Brought in Dead

CHAPTER 5

The door of her room was unlocked and when he opened it gently and went in, she was sitting on the edge of the bed buffing her nails. She glanced up sharply and Miller closed the door.

“Sergeant Miller,” she said and then her voice faltered.

Miller produced one of the photos and held it up. “Joanna Maria Craig.” He slipped the photo back into his pocket. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Joanna Craig was a student at the College of Art for the best part of two years. So were you. And don’t try to tell me you never came across her. You were in the same year group. I’ve just checked.”

She stared up at him, her face white, and he took his time over lighting a cigarette. “Another thing. Mrs. Kilroy told me that Joanna had just arrived on the doorstep one day complete with baggage; that there just happened to be a vacancy. Now that isn’t true, is it? She knew there was a vacancy because you told her.”

She shook her head vigorously. “It isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it? Then try this for size. You work for Max Vernon, don’t you?”

And this time he had her. Her eyes widened in horror, and he went on relentlessly, “Joanna was his girl friend — I’ve got proof. Are you going to try to tell me you didn’t know that as well?”

She tried to get to her feet and he flung her back across the bed fiercely. “Come on, damn you! What about the truth for a change?”

She turned her face into the pillow and burst into a flood of tears, her whole body shaking. Miller stood looking down at her, something close to pity in his eyes, and then he moved across the room quickly and went into the small kitchen. He found half a bottle of gin in one of the cupboards, poured a generous measure into a tumbler and went back.

He sat on the edge of the bed and she turned her tear-stained face towards him. “He’ll kill me. I know he will.”

“No one’s going to kill you.” Miller held out the glass. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

She struggled up against the pillows. “You don’t know what he can be like.”

“Max Vernon?”

She nodded and sipped some of her gin. “He’s a devil — a walking devil. Cruel, arrogant — anything he wants, he takes.”

“And that included Joanna Craig?”

Her eyes widened in amazement. “How did you know that?”

“Just a hunch. But tell me about it — everything that happened.”

“All right.” She swung her legs to the floor, stood up and paced restlessly about the room as she talked. “You were right about the College of Art. I knew Joanna for nearly two years. Not that we were close friends or anything like that. I liked to live it up. Joanna was more interested in her work.”

“What about boy friends?”

“She hardly ever bothered. This may sound crazy to you, but she had something about her. She was sort of untouched by life if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do,” Miller said.

“Not that there was anything weird about her. Everybody liked her. She was the sweetest person I’ve ever known, but they treated her with respect, particularly the men. That’s something for art students, believe me.”

“And yet she changed,” Miller said. “So utterly and completely that she might have been a different person. Why?”

“She met Max Vernon.”

“I wouldn’t have thought he was her type.”

“He wasn’t — that was the whole trouble.” She swallowed the rest of her gin and sat on the edge of the bed. “I answered an advertisement for female croupiers at the Flamingo. As I told you earlier, the money was so good that I dropped out of the college course and started working there. Max was always throwing big parties and he was pretty free and easy about us bringing our friends along.”

“You took Joanna to one?”

“That’s right. About four months ago. I bumped into her one afternoon quite by chance. There was a party that evening and I asked her to come on impulse. I never expected her to say yes, but she did.”

“What happened?”

“Max took a fancy to her. I don’t know what it was — maybe it was just her innocence. She was certainly different from every other girl there.”

“Did she respond?”

“Anything but and he tried everything, believe me. Then she passed out. I thought that maybe she’d had one gin too many or something. Max took charge. He said she could sleep it off there.”

“And you left her?”

“There was nothing I could do.” She got to her feet and crossed to the window. “She ’phoned me here next day and asked me to meet her in town. Poor kid, she was in a hell of a state.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She swung round to face him. “Oh, no, it was worse than that. Much worse. You see someone had given her a fix while she was unconscious.”

The bile rose in Miller’s throat, threatening to choke him. He got to his feet and walked towards the door, fists clenched and when he turned, she recoiled from the terrible anger on his face.

“Max Vernon?”

“I don’t know — I haven’t any proof.”

Miller crossed the room in three quick strides and grabbed her savagely by the shoulders. “Was it Max Vernon?”

“Well who the hell else could it have been?” she cried.

For a long moment he held her and when he turned away, she dropped down on to the bed. “She didn’t know what had happened to her. All she knew was that her body needed something.”

“And only one person was able to supply it,” Miller said bitterly. “She wasn’t only hooked on heroin and cocaine. She was hooked on Max Vernon.”

When Monica Grey continued, her voice was dry and lifeless. “She had a lot of trouble at home and then they asked her to leave at the college. Her whole personality changed. That’s how it affects them. I’ve seen it before.”

