Murder at the Manchester Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘Will they come after us?’ asked Breda anxiously. ‘I mean, if it’s the army, and they’re doing this because of Kathleen going to their barracks …’

  ‘No, no,’ Daniel assured her. ‘They made no mention of Kathleen. They were only concerned with the questions we’ve been asking about Peterloo, and turning up at the barracks. You’re not in any danger.’

  ‘But they saw me with you …’ said Breda, still worried.

  ‘If it was you they were after, they’d have done something there and then,’ said Daniel. ‘It was me they were after, and it was only about Peterloo. I assure you, you and your family are quite safe.’ He reached for a teapot and poured himself some tea, then topped up Abigail’s and Breda’s cups as he asked, ‘This man who called at your house and said he was William Bickerstaff; what did he look like?’

  ‘Well-dressed. Smart. A toff.’

  ‘Any distinguishing features? Scars, that sort of thing? Beard? Moustache?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘What about his build? Thin? Fat? Muscular? Tall? Short?’

  Breda sat and thought about the man’s visit.

  ‘Tall,’ she said. ‘Thin-ish. In fact, he looked a bit like the real Bickerstaff, the bloke you showed me at the newspaper office. Same sort of height. Same posh voice. Only his voice was nicer. Gentler.’

  After more tea and cake, Breda said she’d better be going. ‘Pa will be all in a mess. He won’t know what to do,’ she said.

  Daniel offered to walk her home, but she shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. Daniel gave her the shilling he’d promised her, while Abigail wrapped the cakes that were left in a napkin and gave them to her ‘for your brothers and sisters’, and Breda left.

  As Daniel and Abigail walked up the stairs to their room, she looked at him, concerned, and asked, ‘Are you sure you’re all right? That’s quite a black eye he gave you.’

  ‘I’ve had worse,’ said Daniel. ‘Although it does add a new dimension to the case. If I’m going to be beaten up with every new line of questioning, I need to make sure I’m better prepared.’

  ‘Armed, you mean?’ asked Abigail. ‘With a gun?’

  ‘No, absolutely not,’ said Daniel. ‘Bring guns into the equation and innocent people get hurt. No, I was just thinking that if we were in London I’d bring in some boxer friends of mine to watch out for me.’

  ‘But we’re not in London,’ said Abigail.

  ‘No, so I was considering asking around for possible protectors.’

  ‘There’s always the army,’ said Abigail dryly. ‘I’m sure they’d do it very efficiently.’

  ‘Oh, very amusing,’ said Daniel. ‘What gets me is that I expected this sort of thing when we were walking through Ancoats or Hulme, Instead, I got caught right outside our hotel.’

  They entered their room, then Abigail said, ‘I didn’t want to ask while Breda was with us, but were you telling the truth when you said they didn’t mention Kathleen, or tell you to stop asking questions about the young Irish woman? I know you didn’t want to frighten her at the thought they might.’

  ‘No, it was exactly as I said. They didn’t mention her at all,’ said Daniel. ‘Which I thought was interesting, because I’d assume it was our visit to ask about her that led to the attack. This would indicate their concern is about Peterloo. But I’m sure there’s a connection.’

  ‘I am, too,’ agreed Abigail. ‘But what?’

  ‘Say someone that Kathleen knew of – say, a family member – was killed at Peterloo. She goes to the barracks to ask about them. They deny all knowledge and send her on her way. Then try to cover up the fact she’d been asking questions.’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘But why kill her? Peterloo is a dreadful episode in the army’s history here, but there are no secrets about it. Everyone knows what happened. So what is someone trying to conceal?’

  ‘I think we need to share what we’ve discovered with the police,’ said Abigail.

  ‘About Bickerstaff being at the museum on the day Kathleen died, and the business of someone pretending to be him and calling at the O’Donnells’?’ queried Daniel.

  ‘I suggest we keep those aspects to ourselves,’ advised Abigail. ‘If Bickerstaff is innocent, and what we’ve heard about the inspector is true, that could lead to him taking a terrible beating because of us. No, I meant about Con Gully and Dan Daly.’

