Death of an Artist (Riley Rochester Investigates Book 5)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘If he’d found out that she was expecting and he wasn’t the father, after everything he’d sacrificed for her sake.’ Salter looked grim. ‘Perhaps she’d finally pushed him too far.’

  ‘Cheer up, Jack. The more suspects we acquire, the more the odds lengthen regarding your nephew’s guilt. That should ease Mrs Salter’s mind.’

  Salter grunted. ‘I’m ecstatic.’

  ‘So I observe.’ Riley sent his sergeant a droll look and reached for his hat. ‘Come along. Let’s get ourselves some lunch, then we’ll go off to Dulwich. But before we do, have Carter send that telegram to Treadwell right away please. Oh, and have him come down to Dulwich later today with Soames, once they’ve finished up here. I want them talking to everyone in the village, especially the landlords of those two taverns. There’s always a busybody or two in these places who sees and hears everything. I need all the gossip they can gather regarding Miss Mottram, and I specifically need to know if anyone saw her arriving back in Dulwich on the night in question. More specifically still, was she alone or did they see anyone following her?’

  ‘Right, I’ll arrange it.’

  Chapter Ten

  The rain persisted for the duration of the train journey into Dulwich, a grim reflection of their progress with the investigation, Riley thought. Low clouds shrouded the countryside, mirroring the fog in Riley’s brain. Far from not having any suspects, they were accumulating more by the hour, but had yet to find anyone other than the station master who saw Miss Mottram return from London on the night she died, or place any of the suspects in her company at the vital time. Riley was depending upon Carter and Soames’s enquiries to bear fruit. Never underestimate the usefulness of gossips.

  A husband. Riley had not even considered the possibility, but now that he was aware of Treadwell’s existence, it cast the victim in an entirely different light. If Mottram was to be believed, Treadwell was the last word in respectability, understanding and patience. Even so, Miss Mottram’s assumption that she could get away indefinitely with passing herself off as something she was not defied belief. And yet she had got away with it—until someone literally stabbed her in the back. Which of their suspects had the most compelling reason to resort to deadly violence?

  Riley admitted to himself that he didn’t have the first idea.

  The two detectives went directly to Dulwich College and again asked to see Renshaw. Riley was aware that senior detectives grilling a member of the college faculty twice in as many days would raise disapproving eyebrows as well as suspicions. But the young man, when he appeared, seemed resigned to their visit.

  ‘Is there something more I can help you with, gentlemen?’ he asked politely, seating himself across from Riley, on the opposite side of the small table in the equally small room that had once more been made available to them. ‘Have you made progress with your investigation?’

  Salter shrugged himself off the wall and took a few steps towards Renshaw, leaning forward until their noses almost touched. ‘You can start but not mucking us about and telling us the truth!’ He shouted. Startled, Renshaw flinched and drew back in his chair.

  ‘You gave Miss Mottram a reference,’ Riley said, motioning Salter to stand back.

  ‘Oh hell, I hoped you wouldn’t find out about that.’ He dropped his head into his splayed hands. ‘I’ve made a bit of a fool of myself. How much do you know?’

  ‘We have spoken to Mrs Treadwell’s father.’ Riley deliberately referred to the victim by her married name, looking for a reaction. In came in the form of a minuscule wince, so fleeting that Riley would have missed it had he not been studying Renshaw closely. ‘And to the agency who found her the position with the Vermonts. That is how we discovered your prior involvement, but that would not have been necessary if you’d been honest with us from the outset. As an educated man, you will be aware that deliberately misleading a murder investigation is a criminal offence. You are probably also clever enough to realise that lying to us is not only an insult to our intelligence but also increases our suspicions about the nature of your involvement with the lady.’

  ‘I knew how it would look if I told you about the reference.’ Renfrew scrubbed his hands down his face. ‘God, what a mess! If the governors here discover what I did…well, I shall be out of work. I didn’t know that Mel was dead until you came to tell me. It was a terrible shock and I didn’t have time to think about what I said to you before…well, I’d said it. Survival instincts kicked in, I suppose.’ He looked Riley directly in the eye. ‘But I can assure you that I didn’t kill her.’

