the rest of the radios.’
‘Yes, I should think that’ll stand, though there’s a slight question mark over it. May need some time for reworking of the copy. I’m having a meeting with Farrow this afternoon. Won’t really know for sure till after that. Can I ring you in the morning?’
‘Not quite sure of my movements.’
‘You should be. Got to always be on call in the voice-over business.’
Charles ignored the young man’s patronizing tone. ‘I’ll ring you. Either at the office in the morning or — have you a home number where I can get you this evening?’
‘Won’t be in. Got a film dubbing session at Spectrum Studios.’
‘For the Bland campaign?’ Charles pricked up his ears. Was Ian Compton getting some other voice-over work done on Bland behind his back?
‘No, no. It’s a private film production I’m working on. Doing a session with Diccon, just dubbing the voice.’
‘Oh, I see.’ It was hard to know whether to believe it or not. Ian Compton wouldn’t hesitate to lie if it served his ends. On the other hand, he did work on a lot of other projects apart from Bland. ‘How is Diccon?’
‘Oh, he’s in a pretty lousy mood at the moment.’
‘What, not getting work?’
‘You must be joking. That cookie is one of the busiest voices in the business. Clears twenty grand a year easy. No, he seems very cut up about Hugo’s wife. I think he had quite a thing for her.’
‘She was a very nice lady.’
‘So I hear. It seems everyone thought so except Hugo.’ Ian did not attempt to disguise the note of triumph in his voice. He was giving a reminder that Hugo Mechen was no longer a challenge to the bright young whiz-kid of Mills Brown Mazzini.
Charles decided that the confrontation should take place in Geoffrey’s office. It would be quiet, no danger of interruptions. He told Gerald what he was going to do. Gerald disapproved, but Charles wanted someone to know in case he didn’t return from the interview.
It was about a quarter to eleven on the Monday morning when he entered the building in Villiers Street. He mounted the stairs with one part of his mind immobilized by fright and the other irreverently providing sound track music and offering Sydney Carton’s dramatic lines for use when mounting scaffolds to the sneers of unruly mobs.
All of which build-up was somewhat wasted when he found the door of Geoffrey Winter Associates firmly locked.
There was no light on inside. His mind, still running on romantic rails, summoned up the image of Geoffrey Winter sprawled over his desk, the smoking revolver clutched in his hand, his brains spattered on the wall behind. The villain who knew he had been found out and who had done the decent thing.
Wisely recognizing that this image was a little fanciful, he started knocking on the door to attract attention. A light tap produced nothing from inside, so he tried a more robust blow and then heavy hammering.
The last did raise a reaction, but it came from the floor below. An aggrieved young man with elastic bands holding up his shirt sleeves came and complained. So far as he knew, Mr. Winter wasn’t in. He hadn’t heard him coming up the stairs that morning. And surely the fact that there had been no reply to ‘that bloody awful din you’re making’ indicated that there was nobody in the office.
Charles apologized and left the building. But he was too keyed up to drop it there. He had steeled himself to a meeting with Geoffrey Winter that day and somehow he had to arrange it.
He went into Charing Cross Station and rang the Winters’ number from a call-box.
Vee answered. That in itself was strange. If she was a teacher, she should surely be in class at that time. Also she sounded even tenser and more emotional than usual. She had snatched up the phone on the first ring.
‘Could I. speak to Geoffrey, please? It’s Charles Paris.’
‘No, I’m sorry, he’s not here.’ She sounded near to tears.
‘Do you know when he’s likely to be back? I’ve been to his office and I couldn’t find him there.’
‘No, I’ve no idea. He’s…’ She stopped, leaving the word dramatically in the air. Charles was conscious of her acting instincts vying with genuine emotion.
‘Is he likely to be in this evening? Do you know?’
‘No. I don’t. I — ’ Again she cut short, uncertain whether to confide more. Charles felt a new panic. Had Geoffrey done a bunk?
But Vee could not keep her secrets to herself. In the same way that she had confided Geoffrey’s supposed infertility to Charles, she couldn’t resist the dramatic and martyring implications of her latest piece of news. ‘Oh, what the hell. I might as well tell you. The whole country will no doubt know soon enough. Geoffrey’s been arrested.’
‘Arrested?’
‘Yes, the police came round this morning before he left for work.’
Charles murmured some suitable words about how sorry he was and how sure he was that it would soon all be cleared up and how it must all be a ghastly mistake, but he had stopped thinking what he was saying. He concluded the conversation and then walked slowly, numbly, down to the Embankment.
He looked into the murky, swirling Thames. He tried to tell himself all kinds of other things, but ultimately he couldn’t deny that he felt profoundly disappointed.
So that was it. The police must have been following his investigations in exact parallel. They must have worked out in just the same way how Geoffrey had contrived his alibi and managed to leave his room for the vital forty minutes.
Or no, perhaps he was flattering himself. The police had probably far outstripped his feeble investigations. They must have done. They wouldn’t make an arrest without convincing evidence. He felt diminished and unnecessary.
He tried to argue himself out of this selfish mood. After all, what did it matter who had found the truth, so long as it had been revealed? Hugo could now go free, that was the main thing.
It didn’t help. Depressingly he thought how little Hugo cared whether he was free or not. The release might well be a licence for him to commit suicide or, more slowly, drink himself to death.
Still, right had triumphed. He tried to feel glad about it.
With an effort he drew himself away from the river and started back to the station. Better ring Gerald and bring him up to date. Though if charges against his client were about to be dropped, he’d probably know already.
He didn’t. He reacted strongly when Charles told him. But the reaction was not that of Gerald Venables the amateur sleuth; it was all solicitor. This new development changed circumstances for his client. He would get on to the Breckton police immediately.
‘Okay,’ said Charles dismally. ‘Well. I’m going back to Hereford Road. So if there’s any interesting development, just let me know.’
But he didn’t really think any new development would concern him. He felt excluded, the one boy in the class without a party invitation.
He bought a new bottle of Bell’s on the way back to Hereford Road. He was going to drink himself into a stupor. After the tension of the last week, this sudden anti-climax had let him down like a punctured air-bed.
The phone was ringing when he entered the house. He ran up to the landing and picked it up.
It was Gerald. Very cross. ‘Are you trying to make me look like a complete fool? I’ve just spoken to the Superintendent at Breckton. He must think I’m a bloody lunatic. And you’re not the most popular person down at the station either.
‘Geoffrey Winter has been arrested, yes. But it has nothing to do with the Mecken murder at all. He’s been arrested for stealing some jewellery from a couple called Hobbs.’
‘Oh my God.’ Charles saw the bottom card being withdrawn from the great edifice he had built up.
‘So you were right, Charles. Geoffrey Winter did have something to hide about what he was doing last Monday night. But it wasn’t what your fertile imagination gave him to do.’
‘But — ’
