Murder at the Manchester Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘We need to tell Inspector Grimley what we’ve learnt,’ said Abigail.

  Daniel nodded. ‘We do. But our first port of call should be Mr Steggles. The museum is our paymaster, after all.’

  ‘How was your journey?’ asked Steggles.

  ‘Long,’ said Daniel wearily.

  ‘You look as if you didn’t get much sleep,’ said Steggles, concerned.

  ‘We took the overnight ferry from Dublin,’ explained Abigail. ‘Unfortunately, the crossing wasn’t really conducive to sleep.’

  ‘How dreadful!’ said Steggles. ‘Do let me get you some refreshments.’ He picked up the telecommunications microphone on his desk and placed an order with his secretary, then turned to Abigail and said, ‘I have to let you know, the whole city is still enthusing about your talk the other evening. The Guardian will be running an article on it, with photographs.’

  ‘Not of the shooting, I hope,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I still go cold when I think of it,’ said Steggles with a shudder. ‘How you were able to continue after that, Miss Fenton, I cannot imagine.’

  ‘I’m still upset the pot was damaged,’ said Abigail. ‘I do hope your restoration people are able to repair it.’

  ‘A small price to pay,’ said Steggles. ‘It could have been you!’

  There was a tap at the door, then Mrs Wedburn appeared with a tray of teapots, cups, and also a plate of biscuits.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Wedburn.’ Steggles smiled.

  After tea had been poured and biscuits distributed, Steggles returned to the topic of their journey.

  ‘Was your trip to Ireland worthwhile?’ he asked.

  ‘We believe it was,’ said Abigail. ‘We believe we know why Kathleen Donlan was killed. She had come to carry out atonement for a relative of hers who killed people at Peterloo. Her task was to find out their names, and then offer an apology to their descendants. Unfortunately, when she began asking questions about who’d been killed at Peterloo, her actions were misinterpreted as wanting to cause trouble for someone.’

  ‘The fact that Peterloo happened over eighty years ago means the someone it would cause trouble for will be long gone, but their descendants are still around and we believe they killed Kathleen to stop her continuing with her search,’ added Daniel.

  ‘Who do you believe was responsible?’ asked Steggles.

  ‘Someone important, with a distinguished military ancestor who was at Peterloo,’ said Daniel. ‘As you know, we’ve met a wall of silence from the army, but our hope is that the policeman who took part in the attack on me might have been found by the police. If he has, we feel he’ll be the key to identifying the culprit. We’re on our way to see Inspector Grimley to find out what luck he’s had in that direction.’

  ‘What I don’t understand is why she didn’t say anything about her quest to Jonty Hawkins when she came to the museum,’ said Steggles. ‘She just asked for information about the army in Manchester. If she’d said what she was looking for, we might have been able to help her.’

  ‘She acted the way she did because of the response she’d got at the barracks,’ said Abigail. ‘Her local priest, Father O’Brien, told us she’d been treated harshly when she first went to the barracks. Our guess is she’d been warned not to ask questions. So when she went to the museum, and also the offices of the Guardian, she didn’t say exactly what she was after in case she got the same treatment.’

  After leaving Mr Steggles, they made their way to Newton Street police station, where they once more related what they’d learnt in Ireland.

  ‘So you’re convinced the army were behind the killing?’ said Grimley.

  ‘Not the army as such,’ said Daniel. ‘Someone connected to the army. Possibly someone whose father or grandfather was in the army and was involved in the Peterloo massacre. We know RSM Bulstrode and the soldier are out of our reach; the army will protect them. But there’s the police constable who took part in the attack on me; he might know who this is about.’

  Grimley gave a smirk. ‘He does,’ he said. ‘I found him. Or, rather, my sergeant did.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Downstairs. In the cells.’

  ‘You’ve talked to him?’

  Grimley nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘I’d like to see him,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I’ve already got everything out of him there is to know,’ said Grimley. Then he shrugged. ‘But why not?’

  As Daniel and Abigail began to follow Grimley, he stopped.

  ‘Not you, miss,’ said the inspector.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Abigail.

