‘Sounds like a pretty little sparkler,’ Woods said. ‘Who served the gentleman?’
The proprietor glanced down at the ledger and then called over a young man called Perkins. Woods asked him to describe the customer. Perkins’ description matched MacAdam.
‘Were Mr MacAdam alone when he came into the shop?’
‘Yes, sir, but he was in a hurry. I believe there was a lady waitin’ outside for him in his carriage.’
‘A lady? Did you see her?’
‘No, officer. It was just somethin’ he said when he left about how he “mustn’t keep the old gal waitin’”.’
‘Old gal?’ Was this just a crude slang way of talking or a clue? ‘Can you describe the carriage?’
‘Describe it, officer?’ Confusion flashed across Perkins’ pale, freckled face.
‘Yes, the vehicle. Were it a flashy black phaeton, for example?’
‘No, it were just an ordinary carriage with smart chestnut horses.’
‘Were there a crest on the side, a coat of arms?’
Perkins shook his head. ‘There were market traders with stalls outside on the pavement. I only caught a glimpse of it over their heads when it pulled away.’
Woods glanced up at the jewelled face of the elegant French long clock that stood at the end of the counter. It was a quarter off two o’clock. He had to get back to Bow Street. ‘You’ve been very helpful, gentlemen, thank you.’
Lavender was standing talking with Eddie in the stable yard when Woods trotted beneath the arched entrance. He pulled up beside them and dismounted. ‘I’ve a lot to tell you, sir,’ he said, ‘and I’ve got a description of the ring MacAdam bought.’
Lavender nodded. ‘That’s good news, Ned. Your son has also been doing some detecting on our behalf while we were out.’
Woods saw the gleam of excitement in his boy’s brown eyes. ‘Oh, yes? What’s been happenin’ here?’
‘According to Eddie, the late Mr MacAdam has had visitors,’ Lavender continued. ‘Female visitors.’
Woods raised his eyebrows in amusement. ‘I hope MacAdam were courteous, made them tea and offered them both a comfy chair.’
‘Don’t be daft, Da,’ Eddie said, annoyed. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Well, I’ll wager they didn’t stay long in that stinking morgue.’
‘No, they didn’t,’ Eddie gabbled. He was bursting to tell his story. ‘They said they wanted to pay their last respects to Mr MacAdam – at least, the young one did. The older one never spoke.’
‘You said they were both heavily veiled, Eddie,’ Lavender said gently. ‘How could you tell the difference in their ages?’
‘It were her hands, sir. The older one took her gloves off for a moment to button up her coat. Her hands were wrinkled and had those brown old people’s spots that Ma has.’
Lavender bit back his smile and Woods chuckled.
‘You’d best not mention to your ma she has “old people’s spots”,’ Woods said.
‘But it’s good observation, Eddie,’ Lavender pointed out.
Eddie beamed at the praise.
‘Did you ask for their names, son?’
The youngster’s face fell. ‘No, it didn’t seem right to question them. They was only inside the morgue for a moment and left quickly. The older woman seemed upset.’
‘Did they arrive in a carriage?’ Woods asked.
Eddie shook his head. ‘I don’t know, they went out of the archway into the street.’
‘Did the younger woman have a thick foreign accent? How did she sound?’ Lavender asked.
‘No, she sounded just like me – but I thought she were dark.’
‘Thought it, or saw it, Eddie?’ Lavender asked quietly.
Eddie hesitated. ‘Thought it – I’m not sure. Did I do wrong? Should I have questioned them harder?’
Lavender patted him on the back. ‘No, Eddie – you’ve been very helpful, as always. Keep your eyes peeled, though, in case they come back.’
They left him glowing with praise and walked inside the police office to wait for Mrs MacAdam and Ike Rawlings.
‘Did you think one of those visitors may have been Miss Howard? Did she come to say goodbye to her fiancé?’ Woods asked.
‘Yes, I wondered if it might have been her – especially when he said he thought she was dark-skinned. I’ve not met Miss Howard yet but I doubt she speaks just like Eddie.’
The gloomy hallway entrance of the police office heaved with the dregs of London society. A sorry collection of petty criminals waited morosely in handcuffs and chains by the desk for the clerks to record the details of the charges against them. Once the administration was complete, they would be taken by the constables to the cramped and overcrowded cells at the back of the building.
