Read Online No Human Enemy (Suzie Mountford Mysteries) by John Gardner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Gardner
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another.’
‘Well, tough ’cos I ain’t coming back.’
‘Tommy,’ just this side of pleading.
‘No can do, heart. They need me here, we’re up to five runners now and I fancy myself as an interrogator. You can do the job. I mean you’re so good with nuns. Know ’em like the back of your whatsit. Brought up with ’em and all that. Sat at their feet, what?’ Tommy the bluff, pleasant cove who got on with everybody.
‘How’s Chrissie?’ Suzie asked.
‘Chrissie?’ Tommy pondered, as though trying to match the name with a face.
‘Yes, Tom. Chrissie Hunter, receptionist, long legs, snub nose, “Coming, Mr Livermore.”’ Doing a passable imitation of Jack Benny’s rasp-voiced retainer, Rochester: now a favourite of the Jack Benny radio show, a hit on the BBC since the US troops had arrived in the UK. Rochester’s favourite cry was, ‘Comin’, Mr Benny.’
‘Oh, yes. Chrissie,’ kind of savouring the name. ‘Yes, I remember. I think she’s left here. Haven’t seen her, heart. Now, the nuns…’
‘Tell me what to do, Tom.’
‘See the nuns, that Mother Rachel’s a good un. See her and make sure they’ve got a pretty picture of La Winnie in the flesh as it were. Then go back to the gallant John Lees-Duncan and give him a look-see. Find out if he recognises her. Show it around a bit.’
‘You ring him first, Tommy? Please. I need him brought down a peg or three before I see him again. Lean on him and tell him he’s got to cooperate.’
‘I’ll get the Assistant Deputy Commissioner to do it…’
‘Super.’ And perhaps, she asked, he could get someone in Gloucester to mark Lees-Duncan’s card as well.
‘If he’s so unpleasant…’
‘It’s probably me.’
‘Check him out with CRO, and ask the Branch just to be on the safe side. Talk to Woolly.’ Woolly was Woolly Bear, Superintendent Basil Bear, the 2i/c of Special Branch, an old chum of Tommy’s. (‘School together, heart. Used to share a study back in the dark ages.’)
‘And don’t forget you’ve got to see the parson, whatname, Harding, father of Joan, Novice Bridget, isn’t it? Mother Rachel’s done the dirty work – broken the news – but we’ll have to follow up.’
‘OK. But what if they haven’t got a photo of Winnie, or the one purporting to be Winnie?’
‘Nip down the mortuary and take a photo. Nothing difficult about that. We do it all the time. Open the corpse’s eyes and put a lot of shine on the face to light the eyes, give them some life. Does the trick. Get it nice and grainy. Nobody’ll know the difference.’
‘I can’t do all this by myself, Tommy. I need some help.’
‘Stop whining, woman. Take Dennis, he’s free.’ He chortled at his watery joke. Dennis Free was free. ‘Just do it, old heart. You’re always grumbling about not being trusted with a case of your own. Well, now you’ve got a case of your own. Go to. Take Dennis and Shirley and do it. Dennis knows how to take pretty pics: he’ll do it.’ Pause, count of three. ‘And while he’s at it he can take a picture of the other corpse, the bloke. Give them a flash of that an’ all.’
Silence for a moment, then – ‘Second thoughts, heart, have your pal Magnus get his tame photographer to do it. Owes you a favour, eh?’
‘Piece of cake,’ she said, up to her knees in the irony, and hung up on him wondering if he was making a fuss of Christine Hunter and fuming at the idea of Magnus being an old pal.
She rang Pip Magnus at the Silverhurst Road nick and got the runaround so she used Tommy’s name and rank so the CID Department finally patched her through. Yes, of course he’d do that. With the girls – his word – the damage was all off the faces and they could hide the vivid extra mouth the bloke had developed where his throat had been cut. ‘Nothing to it at all, guv. When d’you want the prints?’
‘Yesterday but first thing tomorrow’ll do.’
