Murder at the Manchester Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘Yes!’ called Creighton standing at the back of the room, and he began to applaud, his hands clapping together loudly. Others joined him, and soon the whole audience were on their feet, clapping.

  Abigail bowed. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Then, with your permission, I shall resume.’

  The audience sat down, but now there was a real sense of excitement among them. They had just witnessed an assassination attempt, here, in their museum! And the target of that attempt stood there, unafraid.

  ‘As I was saying, the pyramid was the final resting place of Amenemhet III, the last king of the Twelfth Dynasty, who died in about 1797 … but this was 1797 BC, almost four thousand years ago. Amenemhet did not survive, and sadly, today, neither did this funereal pot.

  ‘When Flinders Petrie entered the tomb in 1888 he discovered an absolute treasure trove dating from the time of the Romans, including papyrus manuscripts, among which was a scroll containing books one and two of Homer’s Iliad, which is now in the Bodleian Library at Oxford.’

  As Abigail talked, Daniel moved to the side of the room in order to avoid distracting the audience’s attention from her. Not that there was much chance of that, he reflected, judging by the looks of rapt attention on their faces.

  He was aware of Grimley joining him.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Daniel.

  Grimley shook his head. ‘Got clear away.’ He looked at Abigail. ‘My God, that woman’s got some guts,’ he said.

  ‘I told you,’ said Daniel. ‘The bravest person I’ve ever met.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Abigail finished her talk with a final flourish, inviting the audience to come and examine the fragments of the shattered pot ‘before it is taken to the restoration shop for repair’. As she stepped away from the lectern the audience rose to their feet and began to applaud. Once again, Daniel was amused to see how this overwhelming expression of appreciation brought a blush to her cheeks. He moved away to let the crowd gather around her, plying her with questions, and also with congratulations. As he did so, he saw Robinson Percival and moved to join him.

  ‘So, Mr Percival, no one would dream of harming Miss Fenton?’ he said pointedly.

  ‘A lunatic,’ snapped Percival. ‘Or maybe one of these radicals!’

  With that he moved off in the direction of the cloakroom.

  Daniel saw Septimus Creighton and Simon Cardew approaching him.

  ‘My God!’ said Creighton. ‘Does this happen to you a lot in your role as detectives? People taking potshots at you?’

  ‘Fortunately not,’ said Daniel.

  ‘That was simply incredible the way she chose to go on with her talk after it happened,’ said Cardew. ‘I don’t think I could have done that.’

  ‘You should go and tell her,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased to know that you came.’

  Cardew looked ruefully towards the crowd clustered around Abigail. ‘I don’t think we can get near her at the moment,’ he said.

  ‘Join the crowd and let her see you,’ advised Daniel.

  ‘Yes, good idea,’ said Cardew, and he headed off to join the admirers.

  ‘That was incredibly brave of you,’ said Creighton. ‘Saving her from the bullet like that.’

  ‘Automatic reaction,’ said Daniel. ‘You’d have done the same if you’d been standing where I was.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Creighton awkwardly.

  ‘Yes, you would,’ Daniel assured him. ‘I know how you feel about her, and that means you’d also do something like that without thinking about it.’

  Creighton hesitated, then he gave a wry smile before holding out his hand. ‘You’re a good man, Daniel Wilson,’ he said. ‘She’s a very lucky woman.’

  Daniel shook Creighton’s hand, then Creighton moved off to join Simon Cardew among the crowd gathered around Abigail.

  Daniel went in search of Grimley and found him talking to Sergeant Hudson. When Grimley saw Daniel approaching he said, ‘Keep looking, Sergeant,’ then turned to Daniel.

  ‘No clues?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘None.’ He shook his head. ‘How did he manage to get away?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Daniel. ‘I believe he must have been wearing a police uniform.’

  Grimley stared at Daniel. ‘You think it was one of my men?’ he demanded, angrily.

  ‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘I think he managed to get hold of a police uniform in some way. What’s the best place to hide a leaf? In a forest. When all the commotion started and everyone’s running around searching for the assassin, the one person they’re not going to stop and search is someone in a policeman’s uniform.’

  ‘Bastard!’ Grimley swore half under his breath.

  ‘I’ve had another thought as well,’ continued Daniel. ‘I don’t think he was trying to kill her.’

  ‘What do you mean? If you hadn’t pulled her to one side …’

  ‘The pot that the bullet struck was on the other side of where she was standing,’ pointed out Daniel. He shuddered. ‘If I’d pushed her instead of pulling her towards me, the bullet would have hit her.’

  Grimley looked at him, puzzled. ‘So you’re saying he deliberately aimed to miss her?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘That’s how I see it.’

  ‘But why? Why this elaborate charade?’

  ‘To warn us off.’

  Grimley shook his head. ‘He fired at her. He didn’t know he was going to miss.’

  ‘If the man was a sniper, as I suspect, he would have been good at what he does. Snipers usually hit their target.’

  ‘So you’re saying he took the risk of getting caught purely to frighten you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The inspector shook his head. ‘I don’t buy it,’ he said. ‘It’s too involved. He said he’d kill her, and he tried. That’s how I see it.’

