by David Field
‘Emily Broome,’ Percy reminded him gloomily. ‘If it is her, she maintained a family tradition. Her father went the same way when he crossed the wrong people. And that may have been Emily’s final mistake.’
Percy walked sadly back to Bethnal Green Police Station for long enough to check the business address of ‘Mallory and Grainger’, solicitors, in The Strand. He wasn’t in the mood for another interview with that dreadful Millicent Mallory in her well appointed lair in leafy Hampstead and in any case he had another matter to take up with Emily’s previous employer. He might even require him to perform the identification. The prospect brought a thin smile to his lips as he hopped onto the bus at Shoreditch and asked its conductor which changes of route would enable him to get to where the other half of London’s starkly contrasted population lived and worked.
‘Of course I don’t have an appointment,’ Percy grumbled in reply to the standard ‘go away’ question posed by the somewhat imperious lady behind the reception desk in the front entrance to the intimidating suite of rooms across the road from the Law Courts. ‘We gentlemen of the Yard rely upon being unexpected.’
‘He has someone with him at present, but if you’d care to take a seat over there...’
It was as much a command as an enquiry and Percy took a seat on one of the leather chairs and reached for one of the brochures on the coffee table in the centre that advertised the firm’s many services to the no doubt well-heeled clientele they were hoping to attract. Since commercial property investment, corporation formations and family trusts weren’t quite in his league, Percy was about to count the number of pieces of crystal in the hanging chandelier in the foyer when the door opened from inside the capacious office overlooking the crowded thoroughfare and a large man dressed in immaculate, if somewhat gaudy, chequered tweeds emerged, being ushered out by a tall grey haired man whose air of distinguished authority left little doubt that he was Spencer Mallory.
‘I’ll have the deed drafted and ready for signature within a week,’ Mallory assured the gentleman who was presumably his client and turned in the act of retreating back behind the polished cedar door, before being interrupted by the Gorgon from the front desk.
‘There’s a gentleman to see you, Mr Mallory,’ she called out, adding, ‘He says he’s from Scotland Yard.’
‘Principally because he is,’ Percy advised them both, in case he was being mistaken for an imposter. ‘May I trouble you for a moment of your no doubt very expensive time, Mr Mallory?’
Mallory frowned for a moment before remembering his manners and reinstalling his genial facade, as he indicated with a generous sweep of his arm that Percy was welcome to enter his office. Having taken the seat indicated among the cluster of leather casual chairs that surrounded another coffee table and having declined the offer of coffee, Percy employed the tried and tested tactic of a silent stare, but it clearly wasn’t working this time.
‘I don’t do criminal matters, Mr...?’
‘Enright. Detective Sergeant Enright.’
‘Quite. As I say, I don’t do criminal matters, so how can I help you?’
‘You employ criminals though and that’s why I’m here,’ Percy advised him with his ‘I’m enjoying this’ smile.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Michael Truegood. You employ him, I believe, in connection with your property interests in Bethnal Green. As a rent collector.’
‘I leave the details to others,’ Mallory assured him. ‘The person in charge of the Bethnal Green project is a Mr Arthur Daniels and he has a site office in Little Nichol Street.’
‘So you’re not able to tell me whether anyone took up, or indeed requested, any references for Mr Truegood before employing him as a rent collector?’
‘Of course not, as I said. Why, is he in trouble?’
‘He should be dead, Mr Mallory. Not to put too fine a point on it, he should have been hanged over a year ago. For murder. He’s working under the assumed name of “Truegood” following his escape from Newgate Prison and his real name is “Michael Maguire”. Although to those in mortal fear of him he’s also known as “Mangler”.’
‘Most unfortunate, obviously and I’ll have Mr Daniels check that out without delay, but as I’ve already advised you, I leave the detailed day-to-day affairs in Bethnal Green to others.’
‘Did you employ Emily Broome, or did you leave that to your wife?’ Percy fired without warning, looking for some reaction on the self-assured countenance in front of him.
‘Emily Broome? The girl who went missing? Have you found her?’
‘In a manner of speaking. Her body finished up on your demolition site in Short Street. That’s in Bethnal Green, in case you leave matters of street geography to others as well.’
Mallory’s face had lost a great deal of its colour as he stood up, walked to a sideboard, poured himself a large whisky and came back to his seat after Percy declined his gestured offer to pour him one as well.
‘She’s dead, you say?’
‘Correct. Almost certainly murdered, unless she was unwise enough to step voluntarily in front of a swinging sledgehammer.’
Mallory looked across at him almost in supplication.
‘Was there any sign of two infant children?’
‘No — why?’
Mallory swallowed some more whisky before looking back up from where his eyes had been surveying the luxurious carpet and smiling in a pathetic attempt to keep it casual.
‘I suppose we should have involved the police at the time, but my wife wouldn’t hear of it, because of the threats. And it was also her money that was paid over. When it had been paid and there was no sign of the children, we feared the worst and by then of course it was too late to involve you people.’
Percy took out his notebook and let out a long sigh, partly for effect.
