by Jack Murray
‘A waxwork of the Sir Thomas More,’ responded Bergmann. He stepped over to the box and opened the lid. Barnes peered at it. It was difficult to see it properly as it was covered in straw, but it certainly looked lifelike to Barnes. Furthermore, he had no idea what the former Lord Chancellor looked like.
Barnes could think of no further objections and gave Kopel keys to the back entrance of the Palace. There was no thank you as Kopel and Daniels swept off into the Palace grounds.
Fifteen minutes later, the lorry returned. Kopel climbed out and returned the keys to the cowed security guard.
‘It will be well for you, my man, if you forget this ever happened. I might consider not reporting my displeasure to Hesketh.’
Barnes nodded obsequiously, relieved that the matter might end there. Such was his state of discomposure he failed to notice that, oddly, it was Kopel who was driving. Furthermore, he was no longer accompanied by Daniels. Instead, Barnes returned to station and sat down with a thump. He took off his cap and threw it on the desk and prayed earnestly for a quiet night. This had been enough excitement for one evening.
Chapter 28
It was with great reluctance that Kit decided against going to visit Mary at the hospital. The priority now was the hunt for Olly Lake. He also had to meet up with Fiona Lawrence to go through some last-minute preparation in the afternoon and the completion of his match. He looked down again at the two photostat artist impressions of Bergmann and Daniels. He hoped against hope that the assistance of Kerensky would reap a reward. They badly needed a break.
An idea occurred to Kit as he gazed at the picture of Bergmann. He turned to Bright, who was finishing his breakfast.
‘Richard, this chap Bergmann rings a bell with me from somewhere. Can you ask Esther to do me a favour?’
‘Of course. Name it,’ replied Bright.
Kit handed the photostat to Bright and said, ‘Ask her if she can draw me a new version of the person in the photostat, only without either the glasses or the moustache. It’s like a disguise out of some penny blood.’
Bright laughed, ‘I know what you mean. I think that moustache fell out of fashion around 1892.’
‘Thanks – it’s really important. I’d love to see what he really looks like.’
Bright nodded, ‘We’ll bring it to Hampton Court for the match. How are you feeling about it?’
Kit smiled and replied, ‘Well, since meeting Fiona Lawrence, a lot better. She’s really quite something.’
Bright laughed, ‘We both look forward to meeting this young prodigy. It’s a pity she’s not playing him.’
This was greeted with a laugh from Kit who nodded his head, ‘I think she’d be a better opponent. She’s already drawn with him. Didn’t fancy him one bit. She’s desperate for me to beat him. We worked through some interesting approaches, and when I say interesting, I mean it. I’ll tell you after.’
As they were speaking the phone rang. Miller answered it. Moments later he said to Kit, ‘Sir, it’s the police.’
-
Fiona Lawrence stepped into the lift accompanied by Miss Upritchard. She looked up at the other woman in the lift. The young woman seemed like someone from a film or a magazine. Fiona could not stop looking at her. The young woman noticed this and smiled at the girl.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just, well, you’re so beautiful,’ admitted Fiona openly.
The young woman laughed, ‘That’s so kind of you, thank you. You’ve made my day and it’s not even started.’
Even her voice, thought Fiona.
Miss Upritchard was having none of this, ‘I’m so sorry madam. Fiona, I’ve told you before about disturbing people.’
The young woman immediately leapt to the Fiona’s defence, ‘Please don’t, it was a lovely thing to say. I wouldn’t ever change, Fiona.’
Fiona Lawrence beamed triumphantly.
‘I’m Esther Cavendish,’ said the young woman, holding out her hand, ‘and perchance, are you Fiona Lawrence?’
It was difficult at that moment to decide whose mouth dropped further, Fiona or Miss Upritchard. Fiona could not speak and merely nodded. This brought a sympathetic smile from Esther.
‘I believe we’ve a mutual friend in Lord Aston.’
Fiona’s head whirled in disbelief, ‘You know Kit?’
Esther laughed, ‘Very well. He’s going to marry my sister, I hope. Are you both going to breakfast now?’
