Chapter 8

The party had just about folded and all the guests had departed except for Jack Morgan and Frank Marlowe who sat at the bar with Joanna and her aunt, having a final drink before leaving.

The door bell chimed and Joanna looked up in surprise. “Now, who on earth can that be?”

“Probably Bruno,” her aunt remarked acidly. “Returning to tell you that all is forgiven.”

“Well, it won’t work—not this time.” Joanna was annoyed. “He can stew for a while.”

There was another ring and Frank Marlowe started to rise. “I’d better go

”

“No, I’ll handle it. I’ll see him myself.”

She opened the door, braced for her encounter and found Nick Miller standing there. “Why, Nick,” she said in bewilderment.

“Could I come in for a moment?”

“Certainly.” She hesitated. “I’m afraid nearly everyone’s gone home. We’re just having a final drink. Why don’t you join us?”

“I’d better not,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I’m here on business.”

As she closed the door, she stiffened, then turned very slowly. “Bruno? Something has happened to Bruno?”

Miller shook his head quickly. “He’s perfectly all right—I’ve just been speaking to him. There was a girl here earlier—a girl called Grace Packard. He brought her with him, didn’t he?”

Jack Morgan got up from his stool and came forward. “That’s right, but she left some time ago. Look here, Miller, what is this?”

“As I said, I’ve already spoken to Faulkner. She went back to his studio with him and left at approximately ten-thirty. She was found by a police officer less than fifteen minutes later in an alley a couple of streets away.”

There was a shocked gasp from Mary Beresford and Marlowe said in a whisper, “You mean she’s dead?”

“That’s right. Murdered. Her neck was broken, probably by a sharp blow from the rear.”

“The Rainlover,” Mary Beresford said so quietly that it might have been a sigh.

“It could be,” Miller said. “On the other hand that kind of killer tends to work to a pattern and it’s a little close to his last one.” He turned to Morgan. “You’ve been here all the time?”

“Since I arrived at eighty-thirty or so.”

“I can confirm that,” Joanna said quickly. “We all can.”

“Look here,” Marlowe said. “Can we know where we stand? Is this an official call?”

“Just an enquiry.” Miller turned to Joanna again. “I understand from your fiancé that he didn’t stay very long. Isn’t that rather unusual considering that it was your birthday party?”

“Bruno’s very much a law unto himself,” she said calmly.

Mary Beresford came in under full sail. “Oh, for heaven’s sake tell the truth about him for once, Joanna. He didn’t stay long because he was asked to leave.”

“And why was that?”

“I should have thought it sufficiently obvious. You were here—you saw what happened. He picked that little tart up in a saloon bar and brought her here with the deliberate intention of ruining the party for everyone.”

“Aunt Mary—please,” Joanna said.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” The old woman’s eyes glittered fiercely. “He arrived dressed like a tramp as usual and with twenty minutes was trying to break the place up.”

Miller turned enquiringly. Jack Morgan picked up the two halves of the wooden chopping block that lay on the bar. “Bruno’s latest parlour trick.”

“Karate?”

“That’s right. Imagine what a blow like that would do to somebody’s jaw.”

A brown belt who was soon to face re-grading to first Dan, Miller could have told him in detail. Instead he looked at Marlowe speculatively. “That bruise on your face—did he do that?”

“Look here,” Marlowe said angrily. “I don’t know what all this is leading up to, but if you think I’m laying a complaint against him you’re mistaken. There was a rather undignified squabble—there usually is when Bruno’s around. Nothing more.”

“And he left with Grace Packard. You must have found that rather upsetting, Joanna.”

“God knows, but she’s had enough practice by now,” Mary Beresford said. “You say he took her home with him?”

“That’s right, but apparently she only stayed ten minutes or so.”

“A likely story.”

“Confirmed by the time the body was found. He says that he gave her ten pounds to pose for him. Would you say that was likely?”

Frank Marlowe laughed harshly. “More than that—typical.”

Joanna had gone very white, but hung on to her dignity with everything she had left. “As I’ve already said, he’s very much a law unto himself.”

“He’s been working on a special commission,” Jack Morgan said. “One of the most important he’s had. It started as a single figure four or five weeks ago and now comprises a group of four. He was discussing with me earlier the question of adding a fifth to give the thing balance.”

Miller nodded. “Yes, he did mention that.”

“Then why did you have to ask?” Joanna Hartmann said sharply.

Miller frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

“Are we to take it that my fiancé is under some kind of suspicion in this business?”

