Jones broke off his conversation with the desk sergeant as Stratton entered the station. ‘Had a good time with Wallace, did you?’
Stratton curled his lip. ‘Haven’t had so much fun since my Auntie Annie caught her tits in the mangle.’
‘Well, you’ve got more delights in store. Ballard was just asking for you. You’ll catch him if you’re quick.’
‘Thanks.’ Dashing down the corridor, Stratton heard laughter coming from his office, and, opening the door, almost collided with Ballard’s backside, which was sticking out because he was leaning over Gaines, who, seated in the desk chair, had her arms about his neck. Hearing the noise, they leapt apart, smoothing their tunics, scarlet with embarrassment.
‘I’m glad some people are enjoying themselves,’ said Stratton.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Ballard stammered. ‘We were just …’
Stratton raised an inquiring eyebrow. ‘Just … ?’
Ballard stared at the floor. Gaines coughed. ‘Actually, sir, we were celebrating.’
‘Celebrating what? Your engagement
‘No, sir. Constable Ballard’s made a discovery.’
‘Evidently,’ said Stratton, dryly. ‘But I’d prefer it if he didn’t examine his findings in my office.’
‘No, sir,’ said Gaines, who had turned, if possible, even redder than before. ‘It’s the dentist.’
‘Turn up for the books, sir,’ said Ballard, when Gaines had been despatched to fetch a cup of tea and Stratton, promising discretion, had delivered a short lecture about not carrying on like love’s young dream in front of all and sundry as he – or, more probably, Gaines – risked dismissal if found out. ‘I contacted the dentists
in the Haywards Heath area and there was one – Joseph Dwyer – who’d had Cecil Duke as a patient. Recognised the photographs. Marvellous how they can do that, sir – know their own handiwork. It all matches up with the notes, so we’ve found our man.’
‘That’s excellent. Well done. Any luck with the passenger lists?’
‘Not yet, sir. Miss Gaines,’ Ballard’s cheeks, which had returned to their usual colour, turned slightly pink again, ‘is working on it. We’ve found your man from the barber’s shop, though. Mr Rogers. He’s in a boarding house in Bloomsbury.’
For all the good it’ll do, thought Stratton. Aloud, he said, ‘Splendid. Keep up the good work. But remember, no more canoodling.’
‘No, sir.’
‘No sir is right. Now bugger off.’ Ballard grinned and exited, leaving Stratton shaking his head. All right, he thought, Cecil Duke was killed by Abie Marks, who was acting on instructions from Sir Neville. And Marks had sent Wallace to retrieve the films from Mabel Morgan for Sir Neville. Damage limitation. But it hadn’t done any good because they’d failed, and in any case Bobby Chadwick had gone to Montague to get his revenge … Left to himself, Stratton would get to work on Sir Neville – tell him Marks had confessed and implicated him, and then sit back and watch the dominoes come down, one by one, but he was willing to bet that Forbes-James had no intention of giving him the chance to do any such thing. A surge of frustration at his impotence made him slam a fist on his desk, then jump up and kick it. ‘What’s the point?’ he said, between gritted teeth. ‘What is the fucking point?’
‘Inspector?’ Stratton turned to see Policewoman Gaines in the doorway, teacup in hand, looking startled. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
‘It’s all right.’ Stratton cradled his bruised hand. ‘Just … letting off steam, that’s all.’
‘I’ve brought your tea.’ Gaines held out the cup gingerly, as if offering a treat to a dog of uncertain temperament. Stratton told her to close the door behind her, and repeated the lecture he’d given Ballard, using slightly different words and with a good deal more awkwardness. He opted for what he hoped was avuncular jocularity in place of the men-of-the-world tack he’d taken with Ballard, but Gaines refused to meet his eye, and seemed to be near
tears by the time he’d finished. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said. ‘This isn’t an official reprimand. Just be careful, that’s all. Ballard’s a nice chap,’ he added, and then, realising that if he wasn’t careful he’d turn into the father of the bride (I hope you’ll be very happy together), said, ‘It’s not the end of the world.’ Gaines, who clearly thought it was, stifled a sob and fled. Stratton collapsed in his chair, feeling that, despite the mildness of his tone and the rightness of his observations, he’d somehow been a bully and a brute. Men were so much easier to deal with … Apart from Forbes-James and his ilk, of course.
He was still wondering about the man who had died in the fire and been wrongly identified as Duke. He supposed he could ask the Sussex police to come up with a list of missing persons for 1935, but they’d probably never find out who the stranger was. It would remain a mystery, like the true cause of Mabel’s death … Bollocks. And he couldn’t even go and see Abie Marks without asking Forbes-James’s permission first … It was no good. He couldn’t put off Dolphin Square any longer. As he was swilling down the rest of his tea, the telephone rang.
‘I was hoping I’d catch you,’ said Forbes-James. ‘How did you get on?’
‘Curran confirmed Wallace’s story, and he said Marks asked for his help removing a body from a flat in Romilly Street in his car, burying it in the crypt of Our Lady and St. Peter. And it’s definitely Duke, sir. The dental records confirm it.’
‘In that case, I’d like to speak to Marks this evening. We need to get this wrapped up as soon as possible. Do you know where he’s to be found?’
‘He’s got a billiard hall in Soho. Does most of his business from there. Do you want me to bring him in?’
‘No. Wait for me at Great Marlborough Street. I’ve got a couple of things to see to, and then I’m on my way. We can discuss how to handle him when we’re in the car.’