Death of an Artist (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 5) Read online

  ‘Which is why we pretended that she had gone away to recover from an illness.’ He shrugged. ‘A small but necessary deceit. I can assure you, inspector, that I am not so desperate to advance my career that I murdered my disobliging wife.’

  Disobliging? ‘Lies tend to catch one out eventually, in my experience,’ Riley remarked. ‘Unfortunately, that’s true in this case now. Even though your wife had reverted to her maiden name, the newspapers will still connect her to her father and thus to you. The truth will emerge.’

  ‘I am aware of that,’ Treadwell said, an edge to his voice.

  And are depending upon the sympathy vote. ‘Are you absolutely sure that you have not seen your wife during the past six months? More specifically the past two?’

  ‘Quite sure, inspector.’ Treadwell met Riley’s gaze and held it. ‘I have already given you my assurance in that regard, but I have no way of proving it, so I can only hope you will accept my word for it. I know it seems odd, especially since I loved her so much, but I thought that begging her to return would be more likely to make her dig her heels in. I would have much preferred for her to come back because she wanted to. And, if I’m honest, I thought that a few months of educating someone else’s children and failing to make her mark as an artist would cause her to realise what she’d thrown away.’

  ‘You knew she aspired to be an artist?’

  ‘Of course, and I encouraged her to pursue that hobby. She had some talent but, frankly, not as much as she thought.’

  ‘And yet a Bond Street gallery took two of her works.’

  For the first time, Treadwell showed genuine emotion. Shock. ‘Did they indeed? That does surprise me. She must have improved a great deal.’

  ‘I had another reason for asking whether you had seen your wife.’ Riley paused, conscious of the fact that he held the man’s entire attention. ‘Was she a lady of high morals?’

  ‘Without a doubt.’ Treadwell’s response was immediate and assured.

  ‘Which makes my next revelation that much harder.’ Riley paused, conscious of Treadwell eyeing him with open curiosity. ‘She was pregnant when she died.’

  ‘She was what?’ Treadwell sat forward and leaned his elbows on the table, trembling with emotion. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘In that case she has comprehensively deceived me. Presumably she left because she wanted to be with the other man.’ His eyes flashed with anger. ‘Have you spoken with that teacher, the one she was friendly with at her art classes? Renfrew.’

  ‘The one you threatened.’

  ‘Is that what he told you?’ Treadwell brushed the suggestion aside with the wave of one hand. ‘Do I strike you as the threatening type, inspector? I merely pointed out that Melanie was a respectably married woman and whilst I was tolerant of her attendance at art classes, I did not expect other men to make inappropriate advances. He understood me perfectly.’

  A very different account to Renfrew’s, but Riley hadn’t expected anything less. Treadwell had told them nothing of significance, even though he answered Riley’s questions with every appearance of wanting to help the investigation.

  ‘Be good enough to tell me where you were two nights ago.’

  ‘The night Mel was killed?’ He widened his eyes and looked shocked by the question. ‘Surely you don’t think that I—’

  ‘I am not paid to think,’ Riley replied calmly. ‘Please answer the question.’

  ‘At home,’ he replied succinctly.

  ‘You spent the day in your office.’

  ‘The morning. I had an appointment with a client which took the entire afternoon. I returned home at eight, having dined with my client. I keep one servant, who would have heard me return, although I did not see her. I had given her the evening off but I heard her moving around in her attic room.’

  ‘The name of your client?’

  Treadwell dealt Riley a cutting look. ‘Is confidential.’ He sat a little straighter, his tone haughty as he gathered his dignity around him like a shroud. ‘You will just have to take my word for the fact that I was not in London murdering my wife.’

  But could have been, given the efficient service provided by the railways and the fact that, conveniently, no one could account for his movements from lunchtime onwards.

  ‘Please don’t leave London for a few days,’ Riley said as he stood and asked Salter to show Treadwell out. ‘We shall need to talk to you again, I have no doubt.’

