Murder at the Manchester Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  Grimley nodded, his outburst of anger over. ‘Very well,’ he said.

  ‘One more thing, Inspector,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ve said before, it’s my belief that in some way the murders are connected with what happened at Peterloo, and RSM Bulstrode at the barracks is trying to protect someone who may have been involved.’

  ‘It was eighty years ago!’ burst out Grimley. ‘Everyone who was at Peterloo is long dead.’

  ‘But their descendants aren’t,’ pointed out Daniel. ‘And a whole range of people who might have been connected with them. Can you get me a list of the senior officers at the barracks? It might be worth checking into them, see if any had links to Peterloo, either family or by association.’

  Grimley looked thoughtful. ‘It might be more than that,’ he said. ‘Soldiers look after one another. It needn’t have been a senior officer. Say it was an ordinary soldier who killed people on that day, and it’s his name Bulstrode is trying to protect.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good thought. But would Bulstrode be able to do what he’s been doing, having me attacked, without the support of a senior officer?’

  Grimley smiled. ‘I can see you don’t know the power an RSM has, Mr Wilson. To a great extent, they’re a law unto themselves. The senior officers appear to be the ones who run things, but in truth it’s the middle rankers, the RSMs, the quartermasters and the like, who keep things stable and running smoothly, and the senior officers are happy to turn a blind eye if the odd corner may be cut to keep everything on an even keel. The last thing they want is trouble.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  As they walked away from the police station, Daniel mulled over the observation that Grimley had made.

  ‘What the inspector said about Bulstrode maybe protecting the memory of an ordinary soldier makes sense,’ said Daniel.

  ‘But it gives us a much bigger list of suspects,’ said Abigail. ‘Thousands, in fact.’

  ‘And only Bulstrode knows who,’ said Daniel. ‘And at the moment, we can’t touch him. Not without proof.’

  ‘Let’s hope we get something from Ireland that will lead us to that proof,’ said Abigail.

  They returned to their hotel to see whether any post had arrived for them, hoping there might be something from Ireland. There was nothing for them except an envelope addressed to ‘Daniel Wilson’ in untidy block capitals. Daniel opened the envelope, and Abigail saw anger cross his face.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  His face grim, he handed her the note it contained. Like the writing on the envelope, the message was in block capitals. It was brief and to the point. STOP YOUR INVESTIGATIONS OR YOUR LADY FRIEND WILL DIE AT HER TALK.

  ‘This is outrageous!’ she said.

  Daniel returned to the reception desk and held out the envelope towards the receptionist.

  ‘There’s no stamp on this, so I assume it was handed in,’ he said. ‘Can you recall who gave it in?’

  The receptionist shook his head. ‘No, Mr Wilson. I just found it on the desk. Someone must have just put it there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Daniel.

  He went back to where Abigail was now sitting on one of the chairs, studying the anonymous threat, a frown on her face.

  ‘The receptionist didn’t see who left it,’ he told her. He sat down and said, ‘You have to cancel the talk.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Abigail. ‘The reason I agreed to do it was because I felt it was a way of paying Mr Steggles back for the way his trust had been abused.’

  ‘By Bickerstaff, not by us!’

  ‘I still feel responsible. Don’t you? We’re supposed to be detectives, and you – particularly – are supposed to be able to determine when people are lying. But we allowed ourselves to be duped by Bickerstaff.’

  ‘It’s too dangerous,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I will be in a public place, surrounded by dignitaries, with the resultant protection one expects on these occasions. I refuse to allow myself to be frightened off. I have given my word to Mr Steggles that I’ll give the talk. I won’t let him down.’

  Daniel took the note from her and read it through again before putting it back into his pocket. ‘We have to tell Inspector Grimley about it,’ he said. ‘And Mr Steggles.’

  ‘No,’ said Abigail. ‘There’s no need to alarm them.’

