Chapter 17

Harold Phillips was hot and uncomfortable. The Interrogation Room was full of cigarette smoke and it was beginning to make his eyes hurt. He’d already had one lengthy session with Chief Superintendent Mallory and he hadn’t liked it. He glanced furtively across the room at the stony-faced constable standing beside the door.

He moistened his lips. “How much longer then?”

“That’s up to Mr. Mallory, sir,” the constable replied.

The door opened and Mallory returned, Brady following him. “Did they get you a cup of tea?” the Superintendent asked.

“No, they didn’t,” Harold answered in an aggrieved tone.

“That’s not good enough—not good enough at all.” He turned to the constable. “Fetch a cup of tea from the canteen on the double for Mr. Phillips.”

He turned, smiling amiably and sat at the table. He opened a file and glanced at it quickly as he started to fill his pipe. “Let’s just look at this again.”

In the silence which followed the only sound was the clock ticking on the wall and the dull rumble of thunder somewhere far off in the distance.

“Sounds like more rain then,” Harold commented.

Mallory looked up. His face was like stone, the eyes dark and full of menace. He said sharply and angrily, “I’m afraid you haven’t been telling the truth, young man. You’ve been wasting my time.”

The contrast between this and his earlier politeness was quite shattering and Harold started to shake involuntarily. “I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered. “I’ve told you everything I can remember.”

“Tell him the truth, son,” Brady put in, worried and anxious. “It’ll go better with you in the long run.”

“But I am telling him the bleeding truth,” Harold cried. “What else does he want—blood? Here, I’m not having any more of this. I want to see a lawyer.”

“Lie number one,” Mallory said remorselessly. “You told us that you didn’t know the name of the man you’d had the argument with at The King’s Arms. The man who went off with Grace Packard.”

“That’s right.”

“The landlord remembers differently. He says that when you came back to the pub to take him up on his offer of a drink on the house, you already knew the name of the person concerned. What you’d really come back for was his address only the landlord wouldn’t play.”

“It’s a lie,” Harold said. “There isn’t a word of truth in it.”

“He’s ready to repeat his statement under oath in the box,” Brady said.

Mallory carried on as if he hadn’t heard. “You told us that you were home by half-nine, that you took your mother a cup of tea and then went to bed. Do you still stick to that story?”

“You ask her—she’ll tell you. Go on, just ask her.”

“We happen to know that your mother is a very sick woman and in severe pain most of the time. The pills the doctor gave to make her sleep needed to be much stronger than usual. Her dosage was two. We can prove she took three yesterday. Medical evidence would indicate that it would be most unlikely that you would have been able to waken her at the time you state.”

“You can’t prove that.” Harold sounded genuinely indignant.

“Possibly not,” Mallory admitted candidly, “but it won’t look good, will it?”

“So what. You need evidence in a court of law—real evidence. Everybody knows that.”

“Oh, we can supply some of that as well if you insist. You told us that after leaving The King’s Arms you didn’t see Grace Packard again, that you walked round the streets for a while, had a coffee at the station buffet and went home, arriving at half-nine.”

“That’s right.”

“But you found time for something else, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You had intercourse with someone.”

Harold was momentarily stunned. When he spoke again he was obviously badly shaken. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I wouldn’t try lying again if I were you. You asked for evidence, real evidence. I’ve got some for you. For the past couple of hours your trousers, the trousers you were wearing yesterday have been the subject of chemical tests in our laboratory. They haven’t finished yet by any means, but I’ve just had a preliminary report that indicates beyond any shadow of a doubt that you were with a woman last night.”

“Maybe someone forgot to tell you, son,” Brady put in, “but Grace Packard had intercourse just before she died.”

“Here, you needn’t try that one.” Harold put out a hand defensively. “All right, I’ll tell you the truth. I did go with a woman last night.”

“Who was she?” Mallory asked calmly.

“I don’t know. I bumped into her in one of those streets behind the station.”

“Was she on the game?” Brady suggested.

“That’s it. Thirty bob for a short time. You know how it goes. We stood against the wall in a back alley.”

“And her name?” Mallory said.

“Do me a favour, Superintendent. I didn’t even get a clear look at her face.”

“Let’s hope she hasn’t left you something to remember her by,” Brady said grimly. “Why didn’t you tell us about this before?”

Harold had obviously recovered some of his lost confidence. He contrived to look pious. “It isn’t the sort of thing you like to talk about, now is it?”

The constable came in with a cup of tea, placed it on the table and whispered in Mallory’s ear. The Chief Superintendent nodded, got to his feet and beckoned to Brady.

“Miller’s on the phone,” he said when they got into the corridor.

“What about Harold, sir?”

“Let him stew for a few minutes.”

He spoke to Miller from a booth half-way along the corridor. “Where are you speaking from?”

“Phone box outside Faulkner’s place,” Miller told him. “He’s up there now with his lawyer and Joanna Hartmann.”

“You’ve spoken to him then?”

“Oh, yes, thought I’d give him a breather, that’s all. We’ve reached an interesting stage. You were right about the gloves, sir. He didn’t even attempt to deny having had them. Gave exactly the reason for lying about them at the coffee stall that you said he would.”

Mallory couldn’t help feeling slightly complacent. “There you are then. I don’t like to say I told you so, but I honestly think you’re wasting your time, Miller.”

“Don’t tell me Harold’s cracked?”

“Not quite, but he’s tying himself up in about fifty-seven different knots. I think he’s our man. More certain of it than ever.”

“But not the Rainlover?”

“A different problem, I’m afraid.”

“One interesting point, sir,” Miller said. “Remember Faulkner told us he gave the girl ten pounds?”

“What about it?”

“What he actually gave her was a ten-pound note. He says she tucked it into her stocking top. Apparently made some crack about it being the safest place.”

“Now that is interesting.” Mallory was aware of a sudden tightness in his chest that interfered with his breathing—an old and infallible sign. “That might just about clinch things if I use it in the right way. I think you’d better get back here right away, Miller.”

“But what about Faulkner, sir?”

“Oh, to hell with Faulkner, man. Get back here now and that’s an order.”

He slammed down the phone and turned to Brady who waited, leaning against the wall. “Miller’s just come up with an interesting tit-bit. Remember Faulkner said he gave the girl ten pounds for posing for him. He’s just told Miller it was actually a ten-pound note. Now I wonder what our friend in there would do with it.”

“Always assuming that he’s the man we want, sir,” Brady reminded him.

“Now don’t you start, Brady,” Mallory said. “I’ve got enough on my hands with Miller.”

“All right, sir,” Brady said. “Put a match to it if he had any sense.”

“Which I doubt,” Mallory chuckled grimly. “Can you imagine Harold Phillips putting a match to a ten-pound note?” He shook his head. “Not on your life. He’ll have stashed it away somewhere.”

At that moment Henry Wade appeared from the lift at the end of the corridor and came towards them, Harold’s trousers over his arm.

“Anything else for me?” Mallory demanded.

Wade shook his head. “I’m afraid not. He was with a woman, that’s all I can tell you.”

“Nothing more?”

Wade shrugged. “No stains we can link with the girl if that’s what you mean. Sometimes if you’re lucky you can test the semen for its blood group factor. About forty per cent of males secrete their blood group in their body fluids. Of course it won’t work if the subject isn’t a member of that group. In any case you need a large specimen and it’s got to be fresh. Sorry, sir.”

Mallory took a deep breath. “All right, this is what we do. We’re all going back in there. I want you to simply stand with the trousers over your arm and say nothing, Wade. Brady—just look serious. That’s all I ask.”

“But what are you going to try, sir?” Brady demanded.

“A king-size bluff,” Mallory said simply. “I’m simply betting on the fact that I’m a better poker player than Harold Phillips.”