by Jim Eldridge
‘Lists, sir?’
‘We’ll start with a list of working-class men who’ve killed themselves recently. Then another list of ex-servicemen who’ve killed themselves recently. Then yet another list of working-class women who recently died in tragic circumstances. I’ll tell him that all three lists will have to be cross-referenced to find the connection: a man on list A who is also on list B, with a relative or associate who is on list C.’ Stark gave a grim smile. ‘If he’s not happy with our progress, I can always suggest he give the job of cross-checking the three lists to a government department. That should slow the whole thing down to a virtual stop, but it’ll be out of our hands.’
Danvers shook his head. ‘What happens if we can’t find anyone who fits the bill?’
‘Sadly, there will be plenty of them,’ said Stark. ‘Ex-servicemen who couldn’t cope with life at home after the war. Couldn’t find a job. Marriage fallen apart. Dumped on the scrapheap. There’ll be hundreds of them. That’s why compiling these lists could buy us the time we need to find the real killer.’
The telephone on his desk suddenly came to life, the ring of its bell startling them both. Stark picked up the receiver. ‘DCI Stark,’ he said. He listened, then reached for a pen and a piece of paper. ‘Where?’ he asked. Then, ‘Who?’
He wrote a few words down, hung up the phone and turned to Danvers.
‘I think the chief superintendent’s plot to frame an innocent dead ex-soldier has just died its own death,’ he announced. ‘There’s been another murder. Tobias Smith, MP. One bullet in the face, one in the heart.’ He took his overcoat from the hook and pulled it on. ‘Come on, Sergeant. This one could give us the connection we’ve been waiting for.’
SEVENTEEN
Whereas the murder scene at Lord Amersham’s house had been notable for the absence of any onlookers and potential witnesses, the shooting of Tobias Smith had attracted a throng of people. Uniformed officers were on guard, keeping back the crowds. The majority of those who’d gathered seemed to be women, although Stark saw quite a few reporters at the front of the mass, open notebooks in their hands, talking animatedly to the people around them and the policemen holding the crowd back. They were all looking for their exclusives, with editorial deadlines hanging over them if they were to get their stories in the next editions, ahead of their competitors.
‘No sign of Mr Churchill,’ Danvers muttered as they reached the police line stopping entry to the front of Tobias Smith’s house.
‘Just what I was thinking,’ agreed Stark. Would Churchill arrive and take charge, as he had at Regent’s Park? Or would the presence of so many reporters make him decide to stay away? Churchill was well known for his talent for self-publicity, but he liked it to be on his terms. ‘I’m sure we’ll hear from him later.’
They walked up the short path from the pavement to the front of the house. It was a large red-brick house, semi-detached, one of a pair, a bay window at the front, a gate at the side leading to the rear of the house. A large front door painted black was at the top of a short flight of four steps. A sheet lay on the steps, covering a body.
A uniformed sergeant moved away from a group of constables and approached Stark and Danvers, saluting them.
‘Sergeant Alder, sir,’ he introduced himself.
Stark nodded. ‘We met last year, Sergeant, at the leaving do for Superintendent Wainwright.’
Alder looked impressed. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘We did indeed, but I wasn’t sure you’d remember.’
That’s another of the boss’s talents, thought Danvers. He remembers everyone. It’s as if he’s got a camera in his head.
Alder gestured at the sheet covering the body. ‘I left the body where it fell, sir, to give you a chance to look at it before it was moved.’
‘Good thinking, Sergeant. Any witnesses?’
‘Yes, sir. A Mrs Wiggis. She cleans for the neighbours, and she was in their downstairs front room when she heard the shot. As you’ll see, it’s a bay window, the same as Mr Smith’s downstairs front, so she was able to get a good view. Though I haven’t had a chance to talk to her properly yet to find out exactly how much she saw.’ He pointed at the next-door house. ‘I left her in there to avoid her being bothered by reporters.’
Again, Stark nodded approvingly. He’d keep a watch for Sergeant Alder when it came time for promotions. Being able to control a situation as efficiently as this, especially in an expensive area like Maida Vale, showed a rare talent.
