Death of a Milliner: Riley Rochester Investigates Book 9 (Riley ~Rochester Investigates) Page 18

  ‘Thought I noticed him nursing a cut face.’

  Riley shrugged. ‘He’ll think twice about lying to us again.’

  ‘What made you take Alfred in?’

  Riley told him.

  Danforth took a moment to contemplate Alfred’s explanation. ‘You believe it?’

  ‘I do, actually.’ Riley sighed. ‘As things stand, I have more suspects than I know what to do with. Every time I think I’ve eliminated one, something happens to put his name back on my list, but Alfred seems genuine in his total disinterest in his mother. Leastwise, I haven’t found anyone who’s seen them together yet. And he isn’t mentioned in her will. Bernard, on the other hand, was the favoured son.’

  ‘You want me to continue having both boys watched?’

  ‘Absolutely. Especially Bernard. I’m with Salter regarding the man. There’s something about him that makes my skin crawl. He stands to inherit a large sum of money and isn’t too interested in working for a living. That has to make him suspect. We think he has some connection to Doreen Cornish, Madame’s main assistant.’

  ‘Sounds as though you’re building a strong case against him.’

  ‘With absolutely no evidence to back it up.’ Riley scowled. ‘Yet.’

  ‘About that other business, your brother’s doxy, I’ve instigated enquiries. Should have something for you in a day or two.’

  Riley resisted the urge to ask what he had discovered thus far. ‘Thank you.’ Riley pushed his ale aside. ‘If there’s nothing else, I’m away to hound Madame’s paramour.’

  ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘Rathbone.’

  Danforth ran the name over his tongue, as though he knew it from somewhere, and then grinned broadly. ‘Well, well. That sanctimonious bastard, always going on about family values.’ He sniffed. ‘Do as I say, not as I do, more like.’

  ‘Quite. He’s been very careful and won’t like knowing that he’s been caught out.’

  ‘If the woman was being blackmailed about the affair, perhaps he was too, and I don’t suppose he’d have had too much trouble finding someone to remove that threat from the path of true lust.’

  Riley smiled. ‘Eloquently put. Anyway, same time tomorrow? Send word to the Yard if anything significant happens before then. Good day to you.’

  Riley stood and walked from the tavern into a cold late afternoon wind that heralded the onset of winter. He pulled his collar up and hailed a cab to take him to White’s, wishing for a moment that he could put all the unpleasantness of murder behind him and spend the day with his wife, his son and his dog on their peaceful estate in Bromley with nothing more taxing on his mind then their continued safety and felicity.

  Riley pushed his fleeting discontent aside, aware that he could have his wish at any time he wanted. Ordinarily he thrived upon pitting his wits against a devious murderer who assumed Riley and his detectives were too dense to catch him. He didn’t work out of necessity but because he enjoyed the challenge of outwitting ruthless criminals and making, he hoped, the streets of London fractionally safer for its majority of law-abiding citizens.

  Perhaps he had momentary doubts about this particular case because it was personal. He had to clear Maureen’s name beyond all doubt and save Salter from the ignominy of suspicion. To such a moral man, it would be a shadow that would hang over him for the rest of his days. Riley’s problem was that there were so many suspects who had reason to want Mrs Faulkner dead that it was difficult to narrow the list down—especially now that he had come up with a plausible explanation for the victim’s means of access to the shop premises.

  Riley felt slightly less dissatisfied by the time the cab deposited him outside White’s, and he turned his mind to the tricky interview to come—always assuming that Rathbone was in attendance. Since Riley knew he was in London it was a safe assumption that he would find his quarry holding court in the rarefied confines of the exclusive club at this fashionable hour of the day.

  He was greeted deferentially by the porter, rid himself of his hat and coat and took the stairs to the upper floor two at a time. A quick scan of the almost full coffee room proved Riley to be in the right of it. He caught sight of Rathbone’s tall, lean figure in the centre of a cluster of gentlemen almost immediately. It was clear to Riley as he came closer that they were rehashing the day’s debate in the House of Lords, using more colourful language than would be acceptable in that venerable establishment. Rathbone was clearly in his element, since he was assured of receiving accolades from the acolytes surrounding him.

