Late Delivery, page 12
‘It is good of you to let me come at such short notice,’ Piet said.
‘Not a bit, Mr – er – Devonshire, isn’t it? I said we’d been in business for over seventy years, and we’ve been contractors to the Post Office since we started. In that time we’ve supplied I don’t know how many hundreds of millions of stamps. And I don’t think the Post Office has ever had any reason for complaint.’
‘I’m sure we haven’t,’ Evans said tactfully. ‘You have a magnificent record.’
‘Well, we want to keep it, so it is as much in our interest as in yours to get a mystery like this cleared up.’
‘I’m afraid it isn’t cleared up,’ Piet said.
‘I meant, cleared up as far as we are concerned.’
*
Conversation was stopped by the girl who had received Piet and Evans serving lunch, a beautifully cooked light meal, accompanied by a bottle of pleasant Chablis. Mr Ross was an agreeable host. Over lunch he said, ‘I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting you before, Mr Devonshire. What exactly is your job in the department?’
‘I’m about the nearest thing we have to a tame policeman,’ Piet said. ‘I’m responsible for investigating matters of internal security, or problems where such matters may arise. This is about the most baffling case we’ve ever met. Everything you have told us suggests that a reversed-head postage stamp couldn’t exist – and yet at least one does, and apparently found its way into the normal system for the distribution of stamps. If it isn’t a genuine misprint––’
‘I’ve explained that it couldn’t possibly be a misprint. There is no conceivable way in which the details on a plate could be reversed in printing,’ Mr Ross interrupted.
‘I’m not doubting you. I was about to say that if the stamp is not a misprint it must be a forgery. And such a forgery is a very serious business.’
‘Indeed it is, and you know the precautions we take against forgery, with secret marks in the paper, special ingredients in the ink, which can be detected only by electronic means.’
‘That is what is so puzzling here. The paper appears to be genuine. The stamp is being subjected to the most detailed analysis possible, and some of the tests take time. It may turn out that final analysis will reveal qualities in the production that we do not yet know. As things stand, everything except the reversed head indicates your firm.’
‘I have proved that we cannot be involved. Every inch of our paper is accounted for.’
‘Of course there are many possibilities. We are conducting similar inquiries with the papermakers to check on all consignments of paper before they are delivered to you. One of our scientists has suggested that someone may have found a way of removing all traces of ink from a normal stamp and substituting a forged impression. You have been –indeed, are – invaluable in helping to eliminate possibilities. When Mr Evans told me of your paper break it naturally occurred to me that some quantity of paper from that may have got into unauthorised hands.’
‘Our records show that it could not.’
‘Exactly. It is only by eliminating possibilities that one can hope to discover what actually happened. If I may, I’d like to take a copy of that entry in your security book. And if it doesn’t seem impertinent I’d like your secretary to confirm her signature. Please believe that this is not returning your hospitality with suspicion. It is simply that I have to work with the possibility of ultimate legal proceedings in mind, and I must establish evidence in a way that will stand up to cross-examination.’
‘Of course I understand that, Mr Devonshire. We have a photocopying machine, and I’ll get Becky to make a copy of the whole page in the security book. That will also give you an opportunity of asking her to confirm her signature, without making her feel that she is being interrogated under suspicion. You have been frank with me, Mr Devonshire. May I be equally frank in saying that I do not want a loyal staff to be harassed, particularly as I am absolutely certain that wherever that stamp came from it could not have emanated from here.’
Piet sensed that Mr Ross, for all his politeness, was getting a trifle impatient. It was understandable. They did not linger over coffee, and as soon as he decently could Mr Ross said, ‘We are all busy people, gentlemen. If you will come to my office I’ll get that document copied for you forthwith. It will take only a few minutes.’
Mr Ross introduced his secretary. ‘These are Post Office officials Becky, inquiring into our system of security. They are only doing their job – it is a routine matter, we are not suspected of blotting our copybook in any way. As an example, we’ve been discussing our handling of that paper break we had last year. Can you do a quick copy of the page in the security book with your entry about the burning of the damaged paper?’
‘Certainly, Mr Ross,’ she said. She took the book and went into her own office, returning in a few minutes with three photocopies of the page.
‘I hope three copies will be enough,’ she said.
‘Ample,’ Piet replied. ‘And what beautiful clean copies! I take it this is your own signature?’
‘Yes, the whole entry is in my writing.’
Everything about her seemed to be efficient. She was an attractive young woman, perhaps not all that young, nearer thirty than twenty, Piet thought. She had dark hair, an exceptionally good complexion, and a pleasing, educated voice. Clearly she had a good job, and was extremely good at it. Remembering the ‘Miss’ Piet wondered why she had not married. Perhaps she found that an interesting job working for an interesting man gave her everything she wanted. Mr Ross obviously thought the world of her. For the moment, anyway, there seemed nothing more to do at the printing works. After a few polite words with Mr Ross, Piet and Evans left for their cars.
