Murder at the Ritz Read online

  Barnes scowled. ‘Yeh, well, if you ask me, it’s either the Bell brothers or it’s political. There’s no one else who’d have wanted Mel dead.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Saturday 24th August

  Realising he wasn’t going to get any further with Barnes, Coburg ended the interview and walked with him back to the reception area where Dorsey was waiting. He watched as the two men left the station, then rejoined Sergeant Elliot.

  ‘Can you fix for a constable to be at McGuinness’s house at quarter to seven in the morning?’ he said. ‘I’ll go there myself to go over the ground and see what daylight brings.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Elliott. He looked towards the door. ‘What do you reckon, sir? Who did it for Big Mel?’

  ‘Charley Barnes seems convinced it was the Bell brothers,’ replied Coburg. ‘Me, I’m keeping an open mind.’

  Coburg was outside McGuinness’s house the next morning at a quarter to seven with a constable. He paced from the gate along the gravel path to the front door, where blood and brains still stained the wall. He checked the area around where McGuinness’s body had fallen. The gravel meant there would be no visible footprints, but he hoped the grass and the bare earth path that led round the back of the house might show something. It did, but not of much use. There was a mix of different marks in the earth, but there had been a lot of trampling, most recently the boots of Matt Dorsey running after the mystery assassin, and then returning, which obscured any earlier prints.

  At seven o’clock Matt Dorsey appeared, accompanied by Charley Barnes and a man Coburg recognised as McGuinness’s solicitor, Pentangle Underhill. Coburg had initially doubted that Pentangle was Underhill’s real first name, until he’d got someone to check with records, and discovered that was indeed the name his parents had given him. He wondered if the solicitor had ever forgiven his parents.

  ‘Morning, Mr Coburg,’ Barnes greeted him. ‘You know Mr Underhill, I believe?’

  Coburg nodded briefly to acknowledge the solicitor and received an equally curt but polite nod in return. Underhill was a tall man in his late fifties, his black hair streaked with grey, with a neatly trimmed greying moustache. He was always expensively and elegantly dressed, today wearing a dark pinstripe suit beneath a long camel-hair overcoat and sporting a homburg.

  ‘Mr Dorsey, if you’ll show me the route you took after you heard the shot and saw the assailant disappear,’ said Coburg.

  Dorsey stepped forward, as did Barnes, but Coburg stopped him, saying, ‘Just Mr Dorsey.’

  Barnes scowled. ‘I’m here to see he’s treated fair.’

  ‘And he will be, but unless you were also here when the incident happened, I only need Mr Dorsey.’

  Barnes shot a questioning look at Underhill, who shook his head. Barnes scowled again and let Dorsey join Coburg.

  ‘You can stay here as well, Constable,’ Coburg instructed the uniformed policeman. ‘The fewer prints we get, the better.’ He looked at Dorsey. ‘Right, Mr Dorsey, repeat exactly what you did last night.’

  ‘I was in the car and I saw Mr McGuinness fall down, just like I said to you. I saw this bloke run away down the side of the house, so I went after him.’

  ‘Show me,’ said Coburg.

  Dorsey set off along the path towards the front door, Coburg following, noting the man’s movements. When they got to the door, Dorsey stopped.

  ‘I knelt down to see if Mr McGuinness was all right, and that’s when I saw his head, and I knew he wasn’t. He was dead.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I decided to go after the bloke.’

  ‘Even though you knew he had a gun.’

  ‘Mr McGuinness had always been good to me,’ said Dorsey. ‘I owed him that much.’

  ‘And then you took the pistol from Mr McGuinness?’

  Dorsey nodded.

  ‘Where did he keep it?’

  ‘In a pocket.’

  ‘So, you took the pistol, and then what?’

  ‘I carried on along the path …’

  Coburg gestured for Dorsey to resume walking and followed as the man walked to the back of the house before stopping. There was a small wooden fence with a gate, which was unlatched and swinging free.

  ‘Was this gate open last night?’ asked Coburg.

  ‘Yeh,’ said Dorsey. ‘So I guessed that’s the way the bloke had gone, because Mr McGuinness always kept it shut. Then I went through.’