  Riley waited until Rathbone glanced his way and then made it clear with an inclination of his head that he required a moment of his time. Rathbone would be aware of the drama that had been played out in Madame’s shop. It had been widely reported in the morning’s newspapers, and he would know why Riley wanted to speak with him. His guilty secret was out, and Riley possessed the ability to destroy his reputation. Riley couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly certain that Rathbone’s ruddy cheeks lost some of their colour when his gaze lingered upon him. His words definitely stalled and his audience glanced at him questioningly.

  ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ Rathbone said, recovering. ‘There is someone I need to speak with.’

  Riley remained where he was, waiting for Rathbone to come to him; a petty game of one-upmanship designed to set the tone for their encounter.

  ‘Rochester.’ Rathbone approached, hand outstretched. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  As if you didn’t know. ‘Shall we take a seat?’

  Riley hadn’t to the best of his recollection exchanged more than a dozen words with Rathbone during the entire time that he’d been a member of this club. He thought it telling that such a supposedly important man would follow him meekly without asking what it was that Riley required of him. He often spoke out about the evils of gambling, and Riley now had a better idea why.

  The two men settled in the quietest corner available and ordered whiskies from a hovering steward. They made small talk until their drinks arrived and the steward had withdrawn.

  ‘Now then, Rochester, how can I help you?’

  ‘I require collaboration of a lady’s whereabouts two nights’ ago,’ Riley replied, watching the man closely over the rim of his raised glass. His expression underwent only a miniscule alteration but a tic beneath his left eye gave away his anxiety.

  ‘I’m not sure I have the pleasure of understanding you.’

  ‘Let’s not prevaricate.’ Riley fixed him with a probing look. ‘I tracked you down here with the intention of being discreet, but it need not be that way. I know where you were and with whom. You are not quite as circumspect as you probably think. One enquiry made me suspect; a second confirmed that suspicion. I have no intention of making trouble for you, not unless I find that you are involved in the murder I am investigating. Even so, you should be aware that you are being used.’

  Rathbone’s head shot up in response to a remark that had been designed to produce a reaction. Few men, Riley suspected, dared to speak to a man of Rathbone’s stature in such a direct manner. ‘What the devil do you mean by that?’ he said. ‘I’m not sure that I like your tone, or your insinuation.’

  Riley withstood the man’s bluster with an expression of casual indifference. ‘I had hoped for your cooperation. It makes no difference to me where this conversation takes place, but I suspect that it would to a man with a reputation and ambitions to protect.’

  Rathbone spent a lot of time staring into his drink, as though the answer he ought to give might be found lurking somewhere within its depths. In the end, he decided upon self-interest, just as Riley had known that he would.

  ‘You refer to Madame Boise, I assume.’

  Riley raised a brow. ‘Is there anyone else?’

  ‘Of course not. Don’t be so damned offensive.’

  ‘To shorten a conversation that is embarrassing for you and distasteful from my perspective, please confirm that you were with the lady for the entire night
preceding Mrs Faulkner’s murder.’

  ‘I was. I got to the hotel after midnight and remained there until just before first light. I arrived home as the dawn was breaking.’

  ‘Which leaves Madame alone, her time unaccounted for, when the crime was committed.’

  That possibility clearly shocked Rathbone, but Riley couldn’t decide if that was out of fear for the lady or concern for his own reputation. A little of both, Riley concluded. If Madame was charged there would be no keeping the affair under wraps, and his political ambitions would be in tatters. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, man! She isn’t capable of stabbing anyone.’

  ‘Even if she was being blackmailed?’ Riley sat back, taking a swig of his drink as he watched Rathbone’s reaction.

  ‘Blackmail?’ He frowned, looking shocked. ‘Blackmailed about what?’ Riley said nothing, contenting himself with watching Rathbone until the penny dropped. ‘About us you mean? Good God, no. She would have told me, and I would have done something about it.’

