Death of a Milliner: Riley Rochester Investigates Book 9 (Riley ~Rochester Investigates) Read online

  ‘Aye well, it’s all speculation at this point. Here’s Mrs Faulkner’s shop,’ Salter replied, as they reached its dreary threshold with an ostentatious black wreath prominent on the door. ‘Perhaps we’ll get some answers now that we have a better idea of what we’re looking for.’

  ‘Of course,’ Riley said, pausing before Salter opened the door. ‘We could be completely on the wrong track. It might have nothing to do with blackmail. It’s possible that Mrs Faulkner was involved in some sort of criminal activity that produced a decent income. She had grown tired of scraping by to make ends meet and was no nearer to establishing herself in the fashionable part of town, so drastic action was called for.’

  ‘Possibly. Didn’t Miss Sharp mention that this place barely makes a profit?’ Salter jerked his thumb in the direction of the shop window. ‘Have to wonder why Mrs Faulkner allowed that impression to carry on when she had enough money to turn things round.’

  ‘She was biding her time. This place was no longer important to her and she didn’t want to waste money on it because she planned to move on to something much grander. I’m wondering if her friend Hatchard will be able to enlighten us in that regard. I’m also increasingly sure that she had accommodation elsewhere that no one knows anything about.’

  ‘All part of her masterplan, like.’

  ‘Precisely so, Jack,’ Riley replied, stepping through the door that Salter opened for him. ‘Either that or it’s something else entirely. Something we haven’t yet thought of.’

  Despite the titillating news of the murder there were no customers in the shop, and no sign of Miss Sharp. The apprentices were working in the back room but didn’t seem to be applying themselves. They glanced nervously at Riley and Salter and the boldest made to stand, until Riley waved her back to her chair. He listened to muttered oaths coming from the small office and strode in that direction, Salter at his heels.

  Miss Sharp was the person responsible for the expletives, and presumably for the cascade of papers that were strewn across the floor as she bent double, rummaging through the desk drawers.

  ‘Find what you are looking for?’

  Riley’s imperious tone caused her to throw her head up and hit it hard on the underside of an open drawer.

  ‘Ouch!’ She stood up, her cheeks burning scarlet as she rubbed her scalp. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Evidently not.’

  ‘How can I help you?’ She scowled at Salter. ‘Here, you’re Maureen’s pa—’

  ‘He is also my detective sergeant,’ Riley said. ‘Sit down, Miss Sharp,’ he added, doing so himself, ‘and tell me what you were looking for.’

  She bridled. ‘Not sure it’s any of your business, but since you insist upon knowing, I was trying to find an address for one of Mrs Faulkner’s sons. The stupid man at the bank said I had to consult with her heir, and I assumed it would be one of them. You’d think he’d have come down to talk to us, but it seems we’re not important enough for him to bother. I…we, all of us,’ she added, waving a hand in the vague direction of the apprentices, ‘need to know where we stand. It would be useful to know whether we still have jobs and a place to live, and for how much longer.’

  ‘You didn’t ask Makepeace?’

  Miss Sharp looked evasive. ‘Haven’t had a moment.’

  Riley didn’t like her responses and didn’t trust her motives, but didn’t ask any more questions. It was natural enough that she would be concerned for her future and it would come across as bullying if Riley pressed the point.

  ‘Very well. Sergeant Salter and I need to take another look at Mrs Faulkner’s private rooms. Has anyone been in there since her death?’

  ‘I…well, I went in and tidied up. It seemed like the respectful thing to do.’

  Riley was equally sure that she’d had a good look round to see if there was anything of value worth appropriating. She would have been disappointed, he suspected, following his own previous search.

  Riley led the way up the stairs, with Salter’s heavy tread close on his heels.

  ‘Blimey,’ Salter said, sniffing. ‘No wonder she were so miserable. Weren’t much of a way to live, was it?’ He gave the two dull rooms, tidier now but no more cheerful, a disdainful look.

  ‘I don’t think we’re going to find anything worthwhile, Jack, but let’s search the less accessible places, just to be sure.’

