by Graham Ison
‘The guv’nor said we weren’t to do anything, but to let him know,’ said Catto. ‘But I shouldn’t worry too much, Gordon. Beer and sandwiches on tap, and a pretty housemaid at our beck and call. I’m happy to stick it out for a few days.’
But their period of duty was destined to come to an abrupt end. At four o’clock, Carter spotted a policeman approaching the door of the house from which they were watching.
‘I wonder what the hell he wants,’ said Carter.
Moments later, the PC entered the room. ‘Are you two Carter and Catto from Cannon Row?’ he asked.
‘That’s us. What’s up?’
‘I’ve got a message from your DDI. He says as how you’re to break off the observation and return to the nick.’
‘Did he say why?’ asked Carter.
‘No, mate. I’m only a humble PC. DDIs don’t tell me what’s going on.’
Carter thanked Councillor Newton for his assistance and hospitality, and explained that there had been a change of plan.
It was close to five o’clock by the time Carter and Catto got back to Cannon Row.
‘What’s happening, Sergeant?’ Carter asked when the two of them entered the detectives’ office.
‘There’s been a change of plan, Carter,’ said Marriott, ‘and a development that means there’s no need to keep watch on the Rosemont Road house.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Catto.
‘A pity?’ queried Marriott. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly taken a liking to observation jobs, Catto.’
‘No, Sergeant,’ said Carter, ‘he’s suddenly taken a liking to Councillor Newton’s comely young housemaid.’
Marriott laughed. ‘Well, you can forget all about her, Catto. The guv’nor wants to see both of you. Now.’
‘Learn anything?’ barked Hardcastle, when the two DCs presented themselves.
‘Councillor Newton wasn’t a great help, sir,’ said Carter, and related the sparse description of the male caller that Newton had given them.
‘Well, it don’t matter because I think I know who he is. Right, carry on, and ask Sergeant Marriott to come in.’
‘Bert Wood’s checked the voters’ register for the Rosemont Road address, sir,’ said Marriott.
‘Nothing,’ said Hardcastle.
‘Exactly, sir. There’s no one registered at that address as a voter. Wood also checked with the rates department at Acton town hall.’
‘And the ratepayer was our Martins Deacon’s bank account holder.’
‘Yes, sir. And Wandsworth town hall confirmed that the same person’s the ratepayer at the Disraeli Road address.’
‘Got him,’ exclaimed Hardcastle, with a measure of satisfaction.
‘Arrest him, sir?’ asked Marriott.
‘Not until we’ve got enough evidence to make sure we can hang him with it, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle.
‘Where d’you propose to start, sir?’
‘With the three widowers of our murder victims.’
‘But they’re all serving abroad, sir, apart from Commander Cheney and he’s at sea.’
‘Ways and means, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle mysteriously. ‘Ways and means.’
‘I didn’t expect to see you again, Inspector,’ said Lieutenant Commander Hugo de Courcy, as he limped across his office and shook hands. ‘What can I do for you?’ He waved a hand towards a couple of chairs.
‘I realize that this might be difficult, Commander de Courcy,’ said Hardcastle, ‘but I need to get in touch with Commander Cheney again.’
‘It so happens you’re in luck there, Inspector. Bob Cheney has been posted to the Royal Naval College at Greenwich as an instructor. By the time he got back to Scapa Flow he found that his ship had sailed earlier than scheduled. In the circumstances, given that he’d lost his wife and had two young sons, it was decided that a shore-based appointment would be a compassionate sort of posting for him. It so happened that there was a vacancy for a commander at Greenwich.’
‘Excellent,’ said Hardcastle.
‘Is there likely to be a problem in us seeing him, Commander?’ asked Marriott.
‘None at all, Sergeant. I’ll send him a signal warning him that you’re coming.’ De Courcy paused. ‘Unless you want to surprise him,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘When would you propose going to Greenwich?’
Hardcastle took out his hunter and glanced at it. ‘This afternoon, Commander.’
‘Very well.’ De Courcy scribbled a short message on a pad, and sent for his clerk. ‘Send this signal to Greenwich immediately, Rawlings,’ he said, when the clerk appeared,
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said Rawlings, and hurried to the wireless room.
