Death of a Prosecutor Page 21

  ‘True enough. Sounds like Boland is making short work of ingratiating himself.’ Salter deemed that comment worthy of another sniff. ‘Don’t suppose he was welcome in the family home with Sir Robert still alive. Still an’ all, them girls will be wasting their smiles on him.’

  ‘We need to find out if this man Erwin is still alive and living in London,’ Riley said.

  ‘You want to know what the trouble Lady Glover referred to was all about. Won’t there be a record of it somewhere back at the Yard?’

  ‘Depends upon who investigated,’ Riley replied. ‘I suspect that it fell within the jurisdiction of the Board of Customs and Excise. Asking them to trawl through their records will take time that we don’t have.’

  ‘You suspect smuggling?’

  ‘I do now, and I also suspect that it is a long-standing practice. It seems ludicrous that the disposal of what’s considered to be sub-standard tobacco is left to warehouse employees. It’s asking for trouble. Even the most honest of men would be tempted, I should imagine.’

  ‘Rather as we suspect Fuller of being now.’

  ‘Quite so.’ The men walked briskly along as they discussed what they had just learned. ‘It sounds to me as though Erwin was altogether too trusting and didn’t know of the fraudulent activities taking place in his own warehouse. When Sir Robert brought them to his attention he felt violated, responsible, and lost his appetite for the business. Have uniforms start asking questions. I want to know where the man lives and I want to know now. Today. This morning if possible.’

  ‘Right. But why don’t we simply ask Price?’

  ‘Because he was involved. Some slight unpleasantness in his past, if you recall. I suspect Sir Robert knew he’d been drawn into it against his will, which is why he offered him employment when no one else would. But I don’t want to talk to him until we have a better idea what we are up against.’

  ‘Price was in a position to be useful to the smugglers, and they weren’t the sort you said no to—especially if they were as vicious as Fuller.’

  ‘I would imagine so.’

  They arrived back at Scotland Yard and Salter quickly arranged for the appropriate enquiries to be made regarding Erwin.

  ‘Send someone to the Archaeological Society as well, Barton, if you would,’ Riley added, ‘and have Professor Barchester brought back here.’

  ‘Will do,’ Barton replied. ‘Making progress, are you?’

  ‘You know, I think we are,’ Riley told the desk sergeant. ‘I think we finally are.’

  ‘Do you really think that Price killed Sir Robert?’ Salter asked, as the two men moved to Riley’s office and Salter occupied his usual chair across from Riley’s desk. ‘He seems devoted to him.’

  ‘I think he knows more than he’s told us so far. Sir Robert’s doubts about Caldwell were, I suspect, aroused when he discovered who Maisie’s father was and where he worked. He could well have been employed at that warehouse in a menial capacity when it still belonged to Erwin, and Sir Robert recognised him. Now Fuller would not have baulked at the opportunity to make a little extra cash, and whoever was behind the scheme would have recognised his ruthless streak and usefulness with his fists. He somehow retained his post after Sir Robert blew the whistle and rose to the position of authority he now holds, which he thinks makes him invincible.’

  ‘Sir Robert would know what Fuller was capable of, and would likely not have wanted to represent him in prosecuting Caldwell.’

  ‘But if Fuller discovered Price was working in Sir Robert’s chambers, he wouldn’t have hesitated to force his cooperation. He would have been scared that his part in his daughter’s death, or at the very least his raping her, would come to light if Caldwell was not convicted and convicted quickly.’ Riley scowled at the opposite wall as he articulated his thoughts. ‘That meant that he must pay for the best, pretending that he only wanted justice for his daughter. If the rape had come to light he would have lost all credibility with his peers and they would likely lose their fear of him. Fuller couldn’t take that chance.’

  ‘So he made Price tell him of Sir Robert’s habits and perhaps even somehow got hold of that dagger during the course of their conversation and used in the execution of the crime in order to divert suspicion elsewhere.’

  ‘I think we have hit upon Fuller’s reasons for insisting upon the prosecution,’ Riley said, ‘but we have yet to prove that he had any part in Sir Robert’s murder. We still have Norman Glover and his friend Boland with shaky alibis and a great deal to gain, not to mention Milton or Barchester.’

