To Die but Once (Maisie Dobbs #14)(93)
“It’s been a while, has it not, hen? And to what do I owe this intrusion into my first wee dram of the day?”
“Bit late for you, isn’t it, Robbie? From my garden the sun is already over the yardarm.”
“I’m a-mending of my ways,” replied MacFarlane. “That sounds almost poetic, doesn’t it? Now then, seeing as you didn’t mention taking me out for a nice four-course luncheon tomorrow, I take it this is a business call.”
“It is, yes.”
“Come on then, tell me what’s going on.”
“I could be wrong, Robbie, but I think I know of the whereabouts of an enemy agent—and even if he’s not German, I think he’s someone who’s probably not on our side.”
“I see. Pray tell,” said Robbie, his tone now weighted with the gravity of her news.
Maisie described her fears, and her reservations. “I just didn’t think it was wise to wait any longer to tell you.”
“No, you’re right there. I’ll get on it. Don’t go into your office tomorrow, and keep those two employees of yours out of the way.”
“Yes. I’ll telephone them both immediately.” She paused, curling the telephone cord around the fingers of her left hand. “Robbie—he’s a nice man. Go easy on him.”
“If the creeping vines are innocent, he won’t even know we’ve been there. I’ll put my little wee white gloves on for him.”
“But not your white boxing gloves.”
There was silence on the line before MacFarlane spoke again.
“My nephew didn’t get out of Dunkirk, Maisie.”
“I’m so sorry, Robbie. Truly I am. But please remember, I could be wrong about the man.”
“I know you, Maisie, so in my gut, I doubt it. Now then, stay away tomorrow—treat yourself to an outing. Go home to the country to see that little girl of yours.”
Maisie was grateful for a chill in the air as she walked along the Embankment toward Scotland Yard. Having confirmed that Sandra would not be required in the office, she had arranged to meet Billy outside the police headquarters at half past nine and instructed him not to go to the office first, as she had just remembered that some essential plumbing work would be in progress.
She had slept little the previous night. Priscilla had called late in the evening to let her know that Tim was weak, but improving, and had been awake long enough to talk briefly about Gordon’s death. He had become distressed and was given a sedative. Andrew Dene had paid another visit, and estimated that it would be another two weeks before Tim would be discharged. He counseled against Tim returning to London, as fresh air and the chance to begin walking each day would help with balance and well-being. Priscilla and Douglas would therefore be looking for a property to rent in Kent, and ideally as close to the village as possible. “We’re family, Maisie. We all need to be near those we love—don’t you think?”
At Scotland Yard, Caldwell took Maisie’s statement, starting with the day Phil Coombes came to her office to talk to her about his son.
“Do you think the man knew about his brother-in-law and the paint at that point?” said Caldwell.
“He knew what sort of man Jimmy Robertson was. He knew he was a criminal—but remember, they had served together, had gone over the top into battle together. They were connected by the horrors they’d seen, and by the fact that they both came home. I believe that as time went on—and of course, Phil married Sally Robertson—Phil did his utmost to turn a blind eye to the way Jimmy Robertson operated. And Robertson looked after the family, providing many little extras that make life easier. I believe Phil at some point began to doubt Jimmy, and he had to face up to the reality that the man is very dangerous indeed. He couldn’t go straight to Jimmy about Joe, because he knew, deep down, that Jimmy cared only about number one. So, he came to me. Phil Coombes came to me only to say he was worried about his son. And if I found Joe safe and well—all to the better. But if not, then there was a detachment—it wouldn’t be Phil who shopped Jimmy, it would be me. If luck held, Joe would come back, everyone would keep their mouths shut and life would go on. And as far as Phil and Sally Coombes were concerned, Jimmy had done more than provide those little extras I mentioned—he made sure both Archie and Joe were in reserved occupations. Vivian did well for herself, but there was always pressure to do anything she could for Uncle Jimmy—and that was probably true of the whole family.”
Caldwell nodded. Maisie thought she had never seen him look so drawn. “Detective Inspector Murphy has brought in the painting crew, and Freddie Mayes has been charged with accessory to murder, following his confession today. He was acting on the instructions of Jimmy Robertson, who—it transpires—showed his face, along with Mike Yates, at their lodgings in Whitchurch. They wanted Joe to be quiet about his headaches, and—according to Yates—they told young Joe that it would be very bad form for his parents to know he wasn’t pulling his weight in the job. We’re getting enough to put Robertson away, and we hope for a long, long time. He has been brought in and is cooling his heels in a cell, though his brief is coming in to see him soon—the one who has had a fair bit of luck in allowing him to slide off our shovel in the past. Anyway, he’s not been charged, but we have time. I just didn’t want him to go anywhere. Not that getting away to the Continent is a good idea at the moment.”