Chapter Six

Lapse Of Memory

Roger woke to a grey day, footsteps outside, the passing of cars, the voices of children. He was puzzled for a few moments, then realised that these unfamiliar noises meant that it was late. He turned his head quickly, and hammers began to beat inside it. For a moment the bedside clock seemed to go round and round. When it steadied, he saw that it was nearly half past nine.

Janet had let him sleep on.

But to sleep until nearly mid-morning was – in the eyes of the Yard – almost heinous. He felt a tremor of annoyance because he hadn’t been called, then edged himself up in bed. As he did so the telephone bell rang, both downstairs and at the bedside. Careful not to move too quickly, he took the receiver off.

Janet was speaking.

‘… up yet.’

A man said sharply: ‘Then he should be. I want him here at once, Mrs West.’

That was Coppell, the Commander CID who had assigned him to the Danny O’Hara affair. Coppell, very much the rough diamond, was a difficult man to get on with. Roger often wondered why he had been given a job which demanded a gift of getting the most out of men who were already severely overworked. He had no love for Coppell but felt a wave of apprehension, lest Janet should lose her temper.

Instead, her voice came sweetly reasonable.

‘If it’s urgent, Mr Coppell, why don’t you come and see him? I’m going to keep him in bed at least until he’s seen a doctor.’

‘Doctor?’ ejaculated Coppell. ‘What’s the matter with him? Summer flu?’

‘He was injured in the course of his duties,’ Janet replied.

‘No one told me,’ Coppell growled.

‘Will you come and see him, Commander?’

‘I’ll let you know,’ said Coppell, abruptly.’ ‘Bye.’

The telephone seemed to go down with a bang, and after a pause Janet spoke in a rather anxious voice.

‘Did I do all right, darling?’

‘He’s needed something like that for a long time,’ Roger assured her, ‘and at least it’s a relief that I needn’t rush to get up. Is there such a thing as tea?’

‘Two minutes,’ promised Janet.

Roger slid back into the bed, head uncomfortable but nothing like as bad as it had been, closed his eyes, and then began to see a series of mind pictures about what had happened last night. Coppell wasn’t the only man who wanted to know how things were going. He edged up to a sitting position again, lifted the telephone and dialled Peterson’s Divisional number.

‘Yes, sir, he’s in,’ a man said. ‘Hold on, please.’ There was only a brief pause before Peterson came on the line.

‘Hallo, Handsome—I was told you weren’t in.’

‘I’m not,’ said Roger, ‘and the Commander wants to know why.’

‘I put it in my report, he should have had that by now,’ said Peterson. ‘Anything in particular you want to know?’

‘How’s Mary Ellen?’ asked Roger.

‘Conscious and comfortable. She’s to stay where she is all day but there’s no reason why she shouldn’t answer questions.’

‘Have you spoken to her?’

‘No—thought you’d rather I left it to you.’

‘I’ll make it my first job to go and see her,’ Roger decided, and heard a rattle of cups at the landing; so Janet would have heard what he said. ‘Anything from Pell? or from East End?’

‘Interim reports, that’s all.’

‘Has Donovan made a statement?’

‘He’s signed a transcript of the one he made last night.’

‘Any clue about the other man who was at O’Hara’s apartment?’ Roger wanted to know.

‘No,’ said Peterson, ‘but one thing is almost certain. O’Hara let him in. No one else appears to have been about last night, no one we’ve interviewed admits to seeing anybody, but a lot of the residents at Bannock Towers are out during the day and we haven’t traced them all yet.’

‘Someone he lets in, someone whom he knew,’ Roger said. ‘Thanks. I’ll be over as soon as I can.’ He rang off, and on the instant the door opened and Janet came in with the tray.

‘I think that proves it.’

‘Proves what?’

‘That you’d rather be out working than here at home.’ Almost before she had finished she laughed and went on: ‘Don’t be a goose, I’m joking—but must you go out?’

