Chapter Four – The Friend
“Wonderful turnout George. I’d say the support tonight more than seals it.”
“I hope so,” replied George. “There’s a lot riding on this campaign. Not only the reputation of some prominent people but a considerable lot of money.”
John grabbed two whiskeys from a passing waiter and offered one to his companion. “Here’s to success.” They both raised the drinks in a traditional salute than sipped for a few seconds. The noise of the gathering seemed to make a perfect background to the beverage.
George smiled the look of a cat who has dined on an unfortunate canary. “Well still a couple of loose ends and a check book to be prised from it’s owners pocket. See you later.” Then he was disappearing into the crowd, heading towards his mark with a straight aim. John just smiled to himself and moved to the front door. ‘Enough for tonight,’ he thought, ‘it has been far too busy a day and tomorrow he had golf with Walter Merrell. The outcome of that could not so easily be predicted. John felt himself a better tactician and all round golfer, but the wily old Walter had more than once surprised him. Loser bought the drinks at the club house and over the year, it was fairly even.
John Sturgiss lived two streets from Walter, in the next neighbourhood but a slightly better class of street. Well this was Walter’s opinion, not that John really cared. He got on well with his golfing partner and as long as he could live his life and obtain his comforts, it didn’t matter. Close to bed time he made a chocolate drink and was just about to head upstairs, when the door bell rang. He looked at his watch and saw eleven o’clock. “Who could that be?” he muttered aloud. The small video security camera he had on the front porch, hidden, gave him a picture of a familiar face on the monitor and he frowned. He shut the cabinet and went to the front door.
“Walter. Surprised to see you at this hour.” He could see that his friend looked upset. “Come in. I was just having a hot milk. I’ll make you one.”
Walter walked into the sitting room and went straight to the whiskey decanter. His golfing partner decided that another hot milk would be not needed. “Well sit down and drink up. Then tell me, Walter, what brings you here when we should both be conserving our energy for 18 holes tomorrow.”
Walter didn’t look too perturbed but he was a little red in the face. “A problem I’m afraid. There’s a dead body on my library floor.”
John looked a bit surprised but not overly disturbed. “That’s a bit inconvenient. Do you know who?”
“Oh yes. Brinks. Harold Brinks. Used to work at the Repository. A bit useless. We had to let him go in the end. Made so many mistakes. Came around tonight to complain about his treatment. Then to blackmail me.”
Now Sturgiss did look surprised. “Blackmail! Why?”
Walter poured a small nip and offered the bottle to his friend, but Sturgiss shook his head. “Well John, he saw me shimming down the rope when I was leaving Huntington a couple of months back.”
“That was the two Degas and that obscure Monet?”
“Yes. Recognised the car. Not me, I was in black. Unfortunately I dropped a book as I was getting into the car.”
Sturgiss was listening intently. “That’s unfortunate. But if he didn’t see your face, how would he know it was you? You didn’t have your name in the book I hope. Come to think of it, we weren’t taking books that night.”
The mantel clock gave it’s chime for eleven fifteen. “No, it didn’t come from them. I had to sit for so long in that cramped locker, I took along a book to pass the hours. Beaton.”
“Not Beyond the Acropolis? I thought that was beneath your intellect. No wonder you dropped it.”
Walter looked pained. “I was hoping to find something to salvage in it for my efforts. Anyway forget that. My name isn’t in the front. But I do emboss it in the rear on all my books. Unless you know, it isn’t obvious, but eventually he would have found it. Anyway I told him it wasn’t mine or from the Repository. I think he believed me, not that that is relevant now.”
“Awkward. So you killed him?
“Not really. It just happened. He sort of ended up dead.”
Sturgiss looked confused. ‘This is not a putt. It’s a bunker shot Walter. Get on with it.”
“Not much to tell. I went up the ladder to the top shelf to get Anderson-Peers and prove to this Brinks that Beaton was superficial. He wasn’t interested. Just looked into space. Then I saw ‘Seas and Lands’ a bit over and reached for it.”
“What has Sir Edwin Arnold got to do with the other two?”
Merrell sneezed. “Sorry,” and pulled out a silk handkerchief to wipe his face. “Nothing at all. I was going to read it.”
“Walter my friend. The body?”
“Well I overbalanced and the ladder fell and I was left hanging on the top shelf. Then I fell.”
“So the ladder caught our daydreaming blackmailer on the head and ended his days?”
“Oh no. It fell short. It was Napoleon that did it.”
John Sturgiss wondered how this seemingly vague person could at the same time, be so agile and cunning and execute the seemingly impossible plans that he did. “Bunker shot Walter.”
“That heavy bust from my auntie’s estate. I had it on the top to prop up some books but it was too close to the edge. When I grabbed the book case, the vibration must have shaken it loose. Don’t think he even saw it coming. I think it’s time to call a halt to our operations. There’s a few million a piece in the Brussels’ account and now is not the time to have police sniffing around.”
“I agree. Coffee whilst I think.” It was a statement, rather than a question. Walter nodded and sat back. A few minutes later, Sturgiss returned with a tray and two mugs. “A bold plan but seems workable. You up to moving to Europe in the next couple of days?”
Walter stopped sipping, with his mug stationery in mid air. “Go on.”
“Walk back home, unseen, and pack a bag. Money. Anything quick and light. Take this fellow’s wallet and leave your own on the desk, open and empty. Make sure he has no keys or other identification.”
Walter raised a finger. “What about a car? I just thought of that.”
“Probably. Look out in the street and see if a key fits. You should be good at that. I suggest driving it to Bradley Park and leaving it. It’s pretty dark and given it’s reputation, no one would be interested. You can walk back. You still have your nephew’s passport?”
Walter nodded. Alfred was his sister’s step son, who lived with his mother half the time and his girl friend the other. He wasn’t too bright and Walter had accidentally acquired the passport in some belongings sent to him when his sister died. He kept it.
“Good. Leave the room as it is. I think that would be best, but try and wipe as many fingerprints of yours off things. No good having a body that is supposed to be you but someone else’s prints around the house. I know it will only be temporary and the police probably will work it out. But you never know. Anyway, you will be far away and with a new identity, spending those millions.”
Walter cocked his head and shrugged. “Why not. It buys us time. What will you do? I mean Brinks will be identified.”
“By me, tomorrow morning, when I arrive to pick you up for golf. As Walter Merrell of course. Down the track I can say I was confused and upset and assumed it was you. Your house and all. Then probably I will head for distant shores.”
Walter stood up. “Time to go I suppose. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Leave the back door open and I’ll come down the service lane behind.”
“Walter.”
“Yes?”
“No books to read on the plane. Can’t have you dropping any more.”
Jimmy Brook