  There was a knock at the door. Abigail opened it to find a pageboy standing there.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but there’s a man downstairs says he wants to see you.’

  ‘Did he give a name?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘Yes,’ said the boy. ‘Detective Constable Simms. He says he’d like you to accompany him to see Inspector Grimley.’

  Inspector Grimley was sitting at his desk studying the story in the Guardian, a scowl on his face, as Daniel and Abigail were shown into his office. He got to his feet and brandished the paper at them.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he demanded angrily. ‘I told you the case was closed!’

  ‘As far as the museum is concerned the case isn’t closed,’ retorted Abigail. ‘And we work for them, not for you.’

  ‘No, but you take sideswipes at us!’ And angrily he read aloud, ‘The local police and the mill owners are cogs in the wheel of corruption, working together to suppress the poor for the sake of the rich.’

  ‘The tone of the story is nothing to do with us,’ said Abigail. ‘In fact, we’ve already been to see Mr Steggles at the museum to make that point.’

  ‘And demanded a letter of apology for that article from Bickerstaff,’ added Daniel.

  ‘Oh yes?’ sneered Grimley. ‘You expect me to believe that when it depicts you two as some kind of detecting geniuses brought in to correct the stupidity of the local police! And in case anyone’s in any doubt, it makes a point of mentioning my name!’

  ‘As Miss Fenton has just said, we had nothing to do with the tone of the story. In fact, we expressly told Mr Bickerstaff when we talked to him that we only agreed to the story appearing if he avoided anything political, or any criticism of the police.’

  Suddenly, Grimley seemed to become aware of the bruising around Daniel’s eye, because he asked, ‘Who punched you?’

  ‘I’m guessing they were military types,’ said Daniel. ‘Which confirms something we’d already suspected: that the murder is connected with the army. Or, at least, the local barracks.’ As Grimley stared at him in obvious disbelief, Daniel continued, ‘You remember that Kathleen Donlan was stabbed just a couple of days after she’d been to the barracks to ask some questions, and been turned away. Well, I decided to look into that line of enquiry, and we also went to the barracks, where they told us the young woman hadn’t been there at all. Which was a lie. She was there, and she went there with Eileen O’Donnell. I wondered what the barracks might be covering up, and someone mentioned Peterloo to us.’

  ‘Peterloo!’ snorted Grimley dismissively. ‘That was nearly eighty years ago!’

  ‘I must admit I couldn’t see the relevance either,’ agreed Daniel. ‘But after I made enquiries about Peterloo, three men, who I’m sure were soldiers out of uniform, grabbed me and told me to stop asking questions about Peterloo, and gave me this to make sure I understood the message.’

  ‘How does this relate to the women who were killed?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ admitted Daniel. ‘But the attack on me only happened after I went to ask questions about her, and about Peterloo. The person I saw, who I’m sure was the one who put the attackers on me, is Regimental Sergeant Major Bulstrode.’

  ‘Did these men who attacked you mention the young woman? Like, “Stop asking questions about her”?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Daniel.

  ‘Well there you are, then,’ said Grimley. ‘It’s not connected. They just didn’t like you asking questions about Peterloo. And that’s because it’s a sensitive subject for some in the army, even though it was a very long time ago.’ He paused, the
n asked, ‘Are you going to press charges against the men who attacked you?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ said Daniel. ‘For one thing, they were in civilian clothes, so I’ve got no proof they were connected to the army, except for the way they went about things. Also, there are about a thousand men in the barracks. RSM Bulstrode would make sure those men won’t be around if I try to insist on checking everyone to pick them out. And in addition, Miss Fenton has picked up some new information that we believe may be pertinent, and points in a different direction.’ He caught the warning look from Abigail to remind him they’d decided not to reveal what they’d learnt about Bickerstaff, and nodded as he continued, ‘It concerns two men, once called Con Gully, a murderer from the same area the young woman came from, north Cork in Ireland, who has escaped and may be in Manchester. And a pimp called Dan Daly, known as Dapper Dan.’

  ‘And where did you get this information?’ demanded Grimley.

  Before they could respond, there was a knock at the door, which opened to admit a tall, distinguished-looking man.

