Free Ha'penny by Jo Walton Page B

Carmichael said, taking the book from Royston. He picked up the phone on the desk and listened for a moment. He had half-expected it to be dead, but it hummed happily, so he began to dial. There were two numbers for Peter Marshall, one a London exchange and the other Portsmouth, both neatly inked in black. The London number rang for a long time without response. Carmichael tried the other, waiting while the operator put him through.
    That phone was answered quickly and breezily. “HMS Valiant. ”
    Carmichael was made wary by his experience with Kinnerson. “Is Peter Marshall there?”
    “I’m afraid he’s not.” The breezy voice at the other end made nothing of it.
    “Can you tell me when he will be?”
    There was a slight pause. The line crackled. “Well, to tell you the truth he should be here by now,” the voice went on, a little less cheerfully. “Lieutenant Marshall was due back from leave this morning, which means by eight, but he had a forty-eight in London and he’s late reporting in. Can I take a message, old boy?”
    Carmichael looked at his watch. It was nearly ten. “Can I speak to Lieutenant Marshall’s commanding officer?” he asked.
    “Who is this?” The voice sounded wary.
    “This is Inspector Carmichael of Scotland Yard,” Carmichael said, with a great deal of satisfaction.
    “Oh don’t tell me Peter’s busted up his car again?”
    “I certainly shan’t tell you anything of the sort,” Carmichael said, silkily. Royston, who was still sorting through the piles on the desk, looked up and grinned at his tone. “Could you please let me speak to Lieutenant Marshall’s commanding officer?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The line crackled again, as Carmichael was transferred. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Seems like Marshall is a possibility,” he said. “Naval man. Due back from leave today and not shown up.”
    The phone sputtered back to life. “Captain Beddow speaking,” it barked.
    “Good morning, sir. I’m inquiring about one of your officers, a Lieutenant Peter Marshall.”
    “Seems the fellow’s late back from leave, hey?”
    “Yes, sir. I—”
    Captain Beddow clearly wasn’t prepared to wait for Carmichael’s explanation. “What’s your problem, Inspector?”
    “Did Marshall say anything to you about an intention to see Lauria Gilmore while he was in London, sir?”
    “Didn’t say anything to me that I recall,” Beddow said. “Lauria—what, that actress woman who was blown up?”
    “Marshall knew her,” Carmichael said.
    “He might be intimately acquainted with the whole chorus line of the Gaiety for all I care,” Beddow said. “I’m a busy man, Inspector.”
    “There’s a possibility that Marshall was the man killed with Miss Gilmore yesterday. The body is very difficult to identify. Is Marshall habitually late back from leave, sir?”
    “I—what? No, no he isn’t. Some of the others—well. I was expecting you to tell me he’d piled up his silly car.”
    “No, sir. What kind of car did Marshall drive?” Carmichael wondered what Captain Beddow regarded as silly.
    “Little red Austin. But you really think he’s dead?”
    “There’s a distinct possibility, sir. At present making an identification of Miss Gilmore’s companion would be most useful to us. What I’d like to ask would be for you to wait until mid-day for Marshall to report in. If he does report in, please call me at the Yard and I’ll continue to pursue other possibilities. If not, then I’d like you to send an officer who knew Marshall well to London to attempt identification.”
    “Yes. Yes, I’ll do that, Inspector. Terrible business. Terrible. Getting himself blown up having lunch with an actress. Not safe in our beds. The Prime Minister’s quite right.”
    “Yes, sir,” Carmichael said, though he wondered again whether Mark Normanby might have had rather more to do with setting the bomb than trying to prevent it. Though why would an aging actress and a naval lieutenant