“So she came to live here with you?”

“Max thought it was a good idea. It’s a funny thing, but for a while there I thought he was really gone on her. He had her at the club all the time and if any other man even went near her…” She shuddered. “He keeps a couple of heavies around called Carver and Stratton. One night at a party some bloke made a pass at Joanna and they took him out into the alley and half killed him. I heard he lost his right eye. That’s the kind they are.”

“When did the rot set in?”

She looked up at him quickly. “You don’t miss much do you?”

“In my job I can’t afford to.”

“I don’t know what happened, but Max changed towards her just like that about two or three weeks ago.”

“She was pregnant, did you know that?”

She shook her head quickly. “No — no I didn’t. Maybe that would explain it.”

“Did he drop her completely?”

She nodded. “Told her to stay away from the club. She did, too, until last night.”

“What happened then?”

“Max was throwing a private party — just a small affair. Mainly personal friends.”

“You were there?”

“I’m always there,” she said. “All part of the job. Something else he didn’t tell me at the interview. Anyway, it must have been about nine o’clock. Things had just started to swing when the door opened and Joanna walked in.”

“Just like that?”

“Apparently she still had a key to the private door in the alley. Max was furious. He dragged her into a corner and started telling her where to get off. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but you’d only to see her face to know that she was pleading with him.”

“What happened?”

“As I say, I couldn’t hear what she said, but he laughed right in her face and said, ‘There’s always the river, isn’t there?’ I wasn’t the only one who heard that.”

There was a long silence and then Miller said calmly, “It would seem she took him at his word.” Monica Grey didn’t reply and he got to his feet. “Does he know she’s dead?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.”

“You haven’t been in touch with him since I was last here?”

She shook her head and he nodded, moved to the door and opened it. “You do and I’ll crucify you.”

As he went downstairs, Brady opened the front door. He paused, waiting for Miller to join him. “Any luck?”

“You could say that. How about Harriet Craig?”

“She’ll be fine once she gets over the initial shock. She’s got a lot about her that one. Where to now?”

“The Flamingo Club,” Miller said, “to have a few words with Mr. Maxwell Vernon. I’ll explain on the way.”

He went down the steps quickly and when he slipped behind the wheel of the Cooper, his hands were shaking.

Max Vernon’s office was a showpiece in cream and gold and furnished in perfect taste, the walls lined with expensive military prints, a fire flickering brightly in the Adam grate. He made a handsome figure sitting there at his desk, the last rays of the afternoon sun lighting up the fair hair, picking out the colours of the green velvet smoking jacket, the Guards Brigade scarf at his throat.

There was a knock on the door, it opened and Stratton came in. “I’ve got those figures you wanted.”

Vernon put down his pen and sat back. “Good show, Billy. Just leave ’em on the desk. Anything else?”

“Yes, this copper you were asking about.”

“Miller?”

“That’s right. You’re on a bum steer there. He’s anything but bent. It seems his brother owns a chain of television shops. Miller’s a sleeping partner, that’s where all his gelt comes from.”

“But that’s illegal,” Vernon said. “Coppers aren’t encouraged to have business interests on the side.”

Stratton nodded. “Apparently they all know about it on the force, but they simply look the other way. It seems Miller’s a blue-eyed boy. He’s been to University, got a law degree and that sort of thing.”

“Has he now?” Vernon said. “Now that is interesting.”

There was a sudden disturbance in the corridor outside and then the door was thrown open and Miller walked in. Behind him, Jack Brady and Carver glowered at each other, chest to chest. Stratton took one quick, fluid step forward like a ballet dancer, his right hand sliding into his pocket, and Miller raised a finger warningly.

“You do and I’ll break your arm.”

Vernon sat there, apparently unmoved, a slight smile hooked firmly into place. “Do come in,” he said ironically.

“I intend to,” Miller told him. “Get rid of these two. We’ve got business.”

“Now look here, you bastard,” Carver began and Vernon’s voice rang across the room like cold steel.

“I’ll call if I need you.”

Carver and Stratton obeyed without another murmur and as the door closed behind them, Vernon grinned. “Good discipline — that’s what I like to see.”

“Once a Guardsman, always a Guardsman, is that it?” Miller said.

“The most exclusive private club in the world.” Vernon fitted a cigarette into a green jade holder and gave a mock sigh. “You’ve been checking up on me, sergeant.”

“And how,” Miller said. “The Yard was more than interested to hear you’d turned up again.”

“Let’s get one thing clear,” Vernon said. “I run a perfectly legitimate business here and that applies to everything else I own. If you’ve anything else to say, I suggest you discuss it with my lawyers.”

He reached for the telephone and Miller said calmly, “We pulled Joanna Craig out of the river this morning, Vernon.”

