‘I say, Lavender!’ Sir Richard flushed angrily. ‘I won’t have you accusing Mrs Palmer of evasion. You’re back on this case on sufferance – don’t forget that!’
Mrs Palmer leaned forward and placed a calming hand on the surgeon’s knee. ‘No, please, Richard – he’s right. Yes, Detective, Mr MacAdam accidentally let slip some months ago that he had a wife and family back in Chelmsford but he seemed to regret the slip and covered it up quickly.’
‘Good God, Sylvia!’ Sir Richard looked scandalised. ‘Are you saying you knew the fellow was married but was still chasing other women?’
‘No, no, Richard, I didn’t know anything for sure.’ She seemed genuinely distressed by the surgeon’s censure. ‘And if he was married, I hoped it was just a harmless flirtation that would fizzle out. My gentleman lodgers all get lonely sometimes . . . and they all have dalliances.’
‘You condone this?’ Sir Richard looked worried.
‘Nothing improper happens under my roof,’ she retorted.
‘I’m afraid it was worse than a dalliance, Mrs Palmer,’ Lavender said. ‘MacAdam was about to commit bigamy. He’d proposed to the young woman.’
Her elegant hand fluttered to her mouth in shock and Sir Richard cursed. ‘What else did you overhear when MacAdam boasted about catching his heiress?’
Mrs Palmer swallowed hard. ‘They were in their cups that night and he never mentioned the name of his heiress.’
Sir Richard interrupted her with the questions in Lavender’s mind. ‘Drunk? But you claimed yesterday that they hardly drank at all. What else are you concealing, Sylvia?’
‘Nothing! I promise you, Richard, that I’d never heard Miss Howard’s name mentioned until Detective Lavender asked about her yesterday. Then I remembered that Mr MacAdam once asked me to post a letter bearing her name and address on Bruton Street. It was then I made the connection and realised she must be Mr MacAdam’s young woman.’
‘Where are your other lodgers at the moment, ma’am?’ Lavender asked. ‘I need to speak to them both urgently.’
Mrs Palmer continued to stare sadly at Sir Richard. It was the surgeon who turned and answered his question. ‘Bentley is at work at the Grosvenor Estate office and, like I told you yesterday, Mr Collins is away on business – he works for a tea importer. Why do you need to speak to him?’
‘Because I’m afraid MacAdam’s intention to commit bigamy wasn’t the worst of his sins and I suspect both of your other gentlemen lodgers were involved in his scheming.’
‘What scheming?’
He told them how MacAdam, with the help of Collins, had faked his own death.
Sir Richard looked furious and Mrs Palmer was in tears by the time he had finished. ‘I can’t believe it!’ she wailed. ‘What a terrible thing to do to his poor wife. He . . . he seemed such a nice man as well!’
‘He also told Mr Howard he lived with his aunt in a mansion on Park Lane,’ Lavender said. ‘Are you and MacAdam related, by any chance?’
‘They’re not!’ Sir Richard yelled. ‘That man has gulled us all shamefully! I understand now why someone wanted to murder him!’ He rose to his feet and stomped over to the bell pull to summon the maid. She appeared quickly and Sir Richard angrily demanded that she fetch Mrs Palmer some tea and the brandy decanter for himself.
Lavender pulled up a chair and sat down, waiting patiently for their anger and distress to subside. The maid returned with the brandy. Sir Richard gulped down a generous measure of the spirit while Mrs Palmer dried her eyes.
‘Tell me about your other lodgers,’ Lavender said.
‘Mr Collins works for Raitt’s Tea Company on St Martin’s Lane,’ Mrs Palmer said, ‘but he’s been away on business in Yorkshire since June.’
‘June?’ Lavender asked sharply. ‘That’s a long time to be out of town on business.’
Sir Richard leaned forward towards the woman. ‘What about his rent? Is his rent up to date, Sylvia?’
She shook her head. ‘He wrote to me in the middle of August and sent me more money for the room – but I’ve had nothing since then.’
‘Oh, Sylvia!’ Sir Richard moaned. ‘So MacAdam owed you two weeks and Collins owed you at least a month’s rent. You’re too soft-hearted with these lodgers of yours.’
Mrs Palmer looked wretched at his criticism. ‘Mr Collins has been my lodger for years. I’m very fond of him and he’s never disappointed me before.’
