Death of a Matriarch (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 7) Page 9

  ‘I’ll show you out,’ Tom said, walking into the clerk’s office with Riley.

  Riley reclaimed his hat, took his leave of Tom and made his way back to Scotland Yard, deep in thought.

  As soon as he arrived, he called Salter and his detective constables into his office and updated them on the terms of Lady Pemberton’s will.

  ‘Blimey.’ Salter scratched his head. ‘It must be Barlow what did it, hoping to get his hands on his inheritance. A share of the value of a house in that prime location will be worth a pretty penny.’

  ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ Riley said, raising a warning hand.

  ‘True, but it’s damned suspicious that he didn’t tell us he was Lady P’s son,’ Salter said, scowling. ‘He must have known we’d find out.’

  ‘But he did tell us that he had independent means,’ Riley reminded his sergeant. ‘And even if he was in need of capital, he knew Lady Pemberton was getting on in years and that he wouldn’t have had to wait long for nature to take its course. Besides, she had chosen to keep their relationship secret, as far as we know, from the rest of her family. Perhaps he decided to respect her wishes in that regard and protect her reputation, albeit posthumously. Even so, we shall have Mr Barlow in here today and ask him to explain himself. What matters more to me is the large sum of money that Lady P was paid for her jewels. What happened to it and who in her family knew she had sold them? That, in my view, will lead us to her ladyship’s killer.’

  ‘It seems to me that there was a lot of jealousy in that family, at least between the daughters. None of them knew, I don’t suppose, that Lady Pemberton’s funds were running low,’ Peterson said, growing in confidence when no one told him to keep his views to himself. He was the newest recruit to the detective department, but Riley encouraged all his officers to articulate their thoughts, no matter how outlandish they might seem. ‘If one suspected the others of receiving too much financial help, she might have seen it as an erosion of her own inheritance and decided to do something about it.’

  ‘A good point, Peterson,’ Riley said, feeling vindicated in his determination to have Peterson in his team, despite opposition from Sergeant Barton, who wanted him kept in uniform. The lad had a brain and wasn’t afraid to use it.

  ‘What do you need us to do today, sir?’ Salter asked.

  ‘I’ve got Stout dealing the Axtons, who interest me very much.’

  ‘You think Mrs Axton did her mother in?’ Carter asked.

  ‘Not sure yet, but she’s high on my list of suspects. Anyway, I will try and track Parkinson down later today and talk to him about the Kinsleys.’

  ‘That poor lass will come in for a lot of pressure from her family when they find out she’s inherited so much,’ Salter said, looking worried on the girl’s behalf. ‘They’ll be resentment on her brother’s part, too.’

  ‘I hope we will have resolved this matter long before the funds come into her possession, Jack. But I rather suspect that her grandmother recognised her determination to remain independent and left her the means to have the courage of her convictions. In other words, she will be able to pursue her education, or write her novel, without reference to anyone else.’

  ‘I reckon Miss Sutherland will break off her engagement once she learns how little Clifford stands to inherit.’ Salter sniffed. ‘He’ll have had a lucky escape, if you ask me, but I don’t suppose he’ll see it that way.’

  ‘We are in agreement on that score.’ Riley eyed his eager detectives. ‘Right, gentlemen. Peterson, take yourself off to Miss Colby’s address in Wandsworth. Talk to her tenants and get their opinion of her. I don’t for a moment imagine that she is the murderess, but it pays to be thorough. See if the people living in her house know of anyone else locally who is acquainted with Miss Colby and talk to them. She hasn’t lived there for ten years, but people have long memories, so find out as much as you can about her.’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’ Peterson looked pleased to be trusted to undertake a task alone and scurried off to carry out Riley’s orders.

  ‘Carter and Soames, you’re for Kent and the Huxley farm. Be careful because Kenneth Huxley will already have returned there. Don’t approach him direct. Mix with the locals and find out how well situated they are.’

  ‘And don’t spend all day in the bleeding tavern, pretending to be working,’ Salter growled.

  ‘As if we would, Sarge,’ Carter replied, grinning.

  ‘Off you go.’ Riley made shooing motions. ‘Report back to me this afternoon.’

