XV

POLICE PROGRESS

The telephone bell woke Grice, just after twelve-thirty.

He grunted and stretched out a hand, eyes heavy with sleep. He opened one, but there was no light.

‘Grice speaking.’

‘Middleton here, sir. I’m at Hilton Street.’

‘Have you got him?’ Grice started up.

‘Just missed him,’ Middleton said, ‘but we’ve got the girl. And another body.’

Grice didn’t speak.

‘Did you hear?’ asked Middleton.

‘Yes. Not the girl?’

‘She’s in a bad way, but alive. Rowse is here, too, getting hysterical. I’d like to have another go at him while he’s like that. Will you come, sir?’

‘Yes.’

Grice put down the receiver and jumped out of bed, now wide awake. He flung on some clothes and left his bachelor flat ten minutes after he’d said ‘yes’.

Several constables stood outside the house in Hilton Street, and made way for him to enter. A plain-clothes man was in the hall, and lights blazed from all the rooms. The downstairs neighbours were up, a man stood at the open door, questions in his eyes. Grice went straight up, and found Middleton in the little dining-room. A police-surgeon was here, Grice saw him bending over a bed in the next room, but couldn’t see who was on it.

Rowse was sitting at the table, his hands clenched and his lips compressed.

‘Well?’ asked Grice.

‘He’s being difficult,’ Middleton said almost casually.

‘Difficult!’ cried Rowse. ‘I’ve told you everything I can. You damned police! All you do is make mistakes, thundering big mistakes, and look what you’ve let them do to Liz. Go and look!’ he shouted, and his eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks pale, a curiously milky colour. ‘Go and see what the devil did to her while you were waiting outside! Go on! See how proud you’ll be!’

‘What’s this?’ Grice asked.

Middleton said, ‘It’s true, I’m afraid. There was a man with her. He’d burned her with cigarette-ends, to try to make her talk. She’s unconscious – nothing phoney about it.’

‘If you’d raided the flat earlier, it wouldn’t have happened,’ sobbed Rowse.

Grice looked at him levelly.

‘Supposing you get yourself in hand, then—’

‘Don’t you talk to me like that.’ Rowse clenched his fists, looked hysterical with rage. ‘You remember you’re a public servant, I pay your wages. Pay you for letting a devilish thing like this happen to a girl who—’

He choked, and tears sprang to his eyes.

‘Wait downstairs for me, Mr. Rowse, will you?’

‘I damned well won’t! I want to know what you’re going to do with Miss Lane.’

Grice went to the door and called, ‘Sergeant!’

A uniformed sergeant came hurrying.

‘Take Mr. Rowse downstairs, have him wait for me,’ Grice said. ‘Come along, Rowse, I’ve too much to do to listen to hysterical young men.’

He took Rowse’s arm.

Rowse hit out and caught Grice a glancing blow, near enough the bruise on his chin to hurt.

Grice said, ‘That’ll do. Charge him with assault, Sergeant, and hold him at Cannon Row.’

‘Why, you devil, you—’

‘Come along, now.’

The sergeant was massive, and had a soothing voice and a powerful grip. Rowse started to struggle, but gave it up.

The police-surgeon, bald as a billiard ball, with pink and shiny face, came in from the bedroom.

‘About time someone took that young man in hand,’ he said.

‘Thanks. What’s doing?’

‘The corpse is very much a corpse. Air pistol slug fired a fairly close quarters, and death was instantaneous. The girl—’ He shrugged. ‘She isn’t badly hurt, unless the trouble in her back is serious. It’s badly bruised, looks as if she had a kick. She’s unconscious. I’ve sent for an ambulance, and we’ll get her straight to hospital.’

‘When can she talk?’

The police-surgeon shrugged.

‘Maybe tomorrow, maybe she’ll be semi-conscious for days.’

Men were coming up the stairs, and the door was opened by a man in a long white coat, one of two ambulance men who came in briskly. The police-surgeon led them into the bedroom. He pulled back the sheet, to show Grice some of the scars.

Photographers and finger-print men were busy; they’d finished with the girl, were now starting the routine on the man’s body. Middleton joined Grice.

‘Let me have it all,’ Grice said. ‘Have you identified the man?’

‘No, and there’s nothing in his pockets,’ said Middleton. ‘I can give you everything I know, sir. Rowse came here, about an hour ago. One of our men followed him to the foot of the stairs. He kept whispering for the girl, then disappeared. Our man stayed where he was – on instructions. Rowse would have been picked up as he left. But there was trouble we didn’t expect. Apparently two men were in the flat, as well as the Lane girl. This chap and a smaller man, who’s at the station. The smaller man, Nevett, says that Rollison was here, and did the shooting.’

Grice’s eyebrows went up.

‘Using an air pistol?’

‘I’m telling you what Nevett said. As a story, it could stand up. He and this chap have been here all the time, they came on the night Keller was killed. He won’t give the dead man’s name. Rollison arrived—’

‘How?’

