Chapter Twenty

Tentacles

Clearing up was simply a matter of routine. Search the small office at the Arches, get the names and addresses of the directors and the workers, all of whom were men, except for Flora Zigorski, on the records as Flora Smith, the only full time office worker.

Meet the men who had been removed from the helicopters, identify, caution and charge them, then have each one searched.

Arrange visits, through the Divisions, to all the homes of the arrested men and the few who had not come in to work that day, and so had not been in the helicopters.

Learn that the leader of the thieves was a man whom Roger had seen once, a man who had received a seven year sentence for robbery with violence and had been released only a year ago.

Learn that several of the others had records.

Learn that Margerison and the leader had quarrelled, Margerison challenging the leadership; learn that Margerison had left 17, Lyon Avenue not knowing he was soon to be murdered, having no thought of treachery. He had been followed by Waldmann and thrown into the Thames.

Learn that the other dead man, an engineer named Ross, had been on Margerison’s side.

It was after three o’clock before Roger went home, an hour later than Coppell. Yard and Divisional men would work through the night and other shifts would take over from them, the pattern would be even clearer in the morning. There were notes from the boys: Wonderful, Dad ! – Richard. I don’t know how you do it! – Scoop. And there was a message from them both: Mummy telephoned and sends her love, she says she watched a lot on television and is very proud of you. Let her know if you would like her to come back, if she doesn’t hear she’ll assume you’ll be at the office till all hours. He went up to bed, his mind buzzing with these messages, and with all he had learned and expected to learn tomorrow.

He did not set his alarm and it was after eleven when he did wake. At first he had assumed a telephone bell had disturbed him but if it had the call wasn’t repeated. He called the Yard while still in bed, and the chief inspector who worked with him said: “Everything ticking over perfectly, sir. The total amount of the gold recovered is well over half and we’ll probably get a lot more yet.”

“Good. Have you heard from the Commander?”

“He’s not in yet, sir.”

“Better! I’ll be ready to leave in about an hour, and I’ll go to the Arches first. Send a car for me, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

It was strange to be in the empty house, to get his own breakfast of boiled eggs and toast and ham, to have all the newspapers spread out, his photograph and that of the stacks of gold and of Captain Hughes on every front page. It was pleasant to scan the leading articles and to find the general tenor back to the old favourite: The Yard Always Gets Its Man. He was ready, shaved and dressed when a car drew up outside, and Venables stepped out and came lolloping up the path. He was on the porch when Roger opened the door.

“Good morning, sir!” Never had Venables’ face been so bright.

“Good morning,” Roger said. “Can’t you sleep?”

“Had a solid seven hours this morning, sir, and I happened to be in the inspector’s office just after you telephoned. Seen the papers, sir?” he added eagerly.

“Yes. We’re all heroes, aren’t we?”

“Things simply had to go right,” Venables remarked with his unbelievable naivety. “They simply had to, sir!” They went out to the car and Roger was glad he had a driver. A crowd had gathered, newspapermen, photographers and reporters were still at the Arches in strength. Hughes was there, but about to leave.

“Everything’s as clean as a whistle now, Superintendent.”

“Would the place really have been burned out?”

“Enough stuff there to have started another fire of London,” Hughes told him, and it was impossible to be sure whether he was serious or not.

Roger went straight to the Arches. Four Yard men were busy there, and Green was among them, looking bleary eyed but happy.

“Good morning, sir. We’ve made a lot of interesting discoveries this morning.”

“Such as?” Roger inquired.

“Well, sir, we found two small crates of machinery ready for shipment to the United States and one to Australia,” stated Green. “Actually inside the spare motors for some electrical equipment there were some of the gold cigars.” His eyes suddenly grew bright. “We ought to send someone to the different consignees to check and find the receiving agents, oughtn’t we?”

“We certainly should,” Roger agreed.

Green must go to one country or the other; he deserved the break, Roger reflected. And Venables? No, Venables could have his break with Appleby. Roger collected all the data available, including the names and addresses of over a hundred export customers, and went on to the Yard. It didn’t surprise him that Coppell was in at last, and wanted to see him. He took the list along.

Coppell looked, for him, almost gracious.

“Couldn’t have been a much cleaner job, Handsome,” he applauded. “The Assistant Commissioner is very pleased; he has a luncheon appointment with Lord Pentaway tomorrow, and the Home Office will keep quiet for a while. Now—” He sat back in his chair and placed his great fists on the table. “How about you?”

Roger showed him the list of export customers, and showed photographs of the gold “cigar” hiding place in the two shipments found at the Arches.

“What we want is to have all these customers visited,” Coppell decided. “Some will be in the clear but a lot may have gold stashed away. The local police will be only too glad to help, that’s for sure. Any idea whom to send?”

“Yes,” Roger said.

“Who?”

“Me,” said Roger. “With Green.”

Coppell looked startled, but suddenly gave one of his rare grins.

“Come to the conclusion that we can do without you here for a week or two, have you? Well, you’re probably right. How long will it take you to clear up here, Handsome?”

