“Yes; he never really got over her death. She died in a car accident when he was in prison. I don’t think he ever forgave himself. If he had been there, he often said, it might have been different.”
She sighed. “Whatever his second wife told you, they were never that close. He thought that by marrying again, he could retain some of the stability he had enjoyed with Lucinda and perhaps recoup some of his lost fortunes—I understand Laura Garibaldi had quite a bit of cash.”
“She used to.”
“Sorry, it was dreadful, wasn’t it? Anyway, it didn’t work. Not more than six months after his second marriage, I noticed him inviting young ladies to his flat next door. I don’t think he wanted to upset Laura—he just loved women. He was a very amusing man, Inspector, witty, charming and erudite.”
“What would you say if I told you Mr. Dumpty had got remarried?”
Lola looked shocked. “Humpty? Married again? I would have thought he’d have learnt his lesson from the last one.”
“You met her?”
“No, it was what I was saying earlier. He had hoped the marriage would be as happy as the first time. I think he was disappointed.”
“Isn’t that the thing about multiple marriages?” commented Jack. “How you always hope the next one will be the perfect one.”
Lola flinched. Jack had obviously touched a raw nerve. She flashed a look at him and then got up and walked over to the piano.
“When they were giving out tact, Inspector Spratt, I assume you were at the end of the queue. I’ve been married sixteen times. Each time, as you say, we wish for the perfect one. My first husband was a plumber from Wantage. We married when I was still behind the cosmetics counter. He gave me more than the Earl of Sunbury ever did. That mean bastard only ever gave me paste jewelery and a dose of the clap. I could still call myself a lady if I wanted, but I’d have to use the Sunbury name, and who wants to be associated with Sunbury in any way, shape or form? He was my fifth husband. We were married for over seven months, and when we divorced, I swore I would never get married again.”
Jack, Mary and Brown-Horrocks said nothing, so she carried on.
“Then I met Luke. What a joy. He was young and carefree, funny and gregarious. He was the perfect man.”
“What happened?” asked Mary.
“I married his brother. We were having a double wedding, and there was a mix-up at the church. We divorced as soon as we could.”
“Couldn’t you just have had it annulled?” asked Mary. “If it wasn’t consummated, it—”
Lola silenced her with a baleful stare. “The temptation was too great. It might have turned out better, but on balance I think I preferred Luke. Trouble is, by the following morning, he had fallen for his accidental bride. They went to Llandudno and opened a fish shop. Then there was Thomas Pring. When I was being courted by him, he gave me a huge diamond, the fabulous Pring Diamond. They warned me about the curse that went with the Pring Diamond, but I ignored them all and we married.”
She held up a cocktail shaker. “Gargle?”
They declined. She shrugged and poured herself a martini.
“It was then that the Pring curse made itself apparent.”
“And the curse?”
“Mr. Pring. He was a pig of a man. He used to cut his toenails in bed and rarely washed. I divorced him citing the 1947 Personal Hygiene Act.”
She sat down on the chaise longue again.
“How I prattle so! You must be busy. Is there anything else that I can do for you?”
“Only if you can think of one particular girlfriend of Humpty’s that he might have liked enough to marry.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ve no idea.”
Jack stood up. “Well, I think that’s it for now.”
“For now?”
“You don’t mind if I come back should any other questions arise?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Just one more thing. Would you sign Brown-Horrocks’s clipboard? I know he wants you to.”
They thanked her and left. As soon as Lola had closed the door, she put a worried hand to her face, strode quickly to the window and raised the blind. She then picked up the telephone.
“It’s Lola,” she said. “He suspects.”
39. The Red Ford Zephyr
RED HERRING USE TO BE CONTROLLED
Blatant red herrings and overused narrative blind alleys could land a detective in hot water if the Limited Narrative Misdirection bill becomes law later this year. The controversial new law called for by readers’ groups has few friends among the Guild of Detectives, which still maintains that there is “no problem” and that self-regulatory guidelines prepared in 1904 are “more than adequate.” “We’re not asking much,” explained a representative of the twenty-million-member readers’ lobbying group TecWatch. “We just want to see good investigations—not routine rubbish padded out with inconsequential nonsense.” The bill follows the successful passing of the so-called surprise assailant act last year, which outlawed the publication of investigations where the murderer is suddenly revealed two pages from the end without a single mention in the previous one hundred thousand words.
—Extract from The Owl, October 1, 1979
Spongg Villas was only a ten-minute walk from Reading Central, and by the time they got back, there had been a development.
“We’ve just had an anonymous phone call with info on Humpty’s car,” said Gretel, talking to Jack but looking at Brown-Horrocks.
“Who from?”
“They didn’t say. Male caller from a phone box in Charvil. Gave the information and then rang off.”
“Headway at last. Whereabouts?”
They stepped closer to the Reading and District wall map, which had to be hung sideways as it was the only way it would fit on the tiny wall.
“They said it could be found…” muttered Gretel, looking at the address on the piece of paper and finally jabbing a finger perilously close to the edge of Andersen’s Wood. “Here.”
Jack looked at the place Gretel had indicated. There were no houses within a mile in any direction.
“Right. Mary and I are going out to have a look. Check out the owners of the closest houses and see if you can spot any link.”
The crossroads where they’d been told they could find the Zephyr was in a rural setting to the west of the city, from where they could easily see Andersen’s Wood on the next hill. A single signpost with peeling paint sat forlornly at the roadside, and there was no evidence of habitation in any direction. After the bustle of the town over the past few days, the peace of the country was a welcome diversion. The roar of the M4 had been soothed into a gentle rumble by the distance, and for once it wasn’t raining.