  ‘You may be right,’ said Daniel. ‘But if he had killed Abigail, it would have brought a lot more attention to the situation. “Internationally renowned archaeologist assassinated.” That would have brought in the big guns, and the politicians. I don’t think they’d want that. Oh, by the way, we’ll be going to Ireland tomorrow.’

  ‘Ireland?’

  ‘We’ve had a letter from the uncle of the young woman who was murdered, Kathleen Donlan. He’s got some information for us.’

  ‘What sort of information?’

  ‘We won’t know until we’ve seen him. We should be back the day after tomorrow. I just hope our sudden departure doesn’t make our enemies think we’ve been driven out by their threats.’

  ‘After her display at the museum tonight, I don’t think that’s likely,’ said Grimley. ‘By the way, after what you said, I had someone watching this RSM Bulstrode this evening. Just in case. I’ve just been told he’s been in a bar all evening.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector,’ said Daniel. ‘To be honest, I never thought he’d be the sharpshooter. Although he may have arranged things, then made sure people saw him at this bar for his alibi.’

  ‘Yes, that’s my thinking as well,’ said Grimley, adding vengefully, ‘I’d love to have him in my office for a few words. Trouble is, the army looks after their own. At least, they do here.’

  Brigadier Wentworth was heading for the exit when he found his way barred by Steggles.

  ‘Good evening, Brigadier,’ said the museum director stiffly. ‘What did you think of this evening?’

  ‘Miss Fenton’s talk was excellent,’ said Wentworth shortly.

  ‘And the attempted assassination of her?’ asked Steggles.

  Wentworth looked uncomfortable.

  ‘We don’t know for sure that’s what it was. Possibly some lunatic shooting off a gun.’

  ‘I think that highly unlikely,’ said Steggles. ‘Especially as it followed a threat to kill Miss Fenton here tonight unless she and Mr Wilson left Manchester.’ He glared at the brigadier. ‘I understand that is your desire as well, Brigadier. That they leave
Manchester.’

  Again, Wentworth looked uncomfortable. ‘Now look here, Steggles,’ he began to bluster. ‘If you’re suggesting this shooting business tonight is in any way connected to the army, then that’s nonsense. Absolute nonsense.’

  ‘But the army want them both to leave the city.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s only because they’re stirring up trouble, all this talk about Peterloo, and the army being responsible for this and that. Wilson even had some of my men arrested!’

  ‘After they attacked him.’

  ‘They didn’t attack him!’ snapped the brigadier. ‘It was just an argument that got a bit out of hand. Nothing at all.’

  ‘Nevertheless, the fact remains that I understand you have not responded to my letters about the exhibition because you want to wait until Mr Wilson and Miss Fenton have left Manchester. Is that true?’

  ‘Only because of the trouble they’re causing!’

  ‘The trouble, as you put it, has been caused by the person or persons who brutally murdered and mutilated two women in this very museum,’ snapped back Steggles. ‘We have asked Mr Wilson and Miss Fenton to investigate, and if their investigations lead them to the army, then so be it. They will continue to pursue this investigation with the full backing of myself and the museum until the culprits are unmasked.’ He paused then finished with, ‘I agree with you that we should delay further discussion about the exhibition until the case is finished. When that is done, I hope we can resume in a cordial manner. But, until then, I think it important for you to know where we stand. We stand resolutely behind Mr Wilson and Miss Fenton.’

  With that, Steggles gave him a half-bow, then headed back towards Abigail, who was still surrounded by an admiring crowd.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The early morning boat train from Manchester to Liverpool was crowded, as was the ferry to Dublin, and Daniel was glad that the night before, when they’d got back to their hotel room, he’d managed to tell Abigail his theory that the would-be assassin had only meant to frighten her and not actually kill her, because there would have been no chance to discuss such a topic on this early part of their journey without being overheard.

  ‘So you think it was just to scare us off,’ she said thoughtfully, then nodded. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. At the moment it’s just the murder of two poor, unfortunate women who are almost anonymous. Killing me so publicly would have brought a lot more attention to bear on the case.’

  ‘Exactly my thoughts,’ said Daniel.

  ‘If that’s so, he was a good shot,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Which is why, more than ever, I’m convinced the military are involved. The man who took that shot was experienced with a rifle. Most would-be assassins use a pistol.’

  There were queues of buses waiting when they docked in Dublin. They found the one headed for Kingsbridge Station, and managed to find two seats together.

  ‘This city is as busy as London,’ commented Daniel, as more and more people packed onto the bus, crushing around them.

  At Kingsbridge Station they found the train to Cork, with Mallow as one of the stops, and again were fortunate to find two seats together among the crowds. Many of the other passengers started to get off soon after they’d left Dublin, and by the time the train was passing through the open, rolling countryside, they had a compartment to themselves.

  ‘This is the emptiest countryside I’ve ever seen,’ observed Daniel, looking out of the train window. They had been travelling for over two hours. ‘Mile after mile of nothing but fields and hills and open grassland, with only the occasional hamlet, and a very small town every ten miles or so.’

