Forgotten Murder

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  Poor Caroline. Wearily he picked up the brick and put it back into the hole. He went back up the staircase and, going into the garden, picked up a handful of damp earth. He put it into the gap left by the missing mortar. It wouldn’t deceive anyone who was looking especially at the bricks, but it was good enough to escape immediate attention.

  Betty had obviously heard him come in. She met him at the door with a resigned expression. ‘Jack! You really are the limit. Where have you been? We had to start dinner without you.’

  ‘Dinner?’ His eyes widened as the memory flooded back. ‘Crikey, I’m ever so sorry, Betty. I forgot all about dinner.’

  ‘I suppose you forgot all about the oysters, too?’

  Jack hung up his coat and hat. ‘Darling, I’m so sorry. I’m afraid it didn’t cross my mind.’ He hesitated. ‘You see, I’ve been to Saunder’s Green.’

  ‘Saunder’s Green?’ Betty looked at his expression then put a concerned hand on his arm. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Is Bill here?’

  Betty nodded. ‘Yes, and Jenny Langton too.’

  He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. ‘It’s probably for the best. I’m glad you’re here and Bill come to that. I think poor Jenny Langton is going to need her friends.’

  He walked along the hall and into the dining room. Bill and Jenny had finished their dessert and were chatting animatedly to one another.

  ‘Hello, stranger,’ said Bill cheerfully, then stopped as he saw Jack’s expression. ‘Whatever’s the matter, old man?’

  Jenny looked at him anxiously. ‘Would you like us to leave?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘No. Please don’t. I’d have to tell you anyway.’ He sank into a chair and looked at Betty. ‘I don’t want any food but I’d love a whisky.’

  She poured him a drink. He took a deep draught, then looked at them apologetically. ‘I’m sorry about the dinner party.’ He took another drink and braced himself. ‘I’ve just come from Saunder’s Green.’ He stopped abruptly, looking at Jenny.

  ‘Go on,’ said Bill warily.

  ‘The fact is – I’m desperately sorry, Jenny – but I’ve found the body.’

  Jenny gave a little cry and clapped her hand to her mouth.

  ‘What?’ Bill nearly shouted, then turned instinctively to Jenny.

  Jenny didn’t speak but gazed at Jack in horror.

  Starting up, Bill came round the table swiftly and, sitting beside her, took her hand. ‘Miss Langton, are you all right?’ he asked gently.

  Jenny took a deep breath. ‘I … I will be,’ she said shakily. ‘It’s just a bit of a shock, you know?’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry. It’s a bit silly of me, really. After all, I can’t remember her.’

  ‘But she was your mother,’ said Betty. ‘It’s only natural you should feel upset. It’s horrible.’

  Jenny didn’t speak for a moment ‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed eventually. She breathed deeply for a few seconds, then looked up. ‘Where was she?’

  ‘In the garage, under the steps up into the garden.’

  Jenny stared at him. ‘The garage? When I was there, at Saunder’s Green, I opened the door into the garage and I could hardly bring myself to go in. I had to force myself to go down the stairs. Are you sure she’s there?’

  ‘Quite sure.’ Jack finished his drink and, getting up, poured himself another.

  Bill cast a sideways glance at Jenny. ‘What did you – er – do with it?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ said Jack, rubbing his face with his hands. ‘The staircase makes a kind of brick-built box. After I’d worked out that under the stairs was the most likely place, I knocked a brick out with a chisel. Once I’d seen what was inside, I put the brick back and replaced the missing mortar with earth. It’s all so dusty and dark in there, I doubt anyone would see where the brick had been taken out, unless they were looking for it.’

  ‘So no one knows what you found? You didn’t give the alarm at all?’

  ‘No. The only person in the house is Mrs Offord, the housekeeper, and she’s such a kindly old soul, I couldn’t possibly tell her what I’d found.’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘I got into the house on the pretence of looking for my cigarette case which I said I’d lost. She was concerned enough about that, bless her. She was so pleased when I said I’d found it. She saw how grubby I was after rooting round in the garden and insisted I have a wash. I made a point of mentioning the garden. I didn’t want her to know there was anything untoward in the garage.’

  ‘She’ll have to know tomorrow, though.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘She won’t be there tomorrow. She told me I was lucky to catch her, as this was her last day. A new tenant, with his own servants, moves in tomorrow.’