  ‘Tell us everything now,’ Riley said, fixing the schoolmaster with a firm look. ‘This is your one chance. But be warned, if I don’t believe you I shall not hesitate to take you away from here in handcuffs. And if you force me into that position, your career really will be over.’

  Renshaw nodded, let out a slow breath and started talking. ‘I met Mel in Devon, where I worked as a mathematics teacher in a grammar school. We were both aspiring artists, but she had more talent than me.’ Riley nodded, thinking Renshaw’s talent must indeed be spartan if Miss Mottram’s eclipsed it. ‘That’s how we became friends.’

  ‘And lovers,’ Salter said, a vicious edge to his voice. ‘Even though she was another man’s wife.’

  ‘Eventually. I knew she was married, yes, but she wasn’t happy in that marriage. And I…well, I was completely besotted. There was something about her wild nature, her complete indifference to society’s standards and her determination to live her life on her own terms that I found refreshing. So few of us have the freedom or courage to defy convention and follow her example.’

  ‘We ain’t all that selfish,’ Salter muttered.

  ‘I admired her but didn’t encourage her to abandon her marriage.’ Renshaw looked directly at Riley again, his eyes wide and sincere. ‘I didn’t behave particularly well, I accept that, but it was she who told me she was planning to leave and asked me if I would help her. What could I do?’ He spread his hands. ‘I was her paramour, she had given of herself unstintingly, and so of course I agreed to do what I could. She wanted to get a position somewhere close to London and the hub of the art world, and required a reference in her maiden name.’

  ‘In essence, you helped her to run away from her husband,’ Riley said when Renshaw’s words trailed to a temporary halt.

  ‘I did what she asked of me, yes. She was no tramp, inspector, and the fact that we shared a bed was not a situation that she entered into lightly.’

  ‘You seduced her?’

  ‘No one seduced anyone. It was a natural progression between a man and woman who were attracted to one another.’ Salter grunted. ‘She was unhappy. She felt trapped and needed someone she could talk to. Someone who wouldn’t judge her and…well, things progressed from there. She admitted to me that she married Treadwell for all the wrong reasons. Mostly to escape her family. Her father had placed unreasonable restrictions upon her and she felt stifled.’

  ‘What did she tell you about her husband?’

  ‘Nothing to his detriment. She was at least loyal in that regard.’ Salter harrumphed yet again and Riley knew that his Christian morality would be offended by Miss Mottram’s casual approach to adultery. ‘She just said that he was dull and that she felt smothered. So she planned her escape and I went along with it, playing my part. I didn’t intend to follow her. Then things got awkward—’

  ‘How?’ Salter asked when Renshaw paused.

  ‘Just before she left, rumours about the two of us reached her husband’s ears. We’d been seen together, Mel and I. He told me to keep away from her and threatened me quite forcefully and in no uncertain terms. He said that he had connections in the town and could have me thrown out of the school. I’d lose my career. Everything I’d worked for.’ Riley and Salter shared a glance. Forcefully inclined wasn’t the way that Mottram had described David Treadwell.

  ‘I would have been forceful too if I thought my wife was playing fast and loose,’ Salter gro
wled.

  ‘Did Treadwell raise the matter with his wife, too?’ Riley asked.

  Renshaw shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see her again because she left the next day, so perhaps he issued her with an ultimatum. It would have been a foolish thing to do if he’d wanted her to stay. Mel didn’t react well to threats, as Treadwell would have known when she married him in such haste, just to escape her father’s austere regime. Anyway, I never thought to ask her why she left so suddenly once we were both here. It didn’t seem important.’

  ‘Not important?’ Salter shook his head. ‘If Treadwell found out where she was, he could have demanded her return and exposed your fake reference. Where would that have left your precious career?’

