by Jim Eldridge
So what was left? Move in with Amelia and leave Stephen behind, seeing him as often as he could? After all, that’s what the upper classes did with their sons, packing them off to boarding school almost as soon as they could walk. No, for Stark, that was out of the question. He loved his son and he desperately wanted Stephen to know that he loved him. He’d been absent from his young son’s life for far too long already.
Maybe Amelia was right. Maybe, with all these problems and issues, it was better left as it was. Best friends. Who slept together. In secret.
‘Here we are, sir.’ The taxi driver’s voice cut into Stark’s reverie. ‘Cheyne Walk.’
Lord Fairfax’s home was in a smart block of flats close to the Thames. The red-brick building was surrounded by gardens resplendent with late-flowering plants and shrubs dotted between evergreen trees, to give colour and seclusion to the building. Two police cars and a police van were parked in the driveway, and as Stark walked towards the building, he was recognized by a uniformed constable standing guard by the main entrance, who saluted him and said, ‘DS Danvers is inside, sir. Flat two.’
Stark nodded and stepped into the lobby with its overpowering smell of polish. The door to the flat was open, with another uniformed constable guarding it from unwanted visitors. The constable stepped aside to allow Stark to enter. DS Robert Danvers, Stark’s sergeant, was in the hallway talking to a short, thin man wearing a black waistcoat over a crisp white shirt. Those, along with the man’s neatly pressed dark trousers, marked him out as Lord Fairfax’s servant. Possibly this was the Redford that Amelia had mentioned, Lord Fairfax’s valet.
Danvers spotted Stark and immediately came over to greet him. ‘You got my message, sir,’ said Danvers. ‘Your father said he wasn’t sure where you were when I phoned.’
No, he wouldn’t, reflected Stark. Too embarrassed.
‘Superintendent Benson only phoned me because he couldn’t get hold of you,’ continued Danvers.
‘You did absolutely the right thing, Sergeant,’ said Stark. ‘When did this happen?’
‘According to Lord Fairfax’s valet, he got in at six o’clock this morning and found the bodies.’ He indicated the short man. ‘This is him, sir. Mr Redford.’
Stark nodded at the man. ‘So you were out last night?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Redford. ‘I went to stay with my sister. Lord Fairfax had given me the night off. When I returned this morning, I went to the kitchen to check the stove and prepare the hot water for Lord Fairfax’s bath, that sort of thing. Then I went into the study to draw the curtains and tidy up, and that’s when I found them.’
Stark registered that the man seemed very composed for someone who’d just discovered the dead body of his master. But then, that’s the way servants were expected to be.
Danvers gestured towards a room off the hallway. ‘Doctor Kemp’s in there with them.’
Stark followed Danvers into the study, leaving Redford waiting in the hall. Dr Kemp, the duty pathologist, was bent over a man tied to a chair. A second man was tied to another chair, just a few feet away.
‘Doctor,’ nodded Stark in greeting.
‘Ah, they tracked you down, did they!’ said Kemp.
‘What have we got?’ asked Stark.
Kemp indicated the bodies of the two men tied securely to the chairs, their arms and legs firmly bound. The faces of both men were horribly distorted, their eyes bulging from their sockets, and dried blood and pus crusted their mouths down to their chins. One was dressed in outdoor clothes, a jacket and tie, and wearing patent leather shoes. The other had slippers on his feet. Lord Fairfax.
‘I’ll know more when I get them back to the mortuary,’ said Kemp. ‘But at first sight – and smell – it looks as if they were tied up and then some sort of poison was poured down their throats. It smells like weed killer.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘I’d say about eleven o’clock last night.’ He shook his head. ‘An excruciatingly painful way to die.’
‘I’ll leave you to your deliberations, Doctor,’ nodded Stark. To Danvers he said, ‘I think I’ll have another word with the valet. I know you’ve already talked to him, but we can compare notes afterwards and see if his story changes at all.’
‘I’ve got men asking questions at the other apartments to see if anyone saw or heard anything around the block about eleven o’clock last night.’