Roger glanced at the newspapers on the tea tray, and said: ‘They don’t tell you that we found Mary Ellen, do they?’ He explained as much as he could as he drank the stinging hot tea, studying her expression all the time. She seemed quite free from the night’s tensions, quite objective. ‘So I ought to see the girl, I’d rather not leave her interrogation to anyone else.’

‘Because you don’t trust them,’ Janet said drily.

‘Er—’

‘Or at least you don’t think they’ll be able to handle her as well as you can, darling. I should have known that it isn’t simply you get tired of my cooking, it’s because you think you can do everything better than anybody else.’

‘In short, I’m a big head,’ said Roger.

‘You said it, precious. More tea?’

‘Please,’ said Roger. ‘I—’ The telephone bell cut across his words and almost immediately he lifted the receiver, whispering: ‘This may be Coppell.’ More loudly he went on: ‘West speaking.’

‘So you’re awake,’ growled Coppell.

‘Just about, sir, yes.’

‘Seen that doctor your wife talked about?’

‘Er—he’s not been yet,’ said Roger, ‘but I don’t think he’ll keep me in. I want to go over and see Donovan’s daughter. She’s awake, I’m told.’

‘Do that after you’ve been to see me,’ ordered Coppell.

‘I will, sir.’

‘Be here as early as you can,’ Coppell ordered, and rang off.

Janet had poured out the second cup of tea, and looked at Roger questioningly as she handed it to him.

‘You certainly didn’t do him any harm,’ Roger said, and after a pause, he put a hand over hers. ‘Jan, how are you this morning? Really?’

She looked at him for a long time before answering, and he could tell from the candour of her expression that she wasn’t going to hedge her answer about with half truths. In the clearer light even of this grey day, she looked older; attractive, yes, but unquestionably older, with lines at her eyes and the corners of her mouth quite clearly marked.

‘I’m on top of myself,’ she answered at last, ‘and it isn’t such an effort this morning as it is sometimes. Sometimes—often, really—it’s very difficult. I—sometimes I’m almost at screaming pitch. No,’ she answered, and he must have looked the question, I don’t really know why. It isn’t anything special that you do, it’s just that I’m on my own so much that I could almost qualify as a neglected wife.’

‘Yes,’ said Roger, ‘I do see that, Jan—’

‘Don’t try to promise anything now,’ Janet interrupted briskly. It’s a help that we’ve talked about it, and young Scoop last night—’ Tears clouded her eyes.

‘He was remarkable,’ agreed Roger warmly. After a pause, he added: ‘We’ll talk about it more as soon as I’ve a few hours to spare.’

‘Yes,’ said Janet, ‘I’d like that. But I know you’ve got to give all your time to this job, darling. It’s just that sometimes—’ She paused, listening, and he knew that she had heard something, it wasn’t simply that she felt she had already said too much. ‘There’s someone coming to the front door—I expect they’re going to try again.’

‘Who’s going to try what?’ demanded Roger.

‘Newspapermen and photographers have been calling all the morning,’ Janet said. ‘I made a deal with them: if they would stop harassing you until ten o’clock, you would at least tell them something. You will, won’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Roger assured her, with a sigh of resignation. ‘Tell them I’ll be twenty minutes and will be able to spare them five, will you?’

Janet looked relieved as she left the room and he heard her hurrying down the stairs. Roger, the die cast, bathed and shaved quickly and in twenty two minutes flat was at the front door.

At least fifteen men, several women, and four photographers were outside, with twice as many passers by.

‘Good morning all,’ Roger said. ‘I am alive, you see. Any questions?’

One of the men laughed.

You’re not at death’s door, anyhow!’

‘Turn your right side, will you, sir? We’d like pictures of that plaster.’

‘What did he hit you with?’ That was an American.

‘Was it the man Donovan?’ That sounded like a Frenchman.

‘His boot. Yes. That’s what he’s been charged with—assaulting a police officer,’ Roger answered briefly.

‘Mr West,’ one of the women called, ‘you can’t mean it when you say you don’t yet know the motive.’

