by Jim Eldridge
‘Right, sir. Is there any particular line of enquiry you want to look at?’
‘Yes. Line up some contacts among the Jewish community. Lord Amersham was virulently anti-Semitic. His public comments about Jews won’t have endeared him to some, especially his negative comments about those Jewish immigrants who’ve recently arrived from Russia. There may be something there – some angry immigrant who’s lost everything and feels Lord Amersham’s words are too much to bear.’
Danvers nodded. ‘There was a chap at school with me who was Jewish. We were quite friendly. Would it be all right if I approached him to see if he can put me in the right direction, the right people to talk to, that sort of thing?’
The old school tie network, thought Stark. ‘Good idea, Sergeant. At the moment we’re still clutching at straws. Who knows which part of the enquiry will turn up the right straw.’
FOURTEEN
Stark’s car pulled up outside the Danvers family’s house in Hampstead, a large, old red-brick house set in its own grounds, with a stone wall around it.
‘Wait here,’ he instructed his driver.
He pushed open the ornate wrought-iron gate and walked up the path to the house and rang the bell. After the briefest of delays the door was opened by a short, thin, elderly man in a valet’s suit who looked enquiringly out at Stark.
‘You must be Mr Bridges,’ said Stark. ‘I am Chief Inspector Stark from Scotland Yard, and I wish to see Colonel Danvers. Is he available?’
Bridges opened the door wider. ‘If you’d care to step inside, sir, I’ll see if the colonel is free.’
So, at least he’s at home, thought Stark as he stepped into the hallway. Would he see him? The upper classes could be very dismissive of what they considered the lower orders, and that included rank-and-file police officers. But he was sure that the colonel would know that Stark was his son’s immediate boss, and that fact might arouse the colonel’s curiosity about this unexpected visit.
Stark stood in the lobby and looked around him, and into the house itself, taking in the outer hallway with its pattern of black-and-white floor tiles, gold-coloured embossed wallpaper, with paintings and prints of rural scenes adorning the walls. My God, the hallway on its own is bigger than our living room, bigger than most of the rooms in my own home. His rented home. Very few people in Camden Town or the surrounding areas owned their own homes; all were rented. And this was where Robert Danvers had grown up. In this comfortable, spacious financial security. And he’d given it up to move into a small flat in Russell Square and work as a police detective. Why? As a child, even as a man, Stark would have given his back teeth to live somewhere like this.
Bridges returned. ‘The colonel will see you. He is in the library. If you’ll follow me, Chief Inspector.’
They set off, out of the hallway and through a large, thickly carpeted room furnished with heavy, dark oak chairs, a table large enough to seat eight people, a grand piano in one corner, before arriving at a set of double doors. Bridges knocked, opened them, then announced, ‘Detective Chief Inspector Stark of Scotland Yard, Colonel Danvers.’
He stood aside and Stark entered.
Colonel Danvers was standing with his back to the large, ornate fireplace; there was no fire in it, just paper spills and kindling ready to light.
Stark shot a glance around the library. Rows and rows of books, as one would have expected, but somehow they looked as if they were ornaments, not for actually being taken off the shelves and read. As with the hallway, the pictures on the walls here were of rural scenes, mostly hunting. The tables and chairs shone with polish, and it suddenly struck Stark that this room was the Danvers family’s equivalent of his own front parlour: for show only, for guests, not for actual use.
Colonel Danvers was about sixty, the same age as Stark’s own father. He was a man of medium height, carrying a lot of weight around his stomach. The result of too much good food and too many bottles of wine. He also had that same disapproving scowl on his face that Stark’s father had. Was this the same with all fathers? Stark wondered. Disapproval and disappointment at their sons?
‘Thank you for seeing me, Colonel Danvers,’ said Stark.
Danvers did not reply, nor did he invite Stark to sit down. He just remained standing stiffly in front of the unlit fire, watching the chief inspector suspiciously.
‘I’m investigating the murder of Lord Amersham, and we have received information that you and Lord Amersham had an altercation recently,’ said Stark, coming straight to the point.