‘You’ve already completely lost me, apart from the suggestion that there’s been some sort of kidnap of two children. Perhaps you should take a few deep breaths and start at the beginning.’
‘Yes of course. Sorry. You see, when Emily went missing, she wasn’t alone. She didn’t simply walk out on us — she failed to come home one afternoon after taking the twins for their usual fresh air in the nearby Park. They’re only eighteen months old and their names are George and William. We’d supplied Emily with a specially constructed double perambulator sort of contraption — it looks like a sort of human wheelbarrow and it accommodated both children in such a way that Emily could simply push it along around the ponds at the Park, so that the children would get the fresh air that’s so conducive to infantile development.’
‘And all three of them failed to return, you say?’ Percy prompted him.
Mallory swallowed hard and nodded.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a whisky? I’m going to have another one.’
‘No, thank you, Mr Mallory. Just tell me what happened when Emily failed to return from what you tell me was intended as a routine walk in the Park. We are talking about Hampstead Heath, I take it?’
‘Yes, but most of us who live in the vicinity simply refer to it as “The Park”. Anyway, when Emily first failed to make it home in time for tea, we just assumed that she’d been delayed, perhaps stopped to talk to someone, you know? Then once it started to get dark — it was late spring and so the sun didn’t set until mid evening — I went looking for them, in case there’d been an accident or something.’
‘But you obviously found no trace of them?’
‘No, nothing. Then two days later this note was pushed through our letterbox. It must have been delivered sometime during the night, because it was lying underneath the normal mail delivery, which usually drops through the box at around seven am. It was crudely written, or at least written by someone who wished to appear semi-literate and it demanded one hundred thousand pounds for the return of the twins unharmed. It also threatened us that if we informed the police we’d never see the twins again — at least, not alive, that is.’
>
‘That’s rather a large sum of money,’ Percy observed, ‘so whoever was making those demands must have known that you were in a position to pay.’
‘The house itself probably gives that away,’ Mallory reminded him, ‘but clearly we couldn’t lay our hands on that amount immediately. The letter-writer obviously knew that, because he told us to leave it in a plain bag, in cash, in one of those litter disposal things at the side of the mixed bathing pond at dusk three days later. A Monday, as I recall.’
‘And you did precisely as requested?’
‘Yes. My wife is a beneficiary in a family trust and the trustees are myself and her two elderly uncles. The terms of the trust are such that unlimited sums can be drawn down for any purpose that might be regarded as being for the benefit of my wife or any offspring and in the circumstances we all agreed that this demand qualified. So we went to the bank — accompanied, I might add, by two very muscular gentlemen from our demolition site in Bethnal Green — and withdrew the entire amount in cash, then left it where instructed.’
‘Did you make any arrangement to keep the location under observation when the money was collected?’
‘No, we were too fearful of what might happen to the children if we did. So we just waited, expecting the children to be left by the bandstand at dawn the following morning.’
‘And may I assume that they weren’t?’
‘No, they weren’t and we’ve been going frantic ever since.’
Percy was reminded of the cool, almost detached manner of Millicent Mallory when he’d interviewed her in connection with the disappearance of Emily Broome and wondered how any mother could remain so in control of their emotions. By that date the children would have been missing for several weeks and most mothers would have been approaching the hysterical. But now at least he understood what the maid showing him out of the house had meant when she expressed the hope that he’d find ‘them’.
‘Let me reassure you, Mr Mallory, that there was no suggestion that any foul play had overtaken the twins when we found the body of Emily Broome. Also rest assured that now that you’ve told us about the kidnapping, we’ll be pulling out all the stops to find your two little boys.’
‘Please do and I apologise for my somewhat haughty manner earlier. The truth is that I’ve endeavoured throughout my career to keep my hands clean of any involvement with criminal law, unlike some of the grubbier members of our profession. I’m relieved that we may now look to the police to find our two sons and I’m sure I speak for my wife when I say that.’
‘Yes of course — she must be beside herself with worry.’
‘Millicent — my wife, that is — isn’t the sort to make a big display of emotion. Quite the opposite, in fact. But she was also worried about what they may have done to poor little Emily when they took the children from her — she was very fond of them and would have put up quite a fight. But from what you tell me, her body wasn’t discovered until yesterday — that’s strange, don’t you think?’
‘I was wondering along those lines myself,’ Percy advised him. ‘But at least now your wife will know what happened to Emily Broome. Will she replace her, do you think?’
‘Not until the twins are found. The older children are aged thirteen and eleven respectively and they’re almost out of the stage of needing even a governess, given the excellent private schools that they attend. But I’m sure that Millicent will miss Emily’s gift with needle and thread.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Percy enquired as his brain kicked into another gear.
‘Emily had considerable skill as a seamstress of sorts,’ Mallory advised him. ‘She always claimed to have been trained by her mother, who was employed in a local garment factory until she died — of consumption, I believe. Emily was always able to repair damaged garments and she even made matching smocks for the twins’ first birthday. Such a talented girl and she’ll be sorely missed.’