In the car park Piet said, ‘Look, I’d like a word with you before we separate. We can’t talk here, and I’m afraid the pubs will be shut now. You lead, and when we’ve gone a couple of miles turn into the first layby you meet, and I’ll pull in behind you.’
Both had to go to Stadhampton, Piet to make for Marlborough via Abingdon, Evans for London via Henley. Just out of Stadhampton there was a layby, under one of those dense roadside hedges that may have been there since Saxon times. It was a pleasantly secluded spot. Piet got out of his car and sat beside Evans.
‘What do you make of today’s proceedings?’ he asked.
‘What they seem to be. The firm’s records are good, and there’s positive evidence that no unused paper could have got into unauthorised hands.’
‘Yet we know it did.’
‘You yourself said that there are other possible sources. The next step will be to check the papermakers.’
‘Can you do that? You know much more about it than we do.’
‘Certainly. But I’m bound to say I don’t expect to get anywhere. They’re an even older firm than the printers, engaged in security papermaking for generations. A forger’s main difficulty is to get hold of the right paper for faking banknotes, and the same applies to stamps. Everybody is well aware of this. The system is fool-proof. Only security printers on the official list are supplied with paper, no order is met until it has been confirmed by two separate letters from the firm concerned, and each letter must have an authorised signature – those entitled to sign have to provide specimen signatures as you do when you open a bank account, and I know that signatures are thoroughly checked. That’s only the beginning. The ordered quantity of paper is delivered by security van, the exact length of each reel measured and recorded before dispatch, and again measured and recorded on receipt. The printing firms have special machinery for unwinding and rewinding each reel for measurement. As a further check the weight is also recorded at every stage of handling.’
‘No system is absolutely fool-proof. There’s always human error, laziness, and deliberate deceit.’
‘That’s all right in theory, but firms of this sort don’t stay in business for long if they get careless.’
‘Where do you think the paper came from?’
Evans didn’t answer at once. Then he said slowly, ‘We’re talking about paper because it’s an obvious starting point, but I’m at least as much concerned with the ink. And then there’s the skill of forging a reversed head, and printing it. The ink, as you know, has special ingredients which can be identified electronically, or by advanced small-particle analysis. I suppose it is possible that the exact composition of the ink could be determined for fraudulent purposes, and similar ink made, but it would be difficult, and very expensive. Fraudulent papermaking would, I think, be more difficult still, and probably even more expensive. It sounds like science fiction, but I’m inclined to the idea that someone has discovered some solvent that can remove all trace of existing ink from a printed stamp, leaving a blank sheet for re-printing. It will be some time yet, I’m afraid, before the scientists come up with the answer to this one. And even if they say it is possible, all the problems of ink, engraving and printing remain.’
‘Would there be a large market for fraudulently printed stamps?’
‘Well, obviously it’s a point that concerns us, but if stamps are going to be forged, high value rarities for philatelists, like the reversed head, seem the best bet from the forger’s point of view. Stamps are sold by the hundred million, but mostly to individual letter-writers, or very small businesses. You don’t have to be a big business to make it profitable to use a franking machine, and most efficient firms, even quite small ones, don’t use postage stamps. Naturally the Post Office wants to detect and stop any form of forgery for stamps, but it’s on the stamp-collecting side that fraud seems most likely. Of course that also affects Post Office business, because our various special issues are primarily collectors’ stamps, and if they could be forged on any scale it would be a considerable nuisance, as well as a form of theft from the public. You need not doubt that we’re as keen to get to the bottom of this as you are.’
‘I don’t. You’ve been splendidly helpful all along. I have the additional problem that the forged stamps, if they are forged, seem already to have brought about one murder.’
‘We’re equally concerned there. Apart from being, I hope, good citizens, we have a duty to protect our postmasters and postmistresses. But unless there’s something you haven’t told me, there seems no direct evidence so far to connect our mysterious stamp with the murder.’
‘No. But it does suggest that the murder was a much more complex crime than the superficial evidence made it appear.’
‘Now you’ve got another mystery at Netherwick – the hunt for that missing ex-Colonial Governor was on the TV news last night. Is his disappearance connected with the Post Office murder in any conceivable way?’
‘I shouldn’t think so, but we’ve got damned little to go on.’
‘You must be heartily sick of Netherwick.’
‘I’m not sick of Netherwick – it’s a most beautiful village. I do get worried about unsolved problems.’
‘Well, maybe they’ll all be solved in the end. I’d better be getting on, to start tackling the papermakers. I can only wish you good luck.’
‘We shall need it. But ninety-nine percent of successful detection comes from hard work and routine.’
Piet’s remarkable visual memory left him, as he drove off, with the sharpest mental pictures of Mr Ross, his record book, and of his offices. Half-consciously he had a vague impression of something that was not visual, but he had so much else to think about that his conscious mind did not pursue it.
*
At headquarters, he went at once to see Simon Begbroke. ‘How are you getting on with green Fiats?’ he asked.
