Simon Tolkien Inspector Trave Trilogy: Orders From Berlin, The Inheritance, The King of Diamonds. Simon Tolkien
Albert’s background, and while he was on the phone I was able to find out a little about the investigation. I’m afraid I think that your husband is the main suspect.’
‘Why?’ asked Ava, although she thought she already knew the answer to her question.
‘Because of your father’s money. Apparently he was quite a wealthy man, and your husband is named alongside you as the main beneficiary in your father’s will. Of course you’re aware of this, but I wonder if you know that he’s heavily in debt and that he desperately needs your father’s money if he’s going to stay solvent.’
‘Yes.’ Ava nodded. ‘It doesn’t surprise me. But … well, I keep on going over it in my mind, and I just don’t think Bertram’s capable of murder.’ She swallowed hard, trying to resist the upsurge of fear that had come with the utterance of the awful word. ‘I’m not stupid,’ she went on with an effort. ‘I can see he’s the one who had the motive, but that’s not the same as saying he did it.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ agreed Seaforth. ‘I suppose the real question is how well do you know him?’
‘We’ve been married for over three years,’ said Ava curtly. She understood now why Seaforth wanted to talk to her. He was obviously going to be concerned if he thought she was in danger, but she still felt uncomfortable discussing her private life with somebody who was almost a stranger.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Seaforth, backing off. ‘I know it’s not my business, but I just want to help. Let me ask you this instead: Do you have any idea how he ran up all these debts?’
‘He said they were bad investments.’
‘But do you know that or are you just taking his word for it?’
Ava dropped her eyes, not answering.
‘Have there been any letters about the money that you’ve seen?’ he asked, pressing the question.
‘I’ve read a few,’ said Ava, colouring. She hadn’t liked steaming open Bertram’s letters, but she’d felt she had no choice. She’d needed to know what was happening in her life.
‘Good for you,’ said Seaforth. ‘Did they tell you anything?’
‘No … except that the debts were much larger than I’d suspected. Apart from the bank, they were to companies I’d never heard of.’
‘So maybe the answer is that you don’t know him that well,’ said Seaforth, giving Ava a searching look. ‘Maybe you don’t know what he’s capable of.’
‘No. Yes … I don’t know,’ said Ava. She had a habit of gnawing on her thumbnail when she was nervous. She was doing it now but stopped when she became aware of Seaforth watching her.
He drummed his fingers on the table, his brow wrinkled in thought. ‘I don’t like it, Ava,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to tell you I don’t like it. Tell me, has he done anything out of the ordinary since your father’s death?’
‘Like what?’
‘Has he tried to get you to do anything?’
‘Just go to the solicitor’s today. He spent all his time organizing the funeral, and now the will’s his new obsession. He told the solicitor that he’s going to the Probate Office first thing in the morning.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Seaforth, nodding. ‘He needs to have the will made official before he can get his hands on the money. It sounds like he’s in a race against time with his creditors. What about medicines?’ he asked. ‘You’ve been overwrought. Has he offered you sedatives or anything like that?’
‘No. Like I said, he doesn’t seem to notice me much unless it’s about something he’s organizing.’
‘Good. That’s good,’ said Seaforth, stroking his chin pensively. ‘I honestly think you’ll be safe as long as you don’t give him any reason to think that you suspect him—’
‘But I did,’ Ava broke in, sounding frightened. ‘I got angry, on the night before the funeral. I told him I knew about his debts and I said …’
‘What? What did you say?’
‘I said it was pretty convenient my father died when he did.’
‘How did he react?’
‘He swore he had nothing to do with it.’
‘And did you believe him?’
‘I didn’t know what to think. We haven’t discussed it since then.’
‘So he probably thinks it’s no longer an issue.’ Seaforth smiled, defusing the tension. And she felt herself relax in response. Live for today. Wasn’t that what Seaforth had been saying she should do earlier? Because a bomb might have her number on it tomorrow …
Seaforth left for a moment to make a telephone call and returned with a waitress bringing their food and a second glass of wine. Ava couldn’t remember when she had last drunk alcohol in the middle of the day. It went to her head, making her feel that anything was possible. And the food was wonderful. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she started eating. Inside this pleasure dome, all the months of thrift and ration-book shopping seemed a distant memory. At first she tried to eat delicately, like a lady, but then she gave up on the attempt. She caught Seaforth’s eye as she reached for another slice of bread to clean her plate and saw that he was watching her with amusement. She felt annoyed for a moment, but then she laughed. No girl could be unhappy for long in a place like this, she thought – not with a handsome, clever man like Charles Seaforth for company.
But then in the bus on the way home, her doubts returned. Seaforth had confirmed the impression she’d got from Trave at Scotland Yard. The police thought Bertram had killed her father. She thought back to that moment when she had peered up through the darkness towards the shadowy figures struggling on the second-floor landing at Gloucester Mansions. Was Bertram the man with the soft voice who had pushed her father over the balustrade? Was that what he would do to her if she got in his way? She shivered, trying to control her anxiety as she got off the bus and began walking up the deserted street towards her flat. The sky had clouded over, and it was beginning to rain.
Trave walked back to Scotland Yard, puzzling over what he had seen, unprepared for the reception awaiting him on his return. Quaid exploded as soon as Trave came through the door of their shared office.
‘How dare you disobey my orders?’ he began angrily. ‘Didn’t I tell you not to go to St James’s Park? Didn’t I tell you to leave the people in there alone?’
Trave bowed his head, saying nothing because there was nothing to say; he had no defence. But his brain was racing as he waited for Quaid to vent his fury. It had to be Seaforth who’d complained – he must have telephoned Quaid from the Corner House soon after Trave had left. And if his call had had such an effect on the inspector, then didn’t that imply that Seaforth was the one who’d spoken to Quaid before and got the inspector to agree to keep 59 Broadway out of the investigation? How had he been able to do that? And why?
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Trave when Quaid finally paused for breath. ‘But is the man who complained about me called Seaforth?’
‘How on earth do you know that?’ asked Quaid, looking surprised.
‘Mrs Brive told me about him. He was at the funeral. And then today he was with her at the Lyons Corner House—’
‘And they can be there tomorrow too if they want and the day after that, but without you spying on them,’ interrupted Quaid, working himself up to another tirade. ‘I’ve had enough of your insubordination. Any more of it and you’ll find yourself working for the military police. And in case you think that’s a soft option, let me tell you that it’ll be in one of the new internment camps for enemy aliens that the Home Office has opened up on the north end of Scotland. Not where I’d like to spend the winter, but it’s up to you. Do we understand each other, lad?