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

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ Riley conceded, keen to keep him talking.

  Bernard raised his arms above his head and indulged in an expansive sigh. ‘She wasn’t the best of mothers, but she cared for us in her own way. I followed Alfred’s example and left Clapham as soon as I could, but we corresponded and I saw her every so often; more so recently. We’d resolved our differences.’

  ‘Where did you meet her?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Where?’ He shrugged. ‘Here in London of a Sunday. I’d meet her train and take her for tea or for a walk in the park, weather permitting.’

  ‘We understand she was excited about something. On the brink of making an impression in the world of millinery. Do you know anything about that?’ Riley asked.

  Bernard shrugged. ‘She was always on the brink of something; it’s what drove her. But it wouldn’t have come to anything. She had the talent but she didn’t have the capital or the commercial sense to make it happen.’

  ‘Do you recall Madame Boise? Meg Butler as she was when she was apprenticed to your mother.’

  Bernard grinned. ‘Do I ever! She was the first girl I was ever sweet on. Of course, she barely noticed Alfred or me, but she made sure that we noticed her.’ He chuckled. ‘She knew her value even as a youngster. I wasn’t surprised when she left Ma’s employ the moment she was out of her indentures.’

  ‘Do you ever see her now?’

  ‘She’s established herself in Bond Street. Ma was furious about that.’

  ‘The Chief Inspector asked if you ever see her?’

  ‘Not to speak to. I’ve seen her in the street once or twice. She wouldn’t know me now, I don’t suppose.’

  He looked away as he spoke and Riley knew he was lying. ‘Do you have any idea where she got the funds to set up her establishment?’ he asked.

  ‘How would I know? Like I say, I haven’t seen her to speak to for years.’ He shared a look between Riley and Salter. ‘Why are you asking about her?’

  ‘Because your mother was murdered on her premises.’

  ‘Good lord, was she really? I can’t imagine how she got past the door. They despised one another. Well, Ma despised Meg. Called her an ingrate and a traitor, but I don’t suppose Meg gave Ma more than a passing thought. She used her to get the best possible training and then moved on. I think that’s what Ma would have liked to do herself, which is why she regretted being saddled with two kids at such a young age, but then again, that was her choice. She thought our presence would help her to keep Pa, but she miscalculated.’ He paused. ‘She really loved my father, you know. She always asked about him whenever we met. He was one of the first people she ever mentioned, even after years of separation, and there was a sense of regret, if you like, in her tone.’

  ‘Where were you yesterday morning?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Me? I start my duties here at eight sharp and take breakfast in a coffee shop round the corner. They’ll confirm that I was there, I’m sure. Then a dozen people can confirm my presence here from eight onwards. I had no reason to kill my mother. She didn’t do anything to make herself popular but she didn’t deserve to die either. I hope you find whoever did this. But now, gentlemen, if there’s nothing further, I need to return to my duties.’

  ‘One last thing,’ Riley said. ‘You are the only person we have spoken to who knew her outside of her work. We couldn’t find anything of a personal nature in her rooms above her shop. No correspondence, photographs, none of the usual things that a person collects over a lifetime that mean something to them. Do you have any idea where her possessions might be kept?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Chief Inspector. Ma wasn’t sentimental and didn’t like clutter.’

  Riley thought of her untidy rooms in Clapham and could have offered him an argument in that respect. ‘Never mind, it was just a thought. Thank you for your time.’

  ‘I didn’t see that one coming,’ Salter said as they left the premises.

  ‘That he kept in contact with his mother, you mean.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He’s a lot more sophisticated than his brother. I think he had expectations of some sort, Jack. Don’t ask me why, it’s just a feeling.’

  ‘You and your feelings.’ Salter sighed. ‘What now?’

  ‘Now we go to Clapham and see her solicitor. Let’s find out what she left, if anything, and who benefits from her largesse. After that, we’ll return to her shop and have another look for her personal stuff.’

  ‘Right you are then, sir. I take it I can still come with you.’

