Murder at the Manchester Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  Watkins was still frowning. ‘I don’t understand, Sergeant Major.’

  ‘That same man is a pest that’s been hanging around making trouble for the regiment. And, in particular, for the Old Man.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s trying to spread rumours and lies.’

  ‘About the Old Man?’

  Bulstrode nodded.

  ‘Well, we can’t have that,’ said Watkins determinedly. ‘Someone ought to have a word with him.’ And he punched a meaty fist into his other palm. ‘A serious word.’

  ‘We’ve tried that, but he didn’t take the hint. A couple of chaps took him aside in town and gave him a friendly warning.’

  ‘They should have done more than that.’

  ‘They gave him a black eye, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.’

  ‘Sounds like he needs more than just a black eye, sir.’

  ‘I agree. He’s coming back here in half an hour, he has the nerve to tell me, to give me a letter demanding a meeting with our commanding officer.’

  ‘Demanding?’ echoed Watkins indignantly. ‘That sounds like bare-faced nerve and cheek to me.’

  ‘It is, Corporal. And unless we stamp on it now, it will get worse. I know this kind of man. A troublemaker. Someone who hates the army.’

  ‘When’s he coming back? Half an hour, did you say?’

  ‘That’s what he said, and I don’t doubt he’ll turn up. He’s that kind of man. Obstinate. Pig-headed.’

  ‘I think he needs a serious talking-to.’

  ‘There’ll need to be a few of you,’ said Bulstrode. ‘He’s not easily put off.’

  Watkins smiled. ‘Half a dozen of us should be about right.’

  ‘I don’t want him killed,’ said Bulstrode.

  ‘But damaged?’

  Bulstrode nodded. ‘Enough to make sure he gets the message.’

  ‘Break his arm?’ asked Watkins.

  Bulstrode nodded again. ‘Possibly both arms. Time in hospital might make him see sense,’ he said.

  Watkins suddenly looked worried. ‘What happens if the law turn up?’ he asked. ‘The police station’s not far away, and if they get told of a ruckus …’

  ‘Leave that to me,’ said Bulstrode. ‘I’ve got a brother-in-law in the police who works out of Hulme station. I’ll have a word with him, make sure there’s no interference until it’s over.’ He smiled. ‘In fact, Sam might be keen to throw his weight in as well. He’s as much an admirer of the Old Man as the rest of us. And I know where he usually hangs out at this time of day.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Daniel counted his paces as he walked away from the rugby squad, gathered in a bunch outside a second-hand furniture store, and walked along the alley to the main road. Two minutes for them to reach the main road, he assessed. Then, however long it took them to locate him, depending on how far the soldiers let him walk from the barracks before they launched their attack. It would be about him gaining time before the reinforcements arrived.

  He arrived back at the main gate and addressed the sentries.

  ‘I’m here to see RSM Bulstrode. My name’s Daniel Wilson. He is expecting me.’

  ‘Yes, sir. If you’ll just wait here,’ replied one, and marched smartly into the barracks.

  RSM Bulstrode was waiting just inside the door of the building, along with seven men in civilian clothes, including Corporal Watkins and off-duty Police Constable Sam Adams. Watkins and Adams carried batons, as did two of the others.

  ‘That bloke you said about is here, Sergeant Major,’ said the sergeant. ‘Wilson.’

  Bulstrode looked at the clock. ‘He’s punctual, I’ll give him that,’ he grunted.

  He accompanied the sentry back to the main gate, where Daniel stood waiting.

  ‘RSM Bulstrode.’ Daniel nodded.

  ‘Sir,’ said Bulstrode crisply.

  Daniel produced an envelope from his pocket. ‘My request in writing for your commanding officer, as promised,’ he said.

  Bulstrode took it from him. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘I shall pass it on.’

  With that he turned and marched back to the main building. The eyes of the seven men in civilian clothes were on Daniel as he walked away along the street.

  ‘All right, lads,’ said Bulstrode. ‘Get him.’

  Watkins nodded and led the men out. Bulstrode opened the envelope Daniel had given him. It was, indeed, a written request for an appointment with the commanding officer. With a grim smile of satisfaction, Bulstrode tore the letter in two. ‘There’ll be no need for that now,’ he grunted.