Woods glanced at the sour-faced Chief Clerk, Oswald Grey, and his beleaguered staff behind the desk. ‘That reminds me, sir, I’ve kept Billy Summersgill below the hatches in case you wanted a word with him.’ He told Lavender the information he’d gleaned from the moneylender and explained how it had led him on to Robertson’s, the jewellers where he got the description of the ruby ring.
‘You’ve done well, Ned, but ask Grey to release Summersgill. With any luck, this stint in the cells will have frightened him and he’ll leave Mrs Palmer alone. The ring isn’t in her house.’
Woods nodded. He sidestepped a drunk who’d slid down the greasy wall on to the floor and went to the desk to organise Summersgill’s release. A new thought struck him when he returned to Lavender’s side. ‘The jeweller said an “old gal” were waitin’ in a carriage for MacAdam while he purchased the ring. Maybe it were the same old trot who’s just been to view MacAdam’s body?’
‘This case gets more intriguing by the hour,’ Lavender said thoughtfully. ‘We need to find out more about MacAdam’s London friends and associates and track down this mysterious carriage he claimed to own. Now Collins has vanished into thin air and that lead has gone cold, we’ll make tracing MacAdam’s last journey home from the Howards’ our main priority. Somewhere between climbing aboard that coach and the steps of his home on Park Lane he received a fatal injury.’
‘Collins has vanished?’
‘Yes.’ Lavender told him about his visit to Raitt’s.
Woods was stunned. ‘That’s a real mystery, that. Why would he disappear – especially if MacAdam had promised to make him a rich man? It don’t make sense.’
Lavender shrugged. ‘I’ve no explanation for his disappearance. Perhaps he didn’t help MacAdam for the money. I may be wrong about that.’
‘Maybe Collins got drunk in a dockside tavern and were press-ganged into the navy,’ Woods suggested.
Lavender shook his head. ‘No, he’s gone to ground somewhere in the country. He sent Mrs Palmer a brief note with some rent money in August. To be honest, I think it might be worth raising a hue and cry for him.’
Woods was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I wondered if Mrs Palmer may have been the “old gal” waitin’ in the carriage for MacAdam?’
Lavender shook his head. ‘She claims no knowledge of any carriage – but then again she had a suspicion MacAdam was married and never mentioned it. To be honest, Ned, I think Mrs Palmer knows far more about David MacAdam than she’s told us. She’s keeping something back.’
Mrs MacAdam and Ike Rawlings walked through the entrance into the hallway. They looked pale and glanced around awkwardly. She wore a fraying dark coat over her gown and a battered bonnet. Her clothes and Rawlings’ old coat were dusty from their journey.
‘Oh, and there’s something else she and Sir Richard held back from us yesterday,’ Lavender said before they went to greet the visitors.
Woods growled at the mention of Sir Richard’s name. ‘What’s that then?’
‘They’re brother and sister.’
Woods looked like Lavender had just slapped him round the face with a wet kipper. ‘You’re jestin’ with me, surely?’
‘No.’
‘How can
that sweet little old woman be related to Sir Slyboots?’
Woods’ shocked reaction made Lavender smile. ‘Well, they are. Same father, different mothers. Now forget about Sir Richard and come with me. I need you to concentrate on the reaction of Mrs MacAdam and Ike Rawlings when we go into the morgue.’
It only took Mrs MacAdam a few seconds to identify the body of her husband, so mercifully the time they spent in the stinking morgue was short.
Outside in the fresh air and sunshine of the stable yard, the woman exploded. ‘I can’t believe the lyin’, cheatin’ scoundrel did that to us! What were ’e thinkin’ of?’ Her cheeks flushed and her plain face became ugly with anger. She shook off Rawlings’ hand when he reached out to soothe her. ‘Why did ’e pretend to be dead?’
‘We think he’d met another woman and wanted to marry her,’ Woods said gently.
‘Well, she were welcome to ’im!’ she shouted. ‘The lyin’ wrinkler!’
‘We’re sorry for your loss,’ Lavender said.
‘No, no – don’t be sorry. It were good riddance when ’e died in June – and it’s good riddance ’e’s died again. The scum!’