Both Fiona and Miss Upritchard were still finding speech difficult in the presence of this supernatural being. Both nodded.
‘Well then I insist you join me for breakfast. I want to hear all of what you’ve planned for Mr Serov.’
The next twenty minutes was entertaining for Esther and magical for Fiona Lawrence. Even the frosty disposition of Miss Upritchard melted in the face of the Esther’s serene charm. Fiona heard Miss Upritchard laugh with a spontaneity that she had never heard before. It seemed to transform her face and body into someone who Fiona could not recognise but wanted to know.
It was so fascinating that Fiona became quieter. Instead, she allowed Miss Upritchard and Esther to chat to one another. The naturalness of Esther coupled with her inner grace was working wonders in getting Miss Upritchard to talk. From the conversation, Fiona learned more about Miss Upritchard in a matter of minutes than she had in the last five years. Miss Upritchard seemed to be changing before her eyes.
Or maybe it was she who was changing. With more than a sense of guilt she realised how little effort she’d made to get to know Miss Upritchard. Her life had been centred around chess, and education. The people around her had been treated like servants for her prodigious talent. She couldn’t remember the last time she had thanked any of them for their help. The thought of how much she had taken Miss Upritchard, and the rest of the parish community, for granted over the years brought a wave of self-reproach in the young girl. With a dawning realisation she was learning who this person was and who she should be.
Tears formed in her eyes. She fought hard to control her emotions. To cry now, she understood, would be yet another act of selfishness. Instead, she forced herself to listen to the two women talk to one another. They spoke of Esther’s upcoming nuptials. Love radiated out of Esther.
No, there was no one special in her life, admitted Miss Upritchard. This surprised Esther who pointed out what Fiona Lawrence had just seen for the first time; Miss Upritchard was a very attractive woman. A glance at Fiona caused Miss Upritchard to redden and nothing more was said.
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Bright. This caused Fiona to gasp as she was introduced.
‘My goodness, you’re all so glamorous down here,’ said Fiona. Bright laughed as did Esther. ‘I mean it, you’re even better looking than Kit.’
‘Fiona,’ said the old Miss Upritchard, but perhaps with less intensity. He was very handsome.
‘I wouldn’t say go that far, Fiona,’ said Bright modestly.
‘I would,’ laughed Esther conspiratorially.
-
Jellicoe walked through the flat and into the room where, he presumed, Lake had been held. There were two beds, both of which had been left unmade. The room smelled of stale sweat and cigarettes. He looked at the window but a nearby policeman shook his head. The windows were nailed shut.
‘Fingerprints?’ asked Jellicoe to a nearby officer.
‘Someone is on their way, sir.’
Jellicoe nodded and escaped from the room. His inspection, as brief as it had been, told him that there was no sign of obvious violence. If Lake was dead, then he had been killed elsewhere. Hopefully he was still alive. Jellicoe found this prospect increasingly difficult to believe. The release of the pictures to the newspapers had always risked hastening the death of the captive. Their one chance was the kidnappers would still be playing by their own rules and waiting for the chess game to progress further.
Outside he saw the newest member of Scotland Yard, albeit on a temporary basis. Alexander Kerensky was tal
king to star struck dwellers of the apartment block, on behalf of the police. His involvement had been a coup for the police. It guaranteed the support of many ex-patriot Russians in the Haringey area and it delivered a swift result. Sadly, not swift enough, reflected Jellicoe.
Jellicoe approached the former Prime Minister. He was speaking to a man wearing a vest and with an unshaven, jowly face. Kerensky was unshaven too. Jellicoe wondered if he had been up all night. His next thought was around what kind of debt Kerensky owed Kit or Lord Lake.
‘Chief Inspector, may I introduce Pavel Rodchenko. He lives next door to this flat.’
Jellicoe shook hands with Rodchenko.
‘Mr Rodchenko has identified Daniels and Olly. He hasn’t seen Bergmann. In fact ,no one I’ve spoken to has seen him.’
‘How was Lord Lake?’ asked Jellicoe.