‘What would you like to do first, sir? View the body or talk to Mrs Wiggis?’
‘Let’s look at the body, Sergeant. Then we can get it moved.’ He looked towards the house. ‘Anyone else at home? Family?’
Alder shook his head. ‘Mr Smith was a bachelor, sir. No family. There’s a housekeeper – a Mrs Yardley. She’s inside, in a room at the back. She’s very upset. I’ve let a neighbour go in with her for the moment to keep her company. Mrs Yardley has a daughter in Kentish Town. I’ve sent someone to collect her and bring her here.’
Again, good thinking, thought Stark approvingly.
Sergeant Alder gestured to two of the constables. ‘Lift the sheet for the chief inspector,’ he ordered.
The constables raised the sheet, peeling it back from the body, revealing the shattered face first, then the blood-soaked shirt and jacket.
‘One to the head, one to the heart,’ said Alder. He gestured at the open coat. ‘Powder from the shot on the front of the coat. He must have been close.’
‘Indeed,’ said Stark. He looked towards the front door and noticed a chip in the brick by the doorpost. ‘The bullet went straight through?’ he asked.
Alder nodded. ‘The head shot. I’ve left the bullet where it fell. No one’s touched it. I’m guessing the other bullet is still in his body somewhere.’
Stark turned to Danvers. ‘Sergeant, get the bullet.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Danvers. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and went up the steps to the front door, picking up the bullet carefully with the handkerchief, wrapping it in it and putting it in his inside pocket.
‘He was wearing an overcoat. Was he leaving the house or returning home?’
‘Returning home, according to Mrs Yardley. He always came home at this time. Regular as clockwork, she said.’
Which is what got him killed, thought Stark. The assassin watched him, noted the regularity of his movements and simply lay in wait.
Danvers rejoined him. ‘It looks like a nine-millimetre, sir,’ he said. ‘Same as the other.’
‘I would have bet my pension on that,’ said Stark. ‘What about the pathologist?’
‘He’s on his way, sir,’ said Alder.
‘Good,’ said Stark. He turned to Danvers. ‘Sergeant, if you take Mrs Yardley, I’ll talk to Mrs Wiggis. We’ll compare notes afterwards.’
Danvers nodded, headed towards the front door and rang the bell.
Sergeant Alder gestured at the crowd being held back by the police line. ‘What do you want me to do about them? There are reporters there.’
‘Leave them where they are,’ said Stark. ‘The crowd will disperse soon enough once the body’s gone. The reporters won’t hang about too long after that; they’ll want to get their copy in. If they want a statement, tell them to get in touch with Chief Superintendent Benson at Scotland Yard.’
Alder did his best to suppress a small smile. ‘Will do, sir,’ he said.
‘Right,’ said Stark. ‘What’s the name of the family next door, where Mrs Wiggis is?’
‘Anstruther,’ replied Alder. ‘But they’re all out. Only Mrs Wiggis is in.’
Good, thought Stark. One less influential crowd of people to worry about upsetting with my presence. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. If you need me, I’ll be talking to Mrs Wiggis.’
He headed for the steps to the Anstruthers’ front door, and saw that Danvers had already entered the Smith house. Split the work and speed the investigation seemed the order of the day here
. With two politicians shot dead, Benson wouldn’t be alone in demanding swifter action.
Mrs Wiggis was obviously waiting for someone to call. He caught a glimpse of her through the bay window, and then she vanished. As he reached out to press the bell, a short round woman in her fifties, wearing an apron, opened the door.
‘Mrs Wiggis?’
‘You must be the inspector they said they’d sent for.’
‘Chief Inspector Stark from Scotland Yard. May I come in?’
‘Well, I’m not coming out there and talking in the cold,’ she said. ‘And the family’s all out at the moment, so we won’t be inconveniencing them.’ She stepped aside and let Stark in. ‘Feet,’ she ordered crisply, pointing at the mat just inside the front door.
Obediently, Stark wiped his feet.