He looks just like an older version of my sergeant, he thought. The eyes, the nose, the mouth, the forehead, the chin, all the same. A copy, but aged by years and too much comfortable living. Was this how Robert Danvers would look in forty years’ time? Is that the same for all of us? We all become our fathers?
‘What information? Who from?’ growled Colonel Danvers.
‘I’m afraid that must be confidential for the moment,’ said Stark. ‘Is there any truth in the story?’
Danvers remained silent, his mouth pursed tight and his eyes fixed on the chief inspector’s face.
This is a man with a very short temper, Stark reminded himself. ‘I must ask you again, sir, is there any truth—’
‘I don’t wish to discuss it!’ snapped Danvers.
‘I respect that, sir, but I have been empowered by the government to find the murderer, and in order to do that I have to ask questions which may be … uncomfortable. Our information says that recently you threatened to shoot Lord Amersham. Is that correct, sir?’
At this, a red flush rose in Danvers’ face, rising up from his neck. ‘Who’s been talking?’ he snarled.
‘As I said, sir, I regret that information must remain—’
‘Damn and blast you!’ roared Danvers. He swung away from Stark, his whole body shaking, then swung back again to face the chief inspector. ‘My son works for you, doesn’t he?’
‘Sergeant Danvers is indeed my assistant in this case.’
‘He’s a loud-mouthed fool!’
‘With respect, Colonel Danvers, I must disagree. I have found your son to be hard-working, diligent, very intelligent, and with the greatest of integrity.’
‘He’s disloyal!’
‘On the contrary—’
‘Don’t you argue with me! I know your kind. I had your sort under me in the army. Barrack-room lawyers. Jumped-up peasants trying to best their betters!’
‘That sounds like something Lord Amersham might have said, sir, according to the political statements he made.’
‘How dare you!’ Danvers burst out. ‘Are you equating me with that … that …’
‘With that what, sir?’ asked Stark, keeping calm, watching Danvers as the colonel clenched and unclenched his fists. Come on, he thought. Punch me, and see what happens. I will hit you so hard you won’t know what day it is.
‘Of course, sir, if you insist on refusing to answer, I can always direct my questions to the rest of your household. Your servants, your wife and daughter …’
‘Don’t you dare bring them into this!’ stormed Danvers. His face grew tight, and Stark could hear his teeth grinding. ‘This is my son who’s brought you here, isn’t it? Some sort of tale he’s told you. Revenge against me.’
‘No, sir,’ said Stark. ‘And I will ask you again. Did you threaten to shoot Lord Amersham following an altercation with him?’
‘Yes, damn and blast you! You know I did or you wouldn’t be here! Who told you? None of the servants, I’ll be bound. They’ve been with me for years. Except for Millie, and she wouldn’t say anything.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s Letitia, isn’t it? My daughter. She must have told her brother. She thinks I don’t know she goes to see him, but I know!’
‘What were the instances that caused you to threaten Lord Amersham, sir?’
‘If you know that much, then you know why!’ roared Danvers, so furious and so red in the face that Stark worried he might suddenly keel over with a heart attack or
a stroke. ‘He was chasing my wife, goddamit! The man has – had – no morals! Filthy beast! What women saw in him, I don’t know. Well, I knew what he was up to, coming round here when he knew I was out, under the pretence of that Memorial Fund of his. So I warned him.’
‘You threatened to shoot him.’
‘Yes!’
‘Do you have any weapons, sir?’
‘Of course I do! I have my hunting guns.’
‘What about a pistol?’
Danvers hesitated, then grunted, ‘Yes. My service pistol.’
‘Might I look at it, sir?’
‘No.’
The reply was growled out in fierce but low tones, almost a whisper, so that at first Stark struggled to hear the reply, but the negative response was obvious from Danvers’ manner, fists bunched, chin and shoulders thrust forward challengingly.
‘I must advise you, sir, that I can obtain a warrant to search these premises if you refuse to cooperate.’
‘Then get your damned warrant!’ snarled Danvers. ‘Now get out of my house! You’re not welcome here!’
