“I don’t know to whom you are referring, Inspector, nor am I responsible for what names I am called by. I am not aware of any matters pending with the police, so please state your business.”
“How does murder sound as a pending matter?” Payne said, seating himself and crossing his legs. “Didn’t know you’d set up shop in Hungerford, Razor.”
“First of all, I find that name offensive,” Fraser said. “Secondly, what murder?”
“How’d you get it?” I asked, following Payne’s lead and sitting. “The nickname, I mean.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Fraser said, tossing the pen onto his desk.
“Then you should get a real receptionist instead of your girlfriend out there,” Payne said. “Bit young for you, eh Razor?”
“Miss Swinson is not my girlfriend. She is my employee.”
“As I said,” Payne continued. “It was up at the Oxford Crown Court, if I recall. There was a case of an enforcer from the Noonan Mob who had slit the throat of a rival criminal and was clumsy enough to have gotten caught. You prepared the brief for the barrister, which included testimony from witnesses who were threatened with the same treatment if they didn’t cooperate.”
“That was never proven,” Fraser said. “It’s nothing but a pack of lies.” He worked at staying calm, but his face was getting beet red.
“Proven and known to be true are two different things, I grant you,” Payne said, nodding sagely. “So you and your barrister get the villain off, and then guess what happens? He himself turns up dead, his own throat slit for the trouble he caused the Noonan boys. That, Captain Boyle, is how our friend here came by the nickname Razor Fraser. Nice sound to it, eh?”
“Interesting coincidence too,” I said. “Us being here on a murder investigation.”
“Do you need representation, Captain?” Fraser said, trying to gain control of the conversation. “It was so nice of the inspector to think of me.”
“Actually it was the Newbury Building Society who thought of you,” I said.
“What? About the loan, do you mean? I thought that was all settled.”
“Do you recall the representative from the society who visited you?” Payne asked.
“From the Newbury, you mean,” Fraser said. “They prefer that name, you know.”
“Yes,” Payne said. “The Newbury. I can understand how sensitive you are to the matter of names. Do you recall that visit?”
“Of course,” Fraser said, leaning back in his chair and making a show of remembering, wrinkling his brow and rubbing his chin. The guy was a pro. “We went over the paperwork and I showed him the plans for the place. We want to put a passageway between the office and the house, and to add a morning room and a small greenhouse for my wife. She so enjoys puttering about her flowers and all that. Any law against the enjoyment of flowers, Inspector?”
“What was his name?” I asked, thinking back to Ernest Bone not mentioning he’d been visited by Stuart Neville.
“Can’t recall, really. It was strictly pro forma as far as I was concerned. Ah, I almost have it. Chamberlain? Something like that.”
“You’ve got it turned around. Neville was his last name. Stuart Neville,” Payne said.
“If you say so,” Fraser said with a small shrug. “Has he done something wrong?”
“Got himself killed,” Payne said. “Head bashed in three nights ago in Newbury. Did you happen to be out that night yourself, Razor?”
“Please, Inspector. Why would I kill a chap from the Newbury when they have just agreed to give me a loan? And if you suspect me of nefarious dealings with criminal figures, why do you suspect I would wield the weapon myself? I’d be more apt to hire one of those Noonan fellows you spoke of.”
“Would your wife, or perhaps Miss Swinson, know where you were that night? Late, I mean.”
“Three nights ago?” Fraser made a show of counting on his fingers. “Yes, three nights ago it would have been my wife.”
“Was there anything unusual about Neville when he was here? Something he might have mentioned?” I asked.
“I hardly remember what he looked like,” Fraser said. “He seemed perfectly ordinary. We discussed the terms of the loan, hardly stimulating conversation. What I do find interesting, though, is why you are here, Captain.”
“Captain Boyle is assisting us,” Payne said. “He helped coordinate the search for that missing girl from the Avington School, and is working with us on the Neville case, it being a matter of mutual concern.”
“Why?” Fraser asked, allowing a smirk to show. “Do the Americans need a loan? I thought they were swimming in money.”
“We ask the questions here, Razor,” Payne said. “So is there nothing you remember about Neville’s visit? Nothing you noticed?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I’d have thought he’d have been more interested in reviewing the plans,” Fraser said, gesturing at drawings unrolled on a nearby table. “We had an architect draw them up, all ready for inspection, but he gave them only the slightest attention. He is supposed to determine whether we have everything planned out properly, after all.” He sounded offended, as if he wished the dead man alive again only so he could berate him for his shortcomings.
“You haven’t heard anything about a kidnapping gang around here, have you?” Payne asked. “I know you’ve defended some dicey characters in your time, but crimes against children were never among the charges. Sexual crimes. If you’ve heard anything, it might save a young girl’s life.”
“I’ve heard about the drowned girl, it’s all over town,” Fraser said quietly. “Speaking in the hypothetical, I may have had certain contacts with people you’d not consider on the up and up. But every last man of them would draw the line at children. If I knew anything that would help apprehend the fiend who put that poor girl in the canal, I’d tell you and be glad I’d done my duty. Sadly, I cannot.”
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Fraser,” Payne said, ending on a cordial note. He rose and studied the drawings. “A greenhouse, eh? My wife’d fancy that herself.”
“I trust this incident will not hold up the loan, Inspector,” Fraser said, opening the door for us to leave.
“No, it should not,” Payne said, squinting at the printed legend on the plans. “You can tell the firm of Harrison Joinery not to worry. They should be on the job in no time.”
We left the office, and quickly confirmed with Mrs. Fraser that her husband was home the night of the murder. I wanted to ask about the other evenings, but bit my tongue. Instead, I asked Payne what his comment about the carpentry firm was all about as soon as we were out of earshot.
“Just a hunch,” he said. “Razor Fraser has likely accumulated income he cannot properly account for. I wouldn’t be surprised if the business doing the renovations is owned by him. Then he has the work end up over budget, and pays himself the difference from a stack of pound notes given to him by his criminal clients, so the illegal income gets washed clean. All sorts of ways ’round the taxman for a rogue like him.”
“Do you believe him about his gang drawing the line at crimes against young girls?” I asked Payne.
“From what I know of Fraser, I’d guess he believes that. There is a code of sorts among most villains. But there’s always a chance of one really rotten apple among all the merely bad.”
Payne’s driver took us out of Hungerford, taking the long way around to Kintbury, since the main road was closed off because of military traffic. We could hear the roar of engines in the distance, perhaps the start of the maneuvers Tree had mentioned. I wondered if he’d found out anything useful at the Chilton Foliat jump school. We planned to meet for lunch at the Three Crowns Pub and exchange information. He was as anxious for me to solve the case of the murdered and missing girls as he was to get Angry Smith out of the slammer, now that wild rumors were sweeping through every base and billet in the area. As we drove along back roads where farmers were plowing their fields, I thought about Tree and how nothing was ever easy between us. It was like we could never simply do one thing and not have it cascade into a dozen problems. There was no straight line between us, only the hard angles of race and distrust, softened by familiarity, then hardened again by betrayal.