Chapter Twenty-Six
‘What’s it say on the label, Ralph?’ He had a memory of Tilly paying respectful attention to such details in the Dame’s room.
‘Lanvin. Paris.’
Joe fingered the flimsy fabric. ‘Bloody old Bella! If this was caked in blood, and I think we can guess it was Group III, it’s all been washed away. No use to Forensics at all.’
‘What is Armitage doing with a bloodstained dress? Keeping it as evidence? But why, then, wash the best bit of the evidence away? Was he filing it away as insurance? Blackmailing someone? It still makes more sense to leave it caked with blood, surely?’
They were gazing in fascination at Armitage’s secret when Joe’s telephone rang. The duty sergeant was relieved to hear Joe pick up the receiver. ‘She’s been trying for the past two hours, sir,’ he said in a pained voice. ‘It’s a Mrs Benton. Claims to be your sister. Says it’s urgent.’
‘Put her through.’
‘Lydia? Joe here. Got a problem? Can you make it fast? I’m up to my ears here.’
‘Only your ears? Well, lucky old you! I’m in over my head. I went to King’s Hanger this morning as I promised and walked into the most appalling scene. Melisande’s gone mad. Quite mad! She was, according to Dorcas, having a row with Orlando all weekend. He moved out of the house – or she threw him out – and he spent the night in the caravan. She went out early this morning and set the thing on fire. Not a bad move, I’d have thought, but Orlando was in there at the time. He’s all right. Shaken and furious of course but not much damage done – Yallop pulled him out in time . . . I see what you mean about Yallop, by the way! Oh my goodness!’
Joe groaned. ‘Lyd, I really can’t look at a domestic problem or even arson at the moment. Has Mrs Joliffe called the local police? That would be the thing to do.’
‘Joe! She’s had enough bad publicity for one week, don’t you think? She’s washed her hands of the whole thing and retreated into her room.’
‘Where are you now, Lydia?’
‘I’m at home. I loaded the children and Melisande into the car and brought them all back with me before worse occurred. Any chance you could come over here and calm them all down? That gallant little Dorcas is quite a trooper but she swears like one too and I’m having to keep my girls out of earshot in the nursery.’
‘I can’t get down before the weekend. Oh, Lydia, I’m sorry to have landed you with this! I’ll do my best to get over the minute I can wrestle down a problem or two I’ve got on my desk. Look, Lyd, I’m going to impose further on you! Can you spare a minute to answer a question? . . . The dress label Lanvin . . . Expensive? And who would wear and for what occasion a . . .’ He studied the dress Ralph was still holding, ‘. . . short, lace dress, black, straps at the shoulders, no sleeves and a pair of black satin gloves?’
‘So – they’ve turned up, have they?’
‘Eh? What do you mean, Lydia?’
‘Ah! You hadn’t noticed then? Well, aren’t I clever? I looked at your files on Thursday night and, Joe, there was something missing. Probably something it would take a woman to see. That list of belongings so meticulously put together by your constable – it was quite obviously everything the Dame would need for a two-day stay at the Ritz, down to the last handkerchief. I was curious to know what she was planning to get up to on her second night so I cross-checked with her diary. You didn’t correlate the two, did you?’ Lydia was triumphant.
‘She was booked in for a dinner at the Savoy with an admiral. But, Joe, where on the list was a suitable outfit for a glamorous evening like that? The long formal frock she was wearing for the Ritz party wouldn’t have been quite right and I don’t imagine she’d wear the same thing two nights in succession. There was no second dress, no second pair of gloves listed. But what you’re describing sounds just perfect. Jeanne Lanvin, eh? Discreet but dressy. Quiet elegance. Perfect for the Savoy. Whoever the owner is – and I think I can guess! – she has jolly expensive taste!’
‘Perfect for the Ritz too,’ Joe added silently. ‘God, Lydia! I wish you’d mentioned this earlier!’
‘Ralph! Someone’s been playing Blind Man’s Buff with me all along!’ he exclaimed as he replaced the receiver.
He sank into his chair, head in hands, lost in dark thoughts.
‘You all right, sir?’
‘No. I’m not. I’ve just shaken off the blindfold and got a clear look at the jokers who’ve been spinning me around, tripping me up and walloping me with a pig’s bladder! Trouble is – I can’t see why. Why would they do it? Listen, Ralph and tell me if you think I’m quite barmy . . .’