For a brief moment only Vernon’s hand tightened on the ’phone and then an expression of shock appeared on his face.

“Joanna — in the river? But this doesn’t make sense. You’re quite sure it is her?”

“Why shouldn’t we be?”

“The fact is, I understood she’d been living under an assumed name. Nothing sinister — just to stop her family from running her down. She’d had trouble at home.” He shook his head. “This is terrible — terrible.”

It was all there, beautifully detailed by a steeltrap mind which had assessed the situation in a matter of seconds and had come up with the only possible counter with the speed of a computer.

“When did you first meet her?”

The answer came without the slightest hesitation. “About four months ago. Someone brought her along to one of my parties. I discovered she was a very talented artist. I wanted some murals for the club and she agreed to accept the commission. It was as simple as that.”

“And that was all — just a business arrangement?”

“The murals are on the wall of the main casino, you can see them for yourself,” Vernon said. “Anything else that was between us is no damned business of yours. She wasn’t a child. She had a good body and she liked the pleasures of the flesh as much as the rest of us.”

“So you did have an affair with her?”

“If you mean by that did she ever sleep with me, the answer is yes. If you’re really interested, so do lots of other women, though I can’t see what in the hell it has to do with you.”

“Did you know she was a junkie — that she was mainlining on heroin?”

“Good heavens, no.”

“Not good enough. You didn’t even bother to look surprised.” Miller shook his head. “You’re a liar.”

Something glowed deep in Vernon’s eyes. “Am I?”

Miller gripped the edge of the desk to keep his hands from shaking. “I know this girl, Vernon. The first time I clapped eyes on her, she was floating off the central quay two feet under the surface and yet I know more about her now than I do about my own sister. She was a sweet, shy girl, a little bit introverted, interested only in her work. To use an old-fashioned word for these times, she was a lady — a term that wouldn’t mean a damned thing to you in spite of Eton, Sandhurst and the Guards.”

“Is that a fact now,” Vernon said softly.

“You’re from under a stone, Vernon, did you know that?” Miller said. “Now let me tell you what really happened between you and Joanna Craig. She was brought to one of your parties by an old student friend and she must have looked as fresh as the flowers in spring compared to the usual rubbish you keep around. You wanted her, but she didn’t want you and that wasn’t good enough for the great Maxwell Vernon because what he wants he takes. You got her boozed up and gave her a fix and from then on she was hooked because she had to have one every day of the week and that meant coming to you — accepting your terms. That’s the terrible thing about addiction to heroin. There’s no degradation to which the victim won’t stoop to get the stuff and you must have been just about as low as she could get.”

Vernon’s face was white, the eyes burning. “Have you quite finished?”

“I’ll let you know when I have. When you’d had enough, you threw her out and then last night she forced her way into your party to beg you to help her because she was going to have a baby. You laughed in her face, Vernon. You told her there was always the river and she took you at your word.” Miller straightened up and took a deep breath. “I’m going to get you for that.”

“Are you now?” Vernon said calmly. “Well let me tell you something, Mr. Bloody Miller. I knew a girl called Joanna Craig just like I know a hell of a lot of other girls. She painted some murals in the main casino downstairs. You or anyone else can see them whenever you like. Anything else is pure phantasy. You try bringing it out in an open court and I’ll knock you down so hard you’ll never get up again. Now I’m giving you one minute to get out of here or I’m calling my lawyer and you know what that means.”

“Perfectly,” Miller said. “It means you’re frightened to death.” He smiled coldly. “See you in court, Vernon.”

He turned and nodded to Brady who opened the door and they went out. For a while Vernon sat there staring into space and then he lifted the ’phone and pushed a button.

“Is that you, Ben?” he said. “Send Stratton up right away. I’ve got a little job for him.”

Monica Grey came out of the bathroom listlessly. She’d hoped a good hot tub would make her feel better. Instead, she felt depressed, drained of all energy. How she was going to get through the long night at the Flamingo, she didn’t know.

The knock, when it came, was so faint that at first she thought she’d imagined it. She hesitated, fastening the belt of her robe quickly, and it sounded again.

When she opened the door, she had a vague impression of someone standing there, of an arm sweeping up and then liquid splashed across her face. She staggered back, a scream rising in her throat, her hands covering her eyes as they began to burn. She was aware of the door closing and then a hand slammed against her shoulder, spinning her round so that she fell across the bed.

Someone laughed coldly and fingers fastened in her hair, jerking her head back painfully. “Come on now, dearie, open up for Uncle Billy.”

She opened her eyes, aware that the smarting had somehow eased, and looked into Billy Stratton’s white, bloodless face. Only his lips had any colour and he smiled showing a row of sharp, even teeth.