  ‘Professor Barchester’s here,’ Sergeant Barton said, putting his grizzled head around Riley’s door.

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ Salter remarked.

  ‘Thank you, Barton.’

  Before Riley and Salter went to question him, Soames and Carter returned to say that their investigations at Wimbledon station had been inconclusive.

  ‘The station master knows Milton well but can’t definitely say if he boarded any train on the morning in question.’

  ‘Ah,’ Barton, who was still present, said. ‘One of my constables has just come back. A man answering Milton’s description paid in cash for one night at Hill’s Hotel in Spring Street. He left at first light without taking breakfast.’

  ‘Ah-hah!’ Salter exclaimed.

  ‘Thank you very much, Barton,’ Riley said. ‘The plot most definitely thickens. Send someone round to Sir Robert’s chambers and have Milton brought in, please. If he’s in court, have your constables wait and bring him in when his case ends. He has lied to us, and lost any right to our discretion.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure, sir,’ Barton replied with alacrity.

  ‘Right, Jack. Shall we see what the good professor has to say for himself?’

  ‘I look forward to it. It’s been a while since I indulged my passion for fiction.’

  Riley chuckled as he led to the way to the interview room in which Barchester awaited their pleasure.

  ‘Professor Barchester,’ Riley said as he entered the room and summed up the rather indifferent individual who rose to his feet when the door opened. Everything about Barchester was average, from his height, the poorly tailored suit that failed to hide a widening girth, to his whiskers tinged with grey. Intelligent eyes radiated anger and a modicum of fear. Even innocent people, Riley reminded himself, became fearful when publicly dragged into a police station. Even so, there was something about Barchester that set his teeth on edge. A veneer of superiority that Sir Robert would have found equally disagreeable. To imagine such a portentous individual having complete autonomy over his daughter would not have sat comfortably with Riley’s friend, and he understood better now, before exchanging a word with Barchester, why Sir Robert had offered his daughter an escape clause by affording her financial independence. ‘I am Inspector Riley. This is Sergeant Salter. Thank you for coming in.’

  ‘As though I had a choice.’ Riley expected anger at his having been so arbitrarily summoned, but it seemed Barchester was too wily to be that predictable. ‘I am happy to be of service to you in any way that I can, but I fail to understand what this is about.’

  ‘It’s about the murder of Sir Robert Glover,’ Salter snarled from his regular standing position behind Riley.

  ‘Ah yes, I was sorry to hear about that.’

  He didn’t sound it, and said nothing more. If he was nervous he showed no outward signs and didn’t follow the normal pattern of offering up unnecessary information.

  ‘We understand you were one of the last people to see him alive,’ Riley said.

  ‘That rather depends upon when he died,’ Barchester replied, not making the elemental mistake of pretending not to have known him. ‘But I was at his chambers on the evening before his death.’

  ‘You didn’t think to come forward?’ Salter demanded to know.

  Barchester lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. ‘Since Sir Robert was alive and well when I
left him, I saw little point.’

  ‘May I ask why you went to see him? You did not have an appointment.’

  Barchester dismissed the request with an equally dismissive wave of one hand. ‘It was a private matter that has no bearing on his death.’

  Riley met his faintly condescending expression with an implacable look. ‘Since you cannot know what information has any bearing on the reasons for his murder, I suggest you allow me to be the judge of that—unless you killed him yourself, of course.’

  Barchester fell into contemplation and Riley waited him out in silence.

  ‘Am I being accused of anything?’ he eventually asked.

  ‘Not at present, but if you do not give me an honest answer then I will arrest you for obstructing my enquiry.’ Riley spoke calmly but with sufficient resolve in his upper class accent to leave Barchester in no doubt that he meant what he said.

  ‘Very well, since you insist upon knowing, I confronted Sir Robert because I suspected him of conducting an illicit affair with my wife.’

  ‘I see. What grounds did you have for your suspicions?’

  ‘My wife is a great deal younger than I, and very attractive. It’s only natural that men should notice her.’

  ‘She encourages their attentions?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Not as far as I am aware.’