  Riley was right to suppose that loose floorboards, the backs of cupboards and various crevices wouldn’t produce anything of interest. After half an hour, he called a halt. ‘I’m now even more convinced that she had somewhere else,’ he said as they made their way back downstairs.

  Miss Sharp had just served a customer and looked expectantly at Riley as he joined her in the body of the shop.

  ‘Did Mrs Faulkner always spend the night here on the premises?’ he asked.

  ‘Not always. Sometimes she stayed up in central London with one of her sons, I think. She never revealed much and didn’t invite confidences.’

  Riley thanked her and they left the premises, making their way to the railway station at a brisk pace.

  ‘She stayed with Bernard, I suppose,’ Salter said. ‘Don’t you ever get fed up with people lying to us, sir?’

  ‘Frequently, Jack. Frequently.’

  Back at Scotland Yard they found a message from Doctor Maynard. Riley sat behind his desk, opened it and smiled up at Salter, who waited expectantly on the opposite side of his desk.

  ‘Good news, Jack. Maynard is satisfied that the killer blow was struck from above, in a downwards motion.’

  It only took Salter a moment to catch on and the relief that swept through his expression was palpable. ‘Ah, so we have independent proof that Maureen couldn’t have delivered it. She’s shorter than Mrs Faulkner.’

  ‘Precisely so. Maynard also says that the single blow was struck with considerable force, which makes it almost certainly the work of a man.’

  ‘So Maureen can come home?’

  ‘She can, Jack, but I recommend that she doesn’t return to work until the murderer has been apprehended.’

  ‘You won’t get no argument from me on that score,’ Salter replied with feeling. ‘Never wanted her to go into the millinery business anyway. Its reputation ain’t recovered from its connections to the oldest profession. They tell me that sort of thing don’t go on no more, but I remain to be convinced. She’d be better off finding something else to do.’

  If the opinions of the ladies in Riley’s family were to be believed, it would be a travesty if Maureen’s talents went to waste. She was one in a thousand with a natural flair for design that couldn’t be taught. Little wonder that Madame and Mrs Faulkner had been squabbling over her. But Salter’s instincts as a protective father were running high and Riley knew better than to mention the fact, perfectly sure that Mrs Salter and Maureen between them would set him straight on the matter. He only hoped that Maureen had the strength of character to rise above the jealousies and tragedies that her talent had seemingly engendered and reach the top of her profession through her natural ability.

  ‘We’ll call at my sister’s house at the end of the day and you can take her home with you, Jack. I am sure she will be pleased to see you. But for now let’s call the others in and we’ll compare notes.’

  Riley’s three detective constables followed Salter back into Riley’s room and took chairs around his desk.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ Riley said, as four faces watched him alertly, ‘we’ve had a productive day in some respects, and most importantly we can absolve Salter’s daughter from all blame.’

  The constables expressed their relief when they learned that the killer blow couldn’t possibly have been inflicted by a person of Maureen’s strength or stature. Their surprise was replaced with jaw-dropping disbelief when they learned of Mrs Faulkner’s recent acquisition of a considerable fortune.

  ‘Bernard Faulkner is an obvious suspect, given that he stands to inherit,’ Riley reiterated. ‘But he
’s not the only one. ‘Running an establishment in Bond Street is an expensive enterprise and Madame acquired her capital from somewhere. She comes from a poor background, so one assumes a wealthy benefactor.’

  ‘Have you asked her where it came from, sir?’ Peterson asked.

  ‘Not yet. She would be justified to protest on the grounds that it’s not relevant and none of my business, given that it has no obvious bearing on the murder. At the moment, she is pretending to be cooperative and I would prefer to keep it that way.’

  ‘The guv’nor thinks she might have a wealthy married lover, and that Mrs Faulkner had been blackmailing one or both of them.’ Salter sniffed. ‘Wouldn’t have put it past her, but we’re a long way from proving it.’

  ‘I did enquire at Brown’s, sir,’ Peterson said. ‘They confirmed that Madame was there on the night before the murder and that she’s a regular guest. Once or twice a month, at least.’

  ‘We need to find out which gentlemen regularly stay on the same nights as her,’ Salter said.