  Riley chuckled. ‘How would I manage without your wisdom, Jack?’

  ‘Well, there is that,’ Salter agreed, as he placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled for a cab.

  Chapter Eight

  The offices of Makepeace and Sons, Solicitors and Purveyors of Oaths, were situated in a dreary back street lined with other down-at-heel business premises to which a common sense of desperation clung. Upon entering a cramped room housing two clerks, Riley’s exquisite tailoring created a stir. One of the clerks dropped his quill and almost tripped over his feet, probably worried that Riley would realise his mistake and leave again before the man could offer his services.

  ‘We are here to see Mr Makepeace on official business,’ Salter told him, having identified themselves as Scotland Yard detectives.

  The clerk, to his credit, took that revelation in his stride. ‘Please wait here for one moment, gentlemen. I will see if Mr Makepeace is available.’

  ‘He damned well better be,’ Salter muttered as the clerk scurried off.

  ‘He will be, Jack. Curiosity will get the better of him.’

  Riley had barely spoken before an elderly man little more than five feet tall with a profusion of grey whiskers and a heavily lined face preceded the clerk into the reception area. He wore a shabby suit and a shirt with frayed cuffs, the style of which had long gone out of fashion, and assessed Riley with an astute look.

  ‘I am Makepeace, Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘How may I be of service?’ He addressed the question to Riley, completely ignoring Salter.

  ‘If we could talk in private.’

  ‘Naturally, please to follow me.’

  Makepeace’s office was small and cramped, with a narrow window that gave a depressing view of a side alley. A rank smell seeped through the closed window. There were papers everywhere and shelves crammed with books. Makepeace cleared a chair for Riley. Salter leaned against the closed door, the only area sufficiently uncluttered to support his shoulder, with notebook poised.

  ‘I will get straight to the point,’ Riley said. ‘I understand you represent Mrs Jessie Faulkner’s interests.’

  ‘Ah. I should have realised.’ Makepeace looked suitably sombre and shook his head. ‘A sad business.’

  At least someone mourned her loss, or more likely mourned the loss of her custom, Riley thought cynically.

  ‘You have heard of her death?’ he asked.

  Makepeace inclined his head gravely. ‘Clapham is a small community. It is most disquieting. The world is a dangerous place.’

  ‘We need to know the contents of her will, assuming she made one.’

  ‘She did.’ Makepeace managed to remove a slim file from a pile on his desk without tipping the entire edifice over. ‘I have had the honour of handling her affairs ever since she came of age.’

  ‘We need to know who benefits from her estate,’ Riley said briskly, keen to be away from the putrid odour coming in from the alleyway outside.

  Makepeace opened the file, perched a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles on the end of his nose and rustled papers. ‘Let’s see now,’ he muttered, even though Riley was perfectly sure that he saw very well. ‘Ah yes, it’s quite straightforward. She has left everything to her younger son Bernard, the only member of her family who, as she puts it in her customary straightforward manner, gave her the time of day.’ He looked up at Riley. ‘There is an express rider that Ralph Faulkner should not benefit from her
estate in any fashion, and it is my duty to ensure that he does not.’

  ‘Is there much to benefit from?’ Salter asked from his position in front of the door.

  ‘Oh goodness yes, Sergeant.’ Makepeace shared a look between the two detectives. ‘I thought you must be aware that she was a very wealthy woman.’

  ‘We were not in possession of that information,’ Riley replied. ‘In fact, judging from her living and business quarters, we can be excused for thinking quite the opposite.’

  Mr Makepeace’s whiskers twitched when he smiled. ‘The lady’s wealth is comparatively new.’

  ‘Where did it come from?’ Salter asked.

  The legal man spread his hands. ‘Mrs Faulkner did not tell me, and of course I wouldn’t dream of asking. She simply informed me a few years ago that she had a regular form of income that wasn’t directly to do with the design of ladies’ headwear.’

  ‘Which she paid tax on?’ Salter suggested bluntly.