‘Oh, but I do mean it.’

‘Surely you know that Danny O’Hara seduced Donovan’s daughter, and—’

‘No,’ Roger interrupted. ‘No, I don’t know anything of the kind. I wouldn’t put it in the Mirror if I were you, Donovan could sue you for libel with big damages.’

‘Oh, come off it,’ a man called. ‘He wouldn’t sue if we said he was a murderer.’

‘I wouldn’t say that, either,’ Roger said. ‘When I get to the Yard I shall probably be in trouble for having told you as much as I have, but one thing is quite positive. I do not yet know the motive for the murder, and I do not know why Donovan went to O’Hara’s apartment.’

‘You mean you think there’s an underlying motive no one suspects?’ asked the American.

‘I think there could be,’ Roger said blandly.

He went back into the house and closed the front door. The odour of frying bacon came from the kitchen, so Janet realised that he was well enough to eat a hearty breakfast. And he was: he felt ravenous. Drinking coffee, glancing through the newspapers, chatting with Janet, it was hard to believe she had been in such distress the night before.

She had unlocked the garage for him.

Several cameramen still stood about and at least a dozen photographs were taken. What did they do with them all? He turned out of Bell Street into King’s Road. Some new flats, an eight-or nine storey block, were nearing completion. Everything changed. New Scotland Yard had changed yet in a few short months he had become accustomed to it. He missed the old building but no one could argue about the merits of this one. He went straight to his office, meeting very few people; most stared at his plaster. His office was empty but there were files put there by Inspectors and sergeants working on jobs in which he was involved.

There were three urgent messages: Please call Mr Peterson. Please call Cannon Row. Please report to the Commander immediately on arrival. All of these had come within the past twenty minutes. Donovan had been held at Cannon Row, and Roger dialled that number first.

‘West,’ he said to the Superintendent in charge.

‘My God, you’ve taken your time!’ exclaimed the other. ‘When are you going to get this raving lunatic off our hands?’

‘Is Donovan playing tricks again?’ asked Roger.

‘He’s behaving like a madman,’ the other declared. ‘Can’t you get him across to the court and then let Brixton look after him?’ Brixton was the remand prison where Donovan would almost certainly be sent.

‘You mean he hasn’t been charged?’ gasped Roger, appalled.

‘You know damned well he hasn’t! Every time I tried to get Peterson to collect him, he said he wouldn’t do anything without your approval.’

‘Oh, God,’ groaned Roger. ‘I see. All right, I’ll fix it.’ He rang off, and then rammed his finger on a bell for the Chief Inspector who had the next, small office.

He came in at once; youthful, stolid, inconspicuously dressed in a suit of navy blue. He was Chief Inspector Watts.

‘We want Donovan over at West End Court at once,’ Roger said. ‘Check who’s sitting, check what time he’ll be up—if it’s after two o’clock I’ll be there myself. If not, make sure who charged him. Liaise with Peterson, and ask for an eight day remand in custody. All clear?’ his words came out like bullets.

‘Yes, sir,’ Watts said.

‘I’ll be with Mr Coppell if I’m wanted urgently,’ added Roger. ‘Then I’m going to Whitechapel.’

‘Where the girl is?’

‘Yes.’

Roger picked up the telephone again and put in a call for Peterson. He realised how close he had come to a serious mistake. A man charged one day had to be taken to court the next day, and if he had let the courts close a special one would have had to be opened, at heavy cost in time and money. Thank God he’d called Cannon Row.

Peterson came through.

‘That’s a load off my mind,’ he said when Roger told him what he had arranged. ‘You specifically said you wanted to fix the hearing yourself. What happened to delay you so long?’

Roger said: ‘Keep it to yourself, but I forgot!’

As he said that he heard heavy footsteps in the passage, knew in a moment who it was, added: ‘I’ll be in touch,’ and rang off. As the telephone went ‘ting!’ the office door opened and Coppell strode in.

The door slammed behind him.