The vast complex of the Royal Naval College dominated the south side of the Thames at Greenwich. Hardcastle eventually found an ageing naval pensioner now acting as a custodian.
‘I’ve got an appointment with Commander Cheney,’ said Hardcastle, having first identified himself.
‘The trouble, sir,’ said the custodian, having searched a directory in vain, ‘is that they don’t always keep these ’ere books up to date.’ He shouted across the hall to another attendant. ‘Any idea where Commander Cheney’s cabin is, cully?’
‘Yes, I do.’ The attendant joined the little group. ‘Follow me, gents, and I’ll show you up.’
Commander Robert Cheney looked considerably smarter than the last time Hardcastle and Marriott had spoken to him. His uniform was clearly new; the gold lace rings of rank sparkling and fresh medal ribbons adorned his jacket.
‘Inspector, good to see you again. Do take a seat and tell me how I can help you.’
‘This seems to be a splendid place to work, Commander,’ commented Hardcastle, gazing around Cheney’s opulent office.
‘Given that the war’s nearly over my job here is pretty much a waste of time, Inspector. Half this lot will be on the beach by this time next year, I shouldn’t wonder. Me included, very likely. However, I’m sure you haven’t come here to discuss my career prospects.’
‘No, Commander, it’s about your housekeeper.’
Cheney raised his eyes in surprise. ‘My housekeeper? But I don’t have a housekeeper.’
‘Hannah Clarke, sir,’ said Marriott.
‘She was my late wife’s maid, Sergeant,’ said Cheney. ‘And I gave her notice immediately. There was no point in keeping her on when there was no one in the house.’
‘Hannah Clarke told us that you’d appointed her housekeeper and increased her pay by twenty pounds a year.’
‘Absolute rubbish,’ exclaimed Cheney. ‘I told her to pack her bags and go that same day. I also told her to leave the keys with Cutty Curtis. He lives opposite our house in Whilber Street.’
‘She certainly left, Commander,’ said Marriott, ‘but not until nine days after your wife had been murdered.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Cheney. ‘Why would she stay there that long?’
‘But then she herself was murdered that same evening, Thursday the twentieth of this month, in Worthing,’ said Hardcastle.
‘There was nothing about that in the newspapers, Inspector. And murders always make the front page.’
‘As a matter of fact there was, Commander, but the reports stated that her name was Kitty Gordon.’
‘Oh, I did read about that, but I didn’t make a connection. Well, I wouldn’t, would I? The name Kitty Gordon didn’t mean anything to me.’
‘I have reason to believe that Hannah Clarke, whose real name was Queenie Rogers, was also implicated in two other murders I’m investigating, Commander,’ continued Hardcastle.
‘Are you suggesting that Hannah murdered my wife?’ Cheney was clearly having difficulty in grasping the DDI’s revelations.
‘I don’t think so, but I do believe that she had an accomplice, and it was that accomplice who did commit the murders.’ Hardcastle removed a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Does that name mean anything to you, Commander?’
Cheney gl
anced at the piece of paper and returned it. ‘Not a thing, Inspector,’ he said.
‘Show Commander Cheney the letter received by Harrods, Marriott.’ Hardcastle waited until Cheney had scanned the missive. ‘The funeral director at Harrods assured one of my officers that they received this letter from you, Commander.’
‘But that’s not my writing and most certainly is not my signature. Are you telling me that this damned woman countermanded my orders, Inspector? I hope to god that Georgina wasn’t buried in a pauper’s grave.’
‘No, she wasn’t,’ said Marriott. ‘We were at the funeral and your late wife was properly interred at Brompton Cemetery.’
‘Well, at least the bitch got that right,’ said Cheney.
‘What about this half-finished letter, Commander?’ asked Hardcastle, signalling to Marriott to produce the threatening letter found in the escritoire at Whilber Street. ‘Is that your late wife’s handwriting?’
Cheney afforded the letter but a brief glance. ‘Certainly not. I’ve no idea who wrote that. It’s a threat. Georgina would never have written anything like that, apart from which the grammar is appalling. D’you know who did write it?’