  ‘Well, it didn’t happen, but when Mel left he blamed me, and I honestly thought he was going to kill me. It felt as though he was following me. He certainly turned up everywhere I went, making my life uncomfortable. He kept saying it was my fault, I’d driven her away, she’d ruined his standing in the community, made him a laughing stock and that he’d get even. I was scared, I’ll admit that much. He had powerful friends locally and I knew he’d make good on his threat to ruin my career.’ He spread his hands, looking miserable but failing to project the image of the blameless victim. Riley agreed with Salter’s unspoken opinion. Miss Mottram might have manipulated Renshaw for her own purposes, but he had gone along with her willingly enough. ‘So I gave notice. I came to London and there just happened to be a vacancy here, which seemed like fate. So I applied, even though it was a backward step for me career-wise. I contacted Mel to tell her and—’

  ‘She wasn’t that pleased to see you?’ Riley surmised.

  ‘Actually, she was. She told me that she had hoped I would follow her but that she knew how important my career was to me, so hadn’t ask me to sacrifice it when her own situation was so uncertain. Anyway, she said that she intended to ask David for a divorce.’

  ‘So that you could be together?’ Riley asked. ‘She gave you that assurance?’

  ‘Well no, actually, but it’s what I assumed.’ Of course he had, Riley thought, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes. ‘But she kept putting off talking to David. She knew he could to spoil things for her with the Vermonts if he chose to rock the boat.’

  ‘By pointing out to Lord Vermont that she had lied about her circumstances,’ Salter said acerbically.

  ‘He knew where she was?’ Riley was aware that he must have; Mottram would have told him. But he wanted to see if Renshaw knew it.

  ‘One assumes so.’ Renshaw gave a casual shrug. ‘I didn’t ask for clarification.’ Riley frowned, thinking it unlikely, given how much it mattered to him that she divorce her husband. ‘Anyway, her procrastination, her unwillingness to commit herself to me, was what we argued about on the common the other day.’

  ‘Did you resume your intimacies here in Dulwich?’ Riley asked.

  ‘No. There was no opportunity.’

  ‘No opportunity?’ Salter offered him a disbelieving look. ‘You have rooms here in the village and a deaf landlady who goes to bed early. We know because we’ve checked up on you.’

  ‘I say. Was that really necessary?’ Renshaw looked disconcerted. Riley thought him either excessively naïve or just plain stupid not to have anticipated that they wouldn’t take his word for anything; especially since he had been exceedingly economical with the truth. ‘Well anyway, Mrs Higgins’ infirmities notwithstanding, Mel would have been seen slipping into my rooms sooner or later, and she simply wasn’t willing to take that risk, not when she was so close to getting somewhere with her art.’

  ‘Her caution must have been frustrating, especially in light of how many sacrifices you’d made on her behalf,’ Riley said.

  ‘Well yes, in some respects, but…Mel needed me, and I was willing to wait until the time was right.’

  ‘Even though you argued about her procrastination.’ Riley shook his head. ‘Did it not occur to you that you’d served your purpose and she had no further use for you?’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  In spite of the stark denial, Riley could see in his eyes that he had known, or suspected, the truth. ‘That must have hurt,’ he said, driving home his point. ‘Did you lose patience? You’d sacrificed a promising career for her sake and yet, having got you to help her escape, she no longer wanted to know you.’

  ‘That must have made you angry.’ Salter added. ‘Then you saw her at the Founders’ Day celebrations on the arm of a viscount’s son.’

  ‘Jealousy does strange things to a man,’ Riley continued. ‘We see its ugly results on a daily basis, don’t we, sergeant?’

  ‘That we do, sir.’ Salter rubbed his chin, his tone calmer now, sympathetic almost. ‘I can’t say as I blame you for making demands of your own. A man has his pride, to say nothing of his needs, and I dare say your patience isn’t limitless, especially when you saw the company she aspired to.’

  ‘I was angry and upset, I’ll admit that much. Jealous too. Who wouldn’t be? But I knew she couldn’t marry Daniel Vermont. Everyone hereabouts knows that his father has far grander plans for him than an artistically-inclined governess.’

