigate.”
I gave him a moment to react, but he didn’t.
He replied calmly, “I’ve actually had this news from Miriam. Suspicion has inevitably fallen upon the employees has it?”
“Not exactly. There is an issue about the murderer having access to the building, so the police are questioning everybody who was working there. You were an employee until fairly recently, were you not?”
“I was indeed, Miss Frayne. Now let me guess. You would like to know what my relationship was like with Klein. How did we get along and so forth? Just in case I resented being dismissed at such short notice and felt moved to exact revenge and kill him? Is that not so?”
“That’s right. Were you? Full of resentment?”
“Let’s put it this way, Miss Frayne. Loading heavy bolts of cloth from one place to another isn’t exactly my idea of an exciting job. I didn’t grieve for it.”
“But you were let go with no notice to speak of. That must have been hard without an income to fall back on.”
I admit I was being a bit devious. I’d got this from his housemate, Donald Dunham. Masefield regarded me for rather a long time. I tried not to quail.
“Klein was only the mouthpiece of Saul Rosenthal,” Masefield continued. “You could say I despised him, but thatis too strong a word. You don’t despise a dog that barks at you because it has been ordered to do so. You don’t have contempt for the ventriloquist’s dummy. Oscar Klein was a stupid man who used his little bit of power to get what he wanted. He thought he was much more important than he was. Rosenthal craves to be seen as a good and fair man. He is not. There is one motivation for everything he does. That is to make as much money as he possibly can off the sweat and toil of his employees. He sees his company the way other people see their car. Is it working efficiently? Good, we’ll keep it. If not, then we must simply discard the parts that are malfunctioning and replace them with parts that do work.”
Talking about facing down tigers, there was something about Tom Masefield that was definitely scary. Physically, he didn’t look very strong, he was too thin and pale-faced, but there was an expression behind his eyes that made me nervous. It wasn’t coldness exactly, although that was there, it was more the sense that nothing would move him from his convictions. He had the eyes of a fanatic.
“It does seem that Mr. Klein was killed sometime between seven and eight o’clock last evening. Do you mind telling me where you were during that time?”
He actually laughed. “Of course, I mind. You have no authority at all to ask me this.”
He was right of course. “In other words, you won’t tell me.”
“Correct. If the detective wants to question me, he should do it himself.”
It was his turn to rise from his chair. “It’s time I went home. I’m tired.”
“One more thing, Mr. Masefield. I have also been hired to investigate a case unrelated to this one. You don’t have to answer my questions on this matter either, but I would appreciate it if you would.”
He raised his eyebrow.
“I understand you are acquainted with a man named Gerald Jessop?”
Again, I got the wary look.
“Might be. What of it?”
“Did you know he has died?”
That did elicit a response.
“What! No, I did not know. When?”
“Last Thursday.”
“What happened?”
“His death has been determined to be a suicide.”
“I see.”
He turned his head and for a brief moment I thought tears had come to his eyes, but I might have been mistaken about that.
“What were the circumstances?”
“He ingested morphia and alcohol.”
“They’re sure that’s what happened?”
“That’s the coroner’s verdict, but his mother and wife won’t accept it. Mrs. Jessop senior has hired me to confirm or refute that verdict.”
I waited, letting him absorb all of this.
Finally, he took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. The male equivalent of wiping away embarrassing tears.
“Did he leave a note?”
“Yes. His intention seemed clear. His life had become intolerable.”
There was a momentarily distracting burst of laughter from the kitchen. Masefield coughed harshly, almost losing his breath completely. He put away the handkerchief, his own softness rebuked and stowed.
“You knew him during the war, did you?”
“Let’s say we were in the same battalion at the same time.”
“I understand you encountered each other here in the café. After the war, you’d lost touch I presume.”
“I hadn’t seen him since demobilization. I haven’t been living on this side of the country for a long time.”
“Was it a chance encounter? Here in the Paradise?”
Masefield was staring at me. “What do you want from me, Miss Frayne?”
“The night you met him here was the night he killed himself. When you saw him, did you suspect he was in a distressed state of mind?”
Masefield’s eyes darkened. “Who isn’t distressed these days, Miss Frayne? If you’re not, you’re stupid.”
“Pearl says you left together.”
“We did. We walked and talked, and I deposited him at his house. I can see you are going to ask me what time that was?”
“I …”
He didn’t let me finish. “It was almost nine o’clock. I just had time to get over to Pearson Hall before they closed the doors. I was planning to spend the night there. They take pity on former soldiers.”
“And you weren’t worried about Mr. Jessop?”
“If you mean did I suspect he was suicidal, no I did not. I was sorry to see the war had so injured him, as it did to thousands of others. All now trapped in the No Man’s Land of public indifference.” He stood up. “If you will excuse me, I will say goodnight.”
He started to head for the door.
I called after him. “Mr. Masefield, would you like to be notified about the funeral arrangements?”
He turned around. “I think not. I have no desire to grieve a coward.”
How’s that for an exit line?
At that moment Gramps popped his head around the kitchen door.
“All done?”
“Yes. I’m all done.”
“Did you find out what you needed to?”
“I suppose I did, Gramps.”
“That chap didn’t look too happy.”
“He wasn’t.”
If I’d had a small fortune, I’d have gladly handed it over to Tom Masefield. But I didn’t have one and I also knew money wouldn’t alleviate the despair he carried within him.