‘No!’ Jake and Isaac said together.
‘Why not?’ Olivia demanded to know. ‘Riley can’t send one of his officers. If Barchester is the guilty party, he would recognise him immediately and it would set him on his guard. But Eva is a regular and taking me along to improve my mind would be the most natural thing in the world.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Lord alone knows, it could do with improving.’
Riley agreed that the ladies were best placed to attend but remained silent on the point. He couldn’t see any danger in it, but two protective husbands would likely give him an argument in that regard. Olivia’s headstrong nature had led her into danger in the past, and Riley suspected that her desire to uncover the truth in such situations as the one they had spent the past hour discussing had not diminished with the passage of time.
‘I shouldn’t mind if I thought you were simply there to enjoy the lecture,’ Jake said, ‘but you can’t deceive me, Olivia. You would make it your business to corner Barchester afterwards and ask him all sorts of intrusive questions that would put you in the direct line of sight of a potential murderer.’
‘Then accompany us,’ Olivia replied in a challenging tone. ‘It will do you good to improve your mind, too.’
Tom laughed. ‘She has you there, Jake.’
Jake inclined his head in weary resignation. ‘Very well. If you insist,’ he said.
Riley took his leave a short time later, still with no clearer idea who his prime suspect was, but seeing the situation with greater clarity now that he had discussed it with intelligent people whose opinions he respected. Investigating the death of a man he had known personally and thought highly of, Riley conceded, made it difficult for him to sort through the various clues with his usual detached objectivity. So too did the distractions thrown up by his personal circumstances, making him doubly grateful for all the helpful suggestions his friends had offered him.
He had sent Stout home after he delivered him to Grosvenor Square, and since the rain had stopped he walked the short distance back to Sloane Street, glad that for once the inevitable fog had not already cloaked London in its murky veneer.
Reinvigorated, he arrived early at the Yard the following morning. So too did Salter, Soames and Carter. Riley gave his detectives the obligatory pep talk.
‘As you know,’ he said, ‘we are now two days into this investigation and have too many suspects. We need to narrow down the field.’
‘Does that mean we can stop trawling through Sir Robert’s old cases,’ Soames asked hopefully.
‘Have you come up with anything?’
‘A few possibles who have recently been released. A man locked up for knocking his friend’s wife senseless in a dispute. Name of Balyor. And another pick-pocket who got an especially harsh sentence for being a repeat offender.’
‘Pay both of them a visit. See if you can discover what they were doing at the time of Sir Robert’s murder. Salter, how did you get on at the Archaeological Society?’
‘I actually saw Barchester. He was there giving a private talk to donors and, here’s the interesting bit, he was aided and abetted by Mr Griffin.’
‘Giles Griffin?’ Riley perked up considerably when Salter nodded. Griffin was a friend of Riley’s brother, a well-to-do contemporary who was a regular figure at White’s Club. Salter would have recognised him because they were once obliged to interview him in connection with an earlier case. He had been friendly with the victim and gave them useful information that had resulted in a conviction. No suspicion had ever rested upon Griffin himself. ‘I shall attempt to casually encounter him this evening and see what he can tell me about Barchester. What was your impression of the man, Salter?’
‘He must be twenty years older than his wife, sir,’ Salter said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘There was nothing especially memorable about him, other than his obvious passion for archaeology. I didn’t speak with him myself but I can imagine a man of his indifferent appearance being extremely protective of such a young and attractive wife. Makes you wonder why she married him, unless of course it was for his money. He was smartly dressed and we know from his upmarket address that he must be well-situated.’
‘I shall see if Griffin can enlighten me.’ Riley allowed a short pause. ‘Right, our first port of call today, Salter, will be to Sir Robert’s solicitor. A man by the name of Wigdon, according to Sir Robert’s appointments book. He has offices, naturally enough, in Lincoln’s Inn. I would like to know Sir Robert’s net worth and have confirmation that his son inherits. We shall then make ourselves known to Boland, in front of the rest of Franklin’s clerks, naturally.’
Salter grinned but manfully resisted the urge to rub his hands together in anticipation. Salter enjoyed confrontations with suspects, especially those whose personal habits offended his Christian morality. Boland could not, Riley knew, expect an easy time of it from his sergeant.
‘What about Milton?’ Salter asked.
‘Oh, I haven’t forgotten about him, but first we’ll take a little trip to Wimbledon this afternoon and talk to his wife. She will doubtless confirm that he left home on the morning in question at the time that he said he did, but I want to take the measure of the woman herself and Milton’s living arrangements before quizzing him.’
‘Any particular reason for that, sir?’ Salter asked.
‘I gather she has expensive tastes that her husband might struggle to feed.’
‘I see.’ Salter paused. ‘That would give Milton added motive to step into Sir Robert’s shoes.’