‘Do you still have the letter?’ Lavender’s hopes rose. ‘Did it give his address in Yorkshire?’
‘No. It was more of a note than a letter. There was no address.’
Lavender shook off his disappointment. ‘I need a description of this Collins – and his full name.’
‘Frank, Francis Collins,’ Sir Richard said. ‘He’s a big fellah, very loud and in his late twenties. He’s got longish, dark hair with a reddish tinge – and a prominent wart on his chin . . .’ Sir Richard’s voice fizzled out and he shook his head in disbelief.
‘He’s a very strong character,’ Mrs Palmer added. ‘It was always my impression the others looked up to him and followed his lead – especially Mr Bentley.’
Lavender nodded. It would take a strong, dissolute and brazen character to carry out the fraud Collins had perpetrated in Chelmsford. Maybe the fake burial had been his suggestion rather than MacAdam’s?
‘Have you any idea how Mr MacAdam supported himself after he left Drake’s in May?’
She shook her head. ‘I had no notion he’d left his employment. He must have found another job. He always came down to breakfast at the same time and dressed smartly as if he was going to work.’
‘I need to search MacAdam’s room for this ring, in case we missed it yesterday,’ Lavender said, ‘although I suspect it’s already on the finger of Miss Howard. There may also be a receipt for this ring amongst his papers that I overlooked yesterday. I also need to search Collins’ room for clues about his whereabouts. Do you have a spare key?’
Mrs Palmer nodded. ‘I’ll take you there.’
‘Then I’ll go to the Grosvenor Estate office to interview Mr Bentley and Raitt’s Tea Company to find out what I can about the whereabouts of Collins.’
He paused. Sir Richard nodded but neither of them said anything.
‘But before I go, there are a few other questions I need answering.’ Lavender pulled out the rough sketch he’d drawn of the crest Jackson claimed adorned the side of MacAdam’s bone-rattling carriage and leaned towards Mrs Palmer. ‘According to Mr Howard’s secretary, MacAdam kept a carriage and horse and this was the emblem on the side of the vehicle. Do you recognise it?’
She shook her head, bewildered. ‘He didn’t keep horses or a carriage to my knowledge. No, I’ve never seen that coat of arms before.’
Disappointed, Lavender pocketed the drawing and showed her the other coat of arms, the one he’d sketched after seeing Bentley climb into a carriage yesterday morning. ‘And what about this one?’
Mrs Palmer hesitated and for a brief second Lavender thought he saw shock in her face. ‘I can’t be sure but I think this is the family crest of my friend Louisa Fitzgerald, who lives in Berkeley Square.’ She was holding something back.
Sir Richard frowned. ‘Why? How is Lady Louisa involved in this crime, Lavender?’
‘She’s not – at the moment. Unless she’s a redhead. Does she have red hair?’
Mrs Palmer shook her head in confusion. ‘No, she’s older than me and grey-haired.’
Lavender rose to his feet and his glance swung significantly between Sir Richard and Mrs Palmer. ‘I’ve one final question. I want to know how you two know each other. You’re far more intimate than a doctor and his patient.’
‘Ha! Nothing escapes you, does it, Detective?’ Sir Richard snapped bitterly.
‘What is the connection between you?’ Lavender persisted.
Sir Richard bristled. ‘I don’t see how that will have any bearing on the case . . .’
‘Oh, Richard, stop i
t.’ Mrs Palmer turned to Lavender, her lined face creased with worry and concern.
Lavender steeled himself for the imminent revelation.
‘Sir Richard is my younger brother,’ she said.
‘Your brother?’ He glanced between them – then cursed himself for not seeing the resemblance before. Sir Richard’s face was fleshy and Mrs Palmer’s thin and lined but they shared the same bulbous nose and pale eyes.
‘Yes, we had the same father but different mothers. I was Sylvia Allison before my marriage.’
Sir Richard looked awkward. His voice dipped. ‘I didn’t tell you before, Lavender, because I thought it might complicate things.’
‘How so?’
‘I didn’t want anyone to doubt my impartiality in this case. It’s important to me that I’m part of this investigation and that the murderer is swiftly brought to justice, for Sylvia’s sake. But I didn’t know whether – because of my family connection – you would doubt my evidence about the deceased and his injuries. Or, indeed, if the courts would do so later, when we finally track down MacAdam’s killer.’
