Death of an Artist (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 5)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘I’ll say so, sir. He’s me wife’s nephew.’

  Chapter Five

  Riley could see that young man’s unexpected appearance had seriously affected his sergeant’s normally implacable demeanour, as evidenced by the oaths he muttered under his breath. He allowed Salter a moment to recover by examining the distraught stranger’s appearance—a relative whom Riley had never heard Salter mention. A family man to the core, his sergeant regularly talked about all his children and near relations, proud of their smallest achievements.

  Presumably Reggie, whose surname Riley had yet to establish, did not measure up to Salter’s exacting moral standards. A broad-shouldered handsome man of no more than twenty-five, Riley wondered what character faults had offended Salter’s sensibilities. Doubtless, he was about to find out.

  ‘Uncle Jack, where is she?’ Reggie’s wild eyes pleaded with Salter, seeking reassurances Riley’s sergeant was not in a position to offer. ‘I have to know she’s all right.’

  ‘Calm down.’ Since Salter was now scowling at his nephew and appeared incapable of speech, Riley took control. ‘I am Inspector Rochester. Clearly, you are already acquainted with my sergeant. May I know your name?’

  ‘Reggie. Reggie Archer.’

  ‘What are you doing here, Reggie?’ Salter asked in a forbidding tone.

  ‘Looking for my friend.’ He ran a hand through wildly tangled hair and didn’t seem to feel the lack of a coat on a bitterly cold day. ‘I came as soon as I heard the rumours. I know they cannot be true, but now you are here and I…’

  Riley interrupted the breathless flow of words by asking Archer to excuse them for a moment. He took Salter’s elbow and led him to one side.

  ‘What’s going on, Jack?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know, but one thing’s for sure, if Reggie’s somehow involved with Miss Mottram it can only mean trouble.’

  ‘He’s the family’s black sheep, I take it.’

  Salter sniffed. ‘And then some. I thought of Reggie a lot when we dealt with the murder of that scoundrel Rod Woodrow. They’re from different walks of life but that’s where the dissimilarities end. Reggie is just as capable of living off rich women as Rod was, without the arrangement troubling his conscience.’

  ‘Miss Mottram wasn’t rich.’ Riley patted Salter’s shoulder, aware that his sergeant was embarrassed and deeply offended by his relative’s lifestyle. ‘We’d best have a quiet word with him, see find out how he came to be involved with the victim.’ Riley paused. ‘You realise, of course, that if Reggie becomes a suspect, you will have to steer well clear of him.’

  Salter set his jaw. ‘Fine by me,’ he muttered.

  But Riley knew it would be anything but fine. He also knew that they would need to keep the relationship to themselves for the time being or risk providing Danforth with all the ammunition he needed to separate Riley and Salter. That, Riley imagined, had been his purpose in keeping Salter away from ongoing investigations during Riley’s recent absence. He wanted to destroy Riley’s power base, aware of just how much he depended upon Salter’s down to earth good sense and diligence.

  ‘You were acquainted with Miss Mottram?’ Riley asked, turning back to Archer.

  ‘Was, and still am.’ His handsome face crumpled. ‘Are you telling me it’s true, then? She’s actually dead?’

  ‘As a doornail,’ Salter said in a harsh tone. ‘What would you know about that?’

  ‘Nothing! I swear. We were friends.’ He tore dramatically at his hair. ‘The last thing I’d want to do would be to hurt her.’ He fixed the detectives with a murderous look. ‘But I’m willing to do severe physical damage to whoever did.’

  ‘We had best go somewhere quiet to talk,’ Riley said, steering the young man away from the gates of Vermont’s house and the growing crowd of passers-by who lingered, presumably sensing an unfolding drama.

  ‘I have a place nearby.’

  The three men walked in terse silence until, three streets away, they came to a small house that appeared to be inhabited by artists. Miss Mottram enjoyed art, Riley recalled, which might explain her friendship with Archer. Several people who were sitting before easels close to a coal brazier that struggled to heat the space looked up when Archer walked in. One young woman, wearing a painter’s smock over a smart walking gown, stood but Archer waved her back to her seat. She followed Archer’s progress with devoted eyes as he led the way into a back room that contained a bed, two chairs and a table almost hidden by half-finished paintings. Riley glanced at them.