“Water, dearie, mixed with a little disinfectant to make your eyes sting. Just imagine what it could have been — vitriol, for instance.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “You’d have been blind now.”

She was absolutely terrified and lay there staring up at him in horror as he patted her on the cheek. “You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you? You’ve been talking to the wrong people. Mr. Vernon doesn’t like that — he doesn’t like that at all. Now get your clothes on. You’re coming with me.”

It was almost dusk when Miller turned the Cooper in through the gates of the house in Grange Avenue and braked to a halt at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door. It had been a long day and he was so tired that he sat at the wheel for a moment before getting out.

When he rang the bell, the door was opened by Jenny, the young maid, and her eyes were red and swollen from weeping. “Sergeant Miller,” she said. “You’d better come in.”

“There was a message for me at Headquarters,” Miller said. “Apparently Colonel Craig called at the Mortuary to view his daughter’s body. I understand he’d like to see me.”

“The Colonel and Miss Harriet are out walking in the garden,” Jenny said. “I’ll get him for you.”

“That’s all right,” Miller told her. “I’ll find him for myself.”

It was cold in the garden and rooks cawed uneasily in the bare branches of the beech trees as he crossed the lawn already damp with the evening dew. Somewhere there was a low murmur of voices above the rattle of a small stream over stones and then a familiar voice called to him on the quiet air. “Over here, Sergeant Miller.”

Harriet Craig leaned against the rail of a tiny rustic bridge. The man who stood with her was perhaps a shade under six feet in height with iron grey hair cut close to his skull.

The eyes were very calm above high cheekbones. For a moment they considered Miller and then he held out his hand. “It was good of you to come so quickly.”

There was an extraordinary impression of vitality about him, of controlled force that Miller found strangely disturbing. He must have been at least forty-eight or — nine and yet he carried himself with the easy confidence of a man half his age.

“Your message said that you’d like to talk things over with me,” Miller said. “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

“I’ve seen your Superintendent Grant,” Colonel Craig said. “He gave me as comprehensive a report as he could, but felt that the full details would be better coming from you.” He hesitated and then went on, “I believe Harriet gave you some indication of the trouble we were having with Joanna.”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve been given to understand that she’d become addicted to the drug heroin.”

“Which explains what otherwise would have been her completely inexplicable change in character,” Miller told him. “You must understand that heroin produces a feeling of well-being and buoyancy, but in between fixes an addict is sick, unwell and has only one thought in mind — to get another fix. They become paranoid, irritable, subject to extremes of emotion.”

“And that’s what happened to Joanna?”

“The girl who gave you all that trouble wasn’t your daughter, colonel,” Miller said gently. “She only looked like her.”

For a long, long moment there was silence and then Colonel Craig said, “Thank you for that, sergeant. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me everything — everything there is to know about this whole sorry affair.”

It didn’t take long, that was the strange thing, and when he had finished, Harriet Craig leaned against the rail crying quietly, her father’s arm about her shoulders.

“This man Vernon,” Craig said. “He’ll be called as a witness at the inquest?”

“That’s right.”

“Is there any possibility of a criminal charge being preferred against him?”

Miller sighed heavily and shook his head. “I might as well be honest with you. I don’t hold out much hope.”

“But he murdered Joanna,” Harriet Craig cried passionately. “Murdered her as surely as if he’d used a gun or a knife.”

“I know that,” Miller said. “Morally he’s as guilty as any man could be, but the facts are all that matters and this is how it will look in court. Your sister committed suicide. She was pregnant and she was also a drug addict. One witness, Monica Grey, has indicated that someone gave your daughter an injection of heroin at a party at Max Vernon’s after she’d passed out, but even she can’t swear definitely that it was Vernon. She wouldn’t last five minutes on the stand with the kind of counsel he’d bring in. Another thing, this isn’t a criminal matter at the moment. All she’s done is give me a general verbal statement that she might change completely once she’s on the stand.”

“But Vernon was responsible,” Harriet said. “He was responsible for everything. You believe that yourself.”

“Proving it is something else again.”

There was another long silence and then Craig said, “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. Joanna did everything she could to conceal her identity before she killed herself. Why would she do that?”

“Do you really want me to answer that, colonel?”

“More than anything else in the world.”

“All right. I’d say she did it for you.”

The expression on Craig’s face didn’t alter. “Please go on.”

“In those final moments, I think she must have been thinking more clearly than she had for a long time. She’d let you down enough. She didn’t want to shame you any more. I think she wanted the river to swallow her up as if she’d never been.”

When Craig replied, only the slightest of tremor disturbed the even tenor of his voice. “Thank you, sergeant. Somehow I thought it might be something like that.”