by Emily Organ
“He won’t thank you for bringing him twenty-seven messages!” I laughed.
“I’ll buy him a bottle of whiskey on the way. How would you like to meet me at East India Dock tomorrow?”
“The dockyard? Why?”
“Mr Cooke sent a telegram to say that someone would meet us there.”
Tiger didn’t seem her usual self when I returned to my room that evening. She was hiding under the bed; a move she usually reserved for times when someone she disliked had visited.
“What’s the matter, puss?” I tried to coax her out, but she wouldn’t come.
I hung my coat on the back of my door and looked around the room. It was only then that I noticed a few items were out of place. Francis’ latest letter was on the floor next to my writing desk. I would have assumed that Tiger had knocked it off if several other things hadn’t also been out of place. My father’s diaries were not in the order in which I had left them, and a drawer in my writing desk had been left slightly open, as if someone had hurriedly looked inside it. Something didn’t feel quite right.
“Mrs Garnett!” I called as I dashed down the stairs. “Mrs Garnett!”
“Oh my goodness, whatever has happened? Has there been another murder?” She scurried into the hallway, her dark eyes wide with concern.
“Have you been inside my room?” I asked breathlessly.
“No! I never go inside your room when you’re not here. Well, only sometimes, to check that everything is in order. But rarely, and certainly not today. Are you talking about today?”
“Yes. Tiger is hiding under my bed and someone has looked through my writing desk. Perhaps other things have been moved as well, I don’t know. I haven’t checked everything thoroughly yet.”
Her mouth hung open. “Has anything been taken?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. I don’t really have anything worth taking.”
“And you’re sure that someone has been in there?”
“Yes!”
“But when?”
“Between the time when I left for work this morning and the time I returned here, which was about six o’clock. Have you been at home all day? Did you see anyone loitering about?”
“Let me think now.” She stared at the hallway floor as she recalled her movements from earlier in the day. “I went out at ten o’clock to the market in Whitecross Street, and then I dropped in on Mrs Wilkinson. She’s not been good recently with her cough.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. What time did you return?”
“About a quarter after one o’clock. Do you think someone entered the house while I was out?” Her eyes widened further.
“We’ll have to ask the other tenants,” I said. “But are you quite sure that you didn’t see or hear anyone who shouldn’t have been here?”
“Quite sure! Do you think I would allow such a person to go wandering around unchallenged? And besides, no one could have come through the front door without a key!”
Chapter 44
“Someone broke into my room yesterday,” I told James the following day. “They didn’t take anything, but they had moved a few things around. Poor Tiger was terrified.”
“How did they get in?”
“We don’t know. My door was locked, and so was the front door. I’m wondering whether the intruder somehow clambered up onto the roof and got in through the window.”
“Really?”
“It’s quite easy to slide the window open from the outside.”
“You should have a lock on it. You can’t have people climbing into your room, Penny!”
“Mrs Garnett has asked a man to come and do just that. I cannot understand it, though. What do you think they were looking for?”
“I’ve no idea. Perhaps it was someone who wished to frighten you.”
“Well, they’ve succeeded in doing that all right.”
A cold wind blew across the West India Dock to where James and I stood on a swing bridge over a lock. Small flakes of snow carried on the breeze, and gulls wheeled and cawed above the warehouses and cranes. Little rowboats paddled among sail ships and steam barges, and the quayside was busy with the transporting of sacks and crates. Beyond the warehouses we could hear the rumble and whistle of trains carrying goods to the depots in central London.
“You must be careful,” said James, shaking his head. “I really don’t like the thought of someone getting inside your room.”
“Whom are we meeting?” I asked.
“I have no idea.” He gripped his bowler hat to prevent it blowing off into the water.
Despite wearing a pair of warm winter gloves, the tips of my fingers already felt cold.
“So do we simply stand here and wait?” I probed.
“What else can we do?”
A group of dark-skinned sailors walked past us, conversing in a foreign language. I guessed they were on their way to a public house I had seen beside West India Dock train station.
“Do you think our meeting might be with a sailor?” I asked with a laugh.
“Anything’s possible, isn’t it? I can’t help thinking that you should move to new lodgings, Penny. I don’t like the idea of you being at risk.”
“I couldn’t possibly move! It’s my home!”
“A home someone can get inside without detection. It is extremely worrying.”
“I shall be fine once the window lock has been fitted.”
“It may not be enough.”
“What do you mean, not enough? You’re frightening me, James.”
“Inspector Blakely?” a female voice called out from behind us.
We spun around to see a lady of about fifty with sharp, lined features and grey eyes that had a diamond-like sparkle to them. She was dressed in a long, dark overcoat and wore a simple black felt hat.
“Let’s keep moving,” she said, walking past us and heading toward a bridge over another lock.
“Can I first establish that you are acquainted with Mr Cooke?” asked James, quickening his step to catch up with her.
I followed closely behind.
“I am.”
“May I ask your name?”