‘Good,’ said Stark.
He went back out into the hallway, where Redford was still waiting. ‘Mr Redford,’ he said, ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Stark.’
‘Yes, sir,’ nodded Redford. ‘The sergeant told me he hoped you’d be arriving.’
‘It must have been a terrible shock to you. Finding the bodies.’
‘Indeed, sir. But, unfortunately, I am not unfamiliar with death.’
‘You served?’
‘Yes, sir. The Somme and Arras.’
‘And you entered Lord Fairfax’s service after the war?’
‘No, sir. I was already in Lord Fairfax’s employment before the war. He kindly took me back after.’
Old soldiers together, Stark guessed. ‘The other man …?’
‘He’s a Mr Adams, sir. Mr Carl Adams. An American gentleman.’
‘Have you seen him here before?’
‘Very briefly yesterday evening, sir, when he arrived to see Lord Fairfax. He’d telephoned yesterday afternoon and asked to speak to Lord Fairfax, and they arranged that Mr Adams would call on Lord Fairfax in the evening. He arrived at about half past nine. Lord Fairfax took him into the study. I served them drinks on a tray, and then, as I said, Lord Fairfax told me I could have the night off. Because it was short notice I hadn’t made prior arrangements, so I went to my sister’s in Kentish Town. I don’t see her and my niece and nephew as much as I’d like. My sister’s a widow. Her husband was killed in the war.’
‘Did Lord Fairfax tell you what the purpose of Mr Adams’ visit was?’
‘No, sir.’
They were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.
‘If you’ll excuse me, sir,’ said Redford. He went to the telephone and lifted it from its cradle. ‘Lord Fairfax’s residence.’ He looked towards Stark. ‘Yes, sir. Detective Chief Inspector Stark is here.’ He held out the phone towards Stark. ‘It’s Chief Superintendent Benson of Scotland Yard for you, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ said Stark.
He took the phone. ‘Stark.’
‘Where the hell have you been, Stark?’ demanded the blustering tones of his chief superintendent.
‘Making my way here, sir,’ replied Stark calmly.
‘Well, you’d better make your way here at the Yard,’ snapped Benson. ‘Something’s come up that needs your immediate attention.’
‘Yes, sir. Can you tell me what it is, so that I can keep Sergeant Danvers abreast of events?’
‘Not over the telephone, no. It’s a delicate matter. Suffice to say, it’s urgent. And it relates to the case.’
‘Yes, sir. I shall be along immediately.’ Stark replaced the receiver and went back into the study. ‘Superintendent Benson just telephoned,’ he told Danvers. ‘He wants me back at the Yard.’
‘Yes, sir. Did he say why?’
‘No, just that something urgent had come up, and it relates to this case.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘You know the superintendent, Sergeant. I suspect politics are involved. That’s what usually makes everything suddenly become urgent where he’s concerned.’
‘That is a very cynical assertion to make, Stark,’ interjected Kemp, from where he was examining the victims.
‘You disagree?’ asked Stark.
‘Not at all,’ said Kemp. ‘I think that is a very fair summing-up of the situation and refreshing to hear a senior officer declare it. Although, as a word of warning, if you want my opinion …’
‘Your medical opinion?’ smiled Stark.
‘You won’t get much further up the career chain if you say that sort of t
hing too loudly and too frequently. It can be thought of as subversive, and a bad influence on junior officers.’
‘Am I a bad influence on you, Sergeant?’ asked Stark.
‘Not at all, sir,’ said Danvers blandly. ‘I’ve never heard you express anything other than praise for senior officers.’
‘In that case, Sergeant, my medical opinion is that you are deaf,’ said Kemp. He straightened up. ‘I’m ready to take these back to the Yard.’
‘Can you give me a lift?’ asked Stark. ‘The chief superintendent has summoned me.’ He turned to Danvers. ‘I’ll leave you here to continue the investigation and we’ll compare notes when you get back.’
‘Right, sir,’ said Danvers.