  ‘I shall be here, at the same hotel as Mottram, until they release my wife’s body. I will be at your disposal whenever you need my help. I want to catch the person who did this as badly as you do, I can assure you of that.’

  ‘A cold fish,’ Salter said, returning to Riley’s office when he’d seen the man off the premises. ‘And a little too willing to play the part of the innocent victim for my liking. Did you believe him, sir?’

  ‘Not entirely.’ Riley fell into contemplation. ‘He certainly fits the description of the man seen loitering outside Dulwich station on the night in question, but since our witness didn’t see his face, we’re not much further forward.’

  ‘But he doesn’t have much of an alibi. Why didn’t you push Treadwell for the name of his client, sir, and more to the point, why didn’t he offer it? The man’s business might be confidential but surely his name isn’t? You’d think he’d be anxious to have us cross his name off the list of suspects.’

  ‘I will ask him, if necessary, but first, let’s see what Parker’s man turns up. You know me, Jack, I don’t like asking questions unless I already have the answers to them. If Treadwell was in Cockington that afternoon, we shall have independent corroboration before long.’

  ‘I still think he came up to town to see her,’ Salter said stubbornly. ‘Any husband would. Don’t forget that we haven’t decided what she did with those spare hours on the afternoon she died.’

  ‘If she’d arranged to meet her husband, she wouldn’t also have agreed to see Daniel Vermont.’

  Salter twisted his lips. ‘Unless she planned to see Treadwell briefly and get rid of him before meeting Vermont.’

  Riley nodded. ‘Possible, I suppose, but risky.’

  ‘I get the impression that our Miss Mottram enjoyed taking risks and playing her men off against one another.’

  ‘We can talk about that later. Your nephew’s here. Write up your notes on this interview while Soames and I have a go at him.’

  ‘Ha! Good luck with that.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Archer looked worn down, slumped at a chipped table in the same room that Riley had just used to interview Treadwell. His eyes drooped, implying that he had slept badly, if at all, and his hair was even wilder and more unkempt than previously. His head jerked up when Riley stepped into the room and he became a little more alert.

  ‘You have caused endless problems for your uncle,’ Riley said as he took a seat.

  ‘So he pointed out to me in no uncertain terms. That wasn’t my intention. I just didn’t think.’ He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. ‘Will it be all right?’

  ‘Provided you didn’t kill Miss Mottram, yes.’

  ‘You know about the scheme the two of us had going. Why would I jeopardise that? Besides, I already told you, I was fond of her.’

  ‘I think your feelings for her ran deeper than that. I’d go so far as to say that you were in love with her.’ Archer smiled and shook his head. ‘How did you feel when you learned she was already married?’

  ‘Married?’ Archer’s eyes widened. Then he laughed bitterly and shook his head. ‘Nah. You’ve been misinformed.’

  ‘I spoke to her husband in this very room less than an hour ago.’

  ‘She’d left him?’ Riley nodded. ‘That explains a lot.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Archer took a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘It’s just that she seemed very worldly and self-confident. There was an awareness abou
t her that you seldom find in spinsters. She didn’t want for male attention, but she kept everyone at arm’s length. Now I know why.’

  ‘Did a tall, thin, handsome man with light brown hair ever ask you about her?’

  Archer thought for a moment. ‘Actually, now you come to mention it, someone did. It was months ago now, not long after Mel came to Dulwich. I hadn’t really got to know her at that time. She only dropped into the studio occasionally.’

  ‘But this stranger asked you about her?’ Archer nodded. ‘What did he say exactly. Think carefully. It could be important.’

  ‘He described Mel in detail. I knew at once who he was talking about but I told him I didn’t know her.’

  ‘Why? What reason did the man give for looking for her?’

  ‘He said he was a solicitor with information about an inheritance.’

  ‘But he didn’t know her name?’ Riley furled his brow. ‘Didn’t you find that odd?’

  ‘I did, which is why I didn’t tell him I knew her. He said she used several names, including Mottram.’

