A Woman Unknown

by Frances Brody

  Philippa thrust her hands into her pockets. For a person who said she wanted to talk, she seemed reluctant to begin. We followed the path through the wood. Suddenly, she said, ‘While you were changing your shoes, I put an envelope on top of your filing cabinet.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I wrote you a letter, in case you weren’t in.’

  ‘What does it say, or do you want me to wait and read it?’

  A squirrel raced across our path and up a tree.

  ‘It’s a letter and a cheque, a retainer. When we were talking in the maze, I told you I want to find out who killed Everett. I meant it. Will you help me?’

  ‘I’ll help in any way I can.’

  ‘Not help. I shouldn’t have said help. I mean investigate, properly.’

  ‘But Scotland Yard is on the case, and were from the first moment.’

  ‘Huh! I know that the chief inspector is a friend of yours, but if you’d heard the questions his sergeant asked me today, you would be appalled. Meanwhile the perpetrator is out there and I do not feel safe.’

  ‘What makes you think the police are on the wrong track?’

  ‘Their line of questioning. The sergeant did not say this in so many words, but he thinks my family have ordered Everett’s murder, to save money, and to protect my honour.’

  I guessed that this was because of the arrival at the hotel of Anthony Hartigan. Now that I had handed them Deirdre Fitzpatrick on a plate, Anthony Hartigan might well and truly be suspect number one. ‘That’s upsetting, but they’ll have to look at every possibility, every angle, while keeping an open mind.’

  ‘But they’re not keeping an open mind. My brother-in-law, Harold, he felt the same, that they are pointing a finger at us. My family would not do that. They have not stopped liking Everett. Honestly, Kate, if it came to choosing, they would have backed him over me. The thought of them having a contract put on his life is ludicrous.’

  I wondered if this was really so ludicrous, given that Gideon had been dispatched from Boston to act as Philippa’s private secretary, and to protect her interests.

  ‘That won’t be the only line of enquiry the police are following.’

  She kicked a stone. ‘No, you’re right. According to Harold, they’re raking through every loan Everett authorised at the bank, every financial misdeed he committed. Harold’s furious. It could damage the bank’s reputation, not that I care any more but I do feel sorry for Harold. He’d only just got used to the idea of the divorce and having to take back his stately home.’

  ‘Were Everett’s connections to the bank to be severed?’

  ‘Yes. They wanted rid of him. That’s why he was planning to go to Italy. But Harold has this outrageous suspicion that the police think the bank may have paid for Everett’s demise because Everett was demanding money to go quietly after making a mess of things.’

  ‘Then it sounds like a very thorough investigation.’

  ‘Yes! Exactly. Very thorough and very wrong. I know my family. I know bankers. They have cleverer ways of dealing with troublesome individuals than bumping them off. Everett was going to be out in the cold, and he knew it. He was making the best of it and he could have started again. He even hinted there was some Italian countess who would have him, though that may have been to make me jealous. If so, it didn’t work.’

  That information may not have made Philippa jealous, but it would have enraged Caroline Windham.

  I held a branch aside for Philippa as we walked along a narrow section of path.

  She said, ‘There would have been no advantage for me, my family, or the bank to kill him. It was over, done and dusted. So who did strangle him? Don’t you see, Kate? If it’s not properly investigated soon, someone will get away with murder.’

  We walked and talked for an hour or more.

  Finally, she said, ‘Will you take on the investigation? There’s nothing to stop you making some enquiries of your own. Please don’t tear up my cheque. Say you’ll do it.’

  ‘All right, I will. But you might have to put up with some awkward questions from me too.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Gideon King, you said how protective he is.’

  ‘Yes. You saw it yourself at the races when that photographer was trying to take a picture of the not-so-eternal triangle, me, Everett and Caroline. Gideon feels humiliated on my behalf because of Everett’s behaviour. But I’ve told him that I’ve risen above it. I saw an end to it and I had truly stopped caring what Everett did. That was a great relief, because when he saw that he could not hurt me any more, when I told him it was all over, he was all for trying again, swearing he would stop seeing her. Even at the races, he swore he had not invited her.’