  ‘Yours?’ he asked Archer. The young man nodded. ‘You have talent.’

  Archer shrugged and didn’t acknowledge the compliment. Arrogance or artistic temperament? Riley was unable to decide, but he already understood why Salter and the young man didn’t get along. Salter tended to be uncompromising when it came to his work ethic, as evidenced by his expression when he looked round his nephew’s living accommodation and gave a derisive sniff.

  ‘Is this the reward for success you kept on about?’ he asked.

  ‘We don’t all measure success in terms of material possessions, Uncle Jack.’

  ‘Just as well.’

  Riley held up a hand to prevent a serious dispute arising. He took one of the chairs and motioned Archer to the other. Salter leaned a shoulder against the door and removed his notebook from his pocket.

  ‘I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news,’ Riley said, ‘but you must realise that time is of the essence, if we are to catch whoever committed this terrible crime.’

  Archer’s eyes flooded with tears. ‘I understand, and I want to help.’

  Salter sniffed but made no comment.

  ‘How did she die? Did she suffer?’

  ‘Tell me how you came to be acquainted with Miss Mottram,’ Riley invited, avoiding giving an answer.

  ‘This is an open artists’ studio,’ Archer explained. ‘By that I mean that for a modest fee anyone who enjoys painting can come here and practise their skills. My partner and I offer lessons. It helps to supplement our income. Then we take our work to Camberwell market and sell whatever we can.’ He sent a defiant look towards Salter. ‘We get by. Mel…Miss Mottram, called in one day in her free time and became an occasional visitor after that. She had talent, we got along well. We had plans...’

  ‘What sort of plans?’ Riley asked when Archer’s words trailed off and he sat in morose silence, staring at his feet.

  Archer tossed his wild mane of hair and said nothing.

  ‘You were in love with her?’ Riley suggested.

  ‘If you like. We got along well and made each other laugh.’

  Which was no answer at all, Riley accepted. He decided not to press the issue. At least for now. ‘Yesterday was her afternoon off and she didn’t spend it with you here,’ he remarked, adopting a quizzical tone. ‘We know that she went up to London. Did you accompany her?’

  Archer shook his head. ‘If I had, she would still be alive. I warned her repeatedly about the dangers of gadding about on her own. She was an attractive woman and not nearly as alert to danger as she seemed to think.’ He sighed. ‘Mel enjoyed life and saw only the best in everyone.’

  ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon and evening?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Me?’ His eyes widened and he looked genuinely shocked by the question. ‘Surely you don’t think I would harm a hair on her head.’

  ‘I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t ask,’ Riley replied calmly, glancing up at Salter, who had yet to utter a word.

  ‘I was here all the afternoon and evening. My partner, Raymond Miller, arranged for a party of four students from France to spend the day sketching on the common. Then Ray was called away unexpectedly for a family emergency, so I had to cancel my own plans—’

  ‘To accompany Miss Mottram to London?’

  ‘No. I offered but she said she was meeting someone and didn’t need company.’

  ‘Did she say who?’

  ‘No, and
I didn’t ask. Mel didn’t take kindly to being cross-questioned about her activities, so I afforded her the freedom she craved. She complained that she was at the beck and call of her charges during her working days and reserved the right to do as she pleased in whatever spare time she had. I understood her need for freedom,’ he said, sending Salter a condemning look, ‘so I stopped clinging and she responded by coming here more frequently, sometimes for an hour or two of an evening when her duties were finished for the day. She said she found it easier to express herself on canvas in a casual environment.’

  ‘What do you suppose she meant by that?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Old Vermont is a bit of a stickler for protocol, I suppose. He wouldn’t let her loiter downstairs where the light was better and have the place smell of paint. And she didn’t get along with Lady Vermont. Said she was cold, impersonal and demanding and that she neglected her children, leaving their wellbeing and moral guidance to Mel.’

  Not uncommon, Riley knew, for the upper classes to more or less ignore their offspring—especially girls. It did not, he realised, show his class in an especially good light.