  ‘But you suspected her of being unfaithful with a man who was as old as you are?’ Riley pointed out. ‘And you have yet to explain what aroused your suspicions.’

  ‘I lecture at the Archaeological Society every Wednesday afternoon and dine with colleagues afterwards. It is a fixed engagement that leaves my wife to her own devices for several hours every Wednesday afternoon and evening. Several weeks ago I came home and smelled cigar smoke in our drawing room. I do not smoke cigars and asked my wife who had visited her. She gave me an answer that I found unsatisfactory. She was most evasive and so I instigated enquiries—’

  ‘You spied on her?’ Salter asked, his voiced edged with contempt.

  ‘Certainly not! What do you take me for?’ Riley waved a hand to prevent Salter from giving him a truthful response. ‘I had a fellow I know keep watch on my apartment on Wednesday afternoons, but only because I suspected that Patricia was in some sort of trouble.’

  ‘You told us just now that you suspected her of having an affair,’ Riley reminded him. ‘Which is it?’

  ‘I learned that the same man visited every Wednesday, and since Patricia failed to mention the fact, naturally I was curious,’ Barchester replied, neatly avoiding giving a direct answer. ‘I had him followed and discovered his identity, so I went to see him and asked him what business he had with my wife.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it have been simpler to ask your wife?’ Riley suggested.

  ‘I…well, I didn’t want her to think that I distrusted her if there was an innocent explanation for the visits.’

  ‘What did Sir Robert tell you?’ Riley asked. ‘Did it satisfy your suspicions?’

  ‘He told me that he was an old friend of Patricia’s father and that her identity had come to his notice by accident when we recently returned from a sojourn in Egypt. Patricia never knew her father and Sir Robert said she was anxious to hear everything about him that he could tell her.’

  Riley sent him a quizzical look. ‘And you believed him?’

  Barchester took a moment to respond. ‘He gave me his word as a gentleman that there was nothing untoward about the visits, and that Patricia had not told me about them because she had yet to come to terms with the situation.’ He allowed a prolonged pause. ‘But yesterday I learned that was not exactly the truth. Patricia told me that Sir Robert was actually her father. She had been born out of wedlock. Sir Robert had been forbidden from seeing her mother once their affair came to the attention of his father, but Sir Robert had honoured his obligations towards Patricia and her mother, at least in a financial sense. He knew that Patricia’s mother had died and that we had married. When we returned from Egypt he made tentative contact with her, unaware whether his presence in her life would be welcome.’ He spread his hands. ‘Thus, Wednesday afternoons.’

  ‘It must have made you very resentful,’ Salter said. ‘A wife should not keep such things from her husband.’

  ‘I was not best pleased, I’ll admit that much, but I did not kill him.’

  ‘Where were you this Wednesday morning just past?’ Riley asked.

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘From seven in the morning.’

  ‘I arose at six. I am always up early. I don’t require much sleep.’

  ‘Did you break your fast at home?’

  ‘No. Our servant does not live in and does not start her duties that early. I left home at seven, took breakfast at my club, and arrived at my offices at about eight.’ Riley asked for the addresses of both establishments and Salter jotted them down in his notebook.

  ‘Can you wife confirm what time you left home?’ Riley asked.

  ‘I doubt it. We have separate rooms.’

  ‘Thank you, Professor.’ Riley stood to indicate that the interview had come to an end. ‘If we need to speak with you again, we know where to find you.’

  ‘Yes well, I hope I have helped. I would prefer you not to trouble my wife over this affair. She is very upset about the death of her father and cannot possibly know anything about it. Oh, and if you want confirmation that I left Sir Robert alive and well, you have but to ask his clerk.’

  Riley and Salter exchanged a glance. ‘Price?’

  ‘If that’s his name. He was at his desk when I left Sir Robert.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’ Salter asked as they watched him go.