  ‘Poor beggar,’ commented Bill. ‘It’s hardly the welcome to a new home anyone would want.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ He looked at Jenny. ‘This is awful news for you. If you want to stay here tonight, please do. I really don’t think you ought to be alone.’ He glanced at Betty. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ she said warmly. ‘I think you should stay, Jenny. I can lend you night things and everything you need.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Jenny said. ‘I’d like to stay but it’s a rule at my boarding house that we have to say if we’re going to be out overnight.’

  ‘I’ll tell them, Miss Langton, don’t you worry,’ said Bill, getting to his feet. ‘I know the address and can easily call on my way home.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘It’s about time I was going anyway.’

  ‘I’ll see you to the door, Bill,’ said Jack, standing up.

  The two men walked into the hall. ‘Thanks for looking after Miss Langton,’ said Bill quietly, as Jack helped him on with his coat. ‘It’s good to know she’s safely with you for tonight, at least.’ He looked at his friend. ‘Are you okay? It must’ve been a dickens of a shock. Whatever sent you hunting round Saunder’s Green?’

  ‘It was a train of thought, an idea I had. As far as that goes, I’m no further forward. It’s all a bit nebulous at the moment, but I wouldn’t mind talking it over with you, after I’ve had time to sleep on it.’ He hesitated. ‘Look, about this body …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Would you mind keeping it to yourself for the moment?’

  ‘I can’t do that!’ said Bill, aghast. ‘I’ll have to report it, first thing. I can’t withhold information. The Chief would have my head on a plate.’

  ‘In that case …’ Jack hesitated. ‘Look, let me see Sir Douglas first thing tomorrow. If you could be there as well, that would make things easier.’ He nearly smiled. ‘If nothing else, it’ll stop me having to repeat myself.’

  ‘All right,’ said Bill after a moment’s thought. ‘See me at the Yard at ten tomorrow.’

  SIXTEEN

  ‘You found the body?’ said Sir Douglas Lynton in disbelief. ‘Good grief, Major Haldean, I can hardly credit it. Whatever led you to the garage?’

  ‘I looked at the traffic on the Strand and it made me think of cars. That’s one reason. I went back to Saunder’s Green to try and establish once and for all, if Caroline Trevelyan had been murdered, what had happened to her body. I did some hunting round and proved, to my own satisfaction, that it would be very difficult indeed for the killer to get her corpse off the premises without being seen. That meant it was hidden somewhere, and the garage seemed the obvious place to look. Once I’d worked that out, there was only one place where it could be, and that was bricked up in the staircase.’

  ‘It’s a damn good piece of work, all the same,’ said Sir Douglas. He took a cigarette from the silver box beside him, then pushed the box across the desk. ‘Help yourself, Major. And you, Chief Inspector.’ He looked at Jack with respect. ‘Dash it, I can hardly credit it. The Trevelyan case was a real cause célèbre. The police were swarming all over that house without uncovering a damn thing, apart from Trevelyan’s diary, and then, twenty years later, you turn up and go straight
to the body. Why the dickens wasn’t she found at the time?’

  ‘I think I can answer that, sir,’ said Bill. ‘Inspector Chartfield, who was in charge of the case, put a lot of store by the fact that the servants had overheard Trevelyan and his wife quarrelling about the proposed move to New Zealand. He thought Mrs Trevelyan had simply taken herself off and Trevelyan was making a huge fuss about nothing. Then, of course, when the letter arrived and was proved to be a forgery, everything changed. He realised that it was a case of murder and Trevelyan had tried to cover his tracks. By then, so much time had been wasted, that it seemed obvious that Trevelyan would have had ample time to dispose of the body. The initial searches hadn’t turned anything up, so I can’t imagine the house and grounds were searched with anything like the thoroughness they should’ve been.’

  ‘It seems to have been very lax, all the same,’ grunted Sir Douglas.

  ‘It must’ve been difficult to spot at the time,’ said Jack. ‘After all, the house was being renovated and the garage must’ve been full of building materials.’

  ‘Come off it,’ said Bill. ‘If it was a competition for brains between you and Inspector Chartfield, I know who’d I’d back.’