  If he realised that he had more or less incriminated himself with those words, he gave no sign.

  ‘I suspect that much as you enjoy the lady’s company, you would have ended the affair rather than risk its exposure,’ Riley replied. ‘Perhaps that’s why she didn’t tell you.’

  ‘Whom do you suspect was blackmailing her? And how did they find out about us? We have been very careful.’

  ‘Mrs Faulkner, her nemesis and the murder victim, would have done the blackmailing. She certainly came into a substantial and unexplained amount of money just before her death.’

  ‘Dear God!’ Rathbone dropped his face into his splayed hands and shook his head from side to side. ‘This was never supposed to become complicated.’

  ‘Such things always start out as harmless amusement but usually take on a greater importance and a degree of complexity.’ Riley paused. ‘Did you provide the lady with the funds to start her business in Bond Street?’

  ‘No, of course not. How dare you suggest that I would…’ He glanced up at Riley, presumably saw that he remained unmoved by his attempts to intimidate and deflated before his eyes.

  ‘I had heard the women in my family raving on about her hats, so I knew it would be a wise investment. I met her by accident, I don’t recall precisely how or when and…well, I never intended for things to go as far as they have gone. And now…well, I confess that I live for our meetings.’

  From which Riley surmised that their initial liaison had been a deliberate contrivance on Madame’s part. She had decided, for some reason, that Rathbone would finance her ambitions, and had played him like a Stradivarius.

  ‘You helped her with the expectation of receiving financial reward?’ Riley flexed a brow, making it apparent that he didn’t believe a word of it. ‘You are business partners as well as lovers.’

  ‘For the love of God, keep your voice down, Rochester!’ Rathbone glowered at a couple of men loitering close by, probably attempting to eavesdrop, and they slunk away. Clearly unaccustomed to having to explain himself, Riley sensed how difficult and how embarrassing it was for him to be obliged to do so now. He must realise that he had no choice in the matter. If he was taken into Scotland Yard for questioning, it would be noticed, and the scandal would finish him. ‘No, my name doesn’t appear in any partnership documentation, and nor do I expect to be reimbursed.’

  ‘Not in monetary terms.’

  Rathbone flashed a wry smile. ‘Quite. She really is the most remarkable woman; charming and inventive, and she knows how to enjoy life. God alone knows, my existence was joyless before she came into it. I have never been tempted before and I knew well enough when I entered into a liaison with her that it was unwise, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. It was as though I no longer had a will of my own, if that makes any sense.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose it will have to end now. Shame.’

  ‘All that interests me is Madame’s whereabouts at the time of the murder.’

  ‘Yes well, what can I tell you, Rochester? I was in that hotel from midnight until about five in the morning. I went straight home and there are people who can vouch for my whereabouts, including my driver, from the moment he collected me until the time I returned to my wife’s cold embrace.’ He rubbed his chin and in the blink of an eye the penitent was replaced by the haughty politician accustomed to getting his own way through coercion. Riley found little to admire in his self-serving attitude and absolutely nothing to like about the man himself. Everyone had a redeeming feature or two, but in Rathbone’s case they remained well hidden. ‘I hope this doesn’t have to be made public.’

  ‘No one has approached you, offering you the opportunity to buy their silence about the affair?’ Riley fixed him with a penetrating look and Rathbone shook his head. ‘You are absolutely certain about that?’

  ‘Not a single person, and as I said before, if Meg had been accosted then she failed to mention it to me.’

  ‘For what it’s worth, I believe you insofar as your movements at the time of the murder are accounted for. You could, of course, have had someone else carry out the deed,’ he added, thinking of Danforth’s opinion on that subject. But how would he have known that Mrs Faulkner would be at the shop, unless Madame had enticed her there? Even if she had, Rathbone had been ensconced in the bosom of his family at the time the murder took place, so it would be impossible to prove his involvement. Besides, Rathbone wouldn’t have rid himself of a blackmailer only to leave the person who committed the murder on his behalf in a position to exploit him for stakes that were much higher.