‘I suspect it was your late housemaid, Commander,’ said Hardcastle. ‘There is one other thing. I ask this because there are similarities between all three murders. Did your wife have money of her own?’
‘Yes, she did. Her father was a diplomat, but he was a wealthy man in his own right. When he died he left Georgina a considerable sum.’
‘Is her estate still intact, Commander?’ asked Marriott.
‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Cheney. ‘It was about seven hundred or so pounds less than I thought it should be. I left the matter with my solicitor to see if he could discover where it had gone.’
‘I think I know,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I’ll keep you informed of anything I learn.’
‘What made you ask that question about Mrs Cheney’s money, sir?’ asked Marriott, when he and Hardcastle were on their way back to Westminster.
‘Beatrice Groves, who was in Mrs Blanche Hardy’s employ, told us that Mrs Hardy was quite well off. She told Mrs Groves that her father had owned a factory in Middlesbrough, and had left her a tidy sum when he died. That’s why I want to get in touch with Major Hardy. He might know if any of his wife’s money has gone astray, so to speak.’
‘And I suppose you’ll want to ask Colonel Lacey the same question, sir.’
‘You got a better idea, then, Marriott?’ Hardcastle leaned forward and tapped the end of his umbrella on the screen separating him from the cab driver. ‘Take me to Horse Guards Arch instead, cabbie.’
‘Ah, I’m glad you called in, Inspector,’ said Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Frobisher. ‘Sergeant Glover’s received a reply from Major Hardy about his housemaid.’
‘Yes, he telephoned me with the answer, thank you, Colonel,’ said Marriott.
‘But now I’ve another favour to ask, Colonel,’ said Hardcastle. ‘It concerns Major Hardy of the Tank Corps and Lieutenant Colonel Gerard Lacey of The Buffs.’ He explained about the money missing from Georgina Cheney’s estate and went on to air his suspicions that a similar shortfall might be apparent in the estates of Blanche Hardy and Hazel Lacey. ‘Is it possible for the two officers to be asked if they know anything of this?’
Frobisher pursed his lips, leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. ‘I think it would be better if a military police officer were to interview them rather than sending a signal to BEF HQ, Inspector. In that way, our officer can elicit the necessary details.’ He moved forward and placed his arms on his desk. ‘Despite what you may think, Mr Hardcastle, our chaps are quite good at interviewing people.’
‘I’m sure they are.’ Hardcastle’s reply was diplomatic, and disguised what he really thought.
‘All I have to do now is find out where these officers are serving, and that could be a problem.’ Frobisher scribbled a few lines on a pad. ‘There are over twenty-five battalions of the Tank Corps and at least ten of The Buffs. It may take some time, Inspector.’
‘I wonder how long it will take, sir,’ said Marriott, as he and his sergeant left the APM’s office at Horse Guards.
‘It might not matter, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle, ‘because I’m going to prepare an information so’s we can get a warrant to have a look at the bank account that is connected to the cheque book that was found among Hannah Clarke’s belongings at Worthing. And another to search the house where he lives.’
‘But we don’t know where he lives, sir.’
‘We will do by the time we’ve copped a gander at his bank account.’
At nine-thirty promptly the following morning, Hardcastle and Marriott were at Bow Street police court.
‘I need to see the beak in his chambers before he sits in open court, Sergeant,’ said Hardcastle to the warrant officer.
‘Very good, sir,’ said the warrant officer. ‘The chief’s sitting in Court One this morning. If you’ll come this way I’ll show you to his chambers.’
‘Good morning, Your Worship,’ said Hardcastle, as he and Marriott entered the chambers of the Chief Metropolitan Magistrate. ‘I have an information and I respectfully ask for a warrant to inspect the bank account named in that information.’
‘Don’t get too many of these,’ murmured the magistrate, as he donned his spectacles and perused Hardcastle’s information closely. ‘What exactly is your interest, Inspector?’
‘I am investigating four murders, Your Worship. As a result of my enquiries so far, I think that this bank account will provide evidence to support my belief that the holder is responsible for those murders.’