‘I don’t want any mud tramped into the front room,’ she said, leading Stark towards it. ‘We’re going in there because I’m guessing you’ll want to see where I saw anything from.’
A woman used to being very much in charge, assessed Stark, amused, pitying the Anstruther family.
Stark joined Mrs Wiggis by the bay window and looked out at the scene. He saw that the pathologist, Dr Kemp, had just arrived and was being directed by Sergeant Alder to where the body lay.
‘Poor Mr Smith,’ said Mrs Wiggis, shaking her head sadly. ‘He never caused trouble to no one. Who’d want to shoot him?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said Stark. ‘Did you actually see the shooting?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I heard it. It’s important to get things right.’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Stark.
She pointed to a bookcase near to the door. ‘I was doing my dusting over there when I heard this bang. Next second I heard another one.’
‘So they were very close together?’
‘Very close. I went straight to the window and looked out, thinking it might be kids or someone messing about. I mean, it’s a good area, but people come here from all different places – all sorts. There was a man standing pointing the gun at poor Mr Smith. I knew Mr Smith was dead straight away.’
‘How could you tell?’
‘I used to be a cook at an army camp in the war. I’ve seen people who’d been shot before. There was blood on Mr Smith’s face and on his shirt and coat.’ He shook her head. ‘You don’t survive them easily.’
‘No you, don’t,’ agreed Stark. ‘And the man who did the shooting?’
‘He was short. Thin. Badly dressed. Rough-looking clothes.’
‘What about his face? Beard? No beard? Hair colour?’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t see anything of that. He had a scarf pulled up over the bottom part of his face, and a woolly hat on. You know, like seamen wear. Dark blue wool. It was pulled down right over his ears.’
‘Did he see you?’
She shook her head. ‘Once I’d realized what had happened, I ducked out of sight. I didn’t want him shooting me through the window.’
‘Quite right,’ said Stark. ‘That was quick thinking.’
‘But I saw him run off.’
‘And the gun?’
‘He put it in his jacket pocket as he ran.’
‘What did you do next?’
‘I ran out to see if Mr Smith might be alive, and if there was anything I could do for him. By then, the door of the house had opened and Mrs Yardley – she’s Mr Smith’s housekeeper – had come out.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘She went all to pieces. Started screaming. She’s very sensitive.
‘Anyway, I came in and phoned the police, then I went to take care of her till the police arrived. Luckily, Mrs Hoskins from the Webbs’ house on the other side heard all the ruckus and she came out, so she was able to help me with Mrs Yardley until the police came. Sergeant Alder.’ She gestured towards the sergeant outside. ‘He’s good. He used our phone to phone you. I didn’t even have to ask him to wipe his feet when he came in. We need more policemen like him.’
We certainly do, thought Stark.
EIGHTEEN
He spent another ten minutes with Mrs Wiggis, going through her account of the attack, and finding out what he could from her about Mr Smith and his household and habits, although Mrs Wiggis was reluctant to ‘gossip’ as she termed it.
Stark returned to the outside as Dr Kemp was finishing his examination.
‘Chief Inspector,’ Kemp greeted him.
‘Doctor,’ nodded Stark. ‘What can you tell me?’
‘With certainty, he’s dead. Everything else will have to wait until I get him on the table.’
‘There’s a lot of pressure on this one,’ said Stark. ‘It looks like the same person who shot Lord Amersham.’
‘It may be the same weapon,’ Kemp corrected him. ‘That doesn’t mean it’s the same person.’
‘I stand rightly corrected,’ acknowledged Stark.
‘I’ll let you know what I find as soon as I can,’ Kemp promised him. ‘They’ll be on my back just as much as yours.’
Danvers joined Stark as Dr Kemp supervised the carrying of the body to the waiting vehicle.
‘How did you get on with Mrs Yardley?’ Stark asked.
Danvers sighed. ‘And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth,’ he groaned.
‘I didn’t take you for a religious man, Sergeant,’ commented Stark.