Lavender exhaled with relief and allowed himself a small laugh. ‘I’d never doubt your evidence, Sir Richard,’ he said firmly. ‘And I’d make sure no jury did either. In fact, I sincerely hope when the exhumation of MacAdam’s coffin takes place, you’ll come up to Essex with me to examine the remains.’
‘You can rely on my help,’ Sir Richard said. ‘I’m as determined as you to get to the bottom of this devilish murder, Lavender.’
Chapter Twelve
Billy Summersgill had already reached Piccadilly by the time Woods caught sight of him again. The moneylender darted across the busy thoroughfare between the rear end of a hansom cab and an oncoming brewer’s dray and narrowly missed a trampling. The driver cursed loudly but Summersgill wasn’t listening. He swerved to avoid a man with a handcart and stumbled on to the pavement. He bent double to relieve a stitch. His shoulders heaved with his laboured breaths.
Woods grinned and calmly trotted across the road behind him, confident that the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves would be drowned out by the rumble of traffic. He swung out of the saddle, scattering a crowd of startled pedestrians, and had a metal handcuff round one of Billy’s wrists before the fugitive had time to straighten up.
‘’Ere! Gerroff me!’ Summersgill yelled. ‘I’ve done nuffin’!’ His uncuffed fist swung at Woods’ head but the man had no energy left and Woods avoided the blow easily. ‘You’re under arrest.’ Woods grabbed his other shoulder and swung the moneylender round like a child, knocking his hat to the floor. The second cuff snapped into place.
‘I’ve done nuffin’! What you arrestin’ me for?’
Woods paused for a moment with the writhing man in his arms and wondered himself. He was about to say ‘because Detective Lavender says so’ but a crowd had gathered around them and he thought better of teasing the fellah in public. Besides which, he had the reputation of Bow Street Police Office to consider. He decided to give the good folks of London a show. ‘Billy Summersgill, by the power invested in me by His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, in the name and on behalf of His Majesty King George III, I arrest you on suspicion of the murder of David MacAdam.’
The crowd gasped in horror.
‘’E’s a killer!’ someone shrieked.
‘I didn’t kill ’im!’ Summersgill squeaked. ‘Show me your warrant.’
Woods yanked on the cuffs to silence him.
‘You’re so brave, officer!’ a woman exclaimed. Woods nodded solemnly.
‘I’ll fetch your horse, Constable,’ said one of the gentlemen in the crowd.
‘That’d be most kind of you, sir.’
Woods’ well-trained patrol horse had stopped calmly by the side of the road when he’d leapt from its back and it was easily led towards the two men. Woods attached a chain between Summersgill’s cuffs and his saddle amid the cheers and excited chatter of their audience. He remounted and rode back towards Bow Street with the wild-haired, hatless and complaining moneylender stumbling beside him.
He pondered how best to conduct the interrogation while he rode beneath the arched entrance of the Bow Street stable yard at the rear of the building. In for a penny, in for a pound, he decided. Might as well scare the livin’ daylights out of him.
Eddie rushed forward across the cobbled yard to take his horse after he’d dismounted.
‘Thanks, son. Where’s David MacAdam’s body?’
‘In the morgue, like Detective Lavender told us,’ Eddie replied, ‘but there’s another corpse in there, Da. They’ve just hauled it out o’ the Thames and it stinks to high heaven.’
‘Good.’ Woods thanked Eddie, grabbed the chains and hauled the squealing Summersgill towards the stinking morgue.
Eddie was right about the foul stench. It hit Woods’ nostrils before he’d even forced open the creaking door. Four stone slabs stood in the centre of the room. An open wooden coffin stood on one of them, while a pile of decomposing flesh and sodden rags lay on the one in the far corner. Woods pushed the moneylender towards MacAdam’s coffin and pressed him to peer over the edge. The undertakers had dressed MacAdam before they brought him to Bow Street; he looked quite smart and angelic in death.
‘Take a good look at your handiwork, Billy!’ he yelled.
‘I didn’t do it, guvnor!’ Summersgill snivelled. ‘That bleedin’ dustman’s nuffin’ to do wi’ me!’
‘And why should I believe you? He welched on his debt – and within hours you’re at his home, threatenin’ violence to an old lady. You’re a murderous cove, Billy.’