  Coburg followed Dorsey into the rear garden, which was large and laid to lawn, with flower beds around the four sides.

  ‘Mr McGuinness loved his flowers,’ said Dorsey. ‘Tulips, particularly, were his favourite.’

  Dorsey began to walk forward across the lawn, but Coburg stopped him.

  ‘Could you see much?’ he asked.

  Dorsey shook his head. ‘Hardly anything. Mr McGuinness’s place is all on its own, and at the back is a bit of a stream, and then just paths. There’s no street lights at the back, and even if there was, they would have been off with the blackout, just like in the front.’ Coburg gestured for him to start walking again and followed Dorsey until he reached the wooden fence at the end of the garden. Over the fence was a thin dribble of a stream which had various bits of rubbish in it, and paths, not often trodden by the look of it, heading away, towards the surrounding streets, Coburg assumed.

  ‘This was as far as I went,’ said Dorsey. ‘I hung around for a minute, waiting to see if the bloke was hiding somewhere, but he must have gone over the fence and then off along one of the paths.’

  Without falling into the stream, despite it being pitch-dark, thought Coburg. The killer knew the layout of the house and the area.

  ‘All right, Mr Dorsey,’ said Coburg. ‘Is there anything else you can think of? Anything, however small.’

  ‘No,’ said Dorsey. ‘That’s just how it happened.’

  ‘So, what did you do then?’

  Dorsey hesitated, then said awkwardly: ‘Mr McGuinness’s keys were lying next to him, so I let myself into the house and phoned.’

  ‘Who did you phone?’

  Coburg knew the answer already and wasn’t surprised when Dorsey mumbled, ‘Mr Barnes.’

  ‘And what did he tell you to do?’

  ‘He said he’d come out and sort it.’

  ‘How did you end up at Waterloo police station?’

  ‘Mr Barnes told me to go there and report what had happened. He said he’d be along there and see me later.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Coburg.

  He headed back to where Barnes and Underhill stood with the waiting constable, Dorsey following.

  ‘So, after Dorsey phoned you, what did you do, Charley?’ asked Coburg.

  Barnes shot an angry scowl towards Dorsey, then said: ‘I went to Waterloo nick to report what had happened. You know that; you saw me there.’

  ‘I saw you when you were there. What did you do before you went to the police station? Knowing how close you and Mel were, I can’t imagine you just leaving him here without checking, in case there was a chance he might be alive.’

  Barnes hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yeh. I came here, but he was dead, right enough. So, I left a couple of blokes to wait here with him until the law and the ambulance turned up, and my mate drove me to Waterloo nick.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Coburg.

  Coburg gestured for the constable to accompany him and he headed for his car.

  ‘What are you gonna do about it?’ shouted Barnes, angry.

  ‘I’m going to catch whoever did it and bring them to trial,’ said Coburg. ‘It’s what the law does.’

  Coburg dropped the constable off at Waterloo police station, then continued on to Scotland Yard. Whoever had killed McGuinness had planned it carefully. He knew McGuinness’s routine: the time he arrived home each night, and he knew where the paths at the bottom of McGuinness’s garden led. One shot, and then gone. A professional, by the sound of it. And it seemed part of a vendetta, following on from the torching
of the Four Feathers. Was the battering to death of Billy Thackeray part of the same? Coburg suspected it was. But was it all gangland related? That was the doubt nagging at him.

  The door opened, and Lampson appeared, looking slightly embarrassed on seeing Coburg already at his desk.

  ‘Good morning, sir. Sorry I’m late.’

  ‘You’re not late, Ted. I was in early today.’

  ‘I am, though,’ admitted Lampson. ‘There was trouble with Terry. He went missing this morning.’

  ‘Missing?’ said Coburg, shocked.

  ‘Yeh, but not far. He’s got this obsession with tracking down spies. All this talk about fifth columnists, him and two of his mates have set themselves up as some kind of spywatchers, following people they think are suspicious. Anyway, he wasn’t in his bed when I called him for breakfast this morning. It turned out he’d gone out with his mate Harry, who lives next door, to investigate the milkman because someone had said they’d heard him talking in German.’

  ‘A German milkman?’