‘Front door of the flat.’

Grice said thinly, ‘Rowse has got something. What do we get paid for?’

The sharp edge of anger was in his voice.

‘No one came in at the back or the front,’ Middleton said, ‘and that left the roof. I’ve had a man up there. No doubt Rollison came in through the skylight, it’s been forced open. The people in the top flat aren’t home yet, they went out early in the evening. Rollison came through there and down the stairs and forced the lock. The usual mica job, he can do that standing on his head.’

‘I know Rollison’s capability. Go on.’

Grice’s voice was like a whip, and Middleton’s face completely blank. The photographer finished and packed up his camera and tripod; two other men were taking measurements between the walls and the body on the floor.

‘Nevett said Rollison was after him, and he ran. He couldn’t get out by the street and ran upstairs, but we’d put a man up there by then.’

‘Well, well,’ said Grice. ‘Someone must be brilliant.’

The sarcasm was searing.

Middleton didn’t defend himself or the others.

‘So we caught him, and he yelled about Rollison and a gun. The inside doors were locked, and one was barricaded. By the time we had it down, Rollison had gone through the window, avoided the man on duty in the street, and got off. He had a car waiting – a fairly new Riley. I’ve put a call out.’

‘And when you’ve found it, how far away do you think Rollison will be?’ Grice walked across to the dead man. ‘Have you told them to get his picture round pretty quickly?’

‘Yes – copies to the Press, first. I’ve a feeling I’ve seen him about somewhere,’ Middleton went on. ‘The Street might know him – and Records might.’ He was obviously doubtful. ‘That’s most of it. Rowse said this was one address where he thought the girl might be and he’d called everywhere else, so tried this. Says he wasn’t sure she was here. He also says that it wasn’t Rollison but Nevett who shot this chap. The girl corroborated. They say they don’t know the dead man.’

‘What next?’

‘That’s about all,’ said Middleton. ‘We should have been prepared for Rollison to use the roof. And we should—’

‘Have had that top flat watched all the time. Nevett went upstairs, you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘He might have been going to hide up there, the top flat could be rented by the same mob. We’ll break in …’

‘We’ve been in.’

‘All right, we’ll search thoroughly, and I’ll get the warrant,’ said Grice. ‘Check the tenants as soon as you can. And get this man identified.’ He stood looking down at Woolf, whose features were slack, in death, and whose eyes were only partly closed. ‘Yes, I’ve seen him about.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘It’s beginning to look as if we were right one way, anyhow – the girl knows where the Riordon stuff is. Have you questioned her about that yet?’

‘Haven’t had a chance, sir,’ Middleton said.

Grice shrugged.

He checked over everything that had been done, left Middleton in charge, and went to the Yard. It was nearly half past two, and he wouldn’t get home again that night. Prints of the photograph of the dead man were already on his desk, damp but usable. Copies were on the way to newspapers, and Records were being searched for a photograph and for fingerprints to correspond with those which had been taken from the dead man. He telephoned to the Back Room Inspector and released the story of the girl’s arrest.

Middleton came in, poker-faced, eyes heavy and tired, but his movements and voice were brisk enough.

‘Sit down,’ Grice said.

‘Thanks. I’m damned sorry about this.’

‘Can’t be helped. You’re not the only one Rollison’s shown a clean pair of heels. I wish I knew what the devil he’s up to. Let’s go over this again. He was there talking to the girl, let Rowse in, and before there could be any more discussion, the little man arrived. Had he been hiding in the flat?’

‘Yes. In a corner cupboard in the dining-room.’

‘If Rowse is right, he came out and shot the unknown, with two witnesses,’ Grice said. ‘Then he blames Rollison.’

Middleton said heavily, ‘Listen, Chief. We know that girl killed Keller. Rollison’s trying to cover for her. Rowse is crazy about her, so they’d all lie like troopers. We can take Nevett’s word as safely as theirs. There are no prints on the air pistol, so that doesn’t mean anything. There’s nothing to help us.’

Grice shrugged.

‘Which means we should have to believe that Rollison shot the unknown in cold blood.’ Middleton shook his head slowly. ‘I can’t see it happening. Can you?’

‘Not the Rollison I know,’ Grice said.

The telephone bell rang. He lifted the receiver quickly, and snapped his name.

He listened. His eyes glistened, and his hand tightened on the receiver.

He barked, ‘You sure?’ He paused, listening again, then said, ‘Yes, send a call out, all patrol cars in the vicinity to go there.’ He banged the receiver down and jumped up. Middleton was already on his feet, something of the tiredness fading from his eyes.

‘We’ve identified the dead man – a Leo Woolf, of 27 Mayrick Court, Mayfair,’ Grice said. ‘Let’s get over there. Remember where we’ve seen that man before?’

‘No, I—’

‘Witness during the girl’s father’s trial. Not a case we worked on, but I once saw him in court. Reputedly wealthy, married a chorus girl a few years ago. Come on.’