The policeman looked at Charlie and Charlie smiled back.
‘So you know about the robbery?’ queried the man.
‘I didn’t get your name?’ replied Charlie.
The detective frowned, off-balanced by the response. Then he smiled.
‘Law,’ he said. ‘Superintendent Harry Law.’
He stared at Charlie, expectantly. Charlie gazed back.
‘Law,’ said the man, again.
Still Charlie said nothing.
‘Unusual name for a policeman,’ offered the detective, at last. ‘Law … police …’
It was a prepared charade, the clumsy joke at his own expense to put an interviewee falsely at ease, decided Charlie.
‘Very unusual,’ he allowed, hardly intruding the condescension. On the flight to London, he’d rehearsed the inevitable meeting, deciding on the vague impatience of a rich man.
The superintendent detected the attitude. The smile slipped away, irritably.
Law was an almost peculiar figure, thought Charlie. Smooth, shining-pink cheeks, glistening oiled hair, perfectly combed and in place, eyes wetly bright and attentive. A disconcerting man, Charlie labelled him. Because he chose to be. He would have to be careful. It was not going to be as easy as he had imagined. Perhaps nothing was.
‘You knew about the robbery?’ Law repeated. There was a hardness to his voice now. The man had almost lost his temper, guessed Charlie. Maybe he wasn’t as good an interrogator as he thought he was.
‘It’s the main item in every newspaper,’ pointed out Charlie. ‘It would be difficult not to know about it.’
‘But you didn’t bother to contact the bank?’ criticised Law.
The reason for the waiting police car and the visit from such a senior officer within thirty minutes, realised Charlie. It would have been sensible to have telephoned from Switzerland. And even more sensible to have picked upon an alternative reaction to the police approach. He’d never be able to play the rich man as long as he had a hole in his ass. It was too late now to change it; it would increase rather than allay suspicion.
‘No,’ he admitted. It would be as wrong now to hurry an explanation.
‘Why?’
The question thrust from the man, the voice even harder.
‘Please sit down,’ deflected Charlie. He gestured Law and the other man to a couch in the middle of the room.
‘I didn’t catch your name, either,’ he said, to the younger man, aware as he spoke of the anger stiffening the superintendent’s body.
‘Hardiman, sir,’ responded the young policeman. ‘Sergeant John Hardiman.’
‘Why?’ repeated Law.
Charlie turned back to the man. Very soon, Charlie guessed, the superintendent would become openly rude.
‘Didn’t I contact the bank?’
Law nodded, breathing deeply. The temper was the man’s failing, thought Charlie.
‘I didn’t want to be a nuisance,’ explained Charlie simply.
Law frowned.
‘Forgive me, sir,’ he said. ‘I don’t follow.’
A clever recovery, assessed Charlie. Seize the apparent conceit of the person you’re interviewing and convey the impression they’re far more intelligent than you, so they’ll over-reach themselves.
‘The newspapers talked of the value being in the region of a million pounds,’ said Charlie.
‘Could be,’ agreed Law. ‘Once we establish the contents of the deposit boxes.’
‘Quite,’ said Charlie, as if that were sufficient explanation. ‘So I didn’t want to be a bother.’
There was another sigh from the older detective.
‘You’re still not making yourself clear.’
‘Can I offer you a drink?’ Charlie slipped away again. He gestured towards the drinks tray. Law had begun to perspire, he saw. Charlie decided he wan’t doing too badly.
‘Whisky would be very nice, sir,’ accepted Law. The man fitted a smile into place, the protective mask behind which he was determined to operate.
Charlie went to the bottles and poured Scotch for himself and the superintendent. Hardiman hesitated, then shook his head in refusal.
‘You were telling me you didn’t want to be a nuisance,’ encouraged the superintendent.
‘Yes,’ said Charlie. ‘I imagined that people who had had valuables in their boxes would be inundating the bank with telephone calls and visits and I thought my enquiries could wait until tomorrow.’
Slowly Law placed the glass on a side table that Charlie had positioned close to him and nodded to Hardiman. The younger man took a notebook from his pocket.
‘I see,’ said Law, slowly. ‘So there was nothing valuable in your box?’
‘Not valuable in the terms of the robbery,’ said Charlie. ‘Some insurance policies … the lease to this house and the conveyancing documents … that sort of thing.’
‘Just papers?’ demanded Law.
‘And a little money … perhaps?500 …’
The superintendent sipped his drink again.
‘You don’t know the actual amount?’
He let the disbelief leak into the question.
‘I travel a great deal,’ said Charlie. ‘The odd bits of currency and travellers’ cheques I don’t spend I normally put into the box for use another time. So I can’t give you the precise figure, no.’
‘But it certainly wouldn’t be more than 500?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Charlie.
He waited, disguising the apprehension. If the money had been left, as Sir Archibald would have decreed it should if he had organised the operation, then this would be the moment when he lost the encounter, Charlie knew. A formal accusation of lying, maybe even the official warning under Judges’ Rules and then the request to accompany them to the police station for further questioning.
Law was nodding, disclosing nothing. Hardiman was busily writing in the notebook.
‘Isn’t that rather expensive?’ asked the superintendent, ending the pause.
‘Expensive?’ asked Charlie. His voice almost broke, showing anxiety. Had the money been there, they would have challenged him immediately, he knew. He felt the first bubble of hope.
‘Hiring a safe deposit box for the sort of stuff most people keep in a cupboard drawer?’ enlarged the detective.
Charlie forced the smile.
‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’m the sort of person who likes to know everything is safe … so I put it in a bank because I thought there was less chance of a robbery than here, in the house.’
‘Ironic,’ agreed Law.
But it wasn’t agreement, guessed Charlie. There was still doubt.
The superintendent emptied his glass and shook his head in refusal when Charlie gestured towards the bottle.
‘You wouldn’t mind if I checked with your insurance companies about the policies?’
‘Of course not,’ said Charlie. ‘The Sun Life of Canada and the Royal Assurance.’
Hardiman noted the names.
‘Hope I haven’t caused difficulties,’ said Charlie.
‘Difficulties?’ queried Law.
‘By not bothering to contact the bank … you seemed to attach some importance to it.’
‘It appeared odd,’ allowed Law.
‘And I was just trying to be helpful,’ repeated Charlie.
‘Yes, sir.’
Law paused, then demanded again: ‘There was nothing more than the policies, documents concerning this house and the small amount of money?’
‘Nothing,’ Charlie assured him. The insurance had been Edith’s idea, he remembered; being normal, she’d called it.
Both men were staring at him, he realised. A silence settled into the room. Charlie stayed perched on the edge of the armchair, curbing any indication of nervousness.
‘Then you’re lucky,’ said Law, at last.
‘Lucky?’
‘The policies weren’t even taken … so you won’t have to bother with duplicates.’
Charlie nodded. He’d got away with it, he thought. The realisation swept through him. The two detectives still didn’t seem completely satisfied.
‘That’s very fortunate,’ said Charlie.
‘Yes,’ said Law. ‘Very fortunate.’
‘The money’s gone, I suppose?’ asked Charlie.