  Daniel headed away from the barracks at a slow pace. He’d decided for his safety he’d stay as close as he could to the alleyway where the rugby squad were waiting; the less distance they had to travel, the better. As he neared the alley, he heard the sound of heavy boots behind him, and couldn’t resist an ironic smile. Even off-duty, they marched in step.

  He walked a few paces more, taking him just beyond the alley, then stopped and turned. Seven men in civilian clothes also stopped and stood, scowling at him. Some of them swung wooden clubs menacingly.

  ‘You were warned but you wouldn’t be told,’ snarled one. ‘Well, this is where you get told proper.’

  It’s the man from the train! realised Daniel with a shock.

  As the men moved in on him, Daniel pulled his police whistle from his pocket and gave a long shrill blast on it. The men stopped at this sound and gave anxious looks at the man who’d spoken, but it was another man who spoke now.

  ‘No need to worry about that, lads,’ he said with a confident grin. ‘I’ve tipped ’em the wink at the station. They won’t be coming.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Daniel. ‘But someone is.’

  It was the shout of ‘Hulloooo!’ that made the men turn, and their mouths dropped at the sight of fifteen burly young men racing towards them. Immediately, three of the men ran off, leaving the remaining four to square up and stand ready. Daniel strode to the man who’d told the others with such confidence that the police wouldn’t be coming, and who was now looking about him fearfully. Daniel grabbed him by the arm as he was about to run off. The man flung a punch at Daniel which struck him in the shoulder. In reply, Daniel sank a punch into the man’s stomach and, as he doubled over, forced him to the pavement.

  The remaining three were no match for the rugby squad, and after having their faces banged against nearby brick walls and their arms twisted, they were quick to surrender.

  ‘Keep a tight hold on them,’ said Daniel. ‘Now, let’s get them to the police station.’

  The uniformed sergeant on duty at the reception desk looked with great suspicion as Daniel entered the police station, accompanied by a tall, red-headed man and fifteen burly students who were holding four men in their firm grasps, these four showing signs of a recent battering. The fact that this sudden influx completely filled the reception area obviously caused the sergeant even greater concern.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.

  ‘Good day, Sergeant,’ said Daniel. ‘My name is Daniel Wilson, I’m a former detective inspector with the Metropolitan police at Scotland Yard. May I have your name?’

  At the mention of Scotland Yard, the sergeant suddenly stood straighter, almost to attention. ‘Sergeant Bottomley, sir.’

  ‘Well, Sergeant, my friends and I have placed these four men under citizen’s arrest for common assault, with a possible further charge of attempted murder.’

  ‘We didn’t try to murder him!’ shouted Watkins.

  ‘Quiet!’ barked the student holding Watkins. ‘You’ll have your turn in good time.’

  Suddenly the sergeant’s jaw dropped open in startled amazement as he caught sight of Constable Adams among those arrested.

  ‘Sam?’ he burst out.

  Adams tried to hide himself behind the mass of bodies crammed into the small space, but this attempt to avoid identification failed miserably as the sergeant turned to Daniel and said, poi
nting towards Adams, ‘That’s one of our men there! Constable Adams!’

  ‘Yes, I thought he might be part of the local force,’ said Daniel. ‘Just before he and his colleagues launched their attack on me he informed his friends that the police would not be coming because he’d fixed things at the station, so that the police wouldn’t be coming to intervene. Would you care to comment on that, Sergeant? Or would you prefer to wait until the official investigation into Constable Adams’s actions in this crime?’

  Sergeant Bottomley stared at Daniel, then at Adams, then back at Daniel again, his mouth opening and closing helplessly, but no words came. Then his expression changed, hardened, and his eyes glittered with deep suspicion.

  ‘How do I know you’re who you say you are?’ he demanded.

  Daniel produced the letter from Bernard Steggles and handed it to the sergeant.

  ‘This is a letter from Mr Steggles, the director of the Manchester Museum, authorising me to investigate a murder on their behalf.’

  ‘Murder?’ repeated Bottomley, horrified.

  ‘My placing these men under citizen’s arrest is part of that investigation. I shall be reporting this event to Superintendent Mossop, and the police officer in charge of the murder investigation, Inspector Grimley. You can always check with them as to my identity.’

  Hastily, Bottomley thrust the letter back at Daniel, who put it back in his pocket.