  ‘Sir!’ barked Grimley, springing to attention.

  ‘At ease, Inspector,’ said the new arrival. ‘Mr Wilson and Miss Fenton. I’m Superintendent Mossop,’ he introduced himself, extending a hand first towards Daniel, and then to Abigail. ‘I heard that you were in the building, so I had to come to welcome you and say it is an honour to meet you. Mr Steggles informed me that he’s engaged you both over the tragic deaths of the two women at the museum. I assume you have come to consult with Inspector Grimley over it.’ And he looked enquiringly at Grimley, who forced a smile and said through gritted teeth, ‘Indeed, sir.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Mossop nodded. ‘The more minds, the better. Initially I was informed that the inspector felt there was insufficient evidence to continue with the investigation, but the fact he has invited you here suggests the contrary. Is there new evidence, Inspector?’

  Grimley hesitated, then said, ‘There may be, sir. I have received certain information from Mr Wilson and Miss Fenton, which I am looking into.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Mossop. He turned to Daniel and Abigail. ‘What is the nature of this information?’

  ‘We’ve been reliably informed that the young lady who was killed was in an altercation in the street with a known pimp called Dan Daly, also known as Dapper Dan. It seems he was trying to importune her into becoming a prostitute for him. She got angry and struck him, and quite a few times, we’ve been told.’

  ‘In public?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I see what you mean. A criminal like that can’t afford to lose face. You think he may have killed her to warn any other women thinking of reacting the same way?’

  ‘It’s possible. We thought it an avenue worth exploring.’

  ‘I agree.’ Turning to Grimley, he asked, ‘What do you think, Inspector?’

  Grimley swallowed, then forced a nod. ‘It’s certainly worth investigating, sir. I shall have Daly brought in for questioning.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Mossop.

  ‘There’s also another possibility,’ said Daniel.

  He told the superintendent about Con Gully.

  ‘And he may be here? In Manchester?’

  ‘It’s possible. On the other hand, it may be a false errand.’

  ‘True, but it’s worth exploring, don’t you think, Inspector?’

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ said Grimley. ‘I shall get in touch with the Irish police and get the man’s description and have it circulated.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Mossop. ‘We cannot let the deaths of these poor women go unavenged. So, I’ll leave you to your deliberations.’ He smiled at Daniel and Abigail. ‘It is an especial pleasure to meet you, Miss Fenton. Mr Steggles will tell you that I have long been interested in archaeology, as an amateur, obviously, and I have followed your work through the pages of the archaeology magazines which he has passed to me. Your work at Giza, in particular, makes the chance for me to shake you by the hand a very special occasion indeed.’

  With that, he left. Daniel shot a look at Abigail and was again amused to see her face colouring at the compliment. Then he turned to Grimley. ‘We are not your enemy, Inspector,’ he said.

  Grimley didn’t answer, but they could see from the look of deep resentment in his eyes that he didn’t agree.

  They both nodded at Grimley and left.

  The inspector stood staring vengefully at the closed door after them, then he wrenched it open and strode to the reception desk.

  ‘Where’s Sergeant Merton?’ he demanded.

  ‘I believe he’s in the canteen, sir,’ said the duty sergeant.

  ‘Send someone to tell him I want to see him in my office,’ barked Grimley. ‘Now.’

  He marched back to his office and reseated himself behind his desk. He picked up the newspaper with its offending article, scowled, then thrust it into the wastepaper basket. A short while later there was a knock at his door, which opened to reveal Sergeant Merton.

  ‘You wanted to see me, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes. Come in and shut the door,’ snapped Grimley.

  When Merton had done so, Grimley fixed him with a glare and said, ‘Dan Daly. Dapper Dan.’

  ‘What about him?’ asked Merton.

  ‘I’ve just had a pair of nosey parkers in telling Mossop that he may be the one who stabbed that young woman in the museum.’

  ‘No, boss!’ burst out Merton, shocked. ‘Dan would never do nothing like that!’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’ asked Grimley. ‘It seems she gave him a smacking in front of people.’

  Merton shook his head. ‘Even if she did, he’d never do that.’

  ‘I know he’s one of your narks, but I can’t ignore this. Bring him in.’