  ‘That leaves us with Barlow,’ Salter said. ‘Where do we start?’

  ‘We are on the next train to Hitchin,’ Riley said, standing and reaching for his hat.

  ‘Don’t you wanna talk to him about Lady Pemberton first?’

  ‘No, Salter, I do not. I want to know as much about him as I can before I tackle him. I’d like to see his property so that I can get a better feel for the man himself.’

  When they arrived at Hitchin station, Salter asked the platform master for directions to Barlow’s road and was advised to take a cab.

  ‘It’s a good two miles away, gents, and there’s more rain in the air,’ he predicted, throwing his head back and sniffing the air in question.

  Riley took the man’s advice and they were driven in a pony trap to a leafy neighbourhood with large and well-spaced country houses, each with several acres of land.

  ‘It’s a big house for one man,’ Salter remarked, ‘but then if he’s got the money to maintain it…well, I s’pose it all comes down to status.’

  Riley told the cabbie to wait and the two of them alighted from the flimsy vehicle. There was a footpath to one side of the house, which they took, but they could see no signs of life anywhere. The residence had been meticulously maintained. Smoke poured from the chimneys and the gardens surrounding the house were laid out with fountains and gravel walkways. Riley pulled Salter back and they concealed themselves behind a tree when a door opened and a young woman emerged, playing with a kitten.

  ‘She ain’t no more than fifteen and she ain’t got the air of a servant about her. She’s dressed too well,’ Salter muttered, a grim expression gracing his features. ‘He said he weren’t married so she can’t be his daughter.’ His scowl intensified. ‘I don’t like it, sir.’

  ‘There could be a perfectly innocent explanation, Jack. I realise that it doesn’t pay to judge a man by his appearance but he doesn’t strike me as a child molester. I agree that she doesn’t look like a servant but she could be a relative.’

  ‘She’s in his house but he ain’t home,’ Salter looked perplexed. ‘How does that work?’

  ‘Perhaps she lives permanently with him. She could be his ward. There are a dozen possible explanations. Besides, she looks very contented.’

  ‘Are we gonna knock, sir?’

  ‘Heavens, no. I just needed to observe his residence for myself. You can tell a lot about a man by the manner in which he maintains his house, and there’s clearly no shortage of blunt in Barlow’s establishment.’

  ‘So even if he knew Lady Pemberton had been so generously inclined towards him in her will, there wouldn’t of been no need for him to bump her off.’

  ‘That’s my initial impression, certainly.’

  Salter grunted. ‘So, what now?’

  ‘Now we are going to do what Carter and Soames are likely doing and acquaint ourselves with the local tavern.’ They returned to the cab and asked the driver to take them to the nearest hostelry. ‘Anything worth knowing about Barlow will be common knowledge in that establishment.’

  Salter seemed more cheerful at the prospect of lunch. ‘Are we asking officially?’

  ‘No, that would be the quickest way to have the locals close ranks against us. They will be wary of strangers as it is. Just follow my lead.’

  Salter rolled his eyes. ‘When don’t I, sir?’

  It was just before noon and the taproom in the Queen’s Arms, the establishment at which the cabbie deposit
ed them, was half empty. Riley suspected that it would fill up fast over the next half-hour. Those locals already in occupation of it glanced up when the door opened to admit Riley and Salter. Riley, in his bespoke tailoring, looked out of place amongst the working men, all of whom regarded him with various degrees of suspicion.

  ‘Good morning all,’ Riley said cheerfully.

  ‘Morning, sir.’ It was the landlord who responded, summing Riley up with the practised ease of a man who recognised a customer with deep pockets when he saw one. ‘What can I be getting you fine gentlemen?’

  Riley ordered tankards of ale for them both and, upon the landlord’s recommendation, meat pies made fresh by his wife that morning.

  ‘Not seen you in here before,’ the landlord said, just as Riley had known he would. Curiosity was the same in all walks of life.

  ‘I’m looking for a country estate,’ Riley replied, not entirely untruthfully. ‘This area seems convenient for London.’

