Where the Action Is

Chapter 17 - The Idea of Ed Muldoon

Richardson spent all the rest of the day when Terry arrived on-shore interviewing all sorts of people. After the inn at Dana, he went to the residence of Keith Jones, the on-shore DJ who worked for Radio Madeleine’s organisation. He was not, however, a pirate, as he was believed to be by Richardson, for he was freelance, and did BBC work, too.

Richardson told him he did almost illegal work, he was not a respectable citizen. What did he know of the smugglers, eh?

Keith was bemused, a little afraid of this angry man.

‘I know nothing, I tell you! Neither does anyone in the radio organisation. We’ll swear it if you like!’

Richardson was unconvinced. So Keith went on; he was an eloquent man.

‘What have you against our people? There is trouble out at that fort – you know as well as anyone else, yet you do nothing! I warn you, there could be trouble for you over this. Didn’t you know I work for the BBC? I could expose you on the air!’

Richardson told him he had better be careful, threatening a police officer. Then he left. He found his faithful stooge, the sergeant, had taken down every word of the interview.

‘Get rid of those notes, we don’t need them,’ he said.

The sergeant, a little surprised, tried to say something, then did as he was told.

It was six o’clock at night when Richardson and his slave returned to the police station. He dismissed the sergeant, taking the day’s notes from him. Then he called John Adams and Ed Muldoon to his office. A discussion was held, or rather Richardson lectured them on who he thought were behind the gang. He was not sure that it was Radio Madeleine now, but definitely the Radio Electra organisation were in it. He dismissed John’s query about Terry and Rabasa, saying the papers that Terry had were in order, there was no need for further enquiry. The others tried to ask more questions of him, but he would have none of their questioning, and more or less told them so.

‘Now, to go on to the subject of arrests,’ he said, ‘I shall see the director of Radio Electra tomorrow, and those of the Radio Madeleine who are on shore. However, I am convinced that Regan is innocent, he is going away because he is broke. But, that Keith Jones, who works at that discotek’ (he pronounced it like that) ‘he’s rich, he could be in it.’

He said many things to this effect and little else, although he spent nearly an hour over it. When he left them, Ed and John stayed behind at the police station, for they had reports on the case to write, and other paperwork to deal with.

In the CID office of Thelstone police station, John was sorting over papers half an hour after Richardson had gone. He looked up at Ed, who was sitting at his desk; or rather sitting on his desk, for he had his feet up on it. His report was on one side, Ed had abandoned it for a moment. He was chewing the end of a pencil, with a vacant look on his face.

‘What’s the matter, Ed?’ asked John, ‘you look puzzled. Worried about something?’

‘Yes, I think I am. It’s Richardson’s way of handling the case. It’s wrong, John. I’m certain there is something happening on that fort, but Richardson says no and he won’t investigate.’

‘He’s a Superintendent, Ed, he has the power to investigate as he thinks best.’

‘As he thinks best!’ cried Ed, ‘but dammit, John! There’s already been one murder, and here he is behaving as if it’s the Teddy Bears’ Picnic! … I’m sorry, John, but it’s getting on my nerves. I’d better go back to my report.’

John said nothing, but he agreed with his subordinate. Something should be done to check up on the fort. He’d ask Richardson again, tomorrow.

Tomorrow came. The first part of the morning was spent by Richardson in sorting through his case notes with Inspector Jones and his slave, the sergeant. Then he left Jones behind, ‘to help the local police with the smaller local cases’, and took off with his sergeant to interview Philip Allsop, managing director of Radio Electra.

Philip Allsop lived in Elchester, and the offices of his radio station were in London. Richardson had not sent anyone there yet: he could not be sure they had anything to do with it yet, he said. He found Philip Allsop in, and he spoke to him in Philip’s study. Philip was a quiet man, but he could be vehement without seeming so, and he was vehement in his denials of having done anything wrong.

‘Mr Richardson,’ he said, ‘I am telling the truth, I swear to you. I would know if any of my staff were in any way connected with this awful thing.’

