Murder at the Manchester Museum

by Jim Eldridge

‘He will have a large force of his men inside the museum, keeping guard,’ said Daniel, adding quickly as a look of concern crossed Steggles’s face, ‘They’ll be very discreet, of course, so their presence won’t detract from the event.’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Steggles, directing his question to Abigail.

  ‘Absolutely!’ responded Abigail. ‘We just thought we’d let you know, to explain the presence of the police. But there’s no reason to alert anyone else.’ She took the letter back from him and gave it to Daniel. ‘There is another thing that’s happened that you should know about,’ she said. ‘Mr Bickerstaff has been arrested.’

  ‘Arrested?’ Steggles gulped. ‘For what?’

  ‘I’ll let Mr Wilson tell the story,’ said Abigail. ‘He was there when it happened.’

  ‘When what happened?’ asked Steggles, stunned.

  ‘I’m afraid Mr Bickerstaff went to the police station to shoot Inspector Grimley,’ said Daniel. ‘Fortunately, he didn’t succeed, and the inspector and I were able to overpower and disarm him.’

  Steggles sank back in his chair, his mouth open in shock. The expression on his face showed he was having great difficulty in taking this in.

  ‘He tried to shoot Inspector Grimley?!’ he finally managed to croak.

  ‘He did,’ said Daniel. ‘Luckily, he failed. But he will definitely be tried for attempted murder.’

  ‘This is appalling!’ said Steggles. Then, worriedly, he asked, ‘Do you think my letter to Mr Scott at the Guardian had anything to do with it? That it may have caused it? That I am to blame?’

  ‘No,’ said Abigail firmly. ‘If that were the case, he’d have tried to shoot you instead of the inspector.’

  At this, Steggles’s face paled. ‘My God!’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘What in God’s name is happening in this city?’

  The knock at his door made Grimley look up from the list he’d been compiling of Merton’s known narks. Once he’d dealt with Merton, he intended to pay them each a visit and let them know they’d been fooled by the sergeant. He smiled vengefully to himself at the knowledge that most of them would be extremely unhappy when they found out they’d been cheated, and would quite likely take their revenge on the sergeant. But they’ll have to get in line behind me, he thought.

  The knock came again at his door, and this time he called out ‘Come in!’, at the same time secreting the list of narks beneath some other papers.

  It was Merton.

  ‘You wanted to see me, guv’nor?’

  Grimley gestured at the chair opposite his and said genially, ‘Sit down, Pete. Take the load off.’

  Merton looked at the inspector, puzzled. This wasn’t his usual tone. Usually he was sour and angry. What had happened to make him act so … friendly? Whatever it was, it was a good thing, but the strangeness of it worried Merton. He sat down on the chair.

  ‘Comfortable?’ asked Grimley, getting up and strolling towards his seated sergeant.

  ‘Yes, thanks, sir,’ said Merton, still feeling that something wasn’t right.

  ‘Good.’ Grimley smiled.

  The next second his huge fist had slammed into Merton’s face, breaking his nose with the force of the blow and sending him over backwards out of the chair to crash to the ground. Before he could recover, Grimley’s boot smashed into his ribs and he screamed with the pain.

  Grimley kicked him again, and then stamped on him, putting all his weight on to keep Merton imprisoned beneath his boot.

  ‘You bastard!’ snarled Grimley. ‘You lying, thieving, crooked bastard!’

  ‘Boss …!’ begged Merton, spitting blood as he spoke.

  ‘I’ve just been having a chat with your old friend, Dapper Dan,’ said Grimley. ‘And guess what he told me? How he’s been paying me off through you to keep him from being arrested.’

  ‘No, guv’nor! I swear on my kids’ lives …’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ growled Grimley. ‘Or I’ll have to kill them as well.’

  He took his boot off the sergeant, but stayed within kicking distance of the fallen man.

  ‘I’m going to beat you to within an inch of your life, Merton,’ he said, his voice edged with anger. ‘And then I’m going to make sure what’s left of you goes to jail for a long time. Not that it will be very long, because you know what happens to coppers who end up in jail.’