  ‘Spare my blushes,’ murmured Jack.

  ‘Well, I’d like to endorse Rackham’s opinion,’ asserted Sir Douglas. ‘Incidentally, Major, not only do I have to congratulate you on finding Caroline Trevelyan’s remains, I understand that congratulations are in order for spotting that the forged letter in the original case and the unfinished letter found at Summer’s Court were written by the same person.’

  ‘That,’ said Jack, ‘really was nothing more than good luck. I picked up the wrong letter by mistake, and it struck me how similar they looked.’

  ‘I can only wish that the rest of us had as much good luck,’ said Sir Douglas. ‘Now Miss Hollander’s confirmed it, there isn’t any doubt that Trevelyan really did forge the letter from his wife. I gather from Rackham that you had some other ideas on the subject, but to my mind, it’s an open-and-shut case. As I see it, Trevelyan was hatching up a scheme with the unfinished letter to entice Mrs Rotherwell into the flat, and didn’t want Jane Davenham to know about it.’

  ‘You mean that Trevelyan was writing the letter when he was interrupted by Jane Davenham, sir?’ asked Bill.

  ‘That’s about the size of it, yes,’ said Sir Douglas.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Jack, ‘I don’t agree.’

  Sir Douglas looked at Jack. ‘Go on,’ he said guardedly. ‘What don’t you agree with?’

  ‘That Michael Trevelyan wrote the letters. Miss Hollander told us that it was impossible to determine from the handwriting alone if a letter was written by a man or a woman. I think Jane Davenham wrote both.’

  Sir Douglas shook his head in disagreement. ‘Nonsense. Jane Davenham wasn’t around twenty years ago.’

  ‘Wasn’t she, sir?’

  ‘There’s never been any mention of the fact.’

  ‘That doesn’t rule it out though, does it?’ Jack tapped his cigarette on the ashtray. ‘Just because she never came to the attention of the police, it doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.’

  Sir Douglas chewed this over. ‘As a matter of fact, you’re quite right,’ he grudgingly admitted. ‘Inspector Chartfield,’ he added, tapping the file, ‘doesn’t seem to have covered himself with glory over this case. I suppose he could’ve missed spotting Mrs Davenham.’

  ‘There’s another thing, too,’ continued Jack. ‘Mrs Davenham and Mrs Rotherwell had been in correspondence for years. We know that from Matthew and Julia Rotherwell.’

  ‘Well, so we do,’ said Sir Douglas, then stopped. ‘Dash it, Major, I see what you mean. Mrs Rotherwell must’ve known Jane Davenham’s handwriting well. If she got a letter in a hand she didn’t recognise, she would’ve smelt a rat.’

  ‘That could be why Trevelyan didn’t send the letter,’ ventured Bill. ‘The unfinished one, I mean. He could’ve started it and then realised it wasn’t working. Then, as you say, sir,’ he added with a nod to Sir Douglas, ‘Jane Davenham came into the room and he hid the letter in a hurry.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Sir Douglas. Jack shook his head. ‘Well, Major? What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ admitted Jack. ‘It’s perfectly valid reasoning and does explain the Summer’s Court letter. However, I bumped into Mrs Shilton yesterday—’ both Sir Douglas and Bill groaned—’ and she told me that Amelia Rotherwell was a very moral, very upright woman, who held strong views on anyone living in an irregular relationship. She had no hesitation in telling me she would cut them dead until the situation was rectified.’

  ‘What’s the point, Major?’ asked Sir Douglas impatiently. ‘I may say that I wouldn’t expect a lady such as Mrs Rotherwell to hold any other opinion.’

  ‘The point, Sir Douglas, is this. We know from the porter at the flats that Mrs Davenham and Mrs Rotherwell came in together, the best of friends. That happy atmosphere would be wiped out immediately Mrs Rotherwell walked into the flat. What else could Jane Davenham expect?’

  ‘It sounds a bit thin to me, Jack,’ said Bill. ‘Jane Davenham might not have realised how strict Mrs Rotherwell’s views were.’

  ‘After having been in correspondence for years? I doubt it.’

  ‘All right then, for all I know Jane Davenham might have hoped that she could persuade her friend to make an exception in her case. You know how some people are. Rules, even rules they expect other people to stick to, don’t apply in their case. Yes, she might’ve known that Mrs Rotherwell was fairly strict, but she could’ve hoped to have changed her mind.’