  ‘There’s every reason to alarm them,’ said Daniel. ‘It may be just to try and frighten us off, but we’ve seen that these people act. If it is the army who are behind this, they tried with me and failed, so now they’re targeting you. And this doesn’t just threaten to harm you, it threatens to kill you. For me, if it is the army behind it – or, at the very least, RSM Bulstrode – that suggests a sniper.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ snorted Abigail. ‘No one’s going to shoot me!’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ said Daniel firmly. ‘So, if you intend to go through with this talk—’

  ‘I do,’ said Abigail equally firmly.

  ‘Then we need to let them know so they can put protective measures in place.’

  Abigail looked bewildered. ‘I really can’t believe the army would sanction something like this.’

  ‘Not the army,’ said Daniel. ‘Rogue elements, with RSM Bulstrode behind it.’

  ‘Perhaps if we had him arrested …’

  ‘On what charge?’ asked Daniel. ‘We don’t have proof this is from him. So, until we have solid enough proof and can have him arrested, we take this seriously and make sure you’re protected when you give your talk.’

  Dan Daly stepped off the train and followed the crowd out of the exit into London Road. Back in Manchester.

  It had been all very well for Pete Merton to tell him to disappear, vanish, go to Blackpool or wherever, but what about money? After a few days in Bolton he’d found his money running low, and in a town where he wasn’t known there was no chance of him laying his hands on some cash. Someone in Bolton had told him there was money to be made in the mills, good money, but Daly had just stared at them as if they were talking in a foreign language. Dan Daly work in a mill? With his hands?

  No, there was only one way and that was for him to return to Manchester and seek out some of his old pals, people who owed him. And, of course, his women. They must have been earning while he was away; well, he was back for his cut. He reckoned it would take him just a couple of hours, and then he’d be able to get a train out again. Somewhere different from Bolton this time. Maybe Crewe. Somewhere he wasn’t known.

  He wondered if he ought to go in search of Merton and find out what the score was. The heat must have died down a bit by now. The danger was, if he went anywhere near Newton Street there was a chance of running into Inspector Grimley, which was definitely something to be avoided. No, his best and safest course was to head for Ancoats and find some of his women and get them to cough up some money, enough to keep him going for a week or so. Then he’d find a way of getting in touch with Merton to see if it was safe for him to return. Hopefully the fuss over the dead girl would have died down by then.

  As he headed in the direction of Ancoats he felt a sense of deep injustice. The killing of the girl had been nothing to do with him, so how come his name had been put in the frame?

  Yes, he thought grimly, ‘frame’ was the right word for what was happening. Grimley was set on framing him for the murder, despite all the money Daly had paid him over the years. Bastard! Well, he’d have something to say about that when all this was over. In the future he’d want some sort of guarantee he wouldn’t be turned over.

  The hand dropping on his shoulder made him jump, and the familiar voice chuckling and saying ‘Well, well, well. Look who it is’ made him sick to his stomach.

  He turned and found himself staring into the grinning face of Inspector Grimley.

  ‘Fancy running into you, Dapper,’ said Grimley.

  Daly gulped. ‘I ain’t got time to stop and talk, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to be somewhere urgent.’

  ‘Yes, you
have,’ said Grimley, and now the grin and the chuckle were gone, replaced by a venomous look. Suddenly Daly found his right wrist gripped tightly and twisted hard so that he was forced to double over in pain, and the inspector’s knee thudded hard into the side of his thigh, giving him a dead leg, and he almost collapsed. ‘You and I need to have a talk.’

  Grimley pushed Daly into the cell and then pulled the door shut behind them. Daly turned towards the inspector, his hands held out in appeal.

  ‘Please, Inspector, I don’t know what this is about, but I’ve done nothing!’

  ‘The young Irish woman in Ancoats who was stabbed to death in the museum,’ said Grimley. ‘You had words with her the day before, and she hit you.’