‘He only saw him once, a few days ago. But he seemed well. He mentions another man, too. Quite young, same age as Olly. He was also was in the flat, but he hasn’t seen him since.’
‘When was this?’
‘Just before new year,’ responded Kerensky.
Jellicoe nodded. This was a development, the possibility of yet another gang member. He looked at Rodchenko and then back to Kerensky.
‘Would he be able to describe this man to a police artist?’
Kerensky spoke in Russian to the neighbour and then turned to Jellicoe.
‘He could try but it was dark and quite a few days ago.’
‘I understand but it’s vital. I’ll have someone come to you.’
The Russian seemed to understand and nodded his head. Kerensky and Jellicoe left the man and walked out of the building. The neighbour was the prime witness as few other people had seen the men.
‘I’ll let Lord Aston know what’s happened. I’m sure he’s very concerned about his friend,’ said Jellicoe.
Kerensky looked sombre, ‘We all are.’
‘You knew him,’ said Jellicoe before correcting himself, ‘sorry, know him well?’
‘Yes. He was, how shall I put it, dating my secretary Kristina.’
Jellicoe was shocked by this revelation and asked, ‘You were happy about this arrangement?’
It was Kerensky’s turn to smile now, ‘You mean a British agent dating the secretary to the Russian Prime Minister?’
‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I’m not sure if it would be tolerated here,’ laughed Jellicoe.
‘True and ordinarily, I suppose, I would have stopped it. Or, perhaps, asked Kristina to leave. But those were not ordinary times. We had common enemies, and, in truth, British money was propping up our government and war effort. Kit, Olly and the others were a support for me and even saved my life. A story for another day, however.’
The two men parted: Kerensky to his bed and Jellicoe to bring a man to a chess match.
-
The second morning at the police station was proving no more amenable to Serov’s mood than his first. Thankfully the hangover was nothing more than an unpleasant memory and a warning to future excess. However, incarceration was a desolate experience. It reminded him of his childhood, assaulted his senses and worst of all, disturbed his preparations for the match. He felt in no mood to play. By now, he was hoping the chaos around the murder investigation would mean a cancellation or, at the very least, a postponement.
A knock at the door caused Serov to sit upright in his bed. Into the cell walked Jellicoe. Oddly Serov quite liked Jellicoe. There was something about the seriousness of the policeman, a quiet dignity which made him seem more trustworthy than most. He sensed also that Jellicoe knew he wasn’t connected to the murders although it scarcely seemed credible that either Bergmann or Kopel were either. Daniels and Fechin he was less sure of.
‘Mr Serov, would you mind accompanying me to the interview room?’
Rather than answer, Serov rose to his feet and trooped out of the cell behind the Chief Inspector. They returned to the same room and Serov took his old seat. A new, even younger policeman stood in the room with them. Jellicoe introduced him as Sergeant Ryan.
‘Mr Serov, we’ve found a flat in the part of London known as Little Russia. Are you familiar with this flat?’
‘No,’ said Serov. He knew better now than to ask questions. The quicker he answered, the quicker the interview would conclude.
‘When did you arrive in Britain?’
‘The day after your New Year’s Day.’
It took Jellicoe a moment to register that the Russian calendar differed from the Britain’s.
‘The second of January, correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘In Edinburgh.’
‘Correct.’
This effectively discounted Serov from being the other man identified by Rodchenko, although he would still have this checked by his team. It had only been a faint possibility anyway for Jellicoe as he was convinced Serov had no knowledge of the activities of his companions.
‘One final thing before we bring you to your appointment with Lord Aston,’ said Jellicoe, noting the look of dismay on Serov’s face, ‘We really would appreciate if you could supply a description of Mr Kopel. You must appreciate Mr Serov, these men you were with are implicated in very serious crimes.’
Serov nodded but could not hide his consternation. He just wanted to go home, wherever that was. If his country was really murdering citizens of another country then it depressed him to think of returning, having been a dupe for these crimes.
‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Serov. His heart was heavy, his spirit exhausted and entropy inhabited his very core.