‘I’ve had a bit of luck, though I don’t know that it means anything. The day of the Post Office murder is remembered in Netherwick, but more as the day after a racehorse called Private Soldier broke a leg and had to be put down. Private Soldier won the Grand National and was one of the most famous horses Netherwick ever trained, but he fell on a routine training gallop and that was the end of him. I put Sergeant Galbraith on to making inquiries about green Fiats. He started at the local garage and the proprietor remembered going to the Post Office to buy an evening paper to read about Private Soldier. He thinks he saw a green Fiat outside the Post Office – he’s interested in Fiats because he’s hoping to get an agency for them. According to Sergeant Galbraith his evidence is fairly good. He knows all the local cars, and says that this Fiat was not a local car. That’s about all he can say, he has no idea of its number. There was no reason why he should look at the number plate, and he only remembers its being there because it is part of his recollection of the death of Private Soldier. If he did see a green Fiat, it was on the evening before the murder. It can be timed, though, fairly precisely, because the Post Office shuts at 5.30, and the garage man was bothered that he might be too late to get a paper. He says he got there just as the shop was shutting up.’
‘Good work by Sergeant Galbraith. His garage man’s evidence is better than Bert Small’s secondary recollection, but if we accept Small it’s certainly odd that a green Fiat was in the vicinity of the Post Office both on the evening before, and just after, the murder. I suppose the garage man didn’t see the driver.’
‘He says not. He wanted to read about Private Solider and he just happened to notice the car near the shop.’
‘Well, I’ve got a green Fiat for you, too. It’s nowhere near Netherwick, but at least my Fiat has a number.’ He gave Simon the details, adding, ‘There’s not the slightest thing to indicate any connection between this car and the Post Office case, but the localities are linked in a way. The car presumably belongs to someone at the printing works, and although all the evidence so far seems to show that the reversed-head stamp could not have come from the printing works, it’s on paper specially made for those particular printers.’
‘I’ll get on to the car straightaway. When we know who it belongs to we can find out whether he or she has ever been to Netherwick.’
VIII
In Prison
PIET’S NEXT JOB was to interview Eric Marshall in prison. He considered having the boy brought to him, but decided that although a day out might be a welcome break in a life sentence it might be more upsetting to the boy than a visit in prison. He didn’t want to raise hopes that might be false, and although a number of curious events seemed to be emerging round the murder, as it were, all the direct evidence still pointed to the boy’s guilt.
The special authority given him by the Home Office ensured his reception by the Governor of the prison. He was polite, but obviously a little puzzled. ‘It’s unusual for a Chief Constable to interview a prisoner,’ he said.
‘This is a most unusual case. I can’t go into all the details, but some evidence has come to light which suggests – I only say suggests – that there may be a lot more to the murder of the Postmistress than was thought at the time of the trial. It is my responsibility to decide what to recommend to the Home Secretary. There could be an application to the Court of Appeal for permission to call fresh evidence, or the Home Secretary could order an inquiry. With its racial implications, although as far as I can see no question of race comes into it, there is bound to be considerable political fuss whatever is decided about the case. You will understand that I want to be very sure of my ground before recommending anything. That is why I want to see the boy myself.’
‘I do understand. My job is fairly hellish most of the time, but I’m not sure that I’d swap it for yours.’
‘We’re both in the same boat. People want the security our job provides for them but they don’t like our doing it. Understandable, I suppose. What does depress me sometimes is the anti-law-and-order lobby, almost as if they were acting for a Society for the Protection of Crime. On the whole the police try to secure justice with humanity, and I’m equally sure that your administration is as humane as it can be.’
‘I know just what you mean. The only thing is to go on doing the job as well as one can. Where do you want to see the boy?’
‘What sort of a prisoner is he?’
‘About as model a prisoner as one could get, gives no trouble at all. He just seems crushed. He’s very devout, and the chaplain tells me that as far as he can make out the boy is entirely sincere.’
‘How do the other prisoners treat him?’
‘We’ve not had to intervene about anything. Most of the other men here have long records of violence, and his crime as such is not particularly shocking to them. There’s a curious morality among even vicious criminals, a sort of sentimentality, perhaps. They abhor violence against young children, and are liable to make life hard for child-molesters, and the like. Robbing a Post Office and killing the Postmistress is just one of those things. And there’s not much racial prejudice in a prison of this sort. The men all feel that society is against them, and there may even be a certain sympathy for a black person on the ground that society is more against him than the rest. These are generalisations, of course, and different individuals may react, and suffer, in different ways.’
‘Where would I normally see the boy?’
‘In an interview room in the presence of a prison officer.’
‘Would it be possible for me to see him here, in your office, with you present instead of one of the ordinary staff? I want to be able to talk to him, still more, I want him to talk to me, as informally as possible. If the interview could be made slightly different, it might help.’
‘I think that could be arranged. If you wait here I’ll go and see about it.’
The Governor was away about ten minutes. It seemed a long time. Piet used it in moving a chair for himself to one side of the Governor’s desk, leaving a chair in front of the desk where he hoped the boy would be allowed to sit, and in looking out of the window. There wasn’t much to look at, grey high walls and an exercise yard. He wondered how best to approach the boy, and decided to leave this to shape itself.