  ‘Because I’d rather you didn’t.’

  ‘There’s nothing here that can frighten or worry me,’ said Abigail. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve seen worse. And you saw yourself, Inspector, even having someone shoot at me doesn’t put me off.’

  Grimley gave a shrug. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But I want your word that what you see here stays between us. I don’t want you spouting off to the papers or Superintendent Mossop or the museum people, or anyone else. Agreed?’

  ‘I give you my word, Inspector.’

  Grimley looked at Daniel. ‘I don’t think I need yours, Mr Wilson. You were a copper. You know what’s needed sometimes.’

  As Grimley continued forward, Daniel took hold of Abigail’s hand to hold her back.

  ‘You may not want to come down and see this,’ he muttered.

  ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘I’m part of this.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re part of this,’ he said.

  ‘But you are?’ she retorted.

  She moved forward, heading after Grimley, Daniel following.

  ‘It turns out that Adams used to be in the military, at the Hulme Barracks,’ said Grimley as they walked down the stone steps to the basement. ‘He left because he didn’t want to go abroad any more on foreign wars. That’s when he joined the police. But it seems he’s remained close to his old army pals, so when they asked him to give them a hand, he said yes.’

  ‘Who asked him?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘The regimental sergeant major, Bulstrode. Adams is his brother-in-law.’

  A foul odour hung over the basement area where the cells were, a mixture of urine, vomit and sweat. Grimley led the way to where a man was lying on a hard bench behind a row of iron bars. The right side of his face was so swollen and badly bruised as to be unrecognisable as a human face, the injuries made worse by the clots of dried blood from a cut above Adams’s eye. Blood also smeared his mouth and chin from his flattened broken nose. What was worse, two of the fingers of his left hand were broken, one with the bone showing through the blood.

  ‘Injured while resisting arrest,’ said Grimley with a shrug.

  Daniel shot a glance at Abigail, who stood white-faced and tight-lipped as she looked through the bars at the man in the cell. She looked back at Daniel, saying nothing, but the expression of anger and revulsion on her face said what she felt. Grimley caught her disapproval and snapped, ‘We needed a name. We can’t get it from Bulstrode. Adams wouldn’t talk. What else do you expect? It’s the world we live in, among murderers, rapists, pimps, thieves, robbers. You can’t reason with them by talking about ethics or appealing to their conscience. It’s what they do. How they live. They set the rules. We have to play the game the same way or we lose every time.’

  ‘The name?’ asked Daniel.

  Grimley gestured towards the stairs. ‘Let’s talk back in my office.’

  The air upstairs was that of stale tobacco and sweat, but it was sweet by comparison with the smell in the basement.

  ‘The man they’re protecting is a retired general, Westerman Wainwright,’ Grimley told them as they sat down in his office. ‘They call him the Old Man.’

  ‘Did Adams say that Wainwright committed the murders?’

  Grimley shook his head. ‘Adams says he doesn’t know what it’s about. Believe me, if he did he’d have coughed it up. It seems this General Wainwright i
s highly respected among the men; they’d do anything for him.’

  ‘Including cover up murder?’

  ‘I doubt if he told them why it was.’

  ‘I doubt if he told them anything directly,’ said Daniel. ‘RSM Bulstrode was the conduit, passing orders on to the troops.’

  ‘I’ve arranged for a warrant for the arrest of this general. We pick him up at his house at six tomorrow morning. You can come along. You’ve been in the thick of it so far, might as well see how it ends.’ Then Grimley turned to Abigail. ‘Not you, though, miss, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Abigail. ‘You’ve seen that I can deal with things. I’ve just been to the cells with you and seen a man broken without flinching.’

  ‘This is different,’ said Grimley. ‘From what Adams says, most of the general’s servants are ex-military, and armed. I’m going to be taking a gun with me, and some of my men will be doing the same.’ He looked at Daniel. ‘You’re a civilian, you can’t.’ He turned back to Abigail. ‘But Mr Wilson here has experience of dealing with firearms and shootouts.’