‘I have no doubt,’ Percy agreed. ‘Just one more matter if I might, before I leave?’
‘Certainly.’
‘How long has Mr Victor Bradley been a fellow director of your property company, “Gregory Properties”, as I believe it’s called?’
‘Since long after the Bethnal Green contract was awarded,’ Mallory replied glibly.
Percy smiled.
‘What made you think that date might be significant, Mr Mallory?’
‘It’s obvious to anyone familiar with criminal law, isn’t it? The possibility of bribery and corruption allegations, which I can assure you would not be justified in this case. Victor and I have been friends since our days at Harrow and this is by no means our only joint venture together. You’ll find that Victor didn’t become a director of Gregory Properties until some time after we purchased the properties in Bethnal Green.’
‘But, being an old friend of yours, he would have been in a position to advise you of which areas of London the LCC were seeking to renovate and where it might therefore be profitable to acquire the existing properties? That would be equally dishonest, would it not?’
‘That’s a totally unworthy and offensive suggestion, Sergeant.’
‘I wasn’t actually suggesting it,’ Percy replied with a smile that was heartfelt, ‘but others might.’
‘In which case I’d smack them with a libel action.’
‘I know as much about civil law as you claim to know about crime, Mr Mallory, but isn’t it only “libel” if it’s in written form? I was referring to the sort of loose talk that one hears around the Yard sometimes.’
‘In which case that would constitute “slander” and I’d still respond to it with a defamation action in the High Court. ‘Defamation” is the collective term for both “libel” and “slander”, just to add to your legal education.’
‘Thank you, I’ll bear that in mind. Has Mr Bradley been able to take more of the weight of your joint business affairs from your shoulders while you deal with the absence of your twin boys, by any chance? Only I need to know who to consult regarding the unfortunate deaths that seem to be associated with your demolition activities.’
‘Victor Bradley knows nothing about the kidnapping and since I have no doubt that you’ll be interviewing him with the same suspicions you obviously had about me, I’d thank you not to make any reference to it. He’s not been enjoying the best of health of late and is currently taking a rest cure on his country estate in Norfolk, so he won’t be available for interview.’
‘Thank you for that information.’ Percy smiled as he rose to leave. ‘It’ll save me a wasted journey to Spring Gardens. Good day to you, Mr Mallory and thank you for your assistance.’
Percy opted for a relatively long walk back via Charing Cross and down Whitehall while he got his thoughts into some logical sequence before calling in on Jack in Records. What he had hoped would assist his enquiry into one missing young lady had somehow expanded into a search for twin boys not yet two years old. And how was Emily’s disappearance connected with the missing twins, if at all? Had she been held captive by the same abductors, then finally done in when her usefulness expired and if so, why wait so long? Had she been the person behind the abductions, as some sort of revenge against her employers and had it all gone horribly wrong? In either case, what had happened to the twins? Changing the options entirely, was the abduction somehow connected with the demolitions in Bethnal Green, perhaps masterminded by Mangler Maguire when he realised how much wealth his employer could produce if threatened with the deaths of his two twin boys? If Maguire was behind this, then Percy held out little hope for the current existence of the boys; the kidnap money had been paid over and whoever was holding those children had nothing to lose — and perhaps a lot to gain — by snuffing out their pathetic little lives.
The headache that was threatening to burst into life just above his eyes somehow went with the groan from Jack as he saw Percy approaching his desk in Records.
‘I know that look,’ Jack advised him, ‘and I have done ever since I broke
your living room window with my whip top when I was fifteen. What is it this time?’
‘First of all, I want you to examine every unsolved murder report for the past two months,’ Percy advised him with a facial expression that excluded any possibility that this was a joke. ‘Twin boys, aged approximately eighteen months, every Division of the Met and out into Middlesex and Buckinghamshire. Then check with every orphanage, hospital and church vestry in London as to whether or not, in that same period, two little boys answering that description have been abandoned.’
‘Did you come armed with a thirty-six hour day?’ Jack replied sarcastically. ‘And had it escaped your calculations that I already have an impossible workload? Where’s the fire and why are we suddenly interested in two small boys who, I assume, have gone missing?’
‘They disappeared at the same time and the same place, as Emily Broome,’ Percy enlightened him.
‘Then the sooner you find Emily Broome, the better,’ Jack countered sourly.
‘I already did. She’s dead.’
‘Damn.’
‘Quite. Fancy a cup of tea across the road?’
‘Will you give me a note for Sergeant Ballantyne? He thinks I’m a slacker, thanks to you.’
‘I’m going for a cup anyway. Follow me like the Pied Piper of wherever if you want a free mug of tea, possibly a cream cake and certainly the latest in the saga of Emily Broome.’
Once established at a table to the side of the bustling pavement from which visitors to London were marvelling at the public buildings of Whitehall, Percy brought Jack up to date with his latest discoveries. When he got to the bit about the need to have the body in the local mortuary that served Bethnal Green formally identified for the benefit of the coroner, Jack pulled a face.
‘We can’t possibly ask poor old Alice to do that. Can’t I just ask her if Emily walked with a limp?’