  ‘Oh aye, grown out of all recognition since the railway came this way, to say nothing of the corn exchange. My old pa used to run this tavern but he wouldn’t recognise the area now, God rest his soul.’

  ‘Progress ain’t always a good thing,’ Salter said.

  ‘There’s no denying that. Still, mustn’t complain. It’s been good for my business. More thirsty men to buy more of my ale.’

  The landlord took himself off to serve another customer, but a lone local seated at the bar who’d been listening to their conversation turned to them ready to chew the fat.

  ‘What made you decide on this area then?’ he asked.

  ‘I know of someone who lives here. Man by the name of Barlow. Are you acquainted with him?’

  Riley was aware of the other men scattered about the room, paying more attention to Riley’s conversation than to their own. A deathly hush fell over the room at the mention of Barlow’s name.

  ‘He’s a good man,’ their loquacious friend at the bar responded, eliciting a few reluctant nods and the odd mutter of assent. ‘Does a lot for the disadvantaged.’

  ‘He’s only just moved to the area, so I hear,’ Salter said.

  Riley knew his sergeant had miscalculated when suspicious glances were sent his way. ‘Must be a different man then, ’cause our Mr Barlow’s lived here all his life, and his father before him. Great man was his father. Always inventing stuff.’

  ‘Barlow did invite me to stay when I was in the area but he doesn’t seem to be around.’

  Several astonished faces stared back at Riley.

  ‘He must like you,’ said one. ‘He lives alone and don’t entertain often.’

  ‘There was that old lady, a while back.’

  ‘Yeah, but he weren’t expecting her, so his housekeeper told me. She just turned up, unexpected like.’

  ‘You’re referring to my aunt,’ Riley said. ‘She was acquainted with Barlow’s father and mentioned to me that she might call on him if she was in the area.’ He went on to describe Lady Pemberton.

  ‘Aye, that would be her. She stayed for a few days, so I heard.’

  Riley and Salter ate their pies when they arrived and were happy to assure the anxious landlord that they were indeed delicious.

  ‘Seems like our Mr Barlow is whiter than white,’ Salter said, as they made their way back to the station.

  ‘Not sure I agree with you, Jack.’

  ‘Why ever not? No one in that taproom had a bad word to say about him.’

  ‘Didn’t you sense the tension when we mentioned his name?’

  ‘Well yeah, but I thought that was just the locals being cautious with strangers asking questions about one of their own.’

  Riley sighed. ‘Perhaps you’re right. This job makes a man doubt his own name sometimes. It’s just that…oh, I don’t know. They insist he lives alone, almost reclusively, so who was the young lady?’

  ‘Good point,’ Salter growled.

  ‘His father supposedly made a fortune by reinventing the sewing machine, but somehow I can’t see improvements to an already patented invention being that lucrative.’ Riley scratched his chin as the train pulled into the station and the two detectives boarded a first class carriage. Riley lowered his standards during the course of his working days but not to the extent that he would travel in the discomfort of second class. ‘One thing’s for sure. Barlow will soon discover that we were in that tavern, asking questions about him.’

  ‘We didn’t say who we were.’

  Riley chuckled, putting up the window to prevent a billow of smoke given off by the engine from infiltrating the carriage as the train moved away from the station. ‘And a description of the two of us won’t ring any bells with him?’

  ‘You want him to know we were there?’

  ‘I rather think I do, Jack. Whatever it is that he’s hiding, or whatever makes the locals wary of him might be nothing to do with Lady Pemberton’s death. But on the other hand it might be critical to our investigation. Barlow seemed very self-assured and genuinely upset about Lady Pemberton’s death, but that could have been an act for our benefit.’

  ‘I agree he’s up to something,’ Salter replied. ‘Funny he didn’t mention to us that Lady P came to stay with him.’

  ‘We shall ask him why he forgot to mention that fact when we talk to him this afternoon.’

  As soon as the detectives returned to Scotland Yard, Riley asked Sergeant Barton to send a constable round to Barlow’s club and bring him back to the yard for questioning. While they were waiting, Peterson returned from Wandsworth and reported that no one had a bad word to say about Miss Colby.