  ‘Please, boss …’ pleaded Merton. ‘It was only once …’

  CRUNCH! The inspector’s boot struck home again, and once more the sergeant screamed. Grimley knelt down so that his face was close to Merton’s.

  ‘Don’t lie to me again. If you do, I’ll kill you.’

  He stood up and looked coldly down at the bleeding, damaged body of his sergeant.

  ‘There’s one way to make this stop.’

  ‘Anything!’ begged Merton.

  ‘Find Sam Adams.’

  ‘He’s disappeared,’ said Merton. Then he coughed and spat up a clot of blood.

  ‘I know he has,’ said Grimley. ‘And you’re going to find him and bring him in to me.’

  ‘I don’t know where—’ began Merton, then stopped as the inspector crouched down and glowered at him.

  ‘I don’t want excuses, or reasons why you can’t find him,’ he said menacingly. ‘It’s very simple. You bring him to me. You’ve got forty-eight hours. That should be plenty of time for a corrupt, dirty copper like you to track down another corrupt, dirty copper. If you don’t, I shall take it out on you instead. I’ll have you in a cell tied to the bars so you can’t escape, and I shall kill you … almost. And don’t think of running away, because I know where you live and I’ll have your family brought in. And you won’t like what I’ll do to them.’ He glared down at the groaning Merton. ‘Forty-eight hours, Sergeant.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Daniel and Abigail sat at their table, tucking into their breakfast.

  ‘Are you ready for this evening?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Yes, and I’m looking forward to it, despite the threat contained in that anonymous letter.’

  ‘We’ll protect you,’ said Daniel. ‘Myself, and Inspector Grimley and his men.’

  ‘It’s such a turnaround by the inspector,’ mused Abigail. ‘One moment he’s doing everything he can to run us out of town, and now he can’t be more helpful.’ She smiled at Daniel. ‘You’ll have to save people’s lives more often.’

  The hotel receptionist arrived at their table and held out an envelope to them.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb your breakfast,’ he said, ‘but this has just arrived in the post. I thought I’d bring it at once in case it was urgent.’

  Daniel took the envelope from him. ‘Thank you,’ he said. He examined it. ‘It’s not from our anonymous friend. The handwriting’s different, and it’s got a stamp.’ He opened the envelope and took out the letter, and as he read it he smiled. ‘It’s from Mallow in Ireland!’ he told Abigail. ‘It’s from someone called Niamh O’Keeffe. She says she’s writing on behalf of her great-uncle, Sean Donlan. He saw the piece in the newspaper and he recognised the photograph. Kathleen Donlan was his niece.’

  ‘The poor man,’ said Abigail. ‘It must have been horrible for him to find out she was dead that way.’

  ‘She says Mr Donlan has something to tell us. He invites us to visit him.’ He handed the letter to Abigail for her to read, as he added, ‘This could be the answer we’ve been looking for.’

  ‘We’ll go tomorrow,’ said Abigail. ‘I suggest we send a telegram to let them know we’re coming, and that we hope to be with them some time tomorrow evening.’

  ‘In that case, we say tomorrow evening or the following morning,’ proposed Daniel. ‘We don’t know how long it will take us to get to Mallow, but as it will involve at least two trains, possibly more, and a ferry journey …’

  ‘I’m sure Father O’Brien will be able to give us some guidance on how long it will take,’ said Abigail. ‘We’ll send the telegram after we’ve seen him.’

&
nbsp; Mass was just ending as they arrived at St Michael’s Church, and they waited while Father O’Brien took his leave of his congregation, which seemed to consist mostly of Irish and Italian women with young children.

  ‘Your church is popular,’ commented Daniel.

  ‘It’s somewhere for people to escape to without it costing them money,’ said O’Brien. ‘For many it’s their only outing of the day, especially the older ones.’ He looked enquiringly at them. ‘Is there any news? Has the culprit who killed Kathleen and Eileen been found?’

  ‘Not yet, but we’ve had some news that we hope might throw some light on things,’ said Abigail.

  Daniel produced the letter they’d received and passed it to the priest.

  ‘So, the little gamble using the North Cork Reporter paid off,’ said O’Brien, reading the letter.

  ‘We’re intending to go to Mallow tomorrow and meet this Mr Donlan,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Very good,’ said O’Brien. ‘Do either of you speak Irish?’