  ‘Does Gideon have an alibi for the night or morning of Everett’s murder?’

  ‘We had dinner together at the house, which might seem odd, but I told you he was at school with my brother. We have a long history.’

  ‘And after dinner? I’m sorry to ask but I must try and see a clear picture.’

  She shook her head. ‘Neither of us has an alibi.’

  ‘Where is Mr King now?’

  ‘I believe he’s ensconced with my brother-in-law, Harold. Do you want to see him?’

  ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  ‘I hope that you’ll ask Caroline Windham what she was doing that night.’

  By the gates of Kirkley Hall, we parted company. I made my slow way home, thinking over everything we had talked about.

  It was way past dusk when I reached home. Sykes was there, waiting for me. He knows where I keep the spare key, and that Mrs Sugden would let him in, but he was sitting on the front wall, looking down the street towards Headingley Lane. He walked to meet me.

  ‘Is something wrong, Mr Sykes?’

  He nodded. ‘Deirdre Fitzpatrick is missing.’

  Nothing gets me up so early in the morning as knowing I have a case to solve.

  Something puzzled me just a little about Philippa’s request. After coming back from our walk yesterday evening, I had read her letter carefully. It was short, and to the point, requesting me to investigate Everett’s death. But there was one additional remark, something she had not mentioned on our walk. She wrote, “I have not been feeling very well lately, even before this happened. I want to go home to the States as soon as possible.”

  It did not surprise me that she wanted to turn her back on everything that had happened. But she is the picture of health. Still in all, it was not surprising that the disappointment of a failed marriage had left her feeling out of sorts. I hoped I would be able to help. Her retaining cheque certainly made the case worth my while.

  It was a challenge, too. Who would find Runcie’s killer, me or Marcus? Marcus had the disadvantage of not knowing he was in a race. I had the advantage of having Sykes on the inside; I intended to use every card in the pack. I would start by talking to that source of all information, the omnipresent Len Diamond. He was the one person I could be sure had not been interviewed by Marcus’s Scotland Yard detectives or Leeds CID. Diamond clearly knew about the divorce, hence his attempt at taking a photograph of the banker, his wife and the mistress. What else did he know?

  I breakfasted early and was upstairs, combing my hair, when I heard Mrs Sugden answer the door.

  She appeared moments later in the bedroom doorway. ‘There’s a trio of desperadoes on the back doorstep, asking to see you. What am I to do?’

  I looked out of the bedroom window. Parked outside my house was a white Rolls-Royce, a chauffeur in a peaked cap at the wheel. ‘Come and look at this, Mrs Sugden.’

  She blew out her lips. ‘Highly placed desperadoes.’

  I looked at my watch. ‘Ask them in and offer them a cup of tea. I’ll be down in a moment.’

  ‘I won’t take them in the dining room. They could be rifling through your private papers.’

  A few moments later, I came into the kitchen. Mrs Sugden was placing a pot of tea on the table, and ordering, ‘Let it stan
d a minute.’

  Cyril Fitzpatrick, Anthony Hartigan and a fair-haired man with a guileless, open face and a broken nose all lumbered to their feet. I had seen the fair-haired man before, but for the moment could not think where.

  Fitzpatrick and Hartigan said hello and good morning. The other man looked from them to me with something like defiance, as if expecting to be told that he had no right to be here. ‘I’m Eddie, missis. Eddie Flanagan. Me and Deirdre is good friends.’

  ‘Please sit down all of you.’

  The well-mannered desperadoes scraped their chairs again. Mrs Sugden took up a position on a high buffet near the kitchen door, presumably ready to run for assistance if things turned nasty.

  Fitzpatrick said to his companions, ‘This is the lady I told you about. If anyone can find Deirdre, she will. You know something already don’t you, Mrs Shackleton?’

  ‘About what, Mr Fitzpatrick?’

  Having given Fitzpatrick the opening gambit and not being satisfied with his throw, the others began to join in, all speaking at once. The upshot of their babble was that Deirdre was missing, which I already knew. She had not come home last night. Mrs Hartigan had died. Anthony was anxious to return to New York as soon as possible.