‘It would indeed. One more job for you two,’ Riley added, turning his attention to Soames and Carter. ‘For the sake of thoroughness, we need to know where Caldwell’s brother Percy was at the time of Sir Robert’s death. From what I read in Inspector Hardgrave’s notes, he protested long and hard that his brother was innocent. His voice went unheard, and having him up at the Bailey on a murder charge won’t reflect well upon their cobbler’s business. It would suit him very well not to have Sir Robert prosecuting. I dare say Percy really does believe that his brother is innocent—’
‘And sees having Sir Robert out of the way as the easiest way of having the charges dropped or his brother found innocent,’ Salter added, grimacing.
‘Quite so. Without being in possession of all the facts, I tend to agree that there’s considerable doubt about Caldwell’s guilt, but I can’t condone Percy Caldwell’s method of removing the main obstacle to his brother’s freedom—namely Sir Robert. That is, of course, always supposing that Percy did it. Given that he had no way of getting his hands on the dagger I somehow doubt it, but we still need to speak to him.’
‘With Sir Robert out of the picture and Lord Isaac defending, there’s every chance his brother will be found innocent,’ Carter said, belatedly catching on and nodding. ‘Right, we’ll talk to him, sir.’
Riley wondered if he should do Hardgrave the courtesy of advising him that his team would be speaking to someone involved in his case. After a moment’s reflection he decided against it. Since they would be discussing Sir Robert’s murder and not that of Maisie Fuller he saw no need.
‘Let’s all get to it then. We’ll meet back here this afternoon and compare notes.’ Riley flexed and then hardened his jaw, his determination not to fail his friend absolute. ‘Someone out there knows something and we are going to find out what it is, even if it means turning the London underworld on its ears.’
Soames and Carter nodded and went on their way. Riley and Salter left the Yard shortly after them, turning up their collars against the cold wind.
‘I would give a great deal to know whether or not Sir Robert took that repaired dagger home with him the night before it was used to kill him,’ Riley told his sergeant. ‘Unfortunately, there is no one whom I can rely upon to give me an honest answer to that question. Lady Glover would want to know why I asked. Even in her grief it would occur to her that I was attempting to point the finger of suspicion upon her beloved
son, since he is the only one who could have removed it and arranged for it to be used for symbolic purposes.’
‘You think it would be pointless to upset her by asking?’
‘Precisely. The maid would not dust in the evenings or have any reason to go into Sir Robert’s study for other purposes, so she will be unable to shed any light.’ Riley gave a philosophical shrug as they walked along, distracted by the efforts of a weak sun that did its best to ward off the chilly wind as it penetrated a thick blanket of cloud. Riley was not optimistic about its chances of prolonged success. The weather reflected his own dilemma, he thought. The occasional fleeting breakthrough, followed by long periods of clouded uncertainty.
They were not kept waiting when they reached the offices of G. Wigdon Esq, Solicitor and Purveyor of Oaths. The small, birdlike man who rose from behind a monolith of a desk to greet them observed them shrewdly through a pair of pince-nez. Riley suspected that his unprepossessing appearance lulled the unwary into underestimating him. Wigdon enjoyed a good reputation and prospered from the amount of criminal work it brought to his door—and thence, more often than not, to Sir Robert’s.
‘Inspector Rochester.’ Wigdon inclined his head, revealing a shiny pate ringed by wisps of grey hair. ‘I have been expecting this visit, although I wish it could have been under happier circumstances. Since it cannot be, I am glad it is you who has been entrusted with this delicate investigation. I believe Sir Robert was a personal friend of yours, as he was of mine. The legal world will be a poorer place without his sharp mind and innate sense of justice, whilst we personally are left grieving for the loss of a faithful friend.’
‘I could not have put it better myself,’ Riley replied, taking both the chair that Wigdon ushered him towards and an immediate liking to the man himself. Salter remained standing, pencil at the ready.
‘Shall you still send clients to Sir Robert’s chambers?’ Riley asked idly as he adjusted the fall of the trousered leg that he’d crossed over the other, keen to know what Wigdon thought of Milton.
Wigdon fixed Riley with a shrewd look. ‘Are you asking for my opinion of Joseph Milton, Inspector?’
Riley chuckled. ‘I rather think that I am.’
‘Well, I don’t mind telling you that I have never much liked him. I can’t say precisely why,’ he added, wrinkling his brow as though he’d not considered the reasons for his dislike before now. ‘I have often wondered why Robert took him on. I asked him once and he said that the man had the makings of a good barrister. I always thought there was more to it than that.’
Riley sat a little straighter. ‘Some personal connection?’
‘I cannot help you there, I’m afraid.’ Wigdon spread his small hands apologetically. ‘You are the detective. All I can tell you is that Robert was surprisingly tight-lipped on the subject. What I do know, because Robert let something slip once—’
‘Something slip?’ Riley allowed his scepticism to show.
‘Yes, I thought the same thing that you undoubtedly are.’ Wigdon’s rheumy eyes sparkled behind his glasses. ‘Robert never allowed his tongue to run away with him. He measured all his words.’
‘Implying that he wished you to know. When did this supposed slip of the tongue take place and what did it refer to?’
‘About four months or so ago, I suppose