Enter Pale Death(3)
He was looking the part, she thought, in his well-tailored suit and quiet tie. Far too young for the job, but then he always had been ahead of his time. She remembered that, at her first interview with him, the freshly appointed Commander Sandilands, dishevelled and disorganised, had greeted her with papers spilling off his desk and a face haggard with exhaustion and despair. Alarmingly, his hands and clothes had been damp and still stained with the fresh blood of four gunshot victims. His reputation, his handsome looks and his battle scars had combined to render her practically speechless in his presence. Now, the sleek surroundings and the equally sleek appearance were reassuring. Surely, at last, she could let go and ignore the urge she had always felt to rally round and protect him.
“I’m listening. Tell me what you’re really up to, Joe.” He’d never liked to waste time, and his pace was her pace. They worked well in harness.
“Getting to the bottom of a mysterious death in high places. So high, people dare not even gossip about it. Nothing ever reached my desk until last week and, unless I’ve been remarkably slow on the uptake, I don’t believe I’ve ever been passed a hint over a whisky in some concerned gent’s club, which is the way these things often start.”
“Has it been reported in the press?”
“No. Apart, that is, from an unremarkable mention in the obituary column of the Times.” Joe fell silent, sunk in thought. “She merited four lines, Lily. Just four lines. The problem, you might say, has been buried six feet under and left to rot away. Unnoticed. Unmourned. To all appearances.”
“No police involvement, you say?” Lily asked, eager to hear more. She’d learned to pay attention and give weight to Joe’s suspicions over the years.
“Initially, yes, there was. A token enquiry. The county police force involved—efficient fellows, I’m told—have pronounced themselves satisfied there’s been no dirty work at the crossroads. ‘Death by misadventure,’ the coroner announced. I can’t imagine why I’m letting myself be drawn into all this. The nearest anyone comes to suggesting that all may not be well is an occasional hissing intake of breath, a quiet shaking of the head and—of all ploys!—an attempt to squeeze a comment from me! I who know less than anyone! What really cuts me to the quick is—I fear people actually suspect me of involvement in the cover-up. I won’t have that, Lily.”
“Gawd! It’s the Prince! He’s in trouble again? I thought he was safely off in Africa shooting things.”
“If only it were so simple! That would be much more easily settled. His every move is recorded, preventive measures in place. At home or away, he’s only a danger to the beasts. This enquiry, if my worst fears are well-founded, could involve stepping into unknown territory strewn with man-traps and mines.”
“And you want me to tiptoe through the tulips ahead of you?”
“Not quite as bad as that! In fact, it might be just what you’d enjoy. Two nights of luxury, staying at a very discreet, expensive and well-regarded hotel ‘in the heart of clubland,’ as they advertise themselves—the Castlemaine. Just off St. James’s—do you know it? Invent your own cover story—single woman up in town for the shows, the museums, that sort of thing. Here’s your subject. You’re to keep an eye on this gentleman. A fellow guest.” Joe passed a photograph over the desk.
“He looks smooth. Powerful.” Lily looked at Joe anxiously. “Sure you know what you’re taking on, Joe?”
“No. That’s the whole point. I don’t. There are things I need to know—relationships I need to understand. I’ve been having this chap covered by officers from the Branch, with little to show for it. I can’t tell you how bored they were. They report everything ship-shape and Bristol fashion—a man leading an impeccable and busy life. I can come up with no further justification for continuing the surveillance of one exemplary Englishman, and I’ve had to stand the men down. You know how tight my budget is. We need all the men we can muster to get in amongst these Blackshirt clowns who are making our lives a misery.”
“But a couple of nights at the Castlemaine will make a bit of a hole in your expenses for the month, won’t it?”
“Yes. And tricky to account for. I shall enter it as ‘specialist consultation fee.’ The formula’s held good so far. And worth every penny to the State!” His voice was warm with pride and encouragement. “I’ve made certain that the people who need to know these things are aware of what you’ve saved the country in embarrassment, hard cash and lives … starting with the Prince himself. Inestimable—that just about sums up your contribution, Lily, to Britannia’s well-being. No one’s going to raise an objection.”