Giorgio smiled and mouthed a silent “Adieu!”
Jack drove away from the prison deep in thought. If someone wanted to make it look as though Winkie had been killed with a Porgia MO, then it stood to reason that it was to throw them off the scent. And if that was the case, then they were clearly looking in the right direction.
Mary was thinking of other things. “Are you going to tell me where Max Zotkin might be if he’s not in prison?”
“No,” replied Jack thoughtfully, “and with a bit of luck, I intend to keep it that way.”
Mary’s phone rang, and she flipped it open, listened to something Baker had to say and then closed it again.
“News?”
“You could say that. It’s Bessie Brooks. She was nabbed trying to run away from a hotel in Swindon without paying. They’re going to transfer her to Reading Central at midday.”
33. What Bessie Brooks Had to Say for Herself
BEAR TO SHIT IN WOODS—OFFICIAL
Following yesterday’s passing of the Ursine Suitable Accommodation Bill, bears will no longer have to live in urban housing allocated to them by the authorities. The new deal was greeted with open paws among Reading’s bear population. “Really, we’re delighted,” declared married father of one Mr. Gus Bruin. “No more city for us—we’re off to the forest!” Parcels of land will be made available in Andersen’s Wood, where humanlike bear family units will be able to live in small cottages, take long walks and eat porridge.
—Article in The Gadfly, September 8, 1989
Jack pressed the two “record” buttons simultaneously.
“This is a taped interview. Miss Bessie Brooks is being interviewed, and the time is twelve-twenty P.M. Detective Inspector Jack Spratt is conducting the interview. Also present are DS Mary Mary, Constable Kandlestyk-Maeker and Miss Brooks’s solicitor, Seymour Weevil.”
He looked across at Bessie. She was staring at the table and appeared sullen.
Bessie was in her early twenties and an attractive brunette who stood at least six foot one. She had dark brown eyes that were red with tears, and her expensive outfit was rumpled and dirty. She did not lift her head to look at any of them, and a packet of cigarettes that Jack had placed on the table remained untouched, even though they could see from the faint stain on her fingers that she was a smoker.
Seymour Weevil, a short man with his hair combed carefully back from his forehead, watched the proceedings impassively from within a suit that should have been condemned as an affront to human decency long ago.
“Miss Brooks, you have been brought in for questioning regarding the murder of one Humperdinck Aloysius Dumpty. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
Bessie Brooks nodded imperceptibly.
“Miss Brooks—”
But Seymour Weevil interrupted him. “My client is very willing to answer your questions but feels that she has been treated like a criminal. She also objects to having her apartment searched. She wishes it to be known that she loved Mr. Dumpty deeply and has no idea who killed him.”
Jack ignored Weevil and continued. “Can you tell me your whereabouts on the night of the nineteenth and the morning of the twentieth of this month?”
Bessie didn’t answer. Seymour Weevil gave her his handkerchief—a cheap one for her to keep, Jack noted—and said kindly, “It would help the police if you spoke to them, but you have the right to remain silent. Do you wish to exercise that right?”
She lifted her head and stared at Jack and Mary in turn. Her mascara had run badly, and her eyes brimmed with tears. “Do you think he suffered?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“We don’t think so,” replied Mary without any emotion.
Jack placed the picture of her with Humpty on the table. It was in a plastic bag. She paused and then picked it up.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was on Mr. Dumpty’s desk.”
A smile crossed her face momentarily as she realized that he must have liked her enough to have her photo up in his office. She touched Humpty’s features on the print with a fingertip and spoke again, yet this time her voice had found a new confidence.
“Vienna, June last year,” she sighed wistfully. “Hump was on a business trip selling a thousand tons of Wozbekistanian industrial-strength instant soup powder. He asked me if I wanted to come along.”
She cocked her head to one side as she filled herself with fond memories of the trip.
“On the night this photo was taken, we went to see Madame Butterfly. In the first act, the tenor singing Lieutenant Pinkerton’s part was taken ill and the understudy was drunk. The management came out and apologized profusely and explained that they were unable to continue the performance. To my surprise Hump stood up and sang, without music, the first six lines of Pinkerton’s part. He was ushered onto the stage, and ten minutes later the performance continued with Hump as the Lieutenant. I was placed in the royal box with the compliments of the management, and Hump received eight curtain calls. It was a night that I shall never forget.” She smiled and shook her head sadly. “Does my story surprise you?”
“Mr. Dumpty ceased to surprise me long ago, Miss Brooks,” replied Jack. “Why did you leave town?”
The smile dried on her lips, and she looked down at the photo again.
“I loved him, Inspector, more than any woman ever loved an egg.” She paused for a moment. “I should never have become emotionally attached to him, but it was hard not to. Did you ever meet him, Inspector?”
“Only once, a long time ago.”
“He was a remarkable man,” she said slowly, “quite remarkable. His crimes never benefited himself.”
“Did he tell you of his plans?”
“No. He had several schemes in place, but I never knew what they were. On the night of the charity benefit, he told me he had remarried. He asked me if I wanted to carry on our relationship, and I am afraid to say that I was less than polite. We argued. How dare he marry another when we had been together for almost three months!”
“Is that why you killed him, Miss Brooks?”
She collapsed into a choking fit of sobs. Seymour moved farther away, and Jack and Mary exchanged looks. Mary tried to comfort her.
“It’s okay, Miss Brooks, take your time.”
They waited for a couple of minutes for her to compose herself, then sent out for a cup of tea, which arrived speedily.
“I couldn’t live without him, and I couldn’t bear the thought of another woman in his arms, caressing his smooth white shell—” She closed her eyes and began to cry.