  Riley mulled that snippet over. There was no doubt in his mind that Treadwell was the man, so they’d already caught him out in a lie. He had been to Dulwich looking for his wife, but had presumably chosen not to call at Vermont’s residence. Riley assumed that instead he’d waited for her to leave the house, either to come to the studio or go elsewhere, and then accosted her. Why not make that admission? It would be a natural enough thing for a deserted husband to do, especially one so keen to keep up appearances, and would make him seem less suspicious in Riley’s eyes. He sighed, tired of the fact that most suspects routinely underestimated the intelligence of Scotland Yard’s detectives.

  ‘Did you tell Miss Mottram about his visit?’

  ‘I did, and she didn’t seem unduly perturbed. She said that she had been expecting something of that nature.’ Archer paused. ‘Is the man her husband?’

  ‘Almost certainly. Would you be able to recognise him if you saw him again?’

  ‘Yes, definitely. He had unusual silver eyes that seemed a bit dead, a cleft in his chin…oh, and a large mole on the side of his neck.’

  Treadwell had silver eyes. Riley hadn’t noticed a cleft and the muffler he wore had concealed his neck.

  ‘You notice a lot of detail.’

  Archer shrugged. ‘I’m an artist. I have an eye for such things.’

  ‘Was anyone else in the studio the day he called?’

  ‘Yes, one or two people, but I can’t remember who. Sorry.’

  It didn’t matter. Riley needed independent corroboration that Treadwell had in fact called, but since all his students would likely say anything Archer asked them to, their confirmation wouldn’t be worth much.

  ‘Returning to the subject of Miss Mottram’s unborn child, if you were not the father, would you care to hazard a guess as to who might have been?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not a clue.’

  ‘You don’t seem particularly jealous.’

  ‘I was fond of Mel, but I was not in love with her, no matter what you think. It was more a case of the money we could make with her…well, my paintings. I flirted with her, I’ll admit that, and I enjoyed her company, but what I told you before is the truth. I certainly never fucked her. Perhaps her husband tracked her down and they reconciled briefly.’ He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Mel was always flitting about from one place to the next. I wasn’t her keeper.’

  ‘On the night she died, you went to the railway station with your French students. You saw them off to London and then where did you go?’

  ‘Not back to The Crown.’

  ‘Why not? Your colleagues were there, waiting for you.’

  ‘Truth to tell, I was avoiding Rachel Bowden. We’d argued earlier in the day and left matters between us unresolved.’

  ‘What was the argument about?’

  ‘She wanted to invest in the studio.’

  Riley nodded. ‘So I understand, but surely that investment would have been welcome.’

  ‘The investment would, but not the interference that would have come with it. I already have a partner. Ray and I like to do things our way, which is an informal open-door policy. Rachel has higher ambitions. She wants to make the studio elitist, which runs in the face of our efforts to encourage artistic talent in the lower and middle classes.’ Archer glanced down at his hands and sighed. ‘Besides, she wants to be more than just my business partner and I don’t think of her that way. I told you when we spoke before that I have to keep her sweet.’

  ‘Why, if she’s causing you problems?’

  Archer hunched his shoulders. ‘She can be vindictive. The art world is a pretty close-knit community, and if she starts talking us down it could set back everything I’ve tried to achieve. Anyway, she misinterpreted the reasons for my attentions and took exception to my friendship with Mel, becoming increasingly possessive and jealous. Mel used to laugh at her behind her back, warning me to watch my step because she was out to trap me.’

  ‘You and Rachel Bowden argued about Miss Mottram?’

  ‘In part. She asked me outright what my intentions were. I’m afraid I lost my temper and told her to mind her own damned business. Ask Uncle Jack about my famous temper. I’ve always been hot-headed, which is why my uncle doesn’t approve of me. It ain’t the first time I’ve spoken without thinking about the consequences. Still, I expect Rachel will move on now, which will probably be for the best.’

  ‘You wanted to avoid Miss Bowden, but you still haven’t told me where you went.’