  ‘May I remind you, Inspector—’

  ‘I know. You were shot at when you were at the museum. But in the situation we’re going into, if there is gunfire it’s more likely a stray bullet will be the one that does the damage. I won’t have your death on my conscience.’

  Abigail looked at Daniel challengingly. ‘You support this?’ she demanded.

  ‘I do,’ said Daniel. ‘When this is over I’m happy to give you lessons in handling a gun. Then you’ll appreciate the situation. But I can’t take the chance of you being killed.’

  ‘But you’re prepared to risk being killed yourself.’

  ‘I know what I’m going into,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ve been in this situation before. I promise you, I’m not going to be killed.’

  ‘No?’ Abigail glared at him angrily. ‘So stray bullets miraculously avoid you, do they?’

  ‘No, I avoid them,’ said Daniel.

  Abigail continued to glare angrily at him, then she turned to Grimley. ‘If you allow him to be killed, Inspector, I shall come for you. And what you did to that man in that cell will pale by comparison with what I will do to you.’

  ‘Bulstrode needs to be dealt with,’ said Daniel. ‘Once he hears what’s happening, he’ll vanish. And his testimony is going to be vital.’

  ‘I’m already there, Wilson,’ grunted Grimley. ‘I’ve got a sergeant standing by with some uniformed officers and a warrant in Bulstrode’s name to pick him up at the barracks at the same time as we call on the general.’

  Later, as Abigail and Daniel walked back to the Mayflower Hotel, Abigail asked, ‘That man in the cell. Was that how it was in London?’

  ‘You’re asking if I ever beat a prisoner. The answer’s no.’

  ‘But some of your colleagues did.’

  ‘Not the ones I cared to have anything to do with. You’ve met John Feather. He never did anything like that. And my old guv’nor, Fred Abberline, would have had the hide of any of his team who did that.’

  ‘But some did.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And they weren’t dismissed from the force? Or reprimanded in some way?’

  ‘The people at the top want results when it comes to dealing with criminals. As do the general public. When it comes to murder, the people in power are content to turn a blind eye to some actions if it gets results.’

  ‘Beating a man half to death?’

  ‘Grimley got the name of the man who’s been behind everything, including the murders.’

  ‘So you approve?’

  ‘No. I’d have tried a different approach.’

  ‘And if your different approach didn’t work?’

  ‘Then I’d have tried different ways.’ He looked Abigail firmly in the face as he told her, ‘I promise you, I would never do what Grimley did. If I did, it would make me as bad as the people we’re pursuing.’

  CHAPTER FORTY

  At 6 a.m. Sergeant Hudson stepped down from the horse-drawn police van as it pulled up outside the main gate of Hulme Barracks. Two uniformed constables also appeared from the van and together they walked towards the two soldiers on sentry duty.

  ‘Sergeant Hudson come to see RSM Bulstrode,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said one of the sentries. ‘What shall I tell him it concerns?’

  ‘I’ll tell him that when I see him,’ snapped Hudson.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the sentry, and he headed for the main building. He reappeared a few moments later with RSM Bulstrode striding along beside him, chest puffed out and an aggressive look on his face.

  ‘Yes?’ he barked. ‘What’s brought you here at this hour of the morning?’

  Sergeant Hudson produced a piece of paper from his tunic pocket. ‘George Bulstrode, I have here a warrant for your arrest on a charge of accessory to murder.’

  Bulstrode stared at Hudson, his mouth dropping open, then he snapped it shut.

  ‘Like hell you have!’ he shouted. He turned to the sentries and started to say, ‘Private, go and tell—’ before the police sergeant slammed a big hand across Bulstrode’s mouth, cutting off his words. At the same time, the two constables stepped forward, each grabbing one of Bulstrode’s arms, and together the three police officers hustled the angry and struggling RSM towards the police van. The rear doors opened and he was pushed inside, then hauled in by another pair of constables. Sergeant Hudson and one of the constables climbed in after him. Hudson gestured for the remaining constable to join the driver at the front, then pulled the van doors shut.