  ‘Right, so you took your students to the common, but I cannot imagine that you stayed there for long. It’s freezing at this time of year. What did you do after dark?’

  ‘We went to the Crown in the village. They serve a decent stew and have a man with a fiddle playing jigs most nights. Visitors enjoy that sort of thing. I saw them off on a train to London at about ten.’

  Riley leaned forward and fixed the young man with a hard stare. ‘Did you remain at the station and wait for Miss Mottram to return?’

  ‘I thought about it.’ Archer returned Riley’s look with transparent-seeming honesty. ‘I’ve done it once or twice before. She normally catches the last train back. But I decided against it in the end. It makes her cross if she thinks I’m being over-protective.’

  ‘It must have filled you with jealousy to think of her in London with another man.’

  ‘What makes you think she was with a man?’ Archer looked shocked by the suggestion. ‘I can assure you that she was not free with her favours, if that is what you mean to imply. Her friend would be a woman,’ he added with a definitive nod.

  ‘You are not aware of the names of the friends she visited in London. She didn’t share that information with you.’

  ‘No, I suppose she didn’t. I just assumed that her friends were other females. She mentioned once about school friends who resided in the capital.’

  ‘You are aware that she comes from Devon?’

  ‘Yes.’ Archer leaned his elbows on his splayed thighs and shook his head from side to side. ‘This is a nightmare. I keep thinking I’ll wake up from it, but I won’t, will I?’

  ‘You live in this property alone?’ Riley asked.

  ‘I share it with Ray, my partner.’

  ‘But he was away last night, so you were alone. No one can vouch for your whereabouts.’

  Archer lifted his head and sent Riley a jaundiced look. ‘No, they cannot.’

  ‘The young woman whom we passed on the way in?’

  ‘Rachel Bowden? She’s an American, touring England and improving her art by, as she puts it, broadening her horizons. She has taken a liking to Dulwich and has decided to remain for an indefinite period.’ Taken a liking to Archer, more like, Riley thought. He had seen the devotion in her eyes when she watched him walk through the studio. ‘She has a room in one of the boarding houses in the village. There are enough of them, given that the college uses them to house their students. I can find out which, if it helps.’

  ‘There’s no need.’ Riley stood, deeply disturbed by what he had just heard. ‘That will be all for now, Mr Archer. I am sorry for your loss. We may need to ask you more questions. Please don’t leave the district without first letting us know.’

  ‘No, no, of course not. Anything I can do.’ He paused. ‘Her father will have to be informed, I suppose. They didn’t get along, you know. Their differences came to a head when she decided to leave Devon. I don’t actually know what caused her to be at odds with her family, although she did once say that their expectations stifled her.’

  Riley and Salter left the premises without Salter saying a word, making do with a curt nod towards his nephew.

  ‘That was difficult for you, Jack,’ Riley said sympathetically.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it, sir.’

  ‘You realise you’ll have to tell me everything about him, don’t you?’

  Salter responded with a glum nod. They were close to the Greyhound and it was lunchtime, so Riley steered his sergeant into the taproom and ordered ale and meat pies for them both. They found a table in a quiet corner and each took a healthy sip of beer.

  ‘Talk to me,’ Riley said, when they had supped for a minute or two in contemplative silence. ‘It’s clear to me that you don’t approve of his lifestyle.’

  ‘Like I said earlier, he’s a dreamer and a scrounge. He’s always had some artistic talent, but he drove his father demented with his determination to make a living out of it. His pa’s a master carpenter and wanted the boy to follow in his footsteps, but Reggie weren’t having none of it.’ Salter leaned back in his chair and blew air through his lips. ‘The wife’s sister took the boy’s side, like most women do, and persuaded her husband that he should be allowed to chase his dream. Reckoned it would be the quickest way to make him see sense, so she said. She was convinced he’d come crawling home again once he realised he’d have to feed and clothe himself, but it never happened.’

  ‘He does have talent, Jack. With the right agent touting his work, I think he could make quite a name for himself.’