“You can call me Mrs Adams for the purposes of this meeting.”
James gave me a bemused glance as we strode between two tall warehouses.
“Did you know the deceased lady as Miss Hamilton or Mrs O’Riley?” I asked.
“You’re a reporter, aren’t you?” She stopped and gave me a direct stare.
I felt as though I were standing before a strict school teacher. “Yes. I work for the Morning Express newspaper.”
She offered no reaction but continued to stride ahead. “I knew her by both names.”
“When did you first meet her?” asked James.
“Early last year.”
“Where?”
“At Le Croquembouche restaurant.”
“We know it well,” said James. “I believe Mr Gallo enjoyed dining there. Did she meet him there, too?”
“I believe so.”
“She dined there a lot, did she?”
“No.” Mrs Adams stopped and glared at James this time. “She worked there.” And off she marched again.
We were walking briskly along the quayside, dodging the oncoming men, horses, carts and trolleys.
“She was popular with the clientele there,” Mrs Adams continued, “including the politician Mr William Macmillan. He was someone we were interested in.”
“Who might we be?” asked James.
“I’ll keep my responses relevant, Inspector. There is no need for me to give away superfluous information.”
“But it might be relevant.”
“It won’t be.”
“So Mr Macmillan was of particular interest to you.”
“Yes, he was, and when I saw how well he had taken to Mrs O’Riley she also became interesting to me. She was already calling herself Clara Hamilton by then. After engaging her in conversation I found her to be an erudite lady, capable of far more th
an basic waitressing work. I learned of her sad past and deduced that she was a lady of ambition. She told me she enjoyed conversing with the learned gentlemen at Le Croquembouche because they were interesting men of high standing. During another visit I asked Clara whether she thought she might be able to encourage someone to talk. Her rapport with Mr Macmillan presented the perfect opportunity.”
“And she agreed?”
“Yes, she did. The prospect of doing this sort of work excited her immensely, and she excelled at it. We were able to obtain all the information we needed.”
“Did you meet with her often?”
“As little as possible, for obvious reasons. I only met her on three occasions after she began working alongside me.”
“What did you know about her?”
“She told me about her husband and son. She liked to keep herself busy in order to avoid dwelling on what she had lost. She liked to socialise and had an enquiring mind. She was perfect for the job.”
“And when did you learn of her death?” James asked.
“Mr Cooke told me she hadn’t arrived for their meeting. I had heard about Mr Gallo’s death by that point, and I suspected then that something had happened to her. Mr Cooke confirmed it to me after you had spoken with him. It was devastating news.”
“We assume the killer didn’t want her telling anyone about the forged paintings Mr Gallo had bought.”
“What have you learned about the people he bought them from?” she asked.
“There is a possibility that an American criminal by the name of Jack Shelby was involved.”
“How interesting. We had hoped that Clara’s relationship with Gallo would yield some useful evidence. We had known for some time that he was acquiring forged paintings but we couldn’t discover where he was obtaining them from. Clara was perfect for the job, Gallo was extremely fond of her. We all were.”
“Why do you think Mr Gallo bought paintings that he suspected were stolen?” I asked.
“Some people are so intent on collecting these paintings that they care very little about how they come by them. Mr Gallo was one such man, and I believe that he once bought a stolen painting for his hotel in New York. It was spotted hanging on a wall in one of the lounges. He claimed he hadn’t realised it was stolen, but I strongly doubt that. The sale must have been discreet, and he must have purchased it at a low price; much lower than it would have fetched through a legitimate sale at an auction house. The forgeries he bought would have been spotted sooner or later, but I suppose he didn’t give much thought to that. Mr Gallo was rather a spontaneous man. He often acted first and thought about the consequences later.”
“Mr Cooke is a former colleague of mine,” said James. “How did you come to meet him?”
“That’s irrelevant to your investigation, Inspector, and it’s time for me to go. Was there anything else?”
“Do you know where Mrs O’Riley lived? We have spoken to her sister, who has sadly had no contact with her for the past two years. If we can locate Mrs O’Riley’s home, her sister will be able to deal with any personal effects.”
Mrs Adams gave a solemn nod. “She rented rooms on Westmoreland Place. Number seven.”
“Where is that?”
“In Pimlico.”
I watched James as he took out his pencil and notebook to make a note of this.
“Thank you for your help, Mrs Adams. Would you mind…?” His voice trailed off as he looked up. “Where did she go?”
We both glanced up and down the busy quayside, but she was nowhere to be seen. Around us, the bustling work of the dockyard continued, and a man shouted at us to move out of the path of a crane, which was being shifted along a track.
“What was it you wanted to ask her?” I said.
“If she minded us contacting her again. I can only imagine that she did!”
Chapter 45
“Yes, this is her residence. And she owes me rent!” fumed the large, red-faced lady who had opened the door to me, James and Margaret Davies in Westmoreland Place.