‘I’m not really, sir. It’s just that the housekeeper was so overwrought it brought that quotation to mind. School assembly. Fortunately, she had a neighbour with her, who did her best to calm her down.’
‘I think we need to get back to the Yard and compare notes,’ said Stark. ‘Now that the body’s gone, there’s not much more we can do here. Our job now is to dig into the lives of Mr Smith and Lord Amersham, and see what the common link is. Because that’s what got them both killed.’
Stark went over to Sergeant Alder. ‘We’ll leave you now, Sergeant. But if you can send your men around to canvass anyone who might have seen anything, such as which way the attacker ran off …’
‘Already under way, sir,’ said Alder.
‘Excellent work,’ said Stark.
As Stark and Danvers walked back to their waiting car, Stark commented, ‘That’s a man to watch, Sergeant. He’s a good copper. Better than many ranked over him. Bear him in mind if you find yourself with a tricky case.’
‘Like this one, sir?’
‘I’m hoping we don’t get another case like this one,’ said Stark ruefully.
Back in their office at Scotland Yard, Stark and Danvers exchanged the information they’d received from their respective interviewees. That from Mrs Yardley was the sparsest, and most of it – between tears – was relating what Mrs Wiggis had told her had happened, and how wonderful a man was Mr Smith – no trouble to anyone, hard-working and kind.
‘Well, that’s one difference about them: their personalities. Tobias Smith, gentle and kind, and Lord Amersham, a pain in the backside to nearly everyone.’
‘I recall you said that Lady Amersham told you her husband was universally liked and respected.’
‘I’m sure that Rasputin’s mother would have echoed the same sentiments about her offspring.’ He studied his notes. ‘So. A short, thin man wearing poor-quality, rough clothes. Seaman’s woolly hat. Scarf.’
‘Who is also a deadly shot,’ added Danvers. ‘It’s starting to sound like one of Churchill’s Bolsheviks.’
‘Yes, well, we’ll bear that in mind,’ said Stark. ‘We’ll start by trying to find the common link.’
‘Parliament,’ pointed out Danvers. ‘They were both in the same political party.’
‘So are plenty of others. We need to find out what especially links them together. Were they on the same committees together? Did they socialize?’ He mulled it over, then said, ‘Go to the library, Sergeant. See what you can find about them there. See what’s in Who’s Who and Debrett’s. Any other books or papers they might have with information about them. Bring them all back here
and we’ll plough through them and find that thread.’
‘Bring everything back?’ queried Danvers. ‘With someone like Lord Amersham, there might be quite a bit.’
‘Even if it means more than one journey. It’s only one floor down, and you’re young and fit.’
After Danvers had left, Stark reread the notes he’d made during his interview with Mrs Wiggis. That was a good point Dr Kemp had made about the same weapon being used not necessarily meaning it was the same person both times. That would suggest collusion, a conspiracy rather than one vengeful individual.
We need to double-check the area around Lord Amersham’s house, see if there were any sightings of a small, thin man dressed in rough clothes around that time.
His door opening made him look up from his desk. Chief Superintendent Benson stood in the doorway, looking more miserable than ever. He came in, shut the door, then paced around before saying, ‘A bad business, Stark.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ve had the Commissioner on the phone. He wants to know if we should be putting bodyguards on the Prime Minister and other members of the government.’
‘We’re still not sure of the motives for the killings—’
‘It’s political! That’s obvious. Two members of the government.’
‘I believe that Tobias Smith was actually a backbencher, sir.’
‘He was still an MP and part of the governing coalition! Someone is killing members of this government!’
‘That may be the reason for the killings, although we are looking at other possibilities.’
‘What other possibilities? There’s going to be a public outcry over this!’
‘Sergeant Danvers and I are looking into the lives of both men to try to find common ground—’
‘We know what the common ground is, Stark! Politics!’
‘But we don’t know if there may be other issues. In their private lives, for example.’
Benson shook his head. ‘That’s the last thing we need, Stark. Scandal! The press are only too eager to rake over muck about the great and the good. We don’t want any more of that!’