  Lampson shook his head ruefully. ‘A Geordie milkman, from Newcastle. He was filling in for the regular milkman who’s been called up. Harry heard someone say he was talking in a foreign language and they thought it was German, and he passed it on to Terry, so this morning they were up early and following the poor bloke to see if he made contact with anyone.’

  ‘Full of initiative,’ said Coburg.

  ‘Full of something,’ growled Lampson unhappily. ‘He’s got an overactive imagination, that’s the trouble.’

  ‘But you found him.’

  Lampson nodded. ‘I did. And gave him a good talking to. And then, when I got in, Fred on the desk told me about Mel McGuinness. Is it true?’

  ‘It is,’ said Coburg. ‘I got a call late last night from Waterloo. I went there and talked to Mel’s driver, and also to Charley Barnes, then I visited the site early this morning.’

  ‘Was Barnes with Mel when he got it?’ asked Lampson.

  ‘No,’ said Coburg.

  ‘So, what was he doing at Waterloo nick?’

  ‘Looking after Mel’s driver’s interests.’

  The phone rang and Lampson picked it up. ‘DCI Coburg’s office.’ He listened for a moment, then said, ‘Yes, sir. Right away,’ before hanging up. ‘That was the super,’ he told Coburg. ‘He wants to see you.’

  ‘Any bets it’s about Big Mel?’ sighed Coburg.

  ‘I’m not taking that one,’ said Lampson. ‘It’s a racing certainty.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Superintendent Allison was at his desk, puffing at his pipe, when Coburg walked into his office.

  ‘Mel McGuinness,’ said Allison, gesturing for Coburg to sit down.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Coburg. ‘I got the phone call telling me about it late last night. I went to Waterloo police station where his driver, the only witness, was being held. Also there was Charley Barnes.’

  ‘McGuinness’s lieutenant,’ said Allison thoughtfully. ‘Was he involved in any way?’

  ‘No, sir. He said he was just there to look after the interests of McGuinness’s driver.’

  ‘No suspects?’

  ‘Barnes says he thinks the Bell brothers were behind it. There’ve been a few incidents lately aimed at McGuinness’s operation. His pub, the Four Feathers, was burnt to the ground the night before last. One of his operatives, Billy Thackeray, was found beaten to death a few days ago. And, of course, Joe Williams, the man found murdered at the Ritz, was one of McGuinness’s men. But pretty low level.’

  ‘Think there’s any connection with the murder at the hotel? Or, rather, murders, now there’s this kitchen hand as well.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir. We’ve got evidence that indicates Williams and Thackeray were conspiring to steal the money and gold from the King’s suite, but whether that was with McGuinness’s knowledge is, I feel, unlikely. I think Williams and Thackeray were operating independently of McGuinness.’

  ‘That wouldn’t have gone down well with him,’ observed Allison.

  ‘No, sir, it wouldn’t.’

  ‘Think he found out what they were up to and had them disposed of?’

  Coburg shook his head. ‘No, sir. If that had been the case he wouldn’t have needed to conduct his own enquiry as to how Williams ended up dead in the King’s rooms at the Ritz.’

  ‘This young woman he had abducted.’ Allison nodded, then he smiled at Coburg’s look of surprise. ‘Yes, Chief Inspector, I do keep tabs on what’s going on, even if I don’t appear to.’

  ‘I did everything by the book, sir,’ said Coburg, suddenly feeling awkwardly defensive. ‘And it was part of the investigation into what happened at the hotel.’

  Allison gave a resigned sigh. ‘I’m not reprimanding you, Edgar. You did everything that was required and you acted properly, as I would expect a senior officer to do. And, before you ask, I am aware that the young lady entertainer was involved in the issue, and that you and she are … close. And no, I did not get any of this from Sergeant Lampson. He would never dream of telling me about your private life, he’s far too loyal to you for that. Let’s just say that I, also, have friends who go to the Ritz, and some of them are quite gossipy about who they’ve seen there, and with whom.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Getting back to McGuinness, if his killing isn’t connected to what happened at the Ritz, what is behind it?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sir. As I said, Charley Barnes seems to think the Bell brothers are involved.’

