Charters and Caldicott Read Online Free PDF Page A

you’d care to make on that, Mr Caldicott?’
    Caldicott glared at Grimes. ‘Yes, there is, Inspector, but it would scorch the pages of your notebook.’
    â€˜There are no such letters?’
    â€˜Search the flat, Inspector. Go on – you have my permission.’
    â€˜Sergeant Tipper has had a good look round, sir. I’m glad to have it confirmed that that was in order.’ Ignoring Charters’ and Caldicott’s indignant glances, he went on, ‘So either Miss Beevers wasn’t telling Mr Grimes the truth, or Mr Grimes isn’t telling me the truth.’
    â€˜The man’s a liar,’ said Caldicott. ‘Sorry, Grimes, but there you are.’
    â€˜Yes, I’m inclined to agree with you. Otherwise what was she doing with this?’ Snow unfolded the handkerchief he was holding to reveal a key with an identifying tag attached.
    â€˜My spare key!’ said Caldicott.
    â€˜It’s a puzzle, isn’t it, sir? We’ve a good idea how she came by it – it’s like a self-service counter down in that lobby. But why, having come by it, does she want to spin Mr Grimes a yarn to let her into the flat? Or so he tells us.’
    â€˜I did let her in, sir. I’ve no idea what she was doing with that key and that is the truth,’ Grimes insisted.
    â€˜Well now, Mr Grimes, I think we’d better sort out what’s the truth and what isn’t. How do you feel about coming back to the station with me? It’s not far.’
    The body of the dead girl was carried out of Viceroy Mansions on a blanket-covered stretcher and put into a waiting police van. As the door closed, a young woman in a smart grey suit withdrew from the knot of watching bystanders and hurried to the nearest phone box.
    With the flat to themselves again, Charters and Caldicott had rejected as unseemly both the cinema and the Club and were recovering from the distressing events of the afternoon in the traditional way. When the level of liquid in the decanter had dropped considerably, Charters, mellowed, stood up. ‘You still keep a thoroughly decent dry sherry, Caldicott,’ he said, retrieving his umbrella and beginning to put on his raincoat. ‘You must invite me to your place more often.’
    â€˜Delighted. And of course it makes an excellent base camp for the Odeon, Kensington High Street.’ Caldicott paused in the act of returning the 1979 Wisden to the shelves. ‘You found that batting average?’
    â€˜Yes – and I owe you and the shade of Jock Beevers an apology. Do you think I should send a correction to The Times ?’
    Caldicott was considering the matter when the telephone rang. ‘If this is the gutter press after a juicy interview they’ll get short shrift,’ he said, lifting the receiver.
    The call box bleeps stopped and a young woman’s voice said, ‘Mr Caldicott? It’s about the murder in your flat – something you ought to know.’
    Caldicott put his hand over the receiver and reported to Charters, ‘Unspecified female. Says she knows something about the murder.’
    Charters buttoned up his raincoat. ‘Crackpot, most likely.’
    Caldicott listened. ‘Craves a meeting at Cuddles Restaurant in the Earl’s Court Road,’ he informed Charters, covering the mouthpiece again.
    â€˜Never heard of it. Anyway, I have my Green Line bus to catch,’ said Charters, rolling up his umbrella in a decisive manner.
    â€˜Don’t you think we ought to find out what she has to say?’
    â€˜Publicity seeker. Waste of time.’
    Peeved by Charters’ lack of co-operation, Caldicott said to his caller, ‘I’m sure I shall find the place. Perhaps you’ll allow me to buy you a cup of tea?... In about ten minutes then.’ He was about to replace the receiver when a thought occurred to him. ‘By the way, I don’t know your name.’
    â€˜Yes, you do, Mr