‘I didn’t offer no violence!’
‘You threatened to steal her furniture!’ Woods roared. His indignant fury made the sentence sound like a hanging offence.
‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ Large tears rolled down Summersgill’s pock-marked cheeks. Woods didn’t know whether it was fear, self-pity or the stench from the drowned corpse that made his eyes water.
He grabbed the moneylender by the collar and, ignoring the man’s rank breath, hauled his face up to his own. ‘How do we know you didn’t kill him for defaultin’ on his loan?’ he hissed.
‘I swear on me old ma’s life, I never touched that swell.’
‘You ran from the law!’
Summersgill hesitated and in that instant Woods knew there was more than just a business transaction behind his association with MacAdam. ‘It weren’t that, it were somethin’ else. I don’t want no trouble.’
‘You’d better tell me everythin’.’
‘I will, I swear on me old ma’s . . .’
‘Don’t bother.’ Woods stopped him abruptly. ‘Your ma was a Covent Garden nun who died of the pox two years ago.’ He pushed Summersgill out of the door and into a small interview room in the adjacent cell block. Summersgill slumped on to a hard-backed chair and Woods sat opposite him. His empty stomach contracted in a vicious cramp and rumbled loudly. He contorted his features to make it look like he was glowering rather than grimacing with pain.
‘Now tell me what happened with MacAdam.’
Summersgill sniffed and wiped his streaming nose on the back of his coat sleeve. His chains rattled when he moved. ‘’E came to me about a month back, askin’ for a loan of a ’undred guineas. Said ’e’d seen a lovely ruby sparkler ’e wanted to buy his gal from Robbie’s on the Strand.’
‘So, you loaned him the money?’
The moneylender bristled with indignation. ‘I didn’t. I’m a sharp businessman, I am, Constable. ’E ’ad no security for the loan – or job as far as I could see. I don’t just furnish every bushed nob who walks into my shop with an ’undred yellow boys.’
Woods’ eyes narrowed. ‘So how did he persuade you to give him the chinks?’
Summersgill shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. ‘’E said ’e’d got a rich ’eiress danglin’ from ’is arm and ’e needed the ring to ensnare ’er. I weren’t rightly comfortable wi’ that.’
Wo
ods snorted. ‘Don’t tell me you’re growin’ a conscience, Billy?’
His prisoner drew himself up and bristled again. ‘I’ll ’ave you know I’m a respectable man, I am, Constable – and I respect the gals.’
Despite the griping pain in his stomach, the side of Woods’ mouth twitched. ‘That’s fine talk for a whoreson.’
‘’E said ’e’d drive past my shop at one the next day to prove it.’
‘And did he?’
The moneylender’s eyes widened at the memory. ‘Aye, ’e did – in a spankin’ black phaeton. They looked an ’andsome couple, despite her brown skin. I thought about it and decided to take a chance on the fellah.’
‘So when he came back, you gave him the chinks – probably at a sky-high rate of interest – and today he was supposed to make the first payment on the loan?’
‘Yesterday. ’E were supposed to pay yesterday. That’s why you know I didn’t kill ’im – I don’t have no reason to kill ’im. I want me money back.’ Summersgill’s face turned ugly. ‘The ring’s mine now ’e’s dead.’
‘Oh no, it’s not,’ Woods said sharply. ‘If he’s given it to his sweetheart it’s hers now. And you’ll stay well away from her and from Mrs Palmer’s house, do you hear me? When MacAdam’s estate is settled – that’s if he’s got one – you can join the line of other debtors at the lawyer’s door.’
‘That ain’t fair!’ Summersgill yelled. ‘That ring is mine. I loaned ’im the yellow boys to buy it. And I lost me ’at when you clapped me in irons.’
Woods leapt to his feet and the chair fell over with a crash. He grabbed the moneylender by the throat again and slammed him up against the cell wall. ‘Sod your hat! And you’d better forget about the ring, Billy – and leave those people alone.’
The terrified moneylender whimpered.
Woods flung open the door and pushed the snivelling wretch into the arms of the gaoler. ‘Lock him up,’ he said. ‘Detective Lavender may want a word with him when he gets back. I’m goin’ out again.’
‘Where are you goin’, Woods?’ the gaoler asked.
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