  ‘I believe he told us the truth in so far as the facts are concerned. Whether he accepted the truth as told to him by Sir Robert so calmly is entirely another matter. We know he didn’t discuss it with his wife, since Sir Robert died the day after Barchester confronted him, eliminating any potential competition. Have Soames and Carter check out his whereabouts. I don’t suppose they will remember at his club precisely what time he arrived for breakfast. There is plenty of leeway for him to have stopped by and stabbed his rival in the back. Using Sir Robert’s dagger, which he would have seen on his desk, would have helped to satisfy the aggrieved husband in him, I would imagine. There is no doubt in my mind that he is a possessive individual who knows how to bear a grudge.’

  ‘Price is looking more suspect by the minute. He told us that Sir Robert sent him home.’

  ‘He did indeed. But first we shall have to—’

  ‘We have an address for Erwin, sir,’ Sergeant Barton called out.

  ‘That was fast. Good work, Barton.’

  ‘We aim to please.’ Barton chuckled. ‘Actually Peterson used his head. He simply went to Fortescue’s, told their accountant that they had business with the previous owner and asked for his address.’

  ‘Peterson will go a long way,’ Riley said, impressed.

  ‘Hands off, sir. I have uses for him. Don’t you go filching my best men for your detecting business.’

  It felt good to finally be on cordial terms with the wise old sergeant. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Barton,’ he said.

  Riley and Salter wasted no time taking a hansom to Highgate, where Erwin occupied a modest detached property set in neat gardens. The door was answered by a uniformed maid who had them wait just a short moment before they were shown into a warm and inviting book-lined room in which a bespectacled gentleman of middle years rose to greet them from behind an ornate desk.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, indicating comfortable chairs in front of the fire. ‘Should I be concerned about a visit from Scotland Yard detectives?’

  ‘I can assure you, sir, that you have done nothing to excite our suspicions to the best of my knowledge. I am Inspector Riley. This is Sergeant Salter. We are not here to accuse you of any crime, but to beg your assistance.’

  ‘Well, that sounds like a requirement f
or tea if ever I heard one,’ Erwin replied, waving the maid off to prepare the refreshments. ‘My brain is not as sharp as it once was, but I shall be happy to help you in any way that I can.’

  ‘We are investigating the murder of Sir Robert Glover,’ Riley told him.

  ‘Ah, a tragedy. I read about it in the newspapers. I knew him, you know. Well, I am sure you are aware of that, which is what brings you to my door. Of course, when he was employed by me he was simply Mr Glover, but it was obvious even then that he was a man of great intellect, held back only by the humbleness of his origins. But it all worked out well enough since marriage to the daughter of a wealthy and influential man eased his path and the intelligence I just mentioned finally flourished in an area where it could be utilised for the greater good.’

  The tea arrived almost immediately and Riley waited until the servant had withdrawn and the tea had been poured before speaking again. He had taken an immediate liking to Erwin. There was an integrity about him that made Riley suppose he would never turn a blind eye to profiteering from smuggling, but nor did he seem worldly enough to suppose that it would actually go on. He would have been an easy master to dupe. It was obvious from the number of books in the room that he was basically an academic who lived in the rarefied atmosphere of the truly intelligent, failed to have much of a grasp on the foibles of the hoi-polloi and saw the best in everyone.

  ‘We were indeed aware of Sir Robert’s employment at your warehouse, sir,’ Riley said, stirring his tea before taking a sip, ‘and we think it might have some bearing on his murder.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Erwin’s bushy brows disappeared beneath his sparse hairline. ‘I cannot think how.’

  ‘Perhaps you would kindly tell me what happened to occasion Sir Robert’s departure from your employ and, for that matter, your decision to sell the warehouses. I should imagine that tobacco is a lucrative import.’

  Erwin sighed. ‘I inherited the business from my father. It was not my choice. I suppose I was resentful because I would have preferred to immerse myself in an academic world.’ He waved a hand at the books surrounding him to emphasise his point. ‘I am a keen historian. Father died and I felt duty bound to continue with his work, but I was too trusting and didn’t keep a close enough eye on things. Suffice it to say that smuggling was rife. I had foolishly imagined that the customs officers who had counting houses in the warehouse would keep a careful watch for pilfering, especially the disposal of sub-standard tobacco.’ He shook his head. ‘Did I mention that I have a tendency to trust far too easily?’