  ‘Needle in a haystack, Jack,’ Riley replied. ‘I very much doubt if he registers as a guest himself, always assuming that he exists and is being careful about his reputation. I will have someone watch Madame,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘If I am right and her lover organised Mrs Faulkner’s untimely demise, then the two of them will likely meet again sooner rather than later to congratulate themselves upon getting away with it.’

  Carter scratched his head. ‘Why kill her in Madame’s premises in that case?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ve been asking ourselves the same question.’ Riley paused. ‘To divert suspicion, perhaps. Anyway, what more do we know about Miss Cornish?’ Riley looked to Soames for clarification.

  ‘She told you she had rooms round the corner from Bond Street, sir,’ Soames replied, referring to his notebook. ‘But in actual fact she lives in a women’s hostel in Lambeth. I don’t know if she has any family. I called at the hostel and talked to the woman in charge. She said that Miss Cornish is a foundling with pretentions. Her words.’

  ‘In that case it’s no good watching the hostel to see if she has any connection to the men who interest us. Anyone attempting to sneak a male visitor in would find herself out on the streets.’ Riley sighed. ‘We’ll have to do this the hard way. A job for Danforth, I think.’

  Riley briefly outlined the substance of their interviews with the Faulkner men and their suspicions regarding Bernard.

  ‘He will need to be watched as well.’ Riley ran a hand through his hair. ‘But most importantly, I want to know where Mrs Faulkner spent her nights away from Clapham. She didn’t stay with Bernard. He says that he only ever saw her on Sundays, which is one of the few things he said that I actually believed. Besides, I had one of Barton’s men check out his living arrangements and he has a single room in a boarding house. So we need to find Mrs Faulkner’s other premises. I’m sure that’s the key to this matter.’ Riley sighed. ‘Anyway, what of her friend, Hatchard? Do we know where to find him?’

  ‘We do, sir,’ Carter replied. ‘I called at his place of work and he’s expected back from his rounds later today. I have left a message, telling him to come here and ask for you. His manager assured us that he would comply.’

  ‘He’ll have to if he doesn’t want to make himself look guilty.’ Riley leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. ‘Hopefully he will be here within the hour,’ he added, opening his eyes again, withdrawing his half-hunter from his waistcoat pocket and consulting the time. ‘Right, gentlemen. I need to update the superintendent on progress. Write up your notes, then call it a day. We will come back at this fresh tomorrow.’

  A scraping of chairs and mutter of voices accompanied the exodus from his office. Riley took a moment to gather his thoughts and then made his way to Superintendent Thompson’s lair. He was a man whom Riley respected, not least because he trusted Riley’s judgement and allowed him to get on with things, following leads and working on hunches without undue interference.

  ‘I heard that Salter’s daughter is now officially in the clear,’ were Thompson’s opening words.

  ‘She was never a suspect in my eyes,’ Riley replied, taking the chair that Thompson ushered him towards. ‘But I was careful to keep Sergeant Salter away from things until we had independent corroboration.’

  Thompson chuckled. ‘He’s been a pain in everyone’s backsides, so I’m glad you have him back in harness.’

  ‘So too am I. I’ve grown to depend upon his common sense and knowledge of London’s underworld.’

  Riley spent the next ten minutes relating their findings and spelling out their theories. Thompson made occasional contributions but didn’t pull rank, and Riley left his room a short time later with his superior officer’s full backing and support.

  ‘Hatchard’s here,’ Barton told him as he passed the front desk. ‘And you might find him interesting.’

  He beckoned Riley over and the two men peered at the smartly-dressed individual seated in the waiting area, drumming his fingers on his knee and looking anxious.

  ‘Ah!’ Riley felt his pulse increase as he regarded the man and understood the reason for his anxiety. Fair-haired with blue eyes and a distinctive mole on his chin, he exactly fitted the description of the person who had attempted to abduct Miss Monkton.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Put him in our least comfortable interview room please, Barton, and we’ll let him stew for a bit longer.’

  Barton nodded and had one of his constables go off to carry out Riley’s instructions.

  Riley went in search of Salter and updated him.