  ‘I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of citizen’s arrest, Sergeant,’ Daniel continued. ‘It has been part of the English judicial system since medieval times and is enshrined in common law …’

  ‘Yes!’ snapped Bottomley, trying to regain his dignity. He looked at the assembled crowd, swallowed as if unsure of what to do, then said in prim tones, ‘I’ll need the names of the witnesses.’

  ‘That will be no problem,’ said Daniel. He turned to the students. ‘Gentlemen, when the sergeant calls you, please come forward one at a time and give your statement about what you saw happening when these men launched their attack on me. Please make sure you give your full name. You can give your address as the Victoria University.’

  ‘The university?’ asked Bottomley.

  Daniel nodded. ‘They are the university’s rugby squad. Fortunately for me they happened to be out on a training run in the area when the attack on me occurred.’

  ‘A training run in Hulme?’ said the sergeant, bewildered.

  ‘Is there a rule against the university rugby squad going for a training run in Hulme?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘No,’ said the sergeant. ‘But …’ He stopped and looked again at the students and the four bruised men, and then sighed. ‘Very well,’ he said. He took a pile of forms from the drawer in his desk. ‘Let’s get the names.’

  RSM Bulstrode stared at the three men who stood before him, his mouth opening and closing in astonishment and anger, before he was able to speak. ‘You ran away!’ he bellowed.

  ‘We got set on! It was a trap!’ appealed one. ‘This army of big blokes came at us as we moved in on him. We were lucky, we got away. But the others got caught.’

  ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘I think they took ’em to the police station.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘We didn’t hang about to find out.’

  Bulstrode fixed the soldier with a steely glare. ‘You deserted your comrades and just abandoned them?’ he roared angrily.

  ‘If we hadn’t, you’d never have known what happened to them,’ protested the soldier.

  Bulstrode stood glaring at him, then grudgingly nodded. ‘All right, soldier. Leave it with me.’

  ‘What are you going to do, sir?’

  ‘Sort it out,’ growled Bulstrode.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Abigail was in the reading room at the museum, writing notes for her talk, when Daniel returned.

  ‘Was everything all right?’ she asked, scanning his face for signs of bruising.

  ‘Everything went exactly to plan.’ Daniel smiled. ‘Except that our friend Jonty didn’t recognise Bulstrode.’

  ‘Yes, he told me,’ said Abigail. She nodded to the reception desk, where another young man was sitting. ‘He’s very kindly gone to look into some old files for me, hence someone else is taking his position.’

  ‘Did you know that he played rugby?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Who?’ asked Abigail. She looked at the young man temporarily at the reception desk. ‘Him?’

  ‘No, Jonty Hawkins,’ said Daniel. ‘Your friend Septimus Creighton described him as the best flanker Manchester had ever produced.’

  Abigail stared back at Daniel. ‘Are we talking about the same Jonty Hawkins?’ she asked.

  ‘We are,’ confirmed Daniel. ‘When we arrived at the university the rugby squad were so delighted to see him it became difficult to separate them from him. Apparently, they used to call him the Killer because his brilliant play destroyed the other teams.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ said Abigail. ‘This is a revelation!’

  ‘It was to me, too,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s a bit like discovering that Aubrey Beardsley used to box.’

  ‘Did he?’ asked Abigail, again stunned.

  ‘No, I don’t believe he did,’ said Daniel. ‘I was just using that as an example about not judging people by their appearance.’

  ‘What exactly happened?’ demanded Abigail.

  Daniel related the events, the delivery of the letter to RSM Bulstrode and the abortive attack on him foiled by Creighton and the rugby squad.

  ‘We duly handed them in to the police station at Hulme and insisted they be charged with assault. I don’t have the authority to question the men myself now they’re in police custody, so I’ll tell Inspector Grimley what’s happened and we’ll see what he can get out of them.’

  ‘Do you think he will?’ asked Abigail. ‘He hasn’t been very supportive so far.’

  ‘That was before Superintendent Mossop entered the case,’ said Daniel. ‘Incidentally, one of my attackers was the man we encountered on the train coming here. The man with the knife.’

  ‘Good heavens!’

  ‘Another of them was a police constable. I wonder what his tie-up with Bulstrode is?’