  ‘That was nothing!’ said Daly. ‘I never saw her again after that! I didn’t do anything to her! I told Pete Merton that, and I swear on my mother’s life it’s the truth!’

  ‘You told Sergeant Merton?’ asked Grimley suspiciously.

  ‘Yes!’ said Daly. ‘That was nothing to do with me!’

  ‘Well, that’s unfortunate,’ said Grimley. ‘You see, the top brass is on my back for someone to nab for it, and at the moment you’re the only one in the picture. See, she’d only been in the country a couple of days and hadn’t met many people. Except you.’

  ‘Honest, Inspector! On my life!’

  Grimley nodded. ‘Yes, it is. If that’s what it takes.’

  And he took off his jacket and began to roll up his shirtsleeves.

  ‘Now, now, Inspector!’ said Daly, backing away, fear on his face. ‘You don’t want to do this! After all, we’ve got history, you and me.’

  ‘And what history’s that?’ asked Grimley.

  ‘You know. Through Sergeant Merton.’

  Grimley stopped and studied Daly, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well … the favours.’

  ‘Favours?’

  ‘You know.’

  Grimley didn’t answer; instead he moved closer to Daly. ‘What favours?’ he demanded menacingly.

  Daly gulped. ‘Well, your share.’

  Grimley reached out and grabbed hold of Daly by his throat, bringing the pimp’s face close to his.

  ‘Tell me about my share,’ he growled.

  ‘From what I give Pete Merton,’ bleated Daly. ‘To look after me. He told me people have to get their share, which is why he’s put up what I had to pay him.’

  ‘Pay him? For protection?’

  Daly tried to nod, but his face was so close to the inspector’s that he could only manage a wobble of his head.

  ‘Sergeant Merton told you he was paying me to look after you?’

  ‘Just a share,’ said Daly. ‘So I wouldn’t be interfered with.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got news for you, Daly,’ snarled Grimley. ‘I’ve never taken a penny off Pete Merton, or anyone else. And as far as you being interfered with …’ He suddenly released Daly and, before the man could dodge, had swung a his first hard into Daly’s face, sending him crashing to the floor.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Inspector Grimley stomped into the reception area and up to the desk.

  ‘Where’s Sergeant Merton?’ he demanded of the desk sergeant.

  ‘He said he’d be out and about today, seeing his narks,’ replied the desk sergeant.

  ‘When he comes in, tell him I want to see him,’ said Grimley.

  He marched down the corridor to his office, amazing himself that he was keeping his temper under control, not punching a wall or shouting at people. That bastard Merton! he raged silently as he entered his office and sat down at his desk, picking up a pencil and toying with it between his fingers. ‘Out seeing his narks,’ he muttered to himself bitterly. Yes, and tapping them up for bribes which he’d been telling everyone he was paying to the inspector to make sure they stayed out of jail.

  Suddenly the pencil snapped in two under the pressure of his fingers.

  I’ll kill him, he vowed, throwing the broken pencil into his wastepaper basket. As soon as he puts his head round that door, I’ll smash his face in.

  The knock at his door startled him. So soon? He forced himself to stay in his chair rather than getting up and throwing his door open and grabbing Merton by his no-good throat. ‘Come in!’ he barked.

  The door opened and Daniel Wilson entered.

  ‘What do you want?’ Grimley snapped curtly.

  Daniel looked at the inspector in surprise. He’d thought they were on good terms after the Bickerstaff business, but now here Grimley was, obviously seething with anger and glowering. But not at him, Daniel noted. Which suggested something else had upset the inspector.

  ‘We’ve had a threatening letter,’ said Daniel. ‘Anonymous, obviously.’

  He gave the piece of paper to Grimley, who studied it, and then looked at Daniel, still angry but with a frown on his face that could have been concern.

  ‘It might be a bluff, but it might not,’ he said. ‘She has to cancel this talk of hers tomorrow night.’

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘After someone’s threatened to kill her if she does it?’