  Merton looked worried. ‘He’s very important to us, sir. He keeps us supplied with the inside track on most of the villains.’

  ‘I don’t care. He’s been named.’

  ‘I could ask him questions, sir. I know where he hangs out.’

  ‘I’m going to question him,’ growled Grimley. ‘Which means it’s done here, at the station. So bring him in.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘Thank heavens for your work at Giza, and the fact that you’re a famous celebrity,’ said Daniel as they headed back towards their hotel. ‘Otherwise I doubt if Superintendent Mossop would have come to our aid the way he did.’

  ‘I am not a famous celebrity,’ Abigail rebuked him.

  ‘To those who are devotees of the archaeology of ancient Egypt, and there seem to be many of them, you are,’ said Daniel. ‘And it’s something we should be grateful for. It gives us – or, more specifically, you – entrée to people and places we would find it difficult to penetrate.’

  ‘It didn’t help us at the barracks.’

  ‘I doubt if RSM Bulstrode can be included in the list of your admirers,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I do not have a list of admirers!’ burst out Abigail, annoyed. ‘Honestly, Daniel, you make me sound so … shallow!’

  ‘No. You would only be shallow if you cultivated it, and I know you don’t.’

  ‘To be honest, I find it embarrassing,’ said Abigail crossly.

  As they entered the hotel and walked towards the reception desk to collect their room key, they recognised the burly figure of Charles Burbage there. He smiled as he saw them.

  ‘Miss Fenton! Mr Wilson! I was just about to leave a message for you. My contact at the mortuary told me that another woman has been brought in, stabbed to death. I thought I’d let you know in case it might be connected to the young woman I photographed.’

  ‘It might be, or it could just be an unfortunate happening,’ said Daniel. ‘Is anything known about her?’

  ‘Just her name,’ said Burbage. ‘Eve Preston.’

  Daniel and Abigail exchanged startled looks.

  ‘You know her?’ asked Burbage.

  Daniel nodded. ‘If it’s the same person. After your photograph appeared in
the paper, a woman approached us and said she recognised her. As it turned out, the information she gave us was a lie.’

  ‘Or mistaken,’ put in Abigail. ‘The dead woman in the photograph may simply have resembled this woman she mentioned. Deborah. Anyway, she told us her name was Eve Preston.’

  ‘There’s one way to find out,’ said Burbage.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Daniel. ‘Is your friend Karl still at the mortuary now?’

  ‘Even if he isn’t, I know the other attendants,’ said Burbage.

  Daniel, Abigail and Burbage watched as Karl, the mortuary attendant, rolled down the top of the sheet to reveal the head of the woman on the table.

  ‘That’s her,’ said Abigail. ‘That’s the woman who came to see us.’

  ‘How was she stabbed?’ asked Daniel. ‘In the back?’

  ‘No,’ said Karl. ‘In the front. The blade went into her heart.’

  ‘Where was she killed?’

  ‘Her body was found in an alley in Hulme.’

  ‘That’s where she said we’d find the man she accused,’ murmured Abigail. ‘At a pub called the Iron Duke.’

  ‘Oh, that place is a hellhole!’ said Burbage.

  ‘You’ve been there?’

  ‘Just once, when I heard the police were mounting a raid on it, looking for stolen goods.’ He gave a shudder. ‘If you’re thinking of going there, it’s not somewhere I’d go without some kind of protection.’ He looked enquiringly at Abigail and Daniel. ‘Is this connected with the other two deaths, do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s possible,’ replied Daniel. He looked at Abigail. ‘I think we have to take this to Inspector Grimley. And I’ve got a feeling he isn’t going to be happy with us.’

  William Bickerstaff arrived outside the door marked C P SCOTT. He wondered why the editor of the Guardian had summoned him. Was it his latest piece? Possibly he’d gone a bit far in his attack on the police, but it was about time someone did. In his opinion, there was a vicious circle of corruption at work involving the mill owners and the police that he was determined to expose. One day the masses of Manchester, the poor and the underprivileged, would realise how much they owed William Bickerstaff, but for that day to come there would need to be proper social justice.