Simon Tolkien Inspector Trave Trilogy: Orders From Berlin, The Inheritance, The King of Diamonds

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‘All right,’ said Trave. ‘I’ve got nothing else for now, but here’s my card. If you decide you want to be any more forthcoming, you’ll know where to reach me. And if you don’t, I’ll be back. You can count on that,’ he added as he went out the door.

But then out in the hall, another question occurred to Trave. He hesitated and then turned on his heel and went back in the room. Thorn had stood up and appeared to be wiping his eyes with a crumpled red handkerchief.

‘What is it, Detective?’ he asked, looking annoyed. ‘I thought you said you were done here.’

‘Just one more question,’ said Trave. ‘Do you know anyone called Hayrick?’

‘Hayrick? No, nobody. It doesn’t sound like a name at all.’

‘No, you’re right. It doesn’t,’ said Trave. He nodded reflectively and left.

Back at Scotland Yard, Quaid listened distractedly to Trave’s account of his interview with Mrs Graves the previous evening and then interrupted his subordinate just as Trave had begun to describe Thorn’s evasiveness when questioned about his visit to Battersea the previous day.

‘Whose investigation is this?’ he asked, glowering at Trave.

‘Yours, of course. I just thought we should follow up what happened in the afternoon …’

‘You thought,’ Quaid repeated sarcastically. ‘I don’t know who you think you are – running round London wherever the fancy takes you! Check with me next time. All right?’

Trave nodded, and Quaid decided not to push the point. There was no need to create unnecessary hostility. Trave had done well with the victim’s daughter the previous evening. He could be an asset if he could just learn to toe the line.

‘How do you know this Thorn character wasn’t telling you the truth?’ he asked. ‘Why shouldn’t he go and see an old friend and leave a note to say he’d called?’

‘No reason,’ said Trave evenly. ‘But if that was all it was, it doesn’t explain Morrison’s rushing across town in a taxi …’

‘All right, maybe he did want to see Thorn, but that doesn’t mean Thorn murdered him. Didn’t you say Thorn seemed genuinely upset when you told him about Morrison’s death?’

‘Yes, I know – it doesn’t add up,’ said Trave with a frown. ‘It’s just I think we need to find out more – about what Morrison’s job was; about what’s going on over there.’

‘What did you say the address was?’

‘Fifty-nine Broadway.’

‘I’ll look into it. It’s probably some kind of government office, which is why Thorn’s keeping quiet about it,’ said Quaid. ‘The Home Office is just around the corner from there, isn’t it?’

Trave nodded, looking unconvinced. ‘What about the note?’ he said.

‘What note?’

‘The one in Morrison’s pocket, the one asking for the written report—’

‘Well, it doesn’t incriminate Thorn, does it? You were the one who saw it was in Morrison’s handwriting. And, you know, the point is maybe we’re never going to find out what that note means because we haven’t got the time or the resources in the middle of the Blitz to go up every blind alley, particularly when the solution to the case is staring us in the bloody eye,’ Quaid said impatiently. He paused a moment as if for effect and then leant across his desk. ‘It turns out that Dr Bertram Brive is up to his neck in debts. Without the money he’s hoping to get from old Morrison, he’ll be bankrupt by Christmas.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Trave.

‘It wasn’t difficult – I phoned up his bank. The manager there told me they had him in last week because they were calling in his overdraft. He stopped making payments in the summer, apparently.’

‘Do they know why?’

‘The bank manager thinks he’s a gambler. I’ve got Twining out making enquiries. I’d have sent you if you hadn’t been otherwise engaged,’ he added.

‘But Brive’s got a business,’ said Trave, ignoring the dig. ‘Doctors must be in even more demand than we are these days.’

‘Only if they want to work, and I’d bet my last pound that Brive doesn’t – which isn’t such a bad thing, actually,’ said Quaid with a harsh laugh. ‘From what I saw of him last night, I’d say that the man’s got the bedside manner of a Nazi. He’s the one who gave the old man the heave-ho, you mark my words. It’s just a question of finding the evidence. And that’s where we need to concentrate our efforts from now on,’ Quaid added, giving his subordinate a sharp look.