  Archer stared at the ground. ‘I went back to the studio. I live there, remember, and I painted until the early hours. Couldn’t say what time I quit. I lose all track of time when I get absorbed in my work and unfortunately I have no one who can vouch for my being there. Ray was and still is away. I don’t suppose he’s even heard about Mel yet. He’ll be upset. He liked her.’

  ‘The knife used to kill Miss Mottram. The one that belonged to Miss Bowden. She tells us that you offered to get it repaired for her, so it must have been in your possession.’

  ‘Nah! She’s making trouble for me because we argued. Don’t be taken in by that innocent façade, inspector. Underneath it all, Miss Bowden is as hard as nails. She’s accustomed to getting what she wants and not too fussy about how she goes about getting it. When she complained about the knife, I reminded her that there’s a shop in the village that would be able to tighten the handle for her, but I swear on my life that I never offered to get it repaired for her.’ He leaned back in his chair, seeming more relaxed now. In spite of everything, Riley liked him and didn’t want him to be the guilty party. ‘She’s perfectly capable of taking it into the shop herself, but she tried to get me to run the errand for her as a way of…I don’t know. Baby steps, intimate little favours designed to bring us closer together, I suppose. Anyway, I didn’t fall for it.’

  ‘So where would it have been?’

  Archer shrugged. ‘On her table, I suppose, where she kept all her other supplies. Anyone could have taken it, inspector, but it wasn’t me.’

  A tap at the door prevented Riley from asking his next question. He glanced up when Carter put his head around it. Riley excused himself and joined his constable in the corridor outside. Carter looked excited.

  ‘What did you find out?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Well, sir, Manson was a bit cagey at first, but I came down heavy on him and he admitted that Archer had been to see him the afternoon before. He wanted to discuss how best to exploit the lady’s death, just as you thought. Anyway, here’s the interesting bit, he took several unframed canvases with him. Supposedly self-portraits of Miss Mottram, but of course Archer painted them.’ He paused, grinning. ‘And they’re nudes. Very explicit nudes at that.’

  ‘Heavens.’ Riley flexed both brows, unsure if he was repelled or if he admired Archer’s enterprise. ‘What did Manson say about them?’

  ‘That they were masterpieces. Nothing’s left to the imaginatio
n and the lady looks sultry, slightly mysterious and perfectly comfortable with her nakedness. That made me think that she must have been comfortable with the artist, too. He said they’d sell for a fortune since the lady had been brutally murdered.’ Carter rubbed his hands. ‘I’m sorry for Sergeant Salter, and all that, but he can’t be held responsible for the actions of his relatives. I’d say we’ve got our man, sir.’

  Riley thought it was beginning to look that way too, but remained to be convinced.

  ‘There’s more you should know, sir.’ Carter’s eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘I caught a glimpse of Treadwell earlier. He came in with Peterson just as I left to go to Bond Street. Sergeant Barton told me who he was. I got a good look at him then. And I got another good look when he went into the gallery just as I was leaving it. I held the door open and he thanked me. It was definitely him.’

  Riley’s head jerked up. ‘Did he recognise you?’

  ‘No, I don’t think he saw me here earlier, and he barely looked at me in Bond Street. Preoccupied, so he was.’

  ‘Right. Good work, Carter.’ Riley took a moment to think about his next course of action. ‘When I’m finished here, go back to Bond Street with Soames and find out what Treadwell wanted. I need to know if he introduced himself as Miss Mottram’s husband and whether he saw the nude paintings. Then take yourself to Dulwich and track down all the regulars at the studio. Treadwell accosted Archer there about five months ago. You know what the man looks like. Circulate his description and see if anyone else saw him. It’s vitally important, Carter. Take the rest of the day and we’ll reconvene here tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Riley returned to the interview room and resumed his seat. ‘Nude paintings,’ he said, fixing Archer with a hard stare.

  ‘Ah, those.’ Archer’s head fell forward. ‘Didn’t take you long to find out about ’em.’ He made it sound like an accusation.

  ‘You could have saved me the trouble by telling me yourself. Surely you appreciate their relevance.’