  ‘Aye well, it ain’t happened yet. What’s more, in the early days he was forever at his ma for handouts. She coughed up an’ all, going without herself because he’s always had that way about him. Could charm the birds out of the trees, his pa always said. Anyway, there was a bit of unpleasantness along the way. He fell in with the wrong crowd and they needed me to step in and keep him out of gaol. I told ’em that’d be the first and only time. I wasn’t going to bend the law, not for him and not for no one. That was a couple of years ago. Last I heard, he’d got himself a fancy woman who sponsored him, but now I find him here.’ Salter scratched his head. ‘Quite a shock that was, I don’t mind telling you. But he’s bad news.’

  Their food arrived, and they stopped talking until the girl who delivered it took herself off again. Riley took a cautious bite of his pie, found it more palatable than he had steeled himself to expect and nodded his approval. A large man walked in with a huge dog on a rope. The boarded floor shook beneath his weight as he stamped his feet, presumably to restore his circulation. He ordered ale and took a seat in front of the fire. The dog slumped down at his feet, clearly accustomed to the routine.

  ‘This is going to be an impossible question for you to answer, Jack. Your loyalties naturally veer on the side of your wife and her family, I can quite understand that, but—’

  ‘But do I reckon Reggie is capable of murder if jealousy got the better of him?’ Salter paused with a forkful of pie halfway to his mouth. Riley could see how upset he was since he’d barely touched his food—a state of affairs that was almost unheard of. ‘That’s what you want to know. Of course you do. You’re a copper investigating a murder.’ Salter sighed and placed his fork back onto his plate, contemplating his answer. ‘I honestly couldn’t say, sir, but I would advise against believing a word that comes out of his mouth unless someone else confirms it. I know from experience that he’s a liar and he ain’t got much of a conscience about who he lies to.’

  ‘My problem is his supposed willingness to let the woman he all but admitted being in love with gallivant around London unescorted. Or at the very least, not ascertaining whom she was going up to town to meet. In his situation it would have driven me wild with jealousy. If, as he says, she was reluctant to be pinned down, or he felt he couldn’t declare himself until he could offe
r her a comfortable future, at the very least he would have followed her up to town to see what she got up to and discover if he had rivals for her affections.’

  ‘We already know he had one. Peter Renshaw at the school. But he wasn’t able to clip her wings, either.’

  ‘And like Reggie, he has no one to confirm his whereabouts at the vital time, which is a good thing from your nephew’s perspective. It casts doubts over his culpability, but unfortunately it throws a question mark over Miss Mottram’s morals. We have Daniel Vermont to speak with yet, too. I’ll wager he was the person that Melanie went up to town to spend time with, which means both Renshaw and your nephew’s aspirations were doomed to failure.’ Riley put his cutlery aside and rubbed his chin. ‘Miss Mottram knew her own worth and wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted. I am starting to get a picture of her behaviour and I’m not altogether surprised at the way things turned out for her.’

  ‘You think Reggie met her off her train, demanded to know where she had been and who she’d been with? He walked her back to Vermont’s house, where she unlocked the side gate and he followed her in. She wouldn’t have been afraid of him, but he got angry when she wouldn’t tell him what she’d been up to. Things got out of hand and, well…’ Salter sighed. ‘It don’t look too good for Reggie, does it sir? God alone knows what my wife will have to say about this sorry business.’

  ‘Best keep it to yourself for now, Jack. I don’t want to test your wife’s loyalties. I’m sure she’d want to tell her sister that the boy’s in deep trouble. But it’s early days and we have absolutely no proof that your nephew is guilty of anything.’ Riley recalled his own sister-in-law’s tenuous involvement with the murder victim Roderick Woodrow—an involvement which Riley had kept to himself. Even Salter hadn’t been made aware of it. ‘We don’t want to help Danforth make trouble for us.’

  Salter grunted. ‘That’s right good of you, sir.’

  ‘If we feel we need to speak to Reggie formally, I will have to keep you out of that interview.’ Another grunt. ‘But be assured this is no reflection upon you, Jack, and if Danforth or anyone else tries to say otherwise, they will have me to contend with.’ His expression turned grim. ‘We are none of us responsible for the behaviour of our relatives. They must take responsibility for their own actions. Speaking of which, not all the particulars of Danforth’s pleasures at that whorehouse became common knowledge at the Yard. I might have to remind him of that if he tries to make trouble for you and me.’