  ‘Liked and respected by her tenants, she is. They’re a nice family with two little nippers. Said she gave them a generous deal on the rent. I spoke to the local vicar as well. Miss Colby was a regular member of his flock and served on several committees that helped the disadvantaged. I really can’t see her killing a fly, much less her friend, sir.’

  ‘Good work, Peterson. I assumed you would come back with glowing testaments, but I needed to be sure. Write up your report and return to your other duties for the time being. I’ll let you know when there’s something else you can do to help with this case.’

  ‘Carter and Soames are still in Kent,’ Salter said, ‘but they should be back soon.’

  ‘Read through those papers we took from Lady Pemberton’s house while we wait for Barlow to grace us with his presence. Get Peterson to help you. You know what to look for.’

  Salter acknowledged his orders and went off to carry them out. Riley attended to the messages that awaited him, mostly concerning ongoing cases being dealt with by his three teams of detectives. It felt odd, being in the office that had always been Danforth’s. But unlike Danforth, his door was seldom closed, encouraging his detectives to consult him whenever they felt the need.

  A tap at the open door preceded Superintendent Thompson putting his head around it. ‘How goes it with Lady Pemberton?’ he asked. ‘A murder made to look like natural causes, I’m told.’

  Riley sighed as he invited Thompson to sit. ‘Precisely so, and I have more suspects than I can shake a stick at.’

  Thompson demonstrated an admirable ability to listen and absorb what he was being told. He asked no questions until Riley had finished filling him in on what little they knew so far.

  ‘You think it’s a woman’s crime, that one of Lady Pemberton’s daughters killed her for her inheritance, but you also suspect Barlow?’

  Riley chuckled. ‘You know me, sir. I suspect everyone.’

  ‘Well, Rochester, if anyone can get to the bottom of things, it’s you.’

  ‘Barlow’s here,’ Sergeant Barton said, leaning in through the door. ‘What do you want me to do with him?’

  ‘Right, thank you, Barton. Put him in an interview room. Don’t want him to feel too comfortable.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ Thompson stood. ‘Let me know if you need anything from me.’

  Riley nodded, stood up and went to fe
tch Salter.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Barlow,’ Riley said, as he and Salter swept into the uninviting interview room with its scarred table, grey walls and one small, grimy window set high above their heads.

  Riley offered Barlow his hand, which the other man shook before taking a seat across from him. Salter, as always, leaned against the wall, notebook and pencil poised.

  ‘Have you made any progress, Lord Riley?’ Barlow asked.

  ‘Is there any particular reason why you withheld the true nature of your relationship with Lady Pemberton from me?’

  Barlow sat a little straighter and sent Riley an apologetic look. ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘You might, but we bloody well don’t,’ Salter growled. ‘Don’t you reckon that was a rather vital piece of information to keep from the investigation into your mother’s death.’

  ‘No one knew.’ Barlow addressed his response to Riley and ignored Salter’s sarcasm. ‘I apologise if it seems as though I misled you. That was not my intention. But the fact of the matter is that I didn’t know myself until after Sir Joseph died five years ago.’

  ‘Your half-sisters were not aware?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Not unless Lady Pemberton had informed one or all of them within the past few days. And I am sure she would have warned me if that had been her intention, since she was well aware that the news would not be received favourably.’ Barlow lifted one shoulder, the gesture only fractionally shifting the fabric of his superbly cut coat. ‘They were jealous enough of one another. Add an illegitimate brother to the mix and…well, I am sure you can imagine what their reaction would have been. Anyway, Lady P had no reason to tell them. She didn’t actually want them to know and since none of them treated me any differently to normal during the birthday celebrations, one must assume that no revelations were made prior to her death.’

  ‘Describe normal,’ Riley invited.

  ‘They tolerated me because they had no choice in the matter. They didn’t look upon me as a threat because it must have been apparent to them that I am well situated and had no need of her ladyship’s money. Kinsley actually tried to get me to invest in his fund.’ Barlow chuckled. ‘I am not a soft touch in that regard, nor am I stupid, so I respectfully declined. Lady Pemberton knew her daughters were curious about the nature of our friendship though, and I think it amused her to keep them guessing.’