Page 26 of Copper Script
“Did Mr.Marks have many clients?”Aaron asked him.
“Not so I saw,” the landlord said without interest.“Not my affair.”
“Was he busy in the last few weeks?”
“Dunno.Well, he must have earned something because he paid his back rent and this month’s on time, no fuss, and that made a nice change.”
“He’d made money.Any idea from whom?”
“How should I know?”
“Have you a home address for him?”
Gillan found a ledger with the required information.As Aaron copied it down, Challice said, “Was he working here yesterday?”
“Nah, didn’t come in at all,” Gillan said.“Just last night.”
“He came here last night?”Aaron repeated.“What time?”
“I dunno.Midnight?Two?”
“Did you let him in?”
“Course not.He had keys.”
Aaron and Challice glanced at one another.“Did you see Mr.Marks come in yourself?”
Dogged questioning elicited that Mr.Gillan slept in a small cubbyhole to one side of the entrance hall.He had been vaguely roused last night by the front door opening, and someone going up to the first floor who must have been Mr.Marks because the other office was unoccupied.Mr.Gillan had not thought it necessary to get up and check.The individual had gone upstairs, stayed there for an unspecified time, and left, not troubling anyone on the way in or out.
“What did you think he was doing in the middle of the night?”Aaron enquired, and got only a shrug.Irritated, he added, “Do you not feel it your job to protect tenants from burglars?”
“What burglar?He had a front-door key, didn’t he?”Gillan said, taking offence.“Marks’s office was locked when we came up, wasn’t it?So what’s the problem?”
“A private detective with a nasty head wound in the canal,” Challice said, as they strode out of the stifling little building.“A new gold watch still on his person, and he’d been able to pay his rent recently.No keys on him, someone got into his office last night, and the records of his recent private detection are missing.Ooh.”
“Hold your horses,” Aaron said.“We’ll need a look at his home before we conclude the books are missing.And I’m not placing a lot of reliance on Gillan’s testimony.I wouldn’t like to put that fellow on the stand and have a defence brief demonstrate that he can’t tell last night from last month.”
“True,” Challice agreed, deflating slightly.“You don’t think he saw someone?”
“I’m reserving judgement till we see if Marks’s notebooks and office keys are safely at home.”
“Of course.But still...”she said with a tiny skip of excitement, and Aaron had to repress a smile.He remembered being a DC, feeling like that.It seemed rather a long time ago.
Mr.Marks had lived not far from his office, on Bunhill Row.The door was opened by a thin, tired woman.“Yes?”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Fowler, and this is Detective Constable Challice, ma’am.”
Her expression clamped instantly shut, though he’d seen that often enough not to draw conclusions.“What is it?”
“Is this the residence of Mr.Gerald Marks?”
“Yes.”She glanced between them.“He didn’t come in last night.Has something happened?”
Her name was Mrs.Trotter.She insisted on tea, reminding Aaron of Wildsmith’s almost resentful offer of the beverage, and waving away Challice’s attempts to make it, and then took off her apron and sat, hands wrung together, face pale.
Marks had been with her for ten years, she said.He was a good tenant but times had been tight over the last couple of years.“He was short a few times, but I trusted him.He paid me on time for this month, and my back rent, too.He always did when he could.”
“Had he a new case?”Aaron pressed.“A new client?”