‘It’ll take me a few minutes to get them into the van,’ said Kemp. ‘That all right with you?’
‘That’s fine,’ said Stark. ‘I need to make a phone call.’
He went back out to the hallway and said to Redford, ‘Would you mind if I used your telephone?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ said the valet.
Stark lifted the receiver, got the operator and gave her his home phone number. There was the sound of the ringing tone, and then it was picked up and Stark heard his father say, ‘Yes?’
‘You’re supposed to say the number, Dad,’ said Stark.
‘Why?’ demanded his father. ‘People know which number they’re calling.’
‘In case the call gets connected to the wrong number.’
‘In which case I wouldn’t want them knowing the number. They might call it again.’
It’s not worth arguing with him, Stark told himself resignedly. ‘I’m sorry I never made it home this morning,’ he said. ‘I got called to a case.’
‘Your sergeant found you, then.’
Suddenly, a harsh spluttering coughing erupted in Stark’s ear. Stark waited until it subsided, then said, ‘Are you all right, Dad? Your cough sounds worse.’
‘It’s nothing – just the usual bronchitis,’ snapped his father, but Stark could hear the sound of his laboured breathing. ‘I always get it this time of year.’
‘You ought to go and see Doctor Lomax.’
‘I don’t need a doctor; I know what it is. I’ll look after myself,’ rasped his father. Then he coughed violently again. Stark waited until it eased and was about to press him again to go to the doctor, but his father snapped angrily at him, ‘So, where were you? At her Ladyship’s?’
‘I can’t talk about it, Dad. Not on the phone.’
‘Ashamed of her, are you?’
Stark felt the anger rising inside him, but forced himself to keep it under control. ‘It’s not a situation for discussion now. I’m only calling to let you know I have to go to Scotland Yard now, and it’s likely I won’t be home before six. Is Stephen all right?’
‘He’s fine. He went to school as usual.’ There was a pause and Stark’s ear was filled with a phlegm-filled rattle, and then his father rasped out breathily, ‘Your mother doesn’t like this thing. This telephone. It upsets her. She doesn’t like to think who might be calling.’
‘Only a few people have got the number, Dad.’
‘It’s not natural,’ insisted his father.
‘I’ll see you later, Dad,’ said Stark.
Benson was hunched over his desk as Stark knocked at the chief superintendent’s door, and entered the office.
‘Where were you this morning, Stark?’ Benson demanded. ‘I telephoned your home and your father said he didn’t know where you were.’
‘I had a private engagement, sir.’
‘The reason we had a telephone put in at your house was so that we could reach you at all times!’
‘And I did get the message, sir. Sergeant Danvers had also telephoned my home and left a message about the incident at Lord Fairfax’s home.’ To deflect any further questions, Stark continued, ‘You said it was urgent, sir. Something to do with the case.’
‘Yes. I received this letter this morning.’ Grim-faced, Benson handed Stark a white envelope which had already been opened. Stark took out the letter, unfolded it and read it.
There was no address on the letter, just a simple few lines in neat handwriting.
Dear Sir,
Lady Amelia Fairfax murdered her husband, Lord Fairfax.
Yours faithfully,
A Friend of Justice.
THREE
Stark did his best to keep his face expressionless, but inside he was in turmoil. Amelia? To give himself time to gather his thoughts, he studied the envelope. It was addressed to Chief Superintendent Benson, Scotland Yard, and was marked Personal. By hand.
‘Well, Stark?’ demanded Benson. ‘I understand both men were poisoned!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Poison is notoriously a woman’s weapon.’ He pointed a stubby finger at the letter in Stark’s hand. ‘And we all know that so often in the case of murder it’s the spouse who’s responsible.’
‘True, but in this case the men who were murdered were both very fit, and they’d been securely tied up before they were killed. Hardly the work of one woman, I would think.’
‘She could have had accomplices, Stark,’ insisted Benson. ‘That’s obvious! And this letter was only delivered here within the hour. News about the murders hasn’t yet been released. The sender of this letter definitely knows something, and he or she names Lady Amelia Fairfax as the culprit!’