  ‘If that’s the case then we have to brace ourselves for a gang war, because Barnes will be after revenge.’ Then he gave a thoughtful frown. ‘Unless he may have been the one who did it.’

  ‘Killed McGuinness, sir?’

  ‘It’s not unknown for a second in charge to want to be top dog. It’s a familiar story throughout history. Brutus and Julius Caesar. Iago and Othello.’

  ‘I honestly don’t think that’s the case here, sir,’ said Coburg. ‘McGuinness and Barnes were more than just business associates; they go way back. I’d say they were the closest thing to a real friend either of them had.’

  ‘I’m sure Caesar felt the same way about Brutus.’

  ‘That was politics and ambition, sir.’

  ‘Gangsterism at the top level is also about politics,’ countered Allison.

  ‘True, but – and I may be wrong – I don’t feel that was the case with McGuinness and Barnes.’

  ‘So, we’re back to the Bell brothers?’

  ‘No, sir. I don’t think it was them, either. Danny and Den are too calculating to risk what they have, a comfortable and profitable empire north of the river that works in conjunction with McGuinness’s lot to the south.’

  ‘So, who, then?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, sir. But we will. I believe it’s someone who McGuinness has upset, who may not themselves be involved in crookery.’

  ‘Someone outside his organisation?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Allison sighed. ‘That looks like an almost impossible task.’

  ‘We’ll find them, sir. Sergeant Lampson and I will be looking into McGuinness’s activities and trying to narrow down a list of people who might be set on seeking revenge for something.’

  ‘Good,’ said Allison. ‘Now, what about this business at the Ritz? How are you getting on with that? I’m seeing the commissioner later, and he’ll be sure to ask me for an update.’

  As succinctly as he could manage, Coburg brought the superintendent up to date with the investigation so far and the way that Albanians seemed to come into the picture so often. ‘For example, Alex Ollen, the kitchen hand who was killed, appears to be from Macedonia, but I feel there’s an Albanian connection there given the two countries share a border. And now we have this American secret agent, Raymond Harris, who turns out originally to be from Albania where he was known as Rajmond Hoxha.’

  ‘Have you tried quizzing the Albanians at the Ritz?’

  ‘I don’
t believe the King would be very receptive to us questioning his retinue,’ said Coburg. ‘The one person I might be able to get some answers from is his private secretary, Count Idjbil Ahmed, but at the moment he seems to have vanished and I’m told he’s staying with people somewhere in the country.’

  ‘And do you think he is?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t know. But I think he’s someone I might be able to talk to without causing a diplomatic crisis, which may not be the case if I tried to question the King and his family or their staff.’

  Coburg’s phone was ringing as he returned to his office. There was no sign of Lampson.

  ‘DCI Coburg.’

  ‘Edgar, it’s Rosa.’

  ‘Rosa!’

  ‘I wondered if you were free for lunch today.’

  ‘Always a pleasure, and I should be, unless something comes up.’

  ‘Things always come up. Anyway, I’ll be at the Ritz at one o’clock. I want to go through my music, selecting some different numbers. As it seems to be often the same people turning up, I don’t want to bore them with the same routine every night.’

  ‘They wouldn’t be turning up if they were bored.’

  ‘Maybe, but I like to give good value.’

  ‘You always do,’ said Coburg. ‘I’ll see you at one.’

  ‘Unless something comes up,’ said Rosa.

  The door opened and Lampson came in as Coburg hung up the phone. The sergeant nodded towards the handset.

  ‘Something new on McGuinness?’

  Coburg shook his head. ‘No. I shall be lunching at the Ritz today.’

  ‘Your lady friend?’ enquired Lampson.

  ‘Plus work,’ said Coburg. ‘I’m determined to track down Count Ahmed. If anything happens that you need me for, you can get hold of me there.’

  ‘How did you get on with the super?’

  ‘He wonders if it might have been Charley Barnes who killed McGuinness.’

  ‘Barnes?’ echoed Lampson, his voice filled with incredulity. ‘What on earth makes him think that?’

  ‘He’s been reading too much in the way of classical literature,’ said Coburg. ‘In particular, Shakespeare. He quoted Othello and Julius Caesar at me to back up his theory.’