  ‘Please, gentlemen. One at a time.’

  Being close to these three made me feel edgy. Their anxieties burst like lead shot at the ceiling and rained back down.

  ‘She knows I have my passage booked to New York. What is she playing at?’

  Eddie said, ‘What if she’s lying somewhere, hurt? It were brass monkeys last night.’

  ‘Who is the saint of missing persons, is it Anthony?’ Fitzpatrick demanded of his brother-in-law. ‘You should know, he’s your patron saint.’

  Hartigan glared at Fitzpatrick. ‘St Anthony and me haven’t had a lot to do with each other.’ He turned to me. ‘She could have had the nursing home matron telephone me at the hotel. I would have picked her up and taken her home.’

  I held up a hand. ‘Stop! One at a time. Mr Fitzpatrick, you come through with me to the dining room. I’ll talk to each of you gentlemen individually.’

  This helped bring a sense of calm. Mrs Sugden crossed to the table to take the seat vacated by Fitzpatrick. ‘I’ll pour now.’

  Fitzpatrick followed me into the dining room where I took pen and paper. I quickly noted that Deirdre had left the nursing home at about 5.30 and had not been seen since.

  ‘Have you reported her missing to the police?’

  ‘I have, when she didn’t come back last night. Anthony came for tea, just after you left. It went untouched. We set off for the nursing home to bring her home. I left a note, in case she returned while we were gone. The matron couldn’t understand it. Said Deirdre had gone to catch a tram. We went to Cotton Street to check with her aunts, and then to Millgarth police station.’

  ‘Do you have any thoughts as to where she might be, however unlikely?’

  He shook his head. ‘Between us, we’ve tried everywhere and everyone.’

  ‘You’re not at work today. Is that because Deirdre has gone missing?’

  ‘I’m on nights this week, though how I’ll get through the night if she hasn’t come back, I don’t know.’

  ‘You said to Mr Sykes that a photographer from the local paper saw her near Leeds Bridge.’

  He gulped and nodded.

  ‘Has your wife been downhearted? Might she have thought of taking her own life? Is that why the photographer mentioned her?’

  ‘No! She wouldn’t jump off the bridge. If she did, with her luck, there’d be twenty bargemen fighting to pull her out. She loves life. I wonder if she was with someone, and that’s what Diamond was trying to tell me. I wish I’d listened to him, to what he had to say.’

  ‘He could have been mistaken.’

  ‘Oh no. She made a point of telling me that she’d walked across Leeds Bridge and some fellow had asked her for directions. Are she and Diamond teasing me, tormenting me? Is there something between Len Diamond and Deirdre?’

  ‘It’s natural that you should be a little jealous about your wife, but try and trust her. It’s you she married.’

  ‘I think she wishes she hadn’t.’

  ‘With your permission, I’ll talk to Mr Diamond. I know him. He’ll be discreet.’

  There was as much likelihood of Diamond’s discretion as of the king and queen washing their own bed socks.

  ‘If you think it will help, talk to him by all means.’

  ‘Do you know what time he starts work?’

  ‘He’s a law unto himself that man. Who knows what time he starts? He doesn’t clock in, that much I know.’

  ‘Well try not to worry. Send Mr Hartigan in to talk to me.’

  ‘What about your fees? Is it the same daily rate you mentioned when I came before? Only you didn’t charge me.’

  ‘It would be the same. But it may be that your wife will turn up of her own accord, and soon. Let us hope so.’

  Fitzpatrick nodded. He pushed himself up from the table with a deep weariness. I guessed he had not slept.

  Anthony Hartigan strutted in, chin forward, reminding me of a cockerel in a farmyard.

  He did not waste time. ‘It’s worth a lot to me to see everything settled before I go. I didn’t expect to have to arrange a funeral for my ma, but Deirdre’s left me no choice. If you ask me, it’s her way of getting back at me for not coming sooner.’

  ‘Your family must have been very pleased to see you.’