  The two sentries stood staring at the van, shocked, before one said in a daze, ‘The brigadier isn’t in yet. Who are we gonna tell?’

  Daniel and Inspector Grimley got down from the police van that had pulled up outside a grand-looking house in a road of equally expensive houses.

  ‘This is it,’ grunted Grimley. He gestured to the two uniformed officers who’d also got out of the van. ‘Time to do some proper police work, lads,’ he said.

  Daniel and the officers followed Grimley up a hedge-lined path towards the front door, made of black oak and with two ornate Roman-style columns on either side. Grimley pulled at the brass bell-pull. When there was no immediate answer, he pulled it again, longer and louder this time. The door was opened by an angry-looking man in a valet’s costume of dark trousers and striped waistcoat. His eye took in the uniformed constables, and the pugnacious look on Inspector Grimley’s face, and the anger was replaced by a look of wary suspicion.

  ‘Yes?’ he snapped.

  ‘Detective Inspector Grimley to see General Wainwright,’ Grimley barked back at him.

  ‘The general is not available,’ said the valet.

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ snorted Grimley derisively. ‘I’ve had men watching this house. He’s here.’

  ‘I said he was unavailable,’ snapped the valet. ‘He is not seeing callers.’

  ‘He’ll see me,’ Grimley snapped back. ‘I’ve got a warrant.’

  ‘Let me see it,’ said the servant, holding out his hand.

  Grimley shook his head. ‘I’ll show it to the organ-grinder, not his monkey,’ he said. He began to move forwards, but stopped when he saw the servant had produced a pistol.

  ‘Stupid!’ growled Grimley. He chopped down hard on the man’s wrist, and as the pistol fell to the carpet, he swung his boot hard into the man’s groin. The man fell to the floor with a scream that brought an elderly man hurrying into the passage as Grimley led the others into the house. He looked at the fallen servant, then at Grimley and Daniel and the two uniformed officers behind them.

  ‘What the hell is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

  ‘General Wainwright, I presume,’ said Grimley. He produced the warrant from his pocket. ‘I have a warrant for your arrest on a charge of murder. Now you can come along nice and sweet, or you can resist, and get a kick in the balls like this lackey of yours.’

  The general gl
ared angrily at the inspector.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ he thundered, furious.

  ‘I’ve already told you, I’m assuming you to be General Westerman Wainwright. If you’re not, I’d advise you to get the general out here sharpish.’

  Wainwright stared at Grimley, momentarily speechless, then he burst out, ‘This is my house! My private residence!’

  ‘And, as I’ve already said, this is a warrant for your arrest.’

  ‘This is nonsense!’ stated Wainwright. ‘You have no grounds for this accusation.’

  ‘We have RSM Bulstrode,’ said Daniel quietly. ‘We’ve got enough evidence to hang him, and he’ll talk when he realises that.’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ demanded Wainwright. ‘Where’s your warrant card?’

  ‘He’s a private consultant,’ cut in Grimley. ‘He’s been working with us on this case. Name of Daniel Wilson.’

  Daniel saw a flicker of angry recognition in the general’s eyes at the mention of his name.

  ‘You have no right here,’ he snapped.

  ‘He has every right,’ Grimley corrected him. ‘He’s here at the invitation of the police.’

  ‘You still have no proof!’ barked Wainwright.

  ‘As Mr Wilson said, we have RSM Bulstrode in custody.’

  ‘Bulstrode won’t talk,’ said Wainwright defiantly.

  ‘Then he’ll hang,’ said Daniel.

  Wainwright didn’t answer at first, his eyes switching from Daniel to Grimley, then back again. Finally, he said, ‘Bulstrode had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘On the contrary, we have evidence about him organising the attack on Mr Wilson to cover up the murders. That alone makes him a conspirator to murder. He’ll hang.’

  ‘He had nothing to do with the deaths of the two women,’ said Wainwright. ‘He did some work afterwards to try and protect me. That was all.’

  ‘Perhaps if we talk in your study?’ suggested Daniel. ‘It might be less public than you arriving at the police station in handcuffs.’