‘You want them delivered to the Yard?’
‘I’ll
‘Well, tough ’cos I ain’t coming back.’
‘Tommy,’ just this side of pleading.
‘No can do, heart. They need me here, we’re up to five runners now and I fancy myself as an interrogator. You can do the job. I mean you’re so good with nuns. Know ’em like the back of your whatsit. Brought up with ’em and all that. Sat at their feet, what?’ Tommy the bluff, pleasant cove who got on with everybody.
‘How’s Chrissie?’ Suzie asked.
‘Chrissie?’ Tommy pondered, as though trying to match the name with a face.
‘Yes, Tom. Chrissie Hunter, receptionist, long legs, snub nose, “Coming, Mr Livermore.”’ Doing a passable imitation of Jack Benny’s rasp-voiced retainer, Rochester: now a favourite of the Jack Benny radio show, a hit on the BBC since the US troops had arrived in the UK. Rochester’s favourite cry was, ‘Comin’, Mr Benny.’
‘Oh, yes. Chrissie,’ kind of savouring the name. ‘Yes, I remember. I think she’s left here. Haven’t seen her, heart. Now, the nuns…’
‘Tell me what to do, Tom.’
‘See the nuns, that Mother Rachel’s a good un. See her and make sure they’ve got a pretty picture of La Winnie in the flesh as it were. Then go back to the gallant John Lees-Duncan and give him a look-see. Find out if he recognises her. Show it around a bit.’
‘You ring him first, Tommy? Please. I need him brought down a peg or three before I see him again. Lean on him and tell him he’s got to cooperate.’
‘I’ll get the Assistant Deputy Commissioner to do it…’
‘Super.’ And perhaps, she asked, he could get someone in Gloucester to mark Lees-Duncan’s card as well.
‘If he’s so unpleasant…’
‘It’s probably me.’
‘Check him out with CRO, and ask the Branch just to be on the safe side. Talk to Woolly.’ Woolly was Woolly Bear, Superintendent Basil Bear, the 2i/c of Special Branch, an old chum of Tommy’s. (‘School together, heart. Used to share a study back in the dark ages.’)
‘And don’t forget you’ve got to see the parson, whatname, Harding, father of Joan, Novice Bridget, isn’t it? Mother Rachel’s done the dirty work – broken the news – but we’ll have to follow up.’
‘OK. But what if they haven’t got a photo of Winnie, or the one purporting to be Winnie?’
‘Nip down the mortuary and take a photo. Nothing difficult about that. We do it all the time. Open the corpse’s eyes and put a lot of shine on the face to light the eyes, give them some life. Does the trick. Get it nice and grainy. Nobody’ll know the difference.’
‘I can’t do all this by myself, Tommy. I need some help.’
‘Stop whining, woman. Take Dennis, he’s free.’ He chortled at his watery joke. Dennis Free was free. ‘Just do it, old heart. You’re always grumbling about not being trusted with a case of your own. Well, now you’ve got a case of your own. Go to. Take Dennis and Shirley and do it. Dennis knows how to take pretty pics: he’ll do it.’ Pause, count of three. ‘And while he’s at it he can take a picture of the other corpse, the bloke. Give them a flash of that an’ all.’
Silence for a moment, then – ‘Second thoughts, heart, have your pal Magnus get his tame photographer to do it. Owes you a favour, eh?’
‘Piece of cake,’ she said, up to her knees in the irony, and hung up on him wondering if he was making a fuss of Christine Hunter and fuming at the idea of Magnus being an old pal.
She rang Pip Magnus at the Silverhurst Road nick and got the runaround so she used Tommy’s name and rank so the CID Department finally patched her through. Yes, of course he’d do that. With the girls – his word – the damage was all off the faces and they could hide the vivid extra mouth the bloke had developed where his throat had been cut. ‘Nothing to it at all, guv. When d’you want the prints?’
‘Yesterday but first thing tomorrow’ll do.’
‘You want them delivered to the Yard?’
‘I’ll
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