‘We’ll open the inquest into his death here, tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. You’d be welcome to attend.’
‘I don’t think so!’
Lavender turned to Rawlings in the hope he might be less emotional but was surprised to see the carrier wipe a hasty tear from the corner of his eye. ‘Are you feeling all right, sir?’
Rawlings nodded his shaggy head and cleared his throat. ‘It were just a bit upsettin’, that’s all. I’ve known Davy for years. ’E were a rogue, yes, but it’s awful to think of ’im murdered like that.’ He fumbled in his pocket for his pipe and tobacco.
‘You’re a soft-hearted fool then, Ike Rawlings,’ the little woman snapped. ‘I’ll not shed no more tears over ’im after the way ’e’s carried on.’
‘We’ve requested the exhumation,’ Lavender said. ‘When the bishop sends the permission, we’ll bring Mr MacAdam back up to Chelmsford so you can bury him again.’
‘And no doubt that’ll cost me!’ Her eyes rolled up to the sky and she threw her hands up in frustration. ‘Lord knows what I’ve done to offend God so much I’m cursed wi’ ’avin’ to bury the same ’usband twice.’
Lavender had no answer to that. He turned back to Rawlings. ‘I need to know something, sir. You’ve told us you travel to London regularly to bring stone to a building merchant in the city.’
‘Yes, I come to Eggerton’s stonemasons in Spitalfields. Why?’
‘During your time in the city, have you ever met David MacAdam – or seen him in passing? Did you know where he lived?’
Rawlings stopped filling his pipe and glanced up. ‘No, our paths never crossed. I knew ’e lodged somewhere in the city but I didn’t know where.’ A red flush crept up his neck above his dirty blue neckerchief. His soft brown eyes blinked rapidly then dropped beneath Lavender’s steady gaze.
‘What’s this all about?’ Mrs MacAdam asked angrily. ‘Why do yer want to know about Ike?’
‘Mr Rawlings has already told us he was in London the day your husband was murdered,’ Woods said.
‘What?’ She glanced quickly between the strained faces of the three men. ‘What?’ She gave a short, brittle laugh. ‘Don’t tell me you think Ike may have killed Davy?’
‘We have to examine every possibility,’ Lavender said.
‘And Mr Rawlings had a motive,’ Woods added. ‘We know you planned to wed each other soon.’
‘What’s that got to do wi’ anythin’? Yer jestin’ wi’ us, surely? You can’t think Ike had anythin’ to do wi’ Davy’s murder?’ Rawlings remained silent and rooted to the spot. A few shreds of tobacco floated unheeded from his pouch down to the cobbles.
‘At the moment, we don’t know what happened,’ Lavender confessed, ‘but we will soon. And you, madam, have you ever been to London before?’
‘I ’ave not! And I tell you somethin’ else, Detective – I won’t be comin’ again!’ She grabbed Rawlings’ arm and half-dragged the tall man and his unlit pipe through the arch and out of the stable yard.
Chapter Fifteen
Are you lettin’ them go?’ Woods asked, as Rawlings and the indignant Mrs MacAdam disappeared from sight and out into the street.
‘For now,’ Lavender replied. ‘We know where they are if we need to question them again and we’ll be back in Chelmsford soon for the exhumation.’
Rawlings and the indignant Mrs MacAdam disappeared from sight out into the street.
‘He looked shocked.’
Lavender nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, there’s something not right there. He was surprisingly upset to see MacAdam’s body.’
‘Were it guilt, do you think?’
‘I don’t know, but my instincts tell me Ike Rawlings knows something about MacAdam’s death. We’ll let him brood on it for a few days and question him again in Chelmsford. In the meantime, Ned, I want you to go over to Eggerton’s stonemasons in Spitalfields and find out what you can about Rawlings. We need to know if he went straight home after he made his delivery two days ago, if he stayed in London – and if he was alone when he arrived.’
‘What about you, sir?’
‘I intend to question Mrs Palmer’s third lodger, Alfred Bentley. After that, I’ll go to Bruton Street to see the Howards and I’ll call in at MacAdam’s bank on the way. I’ll meet you back here later.’