  ‘Blimey!’ Salter dug his pencil into his scalp and had a good scratch. ‘This business gets stranger by the minute.’

  ‘Indeed it does. Anyway, take a moment to get up to date.’ Riley sent a significant look towards the pile of papers scattered across Salter’s desk. ‘Then come and fetch me and we’ll see what the man has to say for himself.’

  ‘Let me at ’im!’ Salter replied, appearing in Riley’s open doorway a commendably short time later and cracking his knuckles expectantly.

  ‘Your enthusiasm for your work is always inspiring, Sergeant,’ Riley replied drolly.

  ‘Someone tried to implicate my daughter in a serious crime,’ Salter pointed out, grinding his jaw. ‘It’s my duty to ensure they understand the error of their ways.’

  And Riley knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to teach them.

  ‘Mr Hatchard, I’m Chief Inspector Rochester,’ Riley said, thrusting the door to the interview room open and sweeping into it, closely followed by Salter. This is Sergeant Salter.’

  ‘Good morning.’ Hatchard appeared affable, yet Riley sensed his unease. In fairness, he conceded that the austere surroundings of a Scotland Yard interview room would make even those with nothing to hide feel anxious. But rarely did they haul anyone in who was innocent. ‘Happy to assist in any way that I can, but I’m at a loss to know why my activities should be of interest to Scotland Yard.’

  His words belied his extreme agitation, as evidenced by the fact that he couldn’t seem to sit still. One leg jiggled as though it had a mind of its own and there was a telling twitch below one eye.

  ‘You are not aware that your friend Mrs Faulkner is dead?’ Riley asked, going on the offensive.

  ‘Dead? Jessie?’ He shook his head, a genuine expression of bewilderment clouding his features. ‘No. There must be some mistake. I saw her just a couple of days ago and she was as right as rain.’

  ‘There’s no mistake, I’m afraid.’ Riley continued to watch him closely, unable to decide if his shock was feigned. I simply assumed that you would have heard by now that she had been murdered.’

  ‘Murdered?’ Hatchard’s mouth gaped open and Riley thought he noticed a flicker of fear flash through his eyes. He scratched his head and now sat as still as a statue in his uncomfortable chair, his complexion unnaturally pale. ‘I don’t…it’s not possible. Whoever would want to kill Jessie?’
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  ‘That is what we are attempting to ascertain. I understand you were friends.’

  ‘Yes, in a way, but not that…’

  ‘Close enough to refer to her informally, as you did a moment ago,’ Riley pointed out.

  ‘What was the precise nature of your friendship?’

  ‘I’ve known her since she first set up in business for herself, not long after she qualified. She said that working for someone else stifled her talent and prevented her from getting the recognition that was her due. Her boys were small and so she engaged my sister’s services to care for them while she worked, after her husband abandoned her.’

  ‘But he wasn’t her husband, was he?’ Riley pointed out.

  Hatchard shrugged. ‘Doesn’t make any difference. The children were his and he had responsibilities.’

  ‘My understanding is that he fulfilled his financial obligations in that regard.’

  ‘It’s not enough though, is it? Boys need a father figure in their lives to keep them on the straight and narrow.’

  ‘And you provided that service?’

  Hatchard gave another dismissive shrug. ‘I did what I could.’ He leaned forward. ‘Jessie isn’t…wasn’t an easy woman and I won’t pretend otherwise, but she didn’t deserve to be treated so shabbily by a man she never stopped loving. His betrayal made her bitter and slow to trust, which isn’t to be wondered at. She was very young when Faulkner first pursued her. She had no family, no mother to warn her against the silver-tongued devil. A man like him could easily have manipulated her into doing whatever he wanted, simply because she trusted him and thought she was in love. Well, there was no thought about it. She was, and she still is…was. But you and I both know that the line between love and hate gets pretty thin sometimes.’

  ‘How did her continually worshipping a man who deserted her make you feel?’

  Riley expected another of the man’s trademark shrugs and so wasn’t surprised when it came. ‘Feel? It didn’t make me feel anything other than sorry for her. Even when she grew older and wiser the silly chit still couldn’t admit that she’d been taken in by him. It would have damaged her pride, I suppose.’