“Miss Hamilton is sadly deceased, Mrs Reagen,” I said. “We have already tried to explain that to you.”
“Have yer? What’s ’appened to ’er, then?”
“My sister was murdered,” said Miss Davies. “But I’ll make sure that you receive the full amount you were expecting in rent.”
Mrs Reagen’s face paled and she took a step back. “Oh no, I don’t want ter trouble no one at a time like this. I didn’t understand yer properly the first time. When I ’eard the word police it stopped me listenin’ proper. You’d better come in.”
“Are you all right, Mrs Reagen?” I asked as we moved into the hallway.
“I’ll be a’right in a bit. I weren’t expectin’ it, yer see.” She twisted her hands in her apron. “A sweet girl like that? I can’t ’ardly believe it. I’ll tell you the truth, I was angry to start with ’cos I thought she were tryin’ to escape payin’ ’er rent. I’ve ’ad no word from ’er or nothin’ for over two weeks! I never would’ve thought summat like this would ’appen to ’er. I’ve never thought it at all. She kept ’erself to ’erself most times, and some evenin’s she’d get dressed up, but no friends or gentlemen ever called round for ’er, and I wondered to meself what she did. I’ve ’ad a few guesses an’ all, an’ maybe I was right, but I never liked to ask too many questions. I only asked ’er if she were lookin’ after ’erself and bein’ careful, and the suchlike. It weren’t no good ’er bein’ out after dark on ’er own like that.”
“Which room did she rent from you, Mrs Reagen?” asked James.
“Top floor.” She nodded toward the staircase.
“Thank you. I’ve brought the key we found in a bag she had with her when her body was discovered.” James pulled it out of his pocket and showed it to Mrs Reagen.
“Looks about right,” she said, emitting a deep sob and pulling her apron up to wipe her face. “I’m so sorry for yer loss,” she said to Miss Davies.
Mrs Reagen showed us to Anna’s room on the top floor and James unlocked the door.
“Do you mind if I step inside first?” he asked Miss Davies. “I’d like to check that the room is in order if that’s all right. Given the tragic nature of your sister’s death I can only hope that there is nothing in the room that might be distressing.”
“What do you mean?” asked Miss Davies.
I wondered whether James was worried that the room had been ransacked, or even worse, whether there might be another victim inside.
“Do let Inspector Blakely check the room, Miss Davies,” I said. “I’m sure everything is fine, but he just needs to be certain.”
Miss Davies gave a nod and I held my breath as James pushed open the door and stepped inside. After a brief moment he called us in.
“Everything appears to be fine,” he said.
I glanced around and saw a tidy bedroom with a bed, dressing table, washstand and wardrobe. A faint scent of perfume lingered in the air.
Miss Davies gave a little gasp and walked over to the dressing table, upon which a hairbrush and comb had been neatly placed. She picked up the hairbrush and I felt a lump in my throat as I saw the long, dark hairs caught in its bristles.
It was an ordinary room, which appeared to be just as Anna would have left it. I pictured her here, unwittingly readying herself for her final evening with Mr Gallo.
Miss Davies dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
“We’ll need to look through the drawers and cupboards, Miss Davies,” said James. “We’ll be as careful as we can with your sister’s belongings, and when we’ve finished I’m sure most of her possessions can be handed over to you. We may need to borrow anything that might be useful for the investigation, but it will all be returned to you before long.”
Miss Davies gave a faint nod, and there was a pause before anyone touched any of Anna’s possessions. I felt as though we were intruders, and that we had no right to be looking through her personal belongings.
“I’m particularly interested in finding any documents, notebooks, letters or diaries,” said James. “Anything that might help to explain who attacked her.”
“Given the nature of her work, she was probably careful not to leave too much evidence lying around,” I said. “An accomplished spy would be unlikely to leave many clues.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right,” replied James. “But I should like to have a look through the writing desk in any case.”
“I’ll sort through her clothes,” said Miss Davies, “and then I’ll start packing them away if that’s all right with you, Inspector. Do you think you could fetch down that trunk from on top of the wardrobe? It would make sense to pack them straight into that.”
James obligingly lifted down the trunk. When he opened it, we discovered several rolls of letters inside.
“Just what we were looking for!” said James. “If you don’t mind, Miss Davies, I’d like to collect together all the personal documents we find here so I can take them away to read. I will, of course, return them to you as soon as I have finished. I can already see that I wouldn’t have the time to read them all right now.”
“That’s quite all right,” said Miss Davies.
“A diary would be particularly useful,” said James as we looked through the drawers. “But so far there has been no sign of one.”
Before long everything was packed away, and James and I had bundled up all the papers with some string we had obtained from the landlady. Miss Davies wiped her face with her handkerchief once again.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She nodded in reply.
I imagined how I would feel if I were packing away Eliza’s things, and a lump rose into my throat.
“Thank you for your help, Miss Davies,” said James. “I cannot think how difficult all this has been for you.”
She nodded sadly again.