  ‘You don’t know Abigail. She is possibly the bravest person I’ve ever known.’

  ‘This isn’t bravery, it’s stupidity! She doesn’t know what she’s doing!’

  ‘She’s faced death before, Inspector. Not so long ago she was held at knifepoint in a darkened tunnel by someone who’d already stabbed to death two fully grown men, and who threatened to do the same to her. Yet she never flinched. She never pleaded for her life.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  Daniel thought it over, then said, ‘Because she knew I would come to her aid.’

  ‘And you did?’

  Daniel nodded.

  Grimley studied him, then said quietly, ‘You two must care for one another a great deal.’

  Daniel gave a rueful smile and said, ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘I was married myself once,’ said Grimley. ‘I haven’t always been this angry bastard.’ He paused, then added, ‘My wife died. She was crossing the road when she was knocked down by a runaway horse. It was as if my life ended there and then.’

  ‘You never married again?’

  Grimley shook his head. ‘There was only ever my Maisie for me.’ He fell silent, then said quietly, ‘I found out whose horse it was and went to its stable, and killed it.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘I understand that feeling.’

  Suddenly his usual pugnaciousness returned to Grimley and he said tersely, ‘But that’s between you and me! If it ever gets out, I’ll deny it.’

  ‘I promise, no one will hear it from me,’ Daniel assured him. ‘Any news about Constable Adams?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Grimley sourly. ‘He’s gone. Done a runner.’

  ‘And with him goes our chance of getting proof that Bulstrode was behind the attack on me,’ Daniel grunted.

  ‘How do you think the attack on her will come?’

  ‘My guess, if there’s an army connection, which I think there is, it’ll be a sniper,’ said Daniel. ‘And it doesn’t have to be at the museum, at the talk itself. It could happen as she goes to the museum, or on the way back from it.’

  ‘I’ll have my men there on the night to search the interior of the museum and keep watch,’ said Grimley. ‘And we’ll give her an escort to and from the museum.’

  ‘She won’t like that,’ mused Daniel.

  ‘We’ll say it’s a Guard of Honour, and if she doesn’t like it she can lump it. She’s not being killed on my watch.’

  Leaving the inspector to arrange the police protection for the following evening, Daniel returned to the hotel where he collected Abigail, and the pair of them proceeded to the museum to talk to Bernard Steggles.

  ‘You think we have to tell him?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘Of course we do,’ said Daniel. ‘For one thing, he needs to know why there will be so many policemen in the museum tomorrow. I doubt if we can convince him they�
��re all there to hear about ancient Egypt. And say there is an attempt and someone else gets injured. One of his staff.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m concerned he might want to cancel the talk.’

  ‘It might be a good thing if he does. And at least he will have cancelled it, not you. So your conscience can be clear.’

  ‘I will not let myself be frightened off,’ said Abigail. ‘The talk is advertised. Jesse Haworth will be there, and so will many other influential people. It will help the museum. And now we’ll have a whole platoon of men inside watching over me, I will be perfectly safe.’

  If only that were true, thought Daniel ruefully.

  Bernard Steggles was full of happy anticipation as they entered his office. ‘I was just thinking about you!’ he said brightly. ‘Do you have everything you need for tomorrow, Miss Fenton? I’ve arranged for one of the pots you mentioned to be on display on the podium. And we have a large and detailed map of Egypt that we are erecting immediately behind the lectern, so that you can show the audience where the various digs you’ve been on were.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Steggles.’ Abigail smiled. ‘That is so very much appreciated. However, a small issue has arisen, which Mr Wilson felt you ought to know about.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Steggles, concerned.

  Daniel produced the threatening letter and passed it to Steggles.

  ‘We received this yesterday,’ he said.

  Steggles read it, and went pale. ‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is terrible! We have to cancel!’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Abigail firmly. ‘We’ve already been to see Inspector Grimley and he has assured protection here tomorrow evening.’