  ‘I really couldn’t say. I referred her to an accountant, but whether or not she contacted him…’ He spread his hands again. ‘I can tell you that she had investments in the stock exchange and a healthy balance in the local branch of Barclay’s Bank.’

  Makepeace could tell them little more, other than that Bernard would be required to make her funeral preparations.

  ‘Given that he’s due to inherit quite a packet, by the sound of things,’ Salter said as the two men left the grimy building, ‘it’s the least he can do. Makes him a prime suspect in my book, an’ all.’

  ‘It certainly gives him a motive, Jack. He’s as ambitious as his mother was and probably didn’t take to the idea of toiling away in a clerical position when there was a fortune waiting to be inherited—always assuming he knew about it, of course. No one else we have yet spoken to did, and Mrs Faulkner certainly didn’t show any signs of wealth in her day to day living. Quite the opposite.’

  ‘Bernard knew and got tired of the waiting, especially given that Mrs Faulkner could have lived another twenty years.’ Salter sniffed as they walked briskly in the direction of the bank. ‘He was lying to us an’ all when he said he had nothing to do with Madame.’

  ‘He was indeed, Jack, but if he’s sweet on the lady and murdered his mother because she had become a perpetual thorn in Madame’s side since your Maureen…’ Riley waved an apology. ‘Sorry, Jack, but Maureen’s move to Bond Street does seem to have infuriated Mrs Faulkner, reigniting old grievances that perhaps got out of hand. Anyway, he carried out the deed to ingratiate himself with Madame and gain access to his inheritance. That I could accept, but why do it on Madame’s premises?’

  ‘Perhaps Madame rejected him and he took umbrage. He fancies himself as a lady’s man, I reckon, much like his father does, and probably doesn’t take rejection well.’

  ‘So he took his revenge by exploiting the rift between the two ladies, somehow enticing his mother to the shop, somehow gaining access himself and then calmly killing her and somehow did so without anyone seeing him.’ Riley shook his head. ‘I like the hypothesis but that’s an awful lot of somehows. Besides, he must realise we’d soon find out about his mother’s money and that we would take particular interest in him when we did.’

  ‘It’s the best theory we’ve come up with, but proving it could be tricky. We might suspect young Bernard, but unless we can place him at that shop at a time when he claims to have a solid alibi, we are no further forward. A dispute that got out of hand between two women who made no secret of the fact that they despised one another will always seem more likely—but for the fact that we can’t place Madame there either.’

  ‘Patience, Jack. I know you’re keen to exonerate Maureen beyond all doubt, but one step at a time. First, we need to discover the precise nature of Mrs Faulkner’s wealth and try to discover where it came from.’

  They were not kept waiting long at the bank before being shown into the manager’s office. The officious little man tried to put up objections to their enquiries but Salter was in no mood for prevarication.

  ‘Course, if you’d prefer,’ he said sniffing, ‘we could come back with half a dozen uniformed constables to fill your lobby until we get what we need. Your other customers won’t take kindly to the sight, I don’t suppose, but that’s up to you.’

  The manager glowered at Salter, quickly realised that he had met his match and became cooperative.

  ‘Mrs Faulkner has banked with us ever since she opened her premises here in Clapham,’ he told them, following Mr Makepeace’s example and opening a file. But unlike Makepeace, this file was the only documentation on the surface of an otherwise pristine desk. ‘She has both business and personal accounts with us. Both were unhealthy until three years ago, when regular deposits were made to both, to the extent that we advised her to invest in bonds. She followed our advice and made a decent profit.’

  ‘These deposits were always in cash?’ Riley asked.

  ‘They were. One assumes that the business deposits had corresponding documentation to support their origins, but that is not my affair.’

  ‘The deposits to her personal account, how much were they and how regular?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Monthly, or thereabouts.’ Riley let out a low whistle when the man told him the sums involved. ‘The amounts and frequency increased sharply over the past few months.’

