“It’s not like Raeburn to be tight at the wheel, and he’s a better than average driver,” Roger replied. “Ask Gubby if he can go and sec the body at once, will you? I’ll be there in half an hour’s time. And—are you listening?”
“Yes, but —”
“Never mind the buts.” Roger was suddenly sharper. “Get that dead man identified, and go all out to find evidence that he and Raeburn were acquainted. Have you tried Records yet?”
“No.” Turnbull sounded subdued.
“Try ‘em, and ring me at Clapham,” said Roger, briskly. “Get hold of the doctor who examined Raeburn and certified him as drunk last night, too, and trace Raeburn’s movements for the earlier part of the evening.”
“See what you’re driving at,” conceded Turnbull. “Never satisfied, are you? But I can answer the last question off the cuff. He’d been to a little club near Clapham Common, The Daytime. Had plenty to drink, too.”
“Raeburn has quite a reputation for holding his liquor,” Roger said. “I want you, personally, to go through everything we get on the dead man as if this were a murder case. Has Raeburn sent for legal aid?”
“Yes. Abel Melville.”
“Don’t give Melville an inch of rope,” warned Roger, urgently. “If there’s any trouble, get Abbott cracking. Abbott’s about the only man who can really freeze Melville.” He paused, then went on almost like a machine. “By twelve o’clock, I want to see the copper who found the body, and to know the name of everyone who was on the Common about one o’clock last night. Ask the Division chaps to give it priority. Then check at The Daytime, to find out if Raeburn had really been drinking heavily. Try to find at least two people who’ll say he was sober when he left. Okay?”
“Slave driver,” Turnbull growled. “I’ll fix it.”
“I’ll be seeing you,” said Roger.
He rang off, and put the cigarette between his lips; it had burned half way down, and he had to draw several times to get it going again. In his mind’s eye was a picture of Paul Raeburn, smiling, handsome and self- assured.
Roger stood up, and the door opened and Janet came in.
“Got to go?”
“ ‘Fraid so,” Roger said. “I never did believe I’d get a whole day off, anyhow.” He moved, slid an arm round her waist, and squeezed. “Big stuff, poppet.”
“It would come today. How big, darling?”
“Paul Raeburn.”
“If you had two wives, you wouldn’t stay home if it’s Raeburn,” Janet said, resignedly.
Roger stood her away from him, and studied her for a moment; his gaze moved from her dark hair, with some grey to add a touch of distinction, to her clear grey-green eyes, and to her face. Not every man would call her beautiful, but he did. Then his eyes glinted, he glanced at the V of her green jumper, poked a finger down, as swift as lightning, and said: “If I had two wives, I’d never be home at all.”
He hurried upstairs for his coat and collar and tie.
CHAPTER II
ROGER LOOKED up from the badly mutilated corpse into — the eyes of Gubby Dering, a Home Office pathologist who was fast making a name for himself. Gubby was cheerful, a rotund man, with thick iron-grey hair, and horn-rimmed glasses which partly hid his grey eyes.
“Well?” asked Roger.
“No murder to prove.”
“Not a hope?”
“The safe thing is to assume that it’s what it seems, accidental death,” Gubby told him. “The offside wheel of the car went over the top of the head, and the legs were crushed by the other wheel. There’s a small wound just behind the right ear which I can’t make out, it might have been made by something projecting from the car.”
“What kind of a wound?” asked Roger.
“Have a look,” said Gubby, and pointed.
Roger had to bend down to see. “It might have been done just before or just after death, but you can’t hope to say which.” He sounded disappointed.
“I’ll consult Haddon, but don’t think you’ll have any luck,” Gubby said. “Apart from that, you’ll have to accept medical evidence that the wheel crushed the top of his head, and was the direct cause of death. I saw him less than an hour after he’d been found, and he was still warm. The stomach and intestines are quite normal. He’d had a meal of fried fish, probably about two hours before death. No sign of contamination.”
“Drink?”
“Whisky.”
“Much?”
“Probably a couple of doubles, but I don’t see what that matters,” Gubby added. “Raeburn had been drinking the whisky, hadn’t he?”