“Routine, Joanna, pure routine at the moment. But it has to be done, you must see that surely.”

“I don’t at all,” she said hotly. “What I do see is that you were a guest in my house earlier this evening because I had imagined you a friend.”

“Rubbish,” Miller said crisply. “You asked me to your party for one reason only. Because my brother is probably the most influential man in Northern Television and you’re worried because you’ve heard there’s talk of taking off your series at the end of this season.”

“How dare you?” Mary Beresford said. “I’ll complain to your superiors.”

“You can do what you damned well like,” Miller helped himself to a cigarette from a box on the table and smiled calmly. “With my present service and including certain special payments my annual salary at the moment as a Detective Sergeant is one thousand three hundred and eighty-two pounds, Mrs. Beresford. It might interest you to know that every penny of it goes for income tax. Gives me a wonderful feeling of freedom when I’m dealing with people like you.”

He turned back to Joanna Hartmann. “Whether you like it or not you’ve got a few unpleasant facts to face. Number one as far as I’m concerned is that Grace Packard was murdered within an hour of leaving this flat in company with your fiancé, so don’t start trying to get on your high horse because we have the impudence to suggest that he might be able to help us with our enquiries.”

“I’m Mr. Faulkner’s solicitor,” Jack Morgan said. “Why wasn’t I present when he was questioned?”

“Why not ask him? He was certainly offered the privilege.” Miller turned very quickly, moved to the door and opened it. “I’ll probably have to see you again, Miss Hartmann,” he said formally. “We’d appreciate it if you’d make yourself available during the next couple of days.”

“But Miss Hartmann’s due in London tomorrow for an important business conference,” Frank Marlowe said.

“I can’t prevent her going,” Miller said, “but it would certainly be a great pity if Faulkner happened to need her and she wasn’t here.”

He closed the door and chuckled grimly as he went along the corridor to the lift. He’d certainly stirred things up there. It would be more than interesting to see what the outcome, if any, would be.

The heavy silence after Miller had gone out was first broken by Frank Marlowe. “I don’t like the smell of this—don’t like it at all.”

“Neither do I,” Jack Morgan said.

Joanna went up the steps to the door, opened a cupboard and took out a sheepskin coat. She pulled it on quickly.

“Did you come in your car, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Good

I’d like you to run me round to Bruno’s.”

Her aunt put a hand on her arm as if she would restrain her. “For goodness’ sake, Joanna, don’t be a fool. Stay out of this.”

Joanna turned on her fiercely. “You don’t like him, do you, Aunt Mary. You never did. Because of that you want to believe that he’s somehow mixed up in this business. Well, I never will.”

The old woman turned away, suddenly looking her age and Frank Marlowe said, “Want me to come?”

Joanna shook her head. “Better not. Would you mind hanging on till we get back?”

“I’ll be here.”

Jack Morgan opened the door for her and as Joanna turned, her aunt made a final try. “Joanna,” she said sharply. “You must listen to me. It’s for your own good. Think of your career. You can’t afford to get mixed up in the kind of scandal this could cause.”

Joanna ignored her completely. “Ready, Jack?” she said and led the way out.

They didn’t talk during the drive to Bruno’s place, but when Morgan pulled in at the kerb and switched off the engine, she put a hand on his arm.

“You’ve known Bruno a long time, Jack, longer than any of us. You don’t believe he could

”

“Not a chance,” he told her emphatically. “He’s a wild man, I’ll give you that, but I couldn’t accept the kind of suspicions Nick Miller obviously holds for a moment.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear.” She smiled her relief. “Now let’s go up and have a word with him.”

But they were wasting their time. There was no reply to their insistent knocking at Bruno’s door. After five minutes of fruitless effort, Morgan turned to her and said gently, “Better leave it for now, Joanna. He’s probably had enough for one night.”

She nodded wearily. “All right, Jack, take me home. We’ll try again in the morning. I’ll cancel my trip to London.”

On the other side of the door, Faulkner listened to the footsteps fade as they descended the stairs. His head was hurting again. My God, but it was hurting. He took a couple of the pills the doctor had given him, poured himself a large whisky and stood at the window and looked out into the night.

Rain spattered against the glass and he rested his aching forehead against it. But it didn’t help. Quite suddenly it was as if he was suffocating. Air, that’s what he needed—the cold air of night to drive away this terrible pain. He grabbed his trenchcoat and hat and let himself out quickly.