Stark nodded politely, his manner unmoved by Danvers’ histrionics. ‘Thank you for your time, sir,’ he said politely. ‘I shall return with the necessary warrants.’ He turned to leave, then stopped and turned back to Danvers. ‘I must caution you, sir, that the raising of a warrant can sometimes result in the press being alerted. I will do my best to stop that from happening, but sometimes the staff in a judge’s offices have been known to pass on such information in exchange for payment. Once a warrant is applied for, it becomes wider knowledge, and—’
‘You dare to threaten me!’ roared Danvers.
‘In fact, I am doing the exact opposite,’ said Stark. ‘Because I am sympathetic to your situation, and particularly because my sergeant may become unwittingly involved and exposed to press intrusion himself—’
‘Damn you!’ roared Danvers again, but more quietly this time.
The colonel stood in thought, weighing up his situation.
He is a man being torn apart, Stark decided. A man desperate for privacy, a man to whom social standing matters almost above all else.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Bridges!’ he shouted.
The valet appeared so swiftly that Stark was sure he’d been hovering just outside the library the whole time.
‘You called, Colonel?’ he asked.
‘Take Chief Inspector Stark to the gun room,’ growled Danvers. ‘Show him my guns.’ He hesitated, then added reluctantly, but with an air of final bravado, ‘All of my weapons. Service revolver. Everything.’
‘Very good, sir,’ nodded Bridges. ‘This way, Chief Inspector.’
The gun room was not just for guns; on display were weapons of all sorts, not just ceremonial swords but also spears, assegais and decorated shields made of hide. Mementoes of the colonel’s time in Sudan, Stark guessed.
As Stark stood surveying the exhibits, Bridges let out a low and discreet cough, then said, ‘If you don’t mind, sir, I’d be grateful if you’d apprise me of how Master Robert is. We were always very fond of the young master, Mrs Henderson and I, and we don’t wish to trouble Miss Letitia.’
‘You can rest assured that young Mr Danvers – Sergeant Danvers – is well and appears very happy in his work. Not only does he seem contented in the police force, it is my opinion he is also very good at it and has an excellent career ahead of him, should he decide to continue.’
Bridges gave a slight bow of his head, with a smile of gratitude. ‘Thank you for that, sir. Information about Master Robert has been scarce since he left the house.’
‘I will pass on your good wishes to him when I see him later today,’ said Stark.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Bridges. He looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard, then added, ‘The colonel isn’t a bad man, sir.’
‘You’ve been with him a long time?’
‘I served under him in the army, sir,’ said Bridges. ‘He was an excellent commander. Brave, and fair to his men. If there was a charge to be led, he was always at the front. When I was wounded and invalided out of the army, he offered me a position with him. He didn’t need to. He could have found himself an experienced valet. But, as I say, he’s a very loyal man. I know the rift between himself and Master Robert hurts him deeply. I wish they could find a way to reconcile their differences, but they are both very obstinate and headstrong.’
‘Sergeant Danvers doesn’t strike me as headstrong,’ Stark mused. ‘On the contrary, he seems quite reserved and thoughtful.’
‘He is, sir, but he also has the bulldog determination of his father. Neither of them gives in easily.’
Stark nodded. ‘As I said, I will certainly pass on your good wishes, and I will suggest to him that he asks his sister to keep you informed of his situation when she visits him.’
‘Better not, sir,’ said Bridges. ‘I don’t wish to cause any problems for Miss Letitia. She is not as emotionally strong as Master Robert.’
‘Very well. As you wish.’ Stark turned back to the weapons and the glass-fronted gun cabinet, where he could see shotguns and pistols. ‘And now, if you will open the cabinets, I can begin the inspection.’
FIFTEEN
Sergeant Danvers sat in the office of Chaim Weigel – the Chief Rabbi, so his old schoolfriend, David, had told him.
‘If there’s anyone who knows everything about what’s going on in the Jewish community, whether Orthodox or not, it’s Rabbi Weigel. He’s a man with his finger on the pulse. And he won’t bore you rigid about religion; that’s another good thing about him.’