  Jack put his hands wide. ‘Fair enough. Once you start arguing about human nature, anything goes, I suppose. I thought it was worth pointing out, though. Because, you see, that makes Jane Davenham not a victim but very much a villain.’

  ‘A villain?’ Sir Douglas shifted uneasily. ‘I don’t think so. In my opinion, she’s likely to have been murdered herself. Unless she’s being held under duress, there must be some reason why she hasn’t made herself known to us. I suppose she could be in thrall to this Trevelyan feller, even knowing what happened to Mrs Rotherwell.’

  Bill nodded. ‘She could be scared witless of speaking to us. If he’s managed to persuade her that’s she’s up to her neck in murder, she might believe that she’ll be arrested and tried for murder as soon as she speaks out.’ His face grew grave. ‘I agree with Sir Douglas, though. I think her most likely fate is that she’s been murdered herself. Don’t you agree, Jack?’

  ‘You could be right,’ he admitted. ‘You very well might be right. But wouldn’t it be nice to be proved right?’

  ‘Of course it would, man,’ said Sir Douglas. ‘But how do you propose to do that?’

  ‘I do have a couple of ideas,’ said Jack, ‘but they involve looking at the case in quite a different way. First of all, Sir Douglas, how difficult is it to trace a record of marriage?’

  Sir Douglas blinked. ‘Easy enough, I suppose, as long as you know who you’re looking for. Somerset House have the registers.’

  ‘I’m looking for Jane Davenham.’

  Bill gave a whistle. ‘This is all about the letter, isn’t it, Jack? The forged Caroline letter. You said you thought Jane Davenham had written it. If Trevelyan and Jane Davenham were married, then that would explain a lot. They’d have to be married after Caroline Trevelyan was dead, of course.’

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ said Sir Douglas. ‘You think, Major, that Jane Davenham was privy to Caroline Trevelyan’s murder. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I think it’s possible.’

  ‘I see.’ Sir Douglas smoothed out his moustache. ‘It is possible, I suppose. And,’ he added, brightening, ‘it gives a motive for Mrs Trevelyan’s murder. A fairly compelling motive. Do you think they would have actually got married, though? After all, Trevelyan was on the run for murder. He could have gone anywhere on earth.’

  ‘Yes, he could
,’ agreed Jack. ‘I still think it’s worth checking the register, though. And I do have some more ideas. At the moment they’re questions, really, but, for instance, I would like to know why the tap was left dripping in the bath in Summer’s Court.’

  ‘Why the tap was dripping?’ repeated Bill in astonishment. ‘Why shouldn’t it be dripping? How d’you know it was dripping, anyway? All the pipework was wrenched out.’ He stopped. ‘Hold on. Of course it was dripping. Otherwise the bath wouldn’t have filled up and overflowed.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe there was a dodgy washer.’

  ‘And maybe that’s all it is,’ agreed Jack. ‘But, you see, if it was left dripping on purpose, that more or less guaranteed that the bath would overflow and we’d be led to the body.’

  Sir Douglas stared at him. ‘I think you’re barking up the wrong tree there, Major. We’d have found the body in the course of time in any event, tap or no tap.’

  ‘True,’ conceded Jack. ‘This made it sooner rather than later, though.’

  Bill was looking at him quizzically. ‘You had the idea that the body in the bath wasn’t really Mrs Rotherwell’s. You’re not still harping on about that, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not. The dental evidence and the old fracture Dr Roude found prove that the woman we found was Mrs Rotherwell. There’s no doubt about that.’

  ‘Then what are you going on about?’ asked Bill in frustration.

  Jack hesitated. ‘Look, everything’s a bit vague at the moment. If I can find that marriage certificate, it’ll all become a lot clearer.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ commented Bill ironically.

  ‘Good luck indeed,’ echoed Sir Douglas, completely missing the sarcasm. ‘I must say I doubt if you’ll find any such thing, but it’d be very strong evidence to show that Trevelyan had a motive to dispose of his wife.’ He shuffled his papers together. ‘Well, Major Haldean, congratulations once more on finding Caroline Trevelyan. I’ll get some men down to Saunder’s Green right away.’