‘Can you trust them?’ asked Richardson.

Philip thought, I can’t trust you, but he said: ‘I have always trusted them, I always will. They trust me. In this business, Mr Richardson, we must trust each other.’

‘Do you trust the others in your ‘business’, as you call it?’ asked Richardson, with the accent on the ‘as you call it’.

‘As much as I can, sir. But I am certain no-one on Radio Madeleine is guilty. In fact, sir, if I may say, I think they are in real danger. Those men have killed once …’

‘Don’t preach to me,’ growled the Superintendent, ‘I know my job better than you!’

Some more questions were asked, but Philip could not answer, and although he tried to tell Richardson of his fears for the sister radio station, Richardson refused to listen, and finally left him with only a gruff goodbye. The sergeant traipsed wearily after him.

They returned to Thelstone, and then went to Keith Jones’s flat. Richardson’s questions were not polite. Neither were Keith’s answers after a while. He demanded: ‘Have you come to arrest me? You cannot without reason, this isn’t Russia. I think you just want a scapegoat. Well, Mr Richardson, if you try to arrest me, remember what I said!’

‘Threatening a police officer, eh? If you were arrested now, you couldn’t do anything, could you?’

‘I have friends at Broadcasting House, even though I am a freelance. News of my arrest would soon be carried to them, and they know what to do. Want to be mentioned on the Light Programme? No, I can say it, though they could have me on the carpet afterwards.’

Richardson returned a few of the ordinary police threats, like ‘arrest for assault or insult of a police officer’, but he was more careful after that, and left much more docilely than he had come. He made the sergeant destroy the notes he had written, and this being the second time he had had to do this, the sergeant wondered.

‘We won’t bother with him again,’ he was told by his master. He did not argue, he knew it was no use.

Richardson had thought of going to Dana, but he had not after all. He had asked the children all the questions he needed to. He returned to the police station, where he went into his office.

That afternoon, Terry Regan was to return to the fort, having done all that was necessary to wind up his business. He had worked on his unpleasant job far into the last night, and had slept in his Thelstone flat, and the man stayed there with him. Anything that was left his secretary had said he would do for him. Whether he actually believed Terry’s explanation he did not say. When Terry was gone with the two so-called white Africans he sat on the edge of his desk, pensively. To the other office staff he said, ‘There’s something wrong, y’know. It doesn’t fit… yet that police officer appeared satisfied.’

The others agreed with him. Then the door opened, and in came Alexis Mark Kane, closely followed by Keith Jones. They had both decided to come to the office to see what was going on.

‘Mr Regan’s just gone,’ said Jo Devine in answer to Alexis’ question.

‘Did you think there was something wrong?’ asked Alexis.

‘Yes, I did. The explanation didn’t fit, somehow.’

‘You bet it didn’t,’ cried Alexis, ‘The station has been taken over, I know it has.’ And he told the story of the message Adrian had managed to give over the air.

‘But Mr Richardson didn’t seem worried, yet you say you saw him.

‘Richardson!’ cried Keith, in a voice strangely different from his normal voice. ‘He wouldn’t take any notice of you. He thinks he knows everything, he … !’

‘All right, Keith, calm down,’ Alexis tried to soothe the red-faced young man.

Again the door of the office opened, and admitted a pretty coloured girl.

‘Suzie!’ said Jo Devine, ‘I thought you were in London! Why are you down here?’

Suzie was Jon’s girlfriend, she was a singer in a London club.

‘Why do you think I’m here?’ she asked. ‘You know there’s trouble on the fort. I’m going to help Jon, even if you don’t!’

Suzie turned towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Alexis asked.

‘Where d’you think? The police station of course! I’ll stir ‘em up!’

‘Wait Suzie! We’ll come too!’ yelled Keith.

‘Me too!’ said Jo Devine. ‘I know there’s trouble, and I’ll make sure they know I know! Come on!’