‘So,’ said Weigel thoughtfully. ‘You think that Lord Amersham might have been shot because of his anti-Semitic views?’
‘Which were pretty extreme,’ said Danvers. ‘He seemed to blame the Jews for everything that had gone wrong since history began, starting with the death of Jesus.’
‘Yes,’ nodded the rabbi. ‘I have read some of Lord Amersham’s thoughts on the issue of Jews. Although I note that we were not alone in his negative thoughts. He also seemed to disapprove of people of colour, for example. Negroes. Arabs. Orientals. Muslims. Women. The Irish. The lower classes.’ He chuckled. ‘It seems to me to require a special talent to insult the number and range of people that Lord Amersham has given offence to.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Danvers. ‘We are looking into other groups of people he has attacked as well. His attacks on the Jews are just one aspect of our investigations. Whether anyone might be so enraged by them as to want to … well … silence him. Stop that sort of talk being repeated.’
Rabbi Weigel nodded thoughtfully, then he asked, ‘How well do you know your history, Sergeant?’
‘A bit,’ replied Danvers. ‘Mainly what I learned at school. Dates. Kings. Wars. 1066. Magna Carta.’
The rabbi nodded. ‘In 1290 King Edward the First expelled all the Jews from England,’ he said. ‘Four hundred years later, Oliver Cromwell asked the Protectorate government to lift the ban on Jews in England, and they refused. Until recently, in Ireland, part of the British Empire, there was the law of De Judaismo, which required all Jews to wear a special yellow badge identifying them as Jews. It was not repealed until 1846.’ He shook his head resignedly. ‘Throughout history, we Jews have died in our millions as a result of persecution. Look what is happening in Russia as we speak – Jews being forced to emigrate in their thousands.
‘The attacks on Jews by Lord Amersham and his like are nothing new. They are part of our way of life. We have been the object of persecution since time began. Believe me, Sergeant, the anti-Semitic verbiage of Lord Amersham is akin to a flea bite on the hide of an elephant. It is insignificant in the whole order of things. He is not worth the bother of killing him. Every Jew knows that to do such a thing would only make matters much worse for every other Jew.
‘In short, I think it highly unlikely that your killer is a Jew, prompted by Lord Amersham’s virulent views of Jews.’ He chuckled and added, ‘O
f course, you might think I would say that, anyway.’
Stark left the Danvers residence and made for the waiting car. Sergeant Danvers could be relieved and reassured: there was no nine-millimetre pistol among the colonel’s collection. And the colonel didn’t appear the kind of man who would carry out a secret ambush and then run off. The colonel was a man of very public demonstrations of anger. If he’d shot Lord Amersham, he would have made sure everyone knew he’d done it.
Stark got into the rear seat of the car.
‘Back to Scotland Yard, sir?’ asked Stan, his driver, starting the engine.
Stark hesitated before replying. No, there was another call he needed to make. His conscience nagged at him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Buxton Street in Stepney.’
‘Buxton Street, sir? Near the Communist Party place where we were the other day?’
‘The very same, Stan. There’s something there I need to check on. Some unfinished business.’
He sat back as the car moved off, mulling over the reception he’d get at the Communist Party offices. Hostile, of course. But that didn’t matter. What they thought of him didn’t matter; what was important was what he thought of himself.
The car pulled to a halt outside the unkempt building in Buxton Street, and Stark got out.
‘Do you want me to come in with you, sir?’ asked Stan. ‘After what happened last time, things might get a little rough, depending on who’s in there.’
‘No, I can manage, thanks, Stan. There shouldn’t be any rough stuff. If there is, I’ll attract your attention.’
‘How, sir? I doubt if I’ll hear a shout.’
Stark smiled. ‘I’ll chuck something through their window into the street.’
‘Right, sir. I’ll watch out for it.’
‘I hope it won’t be necessary.’
As Stark made his way up the dank staircase, he hoped he wasn’t being too optimistic about the reception he would receive. It would depend on who was there when he arrived. Dan Harker, possibly – continuing his spying operation?