“If I can delegate some of the work, I can be off in the morning,” Roger told him. “The most likely customers seem to me to be those where shipments of spares have shot up in the past few months.”

“South of France, California, South Africa and Australia, I presume,” Coppell said, drily.

“I’d settle for Paris, New York, Johannesburg and Sydney,” Roger replied, and when Coppell nodded his approval, he went on. “No objection if I take my wife along, is there? I’ll pay for her, of course!”

Coppell pursed his lips.

“Don’t see why not,” he said. “But don’t tell the world. If my wife gets to hear—” He broke off, and clenched his fists even more tightly. “I was to have gone to see our only daughter off to Canada, last night. Her husband’s emigrating. My name is mud.” He pushed himself away from the desk. I’ll need a detailed report before you go, mind you.”

“I’ll see to it,” Roger promised.

He felt a growing excitement as he went out, hardly able to believe that he would be able to make this round of visits. The excitement slackened only a little when he went to see Zigorski, who had stayed in a small hotel the previous night. While with him, Roger telephoned Crabb of K & K, and said quietly: “I think Dr. Zigorski fears that his job is in jeopardy,” Roger said.

“Well, it isn’t,” stated Crabb. “Tell him so, please … but don’t tell him I’m glad that shrew of a daughter won’t be round his neck any longer. He is quite the best research and maintenance man in our field, you know.”

Roger told Zigorski about the job, and saw satisfaction slowly drive the dark shadows out of the old man’s eyes.

Roger saw Angela Margerison, but she was still in a coma, and likely to be for some time. Fitzpatrick said over the telephone: “But she’ll pull out of it, Handsome. She can’t be more than twenty two or three. She’ll fall in love again, too—they never expect to, but people always do.”

Roger put down the telephone, then called Green, who was still at the Arches. He would much rather take Venables, but rank alone made that unwise, and Venables would get plenty of breaks in future.

“Oh, Sergeant,” he said. “I want a volunteer to come with me to the different customers overseas who might have received stolen gold in shipments already received. It could take a month altogether.” He heard Green’s stertorous breathing and realised the man didn’t trust himself to speak. “Care to volunteer?” he asked.

“You—you actually mean it, sir?” Green almost squeaked.

“We need to start in the morning, for Paris,” Roger said. “Finish what you’re doing there, come and make your report up to date, and then go home and get packed.” He rang off, and then pulled some reports towards him. They were Venables’, all neatly typewritten and well phrased; and the number of things he had noticed was quite remarkable. If he could overcome his squeamishness he would be a great asset to the Yard. Roger finished reading, and then sent for him.

“Venables,” he said. “I’m going off with Sergeant Green to find the rest of the gold; we’re bound to trace some of it, I think.”

“Pretty well sure to,” said Venables, without the slightest trace of disappointment. “I’d be grateful if I can stay on the case here, sir—the more I study it the more fascinating it becomes. If I—ah—but I’m sorry, sir, I’m speaking out of turn.”

“What do you want to do?” asked Roger, fascinated.

“Ah—well, my shorthand’s pretty good, sir, and if I could be present when senior officers are questioning the prisoners, and be in court this afternoon when they’ll be charged and presumably remanded—”

Roger said: “There’s an alternative, Venables.”

“Is there, sir?” Venables covered up any sign of what he obviously expected to be a disappointment.

“Yes. Mr. Appleby has asked me for a man to be assigned to take notes for him during post mortem examinations,” Roger said. “It’s a rare opportunity, and one I had when I was fairly new with the C.I.D. You could find it very useful, and it could help you over the nausea problem.”

Venables had turned very pale, and for a moment Roger felt that he had made a mistake, that the other would feel that he had to refuse. Well, it wasn’t the end of the world, anyway.

Venables said very quietly: “If I ever make good in the Force, sir, I shall owe it to you. I’m very grateful, and of course I’ll work closely with Dr. Appleby, too—it’s a pretty trying time for him, sir. Did you know?”

“How trying?” Roger asked, as if he had no idea at all.

“He’s going to be divorced, sir. It’s in the Globe and several of the other papers this morning. Ah—again very many thanks, sir. It’s a great privilege to work with you.”

Roger waved his hands in a self deprecating gesture.

Venables turned round very quickly and went out. The door closed quietly. Without him the room seemed very still and empty; a vacuum between two parts of the same case. Roger sat for some time and then pulled some files towards him and ran through the contents until he came across the photographs of Flora Zigorski, Angela Margerison and, finally, Rose Nicholson. He had hardly known Rose, and yet he seemed to have known her for a long time; and very well.

Soon, he put the photographs back in their folders and put in a call to his wife, to tell her about the trip. He knew she would react with immediate delight, and have second thoughts about having to pack at such notice; and of course, she wouldn’t have any clothes worth wearing!

Soon, he was saying: “I know, darling, but you can buy something in Paris, for a start, and …”

When at last he rang off, he felt very contented.