  ‘Dia dhuit.’ Daniel gave a wry smile. When Abigail looked at him in surprise, he shrugged and said, ‘It just means hello.’

  ‘That’s more than most English can say,’ commented O’Brien.

  ‘I grew up in Camden Town in London,’ said Daniel. ‘The area was half-Irish.’

  ‘I don’t even have that much,’ said Abigail.

  ‘I ask because the fact that this letter is written by Sean Donlan’s great-niece, and the address is a townland outside of Mallow, suggests he may speak some English, but I expect mostly Irish. Country people in Cork and Kerry mainly speak Irish Gaelic. So I suggest when you contact her it might be courteous to say you understand she’ll be there to help her great-uncle understand you, and tell them what day you’ll be arriving. It’ll avoid any embarrassment.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s a good thought,’ said Abigail.

  ‘As you’ve never been to the old country before, I hope you won’t think I’m poking my nose in if I offer you some more practical advice.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Abigail. ‘We’d welcome it.’

  ‘It might help if I give you a letter of introduction to the priest in Mallow, Father Patrick Brennan. You’ll be strangers, and in country areas strangers are treated kindly, but there’s always some reserve. Especially when it comes to questions being asked. A letter from me to Father Brennan might help to open some doors for you if there are any problems.’

  ‘That will be very helpful,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I’m guessing you’ll be taking the ferry from Liverpool to Dublin,’ continued O’Brien. ‘That’s what most people do.’

  ‘Yes, that was what we intended.’

  ‘When you get to Dublin you’ll want to catch the Cork train from Kingsbridge Station. It’s a long journey to Mallow, so make sure you take refreshments. There are stops on the way, but there’s no guarantee there’ll be food left for you.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll be arriving in time to see Mr Donlan tomorrow evening?’ asked Abigail. ‘We ask because we’re going to send a telegram letting them know when we’ll be arriving.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said O’Brien. ‘But finding your way around the townlands late can be difficult. You’d be safer booking into a hotel for the night and seeing Mr Donlan the next morning.’ He handed the letter back to Daniel. ‘I’d suggest the Mallow Hotel would be the best place to stay. It’s a big building in the middle of the Main Street. Language won’t be a problem for you in Mallow, you’ll always find someone who can speak English.’ He smiled. ‘It’s a pity you won’t have a chance to stay longer. Mallow has a wonderful racecourse which always offers great racing. Perhaps you could treat it like a holiday?’

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ said Daniel, ‘but we’re honour-bound to return as soon as we can. It wouldn’t be fair to Mr Steggles and the museum to take advantage of the occasion. We have a job to do, and the sooner we can bring it to a conclusion, the better.’

  Sam Adams sat on a wooden box in the storeroom at the barracks and bitterly regretted ever getting involved in his brother-in-law’s scheme. ‘For the Old Man,’ George Bulstrode had said. But he hadn’t said why, just that the Old Man needed people to look after him. ‘It’ll be easy,’ George had said. ‘Just knock him about a bit. There’ll be seven of you against one. All you have to do is tip off your mates at the police station there might be a bit of a ruckus and not bother looking into it and it’s all taken care of.’ But it hadn’t been. And ever since he’d been stuck here, because George said it was too dangerous for him to be seen walking about outside. ‘The police might be looking for you. We can’t afford to have you picked up and questioned.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything,’ Adams had insisted.

  ‘You know who the Old Man is,’ said Bulstrode.

  ‘But I’d never say!’ Adams said.

  ‘You say that now, but I hear that Inspector Grimley’s digging into what happened, and if you got into his clutches we all know what he’d do.’

  ‘I’m a copper!’ stressed Adams. ‘He wouldn’t touch me!’

  But George had insisted Adams stayed inside, even when he’d protested that he needed to see Peg, his wife, and the kids to reassure them he was all right.

  ‘I’ve seen Peg and told her,’ Bulstrode told him. ‘Not where you are. She might blab.’

  ‘She wouldn’t!’ said Adams. ‘Not if it puts her husband in it. You know her better than that, she’s your sister.’