Before they separated, they approached Oswald Grey at the custody desk. Bow Street’s Chief Clerk was aptly named. A tall, pallid, greying man of sixty with pale humourless eyes and a preference for drab clothing, Grey rarely smiled. His was a responsible position, which he carried with diligence, intelligence and occasionally a sardonic quip or two about both the felons and the officers.
Woods signed for the release of Billy Summersgill, then departed. Lavender asked Grey to contact the newspapers and ask them to raise the hue and cry and write a ‘Wanted’ notice for Francis Collins, tea salesman, formerly of Park Lane, London.
‘He’s in his late twenties and is well built and about five foot ten inches tall. He’s got longish dark hair with a reddish tinge – and a prominent wart on his chin.’
‘Any known aliases?’ Grey asked.
‘Not at the moment. He was called “Frank”, though.’
‘Aren’t they all.’ Grey made a note of the nickname. ‘And he’s wanted on what charge?’ He paused with his quill poised above the paper.
Lavender hesitated for a moment while he thought carefully. ‘Perjury and deception.’
Grey raised a quizzical eyebrow behind his wire spectacles. ‘That’s not very exciting for a hue and cry notice, Lavender. It needs to be more dramatic or no one will bother to read it.’
‘I’ve not come across a case like this before,’ Lavender confessed.
‘Do you need me to help you, Detective? I’ve got thirty years of experience of drawing up charge sheets.’
Lavender felt amused by Grey’s patronising tone. ‘Frank Collins took an unidentified body in a coffin to a vicar to bury and gave him false evidence. That’s definitely perjury.’
‘An unknown corpse?’ Was there a tinge of excitement in the clerk’s voice? ‘Did he murder the dead man?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘Well, if he wasn’t a murderer, was he a body-snatcher? Did he dig up the victim in the coffin?’
‘No – well, not as far as I know.’
‘You don’t seem to know much,’ Grey said. His tone was full of disdain but his face expressionless. ‘What about a shroud? Did he steal a shroud with the body? That’s a hanging offence on its own and any mention of a death shroud always excites the ghoulish public.’
Lavender smiled. ‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘Did he obstruct a lawful burial? That’s another hanging offence.’
Lavender thought for a moment. ‘Possibly – we need to find the damned man and hold the
exhumation before we can uncover the true extent of his crimes.’
Grey’s long, thin nose sniffed. ‘There’s no need to curse, Detective. I suppose we’ll just have to settle for perjury, deception and fraud then.’ He sighed heavily while he wrote down the three words.
‘I’m sure when I finally apprehend this felon, there’ll be a long list of charges against him,’ Lavender said.
‘Yes, and no doubt I’ll get cramp in my hand when I write them down – and a dry throat in court when I read them out. I’ll look forward to that. Personally, I’m just surprised the felon used his real name. If half of what you’ve told me is true, he’ll swing for this, for sure.’
Lavender thanked him, pulled his hat back on his head and strode out of the building into the sunshine.
But he’d barely descended the steps when he stopped short, frowning. Grey had raised a good point. What if it hadn’t been Frank Collins who’d taken the coffin back to Chelmsford? He remembered the description Rawlings had given him of a dark-haired young man. He’d never mentioned a prominent wart on his chin. Perhaps Collins had innocently continued his journey up to Yorkshire and some mishap had befallen him up there in the provinces?
But if Frank Collins hadn’t accompanied the coffin to Essex, then who the devil had impersonated him?
The manager at the bank of Messrs Down, Thornton and Gill was busy with other customers when Lavender called in to the bank. Frustrated, he made an appointment for first thing the following morning to discuss David MacAdam’s finances and left the bank clerk in no doubt that this was a matter of urgency. Next, he made his way to the Grosvenor Estate office.
He was introduced to the manager, who scowled at his request to interview Bentley. He was taken into a large room where Bentley sat in silence behind a high bench with a row of other junior clerks. His dark head was bowed over his work when they entered. He glanced up and his good-looking young face flashed with alarm when he saw Lavender. The lad had probably just turned twenty.
The manager led them to a small unused office for the interview. It was dirty, dark and full of broken furniture, which smelled of mould. ‘You’d better not be in any trouble with the law, Bentley,’ he said when he turned to leave, ‘or we’ll have to reconsider your position here.’
Murder in Park Lane Page 11