  ‘It was meant to be a surprise. Some surprise. My sister took against me, and my ma took fright.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It is a pity you had so little time with her.’

  ‘She wasn’t the ma I remembered. Deirdre must have been a baby when I left. But I didn’t remember her at all. She started sending me annual begging letters as soon as she could write.’

  ‘When did you first see your sister, on this visit?’

  A sudden wariness came over him.

  I added quickly, ‘I’m wondering whether she said anything, dropped a hint about being unhappy, or having other plans.’

  He darted a quick look at me. ‘You were at the races last Wednesday.’

  ‘I was, and backed the winner.’ Had he seen me with Marcus, I wondered. Marcus had broken his cover to interview Hartigan. I best tread carefully.

  ‘Me too,’ he smiled. ‘Good old Flint Jack.’

  ‘I was trying to think where I had seen you before. You were with a chap in a kilt.’

  ‘Not the cheeriest of companions, but he went home happy.’

  That was probably an understatement. With an order to supply prohibition New York with alcohol, he would have gone home cock-a-hoop. If Hartigan had seen me with Marcus, he was covering it well. Perhaps my flitting about alone, trying to gather my own information, had paid off.

  I might squeeze a little information from Hartigan that would help me in the murder investigation.

  ‘Did you and your sister get on well, Mr Hartigan? Once you met I mean.’

  ‘I hardly got to know her. And she wasn’t exactly delighted to see me.’

  ‘Was that after or before the races?’

  ‘I travelled from London on Tuesday, and went to the races Wednesday and Thursday. Friday, I went to Cotton Street to see my mother. She wasn’t there. Neighbours told me she’d been taken into a nursing home and no one had the address, except Deirdre, and no one had Deirdre’s address, except that she lived in Kirkstall. So I tracked down half a dozen other relations. It was Friday night when I finally spoke to my aunts and got the addresses. They’d been working all day, see. Didn’t see my ma till Saturday, and she was asleep. Deirdre just bawled me out for not coming sooner, and not writing.’ He warmed to this injustice. ‘I could have stayed in London, done my business there.’

  ‘What a shame,’ I said, mustering fake sympathy. ‘To come all this way. Where are you staying?’

  ‘The Metropole, the best hotel, recommended by the tailor in London. And t
hat’s turned out a disaster. Just because I had a brandy with a hotel guest who ends up dead, I’m questioned a first time politely and a second time as if I did it.’

  ‘Do you know, I had heard there was a death at one of the hotels. Who was it?’

  ‘Some banker. He made the running. Guy saw me at the races and had me down as a soft touch. I’m sorry that he died, but if I topped every chancer who tried to fleece me, there’d be a lot of mourning widows.’

  Sometimes I can tell when a person is lying. This man was so accomplished that he had probably convinced himself of the truth of any and every lie he uttered. If he had not met Deirdre until Saturday, that eliminated her as the ‘unknown woman’ who spent the night with Runcie. Or did it?

  ‘How awful for you. So were you the last person to see him alive?’

  ‘No! He was with some broad. She went upstairs before I joined him.’

  ‘Well that’s all right then. No one could reasonably suspect you.’

  He grinned, and relaxed a little. ‘That’s exactly what I told them, only not so polite.’

  But he might suspect me if I did not stop probing. I wrote down his name and the name of the hotel. ‘I hope I’ll be able to help. If I find out anything at all about your sister, I will telephone you at the hotel, and send a telegram to Mr Fitzpatrick.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He took out his wallet. ‘I’ll stay for the funeral, but after that I need to get back to New York fast. Deirdre oughta to be home where she belongs. Her husband speaks highly of you.’

  I waved his wallet away. ‘Let’s see how I get on.’

  Hartigan raised an eyebrow. ‘Not often people turn down my money.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can. Will you send in the other gentleman please?’

  Eddie Flanagan stepped into the room as if springing from the corner of the boxing ring, but once he sat down, his energy evaporated. Weariness rose from him in waves. His face was smudged, his eyes puffy with lack of sleep. Now I remembered him. On the day I followed Deirdre, he was part of the group of men playing toss on the corner. He had stood to talk to her.