‘Very well.’ The magistrate took out his fountain pen and scribbled his signature at the bottom of the warrant.
Armed with the document, Hardcastle hailed a cab in Bow Street and instructed the driver to take him and Marriott to Williams Deacon’s Bank in Victoria.
SEVENTEEN
It was just after ten-thirty when Hardcastle and Marriott arrived at the bank in Victoria Street.
‘I somehow thought that you’d return with one of these, Inspector,’ said Roland Peachey, when Hardcastle handed him the warrant. He donned his spectacles and examined the document closely. ‘That all seems to be in order.’
‘It would be, Mr Peachey,’ said Hardcastle sharply. ‘It was issued by the Chief Magistrate.’
‘Quite so. As a matter of fact, I’ve already had the necessary documents put to one side.’ Peachey pressed a bell push on his desk. ‘Be so good as to bring in those documents I set aside for Inspector Hardcastle, Miss Carmichael,’ he said when his secretary appeared.
Miss Carmichael returned with a docket and a small pile of paper, and placed them on the table at one end of the office. Casting a disdainful glance at the two detectives who were about to violate the privacy of a client’s account, she left the office and closed the door.
‘Well, those are the documents you wanted, Inspector,’ said Peachey, waving a hand at the table. ‘I’ll remain here so that if there’s anything you wish to have explained I’ll be happy to do so.’
But Hardcastle did not need any assistance; he knew what he was looking for. He put on his spectacles and began to go through the paperwork.
‘It’s all here, Marriott, and it fits. On Monday the fourteenth of January, he paid in two thousand pounds; four-fifty on Tuesday the second of April; and seven hundred and fifty pounds on Thursday the twelfth of June.’
‘Each of those deposits was made within days of the murders of Blanche Hardy, Hazel Lacey and Georgina Cheney, sir,’ said Marriott.
‘And that’s exactly what I expected to find, Marriott. But there’s more. The day following each of those deposits, he issued cheques for five hundred pounds, a hundred and fifty pounds and two hundred and fifty pounds respectively.’ Hardcastle looked up and rubbed his hands together. ‘All payable to Queenie Rogers. I do believe we’ve got ’im, Marriott,’ he said triumphantly.
; Roland Peachey had been seated behind his desk, a slightly bemused expression on his face, while this exchange had been going on. ‘Is there something in what you’ve found that’s detrimental to the bank, Inspector?’ he asked apprehensively.
‘Not unless counting a murderer among your customers is considered detrimental to its reputation, Mr Peachey.’
‘Where to now, sir?’ asked Marriott.
‘Take a note of that address, Marriott, and we’ll go and arrest the bugger.’
‘But he’s unlikely to be there at this hour of the day, sir.’
‘I know that, Marriott. We’ll leave it until later.’ Hardcastle turned to the bank manager. ‘Thank you for your assistance, Mr Peachey. But before we go, I must ask you to keep these documents in a safe place. I’ve no doubt that counsel for the Crown will call you to give evidence and he’ll most likely require you to produce them.’
Outside the bank, Hardcastle hailed a cab, and he and Marriott returned to Cannon Row police station. Once there, he summoned Detective Sergeant Wood.
‘I’ve got a following job for you, Wood, and you’re to take a couple of DCs with you. And I don’t want any foul-ups with this.’
‘Right, sir,’ said Wood. ‘I’ll take Carter and Keeler.’
‘Good choice.’ Hardcastle scribbled a few details on a slip of paper. ‘That’s most likely where he is now,’ he said, indicating an address, ‘and the other one is where he’ll finish up. When he’s there telephone me from the local nick. And you’re to keep a discreet observation until Sergeant Marriott and I arrive. Once you see my cab pulling up, you’re to join us. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Wood.
It was not until six o’clock that evening that Hardcastle received a call from Wood telephoning from Brockley police station to say that their suspect had arrived.
‘Come, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle, seizing his hat and umbrella.
Once in Parliament Street, the DDI hailed a cab. ‘Manwood Road, Brockley, driver. D’you know where that is?’
‘Of course I do, guv’nor.’ The driver gave the impression of being mildly offended that he might not know his job. ‘Don’t live far from there meself.’