  ‘You have my assurance that I didn’t hire a murderer, Rochester. I hope that will be enough for you.’

  ‘For now, but Madame has some explaining to do. If she chooses to lean on you as an alibi, then I shall become exceedingly suspicious and assume she has something to hide.’ Riley paused, allowing a moment for his point to embed itself in Rathbone’s brain. ‘In return for my discretion, I must ask you not to contact the lady until this matter has been resolved. I shall know if you do, and will then feel no pressing need to keep your name out of things.’ Riley hardened his tone. ‘In fact, I will make it my business to expose the affair, and that will give your political opponents all the ammunition they need to destroy you.’ Riley paused once again, giving Rathbone the opportunity to read his expression and realise the implications. ‘Do we understand one another?’

  ‘You have my word as a gentleman that I will steer well clear of Meg. I would not have seen her again for a few weeks anyway. I was careful not to allow the relationship to develop into an obsession—although I readily admit that it could easily have done so, at least from my perspective. I thought that she was content with the way things were between us. She said often enough that she was too busy making a name for herself to have time for pleasure.’ He threw back his head and closed his eyes. ‘Are you right to suggest that I have been used? I thought she was genuinely fond of me and interested in politics.’

  ‘That is not for me to say.’

  ‘This has been going on for several months—over a year in fact—so if she did intend to hide her misdeeds behind my reputation and expect me to protect her from you, she has indulged in remarkable forward planning, especially if the blackmail only started a few months ago.’

  ‘I get the impression that she enjoys having powerful friends at her beck and call; especially one who was willing to finance her ambitions. But then again, perhaps I have got it wrong. She may be entirely innocent of any wrongdoing and genuinely fond of you.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so.’

  Riley stood and offered his hand, which Rathbone took in a firm grasp.

  ‘I appreciate your candour and your discretion, Rochester,’ Rathbone said. ‘Sorry if I came on a bit strong earlier. It was the shock, don’t you know.’

  ‘No harm done.’ Riley drained his glass. ‘Good evening to you.’

  Riley made his way to the railway station, looking forward to a quiet evening at home with Amelia, his son and
his dog for company. He mulled over the progress they had made that day as the train chugged along belching out smoke, seriously concerned that he would never get to the truth in this particular case. Too many people had compelling reasons for wanting Mrs Faulkner dead, and such was her desire to woo Maureen back to her side that it wouldn’t have been too difficult for any of the suspects to lure her to Madame’s premises for that purpose.

  Riley sighed as he alighted from the train and found Stout waiting for him with the carriage, ready to drive him the short distance back to Ashdown. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he would rattle a few cages and see what fell out of them. It was beyond time that he spoke to Madame—or Meg Butler as he preferred to think of her—again, only this time the gloves would be off.

  But tonight he fully intended to be a committed family man and smiled at the prospect of the warm welcome that awaited him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Salter greeted Riley with a grim expression the following day.

  ‘Morning, Jack. Something wrong?’

  ‘You could say that.’ Salter slumped into a chair, looking as though he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘Maureen’s quite tearful. Still upset by it all is my guess.’

  ‘Sorry to hear it, but it’s not unexpected. The poor lass has been through a lot but hopefully she will feel better now that she’s allowed herself to let it all out.’

  ‘Aye. She feels responsible right enough, now that she realises Madame and Mrs Faulkner were fighting over her talent. I suppose I didn’t explain that particular problem as gently as I might have done. Mrs Salter is not impressed with me.’

  ‘It’s a difficult time for your family.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Salter sat upright and collected himself. ‘I spoke with Makepeace. Reckons Mrs F kept diligent records of all her legal and business transactions.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t find anything.’ Riley pursed his lips. ‘I’m still convinced that she must have other premises that we know nothing about.’

  ‘Possibly, but I think our Bernard’s had away with anything of consequence.’