  ‘What will happen to the shop now?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Miss Sharp was in here yesterday asking me the same question. I told her that nothing need change until Mrs Faulkner’s estate has been probated, but that her heir might have ideas of his own. I referred her to Mr Makepeace. In the meantime, I have told her she is assured of reasonable working capital if she wishes to continue running the shop, which it seems she does.’

  ‘Very well. Thank you.’ Riley stood. ‘Please let me know if anyone else comes asking questions about Mrs Faulkner’s affairs.’

  ‘I will certainly do that, Chief Inspector,’ the manager assured him.

  ‘Where the devil did all that regular income spring from all of a sudden?’ Salter asked, as they left the bank.

  ‘Blackmail, possibly. It would account for her untimely end. Those with secrets so sensitive that they’re willing to pay for someone else’s silence don’t have endless patience. You know that as well as I do, Jack. The blackmailer gets more demanding until it reaches a point at which the victim decides enough is enough and takes matters into his or her own hands, getting rid of the blight once and for all.’

  Salter looked a little taken aback. ‘You think she had something on Madame and was exploiting that knowledge for revenge and financial gain?’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t put it past her.’

  ‘What’s your other hypoth…theory,’ Salter said with an irreverent smile. ‘Best stick to words I understand. Saves confusion that way.’

  ‘I think she was doing something illegal.’ Riley’s expression turned forbidding. ‘She’d been amassing funds from whatever source steadily over a period of time, ready to reinvent herself and set up in competition with her former apprentice. She’s been doing it for a while and I’m sorry, Jack, but your Maureen leaving her increased her determination to put her plans in motion.’

  ‘Maureen jumped ship and joined Madame of all people, after Mrs Faulkner recognised her talent and took her on. Aye,’ Salter gave a grim nod, ‘I know that must have seemed like the ultimate betrayal to such a bitter and vindictive woman.’

  ‘If she was blackmailing Madame—let’s say for argument’s sake that she discovered the identity of the gentleman she meets at Brown’s and that he was the one who paid for her to set up shop in Bond Street. A well-placed, married man whose reputation would be ruined if the association came out…’

  ‘Ah, I see what you mean. Madame would pay to keep the connection secret. She might be in love with the man and maybe she wants to entice him away from his wife, or she simply doesn’t want to lose her financier. The man is probably smitten, but would drop her if h
e knew the association had become common knowledge.’

  ‘Drop her or do away with the blackmailer? The latter implies that Madame told her lover about the blackmail threat, which I somehow doubt. She wouldn’t risk becoming a liability and have him cut his losses.’

  ‘Perhaps Mrs Faulkner targeted him rather than her.’

  ‘Possibly.’ Riley frowned. ‘But if the mystery man did know about the blackmail, or was himself the target and killed Mrs Faulkner to put an end to the drain on his finances, why the devil did he carry out the deed in Madame’s shop? We wouldn’t even have questioned her if Mrs Faulkner had been killed elsewhere. The body being discovered on her premises draws unnecessary attention to her and her supposed lover.’

  ‘Not if Bernard Faulkner rather than the mystery lover did the killing. An act of devotion to Madame whom he has worshipped since her apprentice days, but also a warning. See what I have done for you. I’ve killed my own mother for your sake. Take me seriously because I have the ruthlessness to destroy you as well.’

  ‘He’s been attempting to impress Madame, but she’s toyed with him up until now, not really wanting him but unable to resist playing a game of cat and mouse with the only member of her own family Mrs Faulkner still has any time for. Bernard got fed up with being strung along so decided that action was called for to demonstrate his devotion. Madame confided in him about the blackmail so Bernard took extreme action to make it stop, but did so on her own premises to make a point.’ Riley nodded. ‘Very possibly, Jack. He isn’t the person she meets at Brown’s, but he probably knows the man’s identity and is telling Madame to make a choice. He’s playing a dangerous game if that’s the case, but if Madame discovers how wealthy Bernard is about to become, perhaps she will change allegiances. I’m pretty sure she is ambitious enough to put her own long term interests ahead of an affair with a married man.’