  ‘You think whatever’s going on might include the police as well as the army?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘I didn’t get the impression that the desk sergeant was part of any conspiracy, but it may be above his pay grade. Remember that Bickerstaff mentioned Inspector Grimley’s second-in-command, Sergeant Merton, as suspicious. I suppose we have to wait and see what names the men we arrested cough up, besides RSM Bulstrode.’

  ‘How will you know?’

  ‘I thought I’d call on Inspector Grimley. I dropped his name with the sergeant at Hulme police station, so I’m pretty sure he’d have got in touch with him. Even if he didn’t, the bush telegraph works among police officers, especially when one of their own’s been put in a cell.’

  ‘I don’t think Inspector Grimley will be very grateful to you,’ said Abigail. ‘The fact a policeman’s been arrested will have created a bit of a nightmare for him.’

  ‘It’s yet another reason why I think it’s best if I see the inspector on my own,’ said Daniel. He smiled at her as he added, ‘As I said before, it wouldn’t be right for a woman to see her husband thrown bodily out of a police station.’

  Sergeant Bottomley looked up from his desk as RSM Bulstrode stomped into the police station.

  ‘Afternoon, Sergeant Major,’ he said warily. He gave Bulstrode a rueful and apologetic look. ‘I thought you’d be along sooner or later.’

  ‘You’re holding some of my men,’ snapped Bulstrode. ‘I’ve come to collect them.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ said Bottomley. ‘There’s a charge been laid against them.’

  ‘This is a military matter,’ said Bulstrode. ‘Military rules apply. If there’s a charge against them, they’ll be court-martialled.’
r />   ‘The bloke who handed ’em in seemed to know the law,’ said Bottomley. ‘Former detective from the Met in London.’

  ‘He’s got no power here,’ said Bulstrode. ‘No official authority.’

  ‘Assault is a serious charge,’ said Bottomley awkwardly.

  ‘By all accounts, it was my men who got assaulted. Along with one of your own. Sam Adams. Not the other way round. A gang of ruffians, I was told.’

  ‘University students,’ said Bottomley.

  Bulstrode stared at the sergeant, uncomprehending. ‘University students? And they beat my men?’

  Bottomley nodded. ‘There were quite a few of them. I’ve got their names and addresses from when they gave their witness statements. All care of the university.’

  ‘How come they got involved?’

  ‘They said they were out for a training run and they heard this police whistle being blown.’

  ‘A training run?’ questioned Bulstrode.

  ‘They’re part of the university rugby team,’ explained Bottomley. ‘Anyway, they went to see what was happening, and saw this bloke from London being attacked by seven men, so they stepped in to help him.’

  ‘Bastard!’ spat Bulstrode.

  ‘These students are from good families. Moneyed.’

  ‘Yes, I bet they are!’ snorted Bulstrode angrily. ‘The bastard set this up. He set up an ambush.’

  ‘They’ll have to go to trial,’ said Bottomley apologetically. ‘This London bloke, Wilson, said he insisted on it, and so did the students.’

  Bulstrode shook his head. ‘It won’t happen,’ he said firmly. ‘It can’t happen. This was just high spirits on my men’s part. They’d heard that this Wilson bloke was smearing the good name of the regiment and decided to teach him a lesson. Nothing criminal.’

  ‘That’s not how the judge will see it,’ said Bottomley.

  Bulstrode leant across the desk so that his angry face was almost pressed against the sergeant’s. ‘Now listen here, Bottomley. I’ve got a barracks full of men who are feeling very angry with what’s happened here, their comrades being put in jail for what was just high jinks. If I don’t come back with ’em, those men are likely to come here themselves to insist on their release. That’ll be a thousand angry soldiers coming in through that door to see you. Now if you feel it’ll be safe for you to tell them what you’ve just told me, that’s fine, but you know what soldiers can be like when they lose their tempers. And especially if they’ve had some drink taken. And it’ll be no use you locking the door of the station, because those doors won’t be able to withstand men who are determined to come in. These men have fought in wars; they’re afraid of no one. And they won’t be afraid of you and your lot. But you’ll be afraid. Because I know where you live.’ He fell silent and looked pointedly at Sergeant Bottomley, who gulped nervously. ‘So think over what I said. Serving soldiers misbehaving is a military matter and is always dealt with by the military, no matter what this former detective from London says. So I’m ordering you to hand them over to me for them to be taken to the barracks where they can be investigated.’