  ‘That’s because you’re a townie,’ said Abigail. ‘Born and brought up in the centre of London, and hardly ever been elsewhere.’

  ‘I’ve been to Birmingham,’ Daniel corrected her. ‘And to Cambridge and Oxford, with you.’

  ‘Hardly the wide open spaces.’

  ‘They were around Cambridge,’ said Daniel. ‘And flat.’ He gestured out at the landscape they were passing. ‘Here there are hills, and mountains in the distance.’

  ‘England has just the same vastness of empty space,’ said Abigail. ‘If you journeyed to the north of England along the eastern side, you’d discover a vastness of open country. And mountains. The Dales of Yorkshire. With hardly anyone living there. When I was carrying out my excavations along Hadrian’s Wall it was brought home to me just how empty of people Northumberland and Cumberland are. No person and no houses for miles in any direction. It’s not until you move westward towards Carlisle that you see the industrial chimney of Carr’s biscuit factory.’

  ‘Newcastle’s an industrial city,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Newcastle is,’ agreed Abigail. ‘But I avoided it.’ Then she gave a thoughtful frown and said, ‘You haven’t said much about the case lately.’

  ‘No, but I’ve been thinking about it,’ said Daniel. ‘And Inspector Grimley’s suggestion that the person whose reputation everyone’s protecting could have been an ordinary soldier.’

  ‘And?’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘I don’t think it is. I’m even more convinced that it’s to do with someone who may well have been an ordinary soldier at that time, but who later rose to become an important person.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘At your talk I was approached by the chairman of the industrialists’ committee, who made it pretty clear that we were upsetting some very important people by making enquiries into the murder. That we were putting at risk the reputation of Manchester as a city of the industrial future. Now that doesn’t suggest an ordinary anonymous foot soldier, that suggests that the reputation of someone very important is at stake.’

  ‘One of the mill owners?’

  ‘If so, it would have to be a major one. Someone very rich and influential.’

  ‘Even the oldest mill owners will be too young to have been at Peterloo,’ said Abigail.

  ‘But they could well have had a father or grandfather who was,’ said Daniel. ‘One who later built up the business to a great degree. And a powerful family would do everything necessary to protect such a reputation.’

  ‘With the assistance of the army,’ added Abigail.

  Daniel nodded. ‘The person we’re looking for is rich, influential and has a very strong connection to the army. I would suggest a family connection. Let’s hope that this visit to Mallow will bring us nearer to the answer.’

  Sergeant Merton looked at the note from Billy Scargell the small boy had handed to him at the police station. The person you’re looking for is in my backroom.

  He wondered how to play it. Tell Grimley? No, that would drop Scargell in it because the inspector would charge into the Iron Duke like a bull in a china shop, and everyone would find out that Scargell had shopped someone. He had to get hold of Adams without creating a fuss. But he couldn’t take the chance of losing him. Which meant he’d need back-up. Men he could trust and depend on. The thing was, he needed to act quickly. Adams was in Scargell’s backroom at the moment, but for how long? He might have already left! He wondered how long ago Scargell had written the note before sending it.

  A sense of panic filled him at the thought that Adams might even at this moment be about to slip away. I’ve got to get him, he promised himself. I have to!

  Despite their early start, by the time they stepped off the train at Mallow it was early evening and the first streaks of dark were beginning to appear in the sky.

  ‘I’m glad we said we’d call on Mr Donlan tomorrow morning,’ said Daniel. ‘As you said, I’m a townie and not fond of walking through the countryside in the dark. Too many ditches and places to fall into.’

  ‘When I was in Egypt …’ began Abigail.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you spent many a night striding through the desert,’ said Daniel. ‘But here the trees stop any light from the moon giving a clear view of the ground.’

  They found the Mallow Hotel and checked in as Mr and Mr
s Wilson, without any adverse comments from Abigail.

  Next morning, after a breakfast so filling that they agreed they very likely wouldn’t need to eat for the rest of the day, they asked at reception where they could find the house of Sean Donlan. ‘It’s in the townland of Duinch,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Would you be walking or taking a carriage?’ asked the receptionist.

  ‘How far is it?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Not far. A mile or two.’

  ‘In that case, a walk will do us good,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Sean’s house is easy to find, being beside the main road,’ said the receptionist. ‘Go straight along the Main Street to the edge of town. You’ll find the crossroads with signposts telling you Cork is to your left and Buttevant to your right. Go straight over at the cross and carry on the main road towards Limerick. Go past the racecourse, and you’ll see Sean’s place on your left. It’s a byre-house with the name “Donlan” on a post outside it.’ She looked doubtfully down at their feet. ‘Are those the only shoes you have?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Abigail. ‘Why?’

  ‘The road can be a bit uneven in parts. A few holes. And mud.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine,’ said Abigail.

  As they set off, Daniel said, ‘A road with holes in. And mud. I’m even more glad we didn’t try and walk there in the dark.’

  As they walked west along the Main Street, they passed local people putting up stalls at the edge of the roadway. Some already had potatoes and cabbages set out, some had displays of crockery, teapots and cups and plates, and others had furniture for sale.