Jellicoe nodded to the young policeman. He opened the door and moments later another man walked in, carrying a sketch pad. He seemed a flamboyant character, with long hair and a, distinctly, colourful waistcoat.
‘This is Mr Watts. Would you mind describing Kopel to him and he will draw a likeness which we can circulate to other police officers who are looking for him.’
Jellicoe stood up and Watts walked over, moving the seat around to be beside Serov.
‘I’ll come back in twenty minutes and then, perhaps we’ll look to head to Hampton Court. I’m sorry about all this Mr Serov. I imagine you’re feeling angry about having spent a night in a police cell. We felt it was for the best. These men are very dangerous. It was actually for your protection,’ said Jellicoe, reddening at the outrageous lie he was telling.
The look on Serov’s face told Jellicoe it had worked. He had turned white as the realisation hit him. Lord Aston will be delighted, thought Jellicoe, although he harboured a slight sympathy for the hapless grandmaster.
‘Right,’ said Watts, placing the drawing pad on his knee, forming his hands into a steeple and fixing Serov with an unnerving stare, ‘Tell me what this naughty man looks like.’
Chapter 29
Hampton Court, London: 19th January 1920
Hampton Court Great Hall had witnessed many great events of state over the centuries. This was surely not one of them, reflected Kit as he looked around. The Hall was filling up with people who filed around its edge. In the middle, roped off from the audience, was a small table with a chess board atop. Above the table, was suspended a large mirror enabling the audience to view proceedings. At the far end of the Hall, also roped off, were some waxwork models of Henry VIII with his advisors.
Kit was standing inside the roped off area. He looked up at the tapestries adorning the Great Hall. They showed ten scenes from the life of the prophet Abraham. This was not the first time Kit had gazed at the series. As ever, he was impressed not just by the intricate workmanship containing dozens of figures but also by their scale.
Looking at each of them, Kit wondered if Henry had commissioned them to make a point to the world. Perhaps he wanted the world to believe that the three Abrahamic religions of the world, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, now had a fourth branch, the Church of England. He smiled to himself at the ridiculousness of the idea.
The hum in the Hall wa
s gradually becoming louder as excitement grew amongst the onlookers. Serov still was yet to arrive. Esther, Bright and Fiona were also absent, noted Kit dolefully. He felt as if he were in the lion’s den. The sight of his friends and coach would be a lift. He did see Billy Peel arrive and the two men nodded to one another. Peel moved through the audience to a position where he would be facing Kit.
Beside Kit stood Sir John Ormerod Scarlett Thursby, long time President of the British Chess Federation. Kit had known Thursby for many years and considered him a friend. Around sixty years old, Thursby had been a leading light in British Chess for many years, helping found the Federation of which he had been President for fifteen years.
Thursby glanced up at Kit and smiled. The dimples on the side of his face deepened.
‘How are you feeling old boy?’
‘Like Isaac, John,’ said Kit nodding up to the tapestry showing Abraham about to take a knife to his son, Isaac, before being stopped by an angel.
Thursby laughed at the Biblical allusion before pointing out, ‘It worked out well in the end, Kit. Have faith.’
Kit raised his eyebrows doubtfully. As he did so the commotion in the Hall rose a number of levels.
‘I think your man is here,’ said Thursby.
‘I’m missing my angel,’ smiled Kit.
Serov had indeed arrived, flanked by Jellicoe and another police officer. His face looked like murder. Kit flinched, not a little guiltily. However, Serov seemed none the worse for his trials. In fact, the sympathetic Jellicoe, uncomfortable at the gamesmanship employed by Kit, had allowed Serov to return to his hotel to wash, shave and generally tidy himself up.
The two men shook hands but not before Serov, through gritted teeth said, ‘So much for English fair play.’
Kit smiled in response, there was little point in being in denial about it. Thursby could sense the antagonism between the two men and decided not to delay any further the finish of the match.
‘Let’s make it a clean fight, gentlemen,’ said Thursby in a stage whisper. This made Kit’s grin grow bigger and even Serov face softened momentarily.