  ‘And because I know her and what she’s capable of, that’s why I’m not telling her anything. I love Peg dearly, but she does like to talk.’

  Which was true, Adams thought ruefully. But how long would he have to stay here, cooped up like this? It was worse than being in prison!

  The door of the storeroom opened, and RSM George Bulstrode entered.

  ‘Everything all right, Sam?’ he asked.

  ‘No, it ain’t!’ snapped Adams. ‘How long have I got to be here?’

  ‘That’s why I came,’ said Bulstrode. ‘You’re gonna have to leave. People are asking questions about what’s going on with you in this storeroom.’

  ‘Good!’ said Adams, getting to his feet. ‘At last I can go home!’

  ‘No,’ said Bulstrode.

  Adams stared at him. ‘What do you mean “no”?’

  ‘You can’t go back home until the heat dies down,’ said Bulstrode. ‘In fact, you can’t stay in Manchester in case anyone spots you and turns you in.’

  ‘But … but …’ stammered Adams, aghast.

  ‘I’ve made arrangements for you to stay at a boarding house in Carlisle. It’s run by the widow of an old mate of mine who was in the Border Regiment. She’ll look after you.’ He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to Adams. ‘I’ve written down her name and address. Once things quieten down I’ll write to you there and say you can come back.’

  ‘No,’ said Adams firmly. ‘I ain’t gonna throw good money away on a boarding house when I’ve got my own house here. And what will Peg and the kids say?’

  ‘I’ll square it with Peg,’ said Bulstrode.

  ‘And the money for the rent, and food and everything?’ demanded Adams. ‘I won’t be getting paid if I’m not at work. What are they gonna live on?’

  ‘I’ll see to that,’ said Bulstrode. ‘We’ve got a hardship fund that I’m in charge of. The money will come from there.’

  ‘No,’ said Adams, even firmer this time. ‘I’m not being run out of Manchester, away from my family. What will happen to them without me? Without my wages?’

  ‘I’ve told you—’

  ‘It ain’t right,’ said Adams. ‘You got me into this!’

  ‘And I’m getting you out of it,’ said Bulstrode. He took some money from his pocket. ‘This is for your train fare to Carlisle. Plus some extra for day-to-day costs when you get there. If things go right, it should only be for a few days, and, like I say, I’ll see Peg and the kids don’t go short.’

  ‘What
do you mean “if things go right”?’ asked Adams.

  ‘We’ve got plans,’ said Bulstrode.

  ‘Who’s we?’ Adams demanded.

  ‘That’s not for you to know,’ said Bulstrode. ‘But in a day or so this’ll all be sorted out and everyone can go about their normal business again. And you can come back home.’

  Adams hesitated, then took the paper with the address and the money from Bulstrode.

  ‘I want to see Peg and the kids before I go,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Bulstrode, shaking his head. ‘It’s too risky. Someone might see you going into your house.’

  ‘Then we won’t meet in our house. Somewhere else, somewhere she can bring the kids with her. I want to see them before I go.’

  ‘No,’ repeated Bulstrode, even firmer this time. ‘You’ve got to trust me on this, Sam. We can’t take the chance on you being spotted, or Peg or the kids saying something after they’ve seen you. Better for all if you just go and get the train to Carlisle.’

  Sergeant Merton entered the gloom of the Royal Oak pub in Deansgate. It was the fifteenth pub he’d visited in his search. At each he’d sought out the landlord and said he’d pay good money if they got news of Sam Adams, because he needed to talk to him urgently. He’d also tried shops, local police stations, as well as seeking out his usual narks. With each one the reaction had been the same: a shocked expression as they took in his broken nose and the savage bruising all over his face. For Merton, the damage to his face was noticeable, but his real agony came from his ribs. He was sure Grimley had broken one or two, and he was determined that wouldn’t happen again to him. He needed to find Adams.

  ‘My God, Pete, what happened to you?’ asked Bert Peet, staring at the sergeant’s battered face.

  ‘I fell,’ said Merton.

  ‘What on?’ asked Peet.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Merton. ‘Have you seen Sam Adams?’

  Peet shook his head. ‘No, he doesn’t come in here much. Mostly he hangs around Hulme. That’s where his station is.’