Yes, agreed Stark silently, my thoughts exactly. And as Amelia Fairfax was with me last night, that means the letter was sent either by the murderer or by someone closely connected with the murders.
Stark put the letter back in the envelope and held it out towards Benson to return it, but the chief superintendent waved it away.
‘You keep it, Stark. This is your case. You seem to have a way with the aristocracy. But be discreet! We can hardly have Lady Amelia arrested until you’ve got a strong enough case against her. Hard evidence, Stark. Find out who her accomplices are.’
‘If the accusations in this letter are correct,’ cautioned Stark. ‘My hunch is that this is just likely to be a malicious slur.’
‘That may be so, but – as I said – whoever wrote that letter knew about the murder before it became public knowledge.’
‘Murders, sir,’ corrected Stark politely. ‘Two men were murdered.’ He indicated the envelope. ‘It’s interesting that the letter only mentions Lord Fairfax, not the other victim.’
‘Do we know who the other man is?’
‘An American businessman called Carl Adams.’
‘Well, whatever you turn up, I leave it to you to act with discretion, Stark. But keep me informed. Questions will be asked, and I need to be ready to answer them.’
Stark walked to his office, the envelope with the incriminating letter clutched in his hand. Now I have a much bigger problem, he thought.
He walked in, sat down at his desk and pulled the letter out of the envelope and studied them both again. The right thing to do would be to excuse himself from the case. But if he did that, the case would be given to another chief inspector, one who might be happy to follow the chief superintendent’s direction, and Amelia would find herself having a case built against her, however tenuous. The papers would get hold of the story and would fall on her with relish.
I know she didn’t do it because she was with me. But if I tell Benson that, then I might as well start writing my letter of resignation.
Right now his immediate problem was what to do about Danvers. He’d have to show him the letter, and he’d have to tell him the facts of the matter. But could he trust Danvers to keep that a secret? Stark liked to think he was a good judge of men. During the war, that sense of judgement – knowing which men he could trust and which ones to be wary of – often meant the difference between life and death. Yes, he trusted Danvers, even though he’d only been his sergeant for four months. Danvers was honest, straight, which was one reason Stark had determined to keep him as his sergeant. There were still times when
Stark puzzled over why someone from Danvers’ background had joined the police force, and at a relatively junior level, when he could have used his family’s influence to get an inspector’s position. Just as Stark had seen happen during his time in the army, when some young men from well-connected families had been made officers, even though they had little aptitude for the military.
Danvers was from a privileged background, educated at a good public school. His father was Colonel Deverill Robert Danvers CBE; his mother, Victoria Danvers, descended from a long line of landed gentry. Everything in Robert Danvers’ background was anathema to Stark. But then, so was everything in Amelia’s equally privileged background.
I am the worst kind of snob, Stark told himself. I am a bigot, prejudiced against the rich and privileged. I am just as bad as those who unthinkingly look down on the working class.
Do I trust Danvers? Yes, I do. Is he honest and straight? Yes, he is. And because he is honest and straight and not corrupt, how will he react if I ask him to keep quiet about my relationship with Amelia? Will he insist I confess it to Benson?
He looked again at the letter and the envelope.
There was only one way to find out.
He spent the time as he waited for Danvers to return in the records office, seeing if they had any information about the American, Carl Adams. He managed to find something in recently issued notes of entry, stating that one Carl Jefferson Adams, a citizen of Boston, had entered Britain in the company of Edgar Cavendish, a businessman from Indiana, two weeks earlier. The purpose of their visit was listed as ‘business’. Which covers an awful lot, thought Stark.
He returned to his office, just as Danvers was taking off his overcoat and hanging it on the hook. ‘All done?’ he asked.
‘For the moment, sir,’ replied Danvers. ‘Redford reported that when he returned there was no sign of the lock having been forced. No damage to the flat door at all. Which suggests that Lord Fairfax opened the door to the people who killed him. So, did he know them? Or did they just rush in and overpower the pair?’