  ‘She couldn’t marry anyone, what with already being married herself,’ Riley pointed out in a reasonable tone. ‘But she could have shared his bed, as she once did yours. It seems to me that she used you to get what she wanted, which was your help to escape an unsatisfactory marriage. Despite what you choose to believe, I imagine she wasn’t too pleased when she realised you’d followed her here.’

  ‘Well…’ Renshaw studied the floor and seemed lost for words.

  ‘What’s to say that she wouldn’t have used the same trick with Daniel Vermont to help her fledgling career as an artist?’

  Renshaw’s chest swelled with indignation. ‘She never would!’

  ‘Because she was so passionately in love with you?’ Riley shook his head. ‘If that’s what you think then you’re a blind fool.’

  ‘I resent your tone, inspector. Unless you have proof of what you say, I’d ask you to show a little respect for the recently departed.’

  ‘Your sweet recently departed was pregnant when she died,’ Salter said into the ensuing silence.

  ‘What!’ Renshaw leapt from his chair, tipping it over backwards. It hit the wooden floor with a loud clatter. ‘Who? When?’

  ‘We hoped you would be able to tell us that,’ Riley replied

  ‘Well I can’t.’ Renshaw sounded both shocked and petulant as he righted his chair and sat down again. ‘Obviously I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. Perhaps you’re right, inspector, and she did use me, but part of me can’t resent what I gave up for her sake. When I had her to myself for those brief months it seemed…well, like nothing else mattered except being with her.’ He threw back his head, closed his eyes and sighed. ‘That probably sounds like romantic drivel to you, and I don’t blame you for thinking that I was blinded by my feelings for Mel. But in the end she paid the ultimate price for trying to break free from her marriage. If I were you—and I’m not telling you how to do your job—I would take a close look at her husband and ascertain his whereabouts at the time of the crime.’

  Renshaw’s diatribe could well be a direct result of the betrayal he felt at learning of Miss Mottram’s condition, Riley knew. But then again, if he’d already known about it because he’d fathered her unborn child, it could be an attempt to divert suspicion by pointing them in Treadwell’s direction.

  ‘We are talking to everyone who had a connection with Mrs Treadwell.’ Riley fixed the pale young man with a steely gaze. ‘Did you attend Reginald Archer’s open art studio?’ he asked.

  Relief flashed through Renfrew’s expression at the abrupt change of subject. ‘Yes, from time to time, if only because I knew that Mel would be there, more often than not, of an evening.’ He gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘What can I tell you? I was bewitched by the lady’s charms.’

  ‘The arrangements were that
casual…in the studio, I mean? Anyone could drop in?’

  Riley knew why Salter had asked the question and awaited Renshaw’s answer with interest.

  ‘Yes, people were in and out all the time. Us locals paid a few shillings once a month and were assured of artistic company as well as guidance on technique from Archer and his partner.’

  ‘Was it always crowded?’ Riley asked.

  Renshaw shrugged. ‘Sometimes there were a dozen artists jostling for space. Sometimes there was no one at all. It depended upon a lot of things.’

  Riley decided they had learned all they were likely to from the young man and stood up. ‘I want you to carefully consider the night Mrs Treadwell died,’ he said in parting. ‘If you can think of anyone other than a deaf landlady who could vouch for your whereabouts, I would strongly advise you to persuade him or her to come forward.’

  ‘Surely you don’t think that I could possibly have…’

  ‘At the moment, your name is on my list of suspects—and it’s written in capital letters.’

  Renfrew stood too and straightened his shoulders. ‘I can see that it might look that way to you, inspector, but I really don’t have anything to worry about because I am innocent. I will admit to having made a bit of a fool of myself over Mel, but I loved her and was not so riven with jealousy that I killed her.’ He folded his arms defiantly. ‘And you cannot find proof that I did, because there is none to be found. Therefore, I don’t need to look for people to vouch for me. That’s your job.’

  ‘Then let us hope that the master of this college agrees with that view. Good day to you, Renshaw.’

  They left the young man with his mouth gaping open as he dwelt upon the depressing prospects for his shattered career.