THIRTY-TWO

'When were you planning to pay Tapper this little social call, then?' Chipchase asked as they trudged back towards Stockwell Tube station.

'Right now,' Harry replied. 'We've got his address, thanks to Danger.'

'Yeah. Leafy Carshalton. All right for some, hey?'

'Did he ever strike you as the impulsively generous type?'

'Anything but. There were moth holes in his ten-bob notes.'

'So, why would he send Mrs Nixon off on a luxury cruise, all expenses paid?'

'To get her out of the way. To ensure she couldn't let slip anything significant about Coker's long ago, mysterious demise.'

'Good to know we're thinking along the same lines, Barry.'

'We make a good team, Harry. You know we do. The old firm back together. A winning combination.'

'You've said that before.'

'Have I?'

'Quite a few times. And every one of them… has been the prelude to disaster.'

—«»—«»—«»—

Carshalton was a far cry from Brixton. Cherry trees were in blossom round the old village pond, the quacking of ducks audible above the rumble of traffic. They crossed a park where several pedigree Carshaltonians were exercising their pedigree hounds, then walked along a well-spaced row of half-timbered, double-gable-fronted houses with Land Rover Discoveries and E-class Mercedes gleaming on the driveways.

Tancred's contribution to the vehicular excess was a sleek, sporty Jaguar. Its owner, dressed for golf in check trousers and bottle-green sweater, was loading a bag of clubs into the capacious boot as Harry, with Chipchase as usual in the rear, turned in from the road.

'Tapper.'

'What?' Tancred whirled round. 'Good God. Ossie. And … yes, it's Fission, isn't it?'

'Long time no dirty looks, Tapper,' said Chipchase.

'What brings you two here?'

'You've heard about Danger?' Harry asked.

'Yes. Magister phoned. I should tell you that he didn't… speak kindly of you.'

'He's a little overwrought.'

'Forgivably so, I rather think.' Tancred closed the boot and jangled his car key. 'I have no idea what you're mixed up in, of course, but—'

'A triple murder inquiry, Tapper. That's what we're mixed up in. And it's not a pleasant experience, let me tell you. Especially when you consider that we're innocent.'

'I'm sure you are. Nevertheless, someone did murder Danger, didn't they? We can be sure of that, I gather. And you were on the scene, so I also gather. I suppose it's inevitable you'd come under suspicion.'

'Aren't you just an itty-bit worried in case some homicidal bloody maniac's knocking off us Clean Sheeters one by one?' Chipchase asked in a challenging tone.

Tancred smiled nervously. 'I confess I am.'

'You don't look it.'

'Appearances can be deceptive. They also have to be maintained. I haven't told my wife there's any cause for concern, so… I'm obliged to carry on as normal.'

'Is your wife in at the moment?' Harry asked.

'Er, no. She isn't.'

'Perhaps we could step inside for a word, then. If it's convenient.'

'It's not, actually. I'll be late for my round of golf if I don't leave soon.'

'It won't take long.'

'Even so, I—'

'It concerns a Caribbean cruise you recently paid for.'

'What?'

'Coker's widow, Tapper,' said Chipchase. 'You put her out of our reach, didn't you?'

'I certainly did nothing of the—' Tancred broke off, shaped a friendly grin and waved to a neighbour strolling past the end of the drive, leading a Dalmatian. 'Morning, Hugh.'

'Morning, Gilbert.' Hugh waved back.

'All right,' said Tancred reluctantly, once Hugh and the Dalmatian had moved on. 'Come in if you must. But I can't spare you more than a few minutes.'

'Don't worry, Tapper,' said Chipchase as they headed down past the double garage towards the side-door of the house. 'We won't stay any longer than we need to.'

—«»—«»—«»—

They got no further than the kitchen, Tancred seeming unwilling to let them invade his domain any further. They were there, his frowning, pettish expression made clear, strictly on sufferance.

'One or two nice vintages here, Tapper,' said Chipchase, eyeing the wine rack. 'You're obviously more of a Bordeaux man than a—'

'Shall we cut the small talk? If that's what you'd call it. The fact of the matter is that Magister specifically warned me you might be in touch. When I tell him of your visit, he'll take it as confirmation of your complicity in a plot against him. I was inclined to regard that plot, or at any rate your involvement in it, as a figment of his imagination, but I'm beginning to think I may have to… reconsider my position.'

'We're under suspicion,' said Harry. 'That much is undeniable. So, we're having to do what the police don't seem prepared to do. Find out what's really going on.'

'Well, you're wasting your time, then. I certainly can't tell you. It's as big a mystery to me as you say it is to you.'

'Not quite. We don't know why you paid for Mrs Nixon to go a-cruising. But you do. So, why not fill us in?'

'It's none of your business.'

'Oh, but it is. We wanted to talk to her about Coker's death. Your… generosity… has stopped us.'

'Sorry, I'm sure. Naturally, I had no idea it would prove so inconvenient.'

'What would she have told us, Tapper?'

'Nothing of any relevance, I strongly suspect.'

'Why did you do it, then? Why did you send her away?'

'I didn't send her. I simply… enabled her to go.'

'But why?'

'Why shouldn't I?'

'Why?'

'All right.' Tancred slapped the flat of his hand irritably on the work top. 'I'll explain. Even though I strongly object to being obliged to. Danger suggested I call on her and pay my respects — our respects. The visit… stirred my conscience. I used to patronize Coker. You know that. Several of us did. Spectacularly unfunny remarks about bananas and coconuts and so forth. Looking back, I'm… pretty ashamed of how I treated him. Paying for Glenys to see Antigua again was…' He shrugged. 'My way of making up for it.'

'You expect us to believe that?' snapped Chipchase.

'I do.'

'Why did you keep it such a secret?'

'Isn't that obvious? To avoid having to admit to you and the others why I did it. I dislike… showing my feelings. I always have. I strongly disapprove of the current vogue for soul-baring. I believe some things — perhaps even most things — are best left unsaid.'

'Can you lend me a hanky, Harry?' Chipchase sarcastically enquired. 'I think I might be about to blub.'

'You must have chatted with Glenys at some length before coming up with the cruise idea,' said Harry.

'What if I did?'

'Discuss Coker's death with her, did you?'

'Briefly.'

'What did she say?'

'Nothing of any significance. He was depressed. Unstable. Mentally ill, it seems clear now. The drowning could have been suicide ... or an accident. Who knows?'

'He fell overboard from a Scottish ferry.'

'So I believe.'

'You never mentioned it when we were talking about him on the train.'

'I didn't want my arrangement with Glenys to be satirized by you lot. I've already told you that. So, I… pretended to know as little as everyone else.'

'Where was the ferry sailing to, Tapper? And where was it sailing from?'

'I don't believe I asked. To or from one of the islands, probably. Inner Hebrides. Outer Hebrides. I really can't say. Does it matter?'

'Perhaps. What do you think?'

'I think it's probably… unimportant.'

'Yeah,' said Chipchase. 'I bet you do.'

'Have we covered the ground?' Tancred fired back. 'I really do need to get on.'

'All right,' said Harry, confronting the dismal certainty that they would get nothing more out of him — and the disturbing thought that there was nothing more to be got. 'We're going.'

'But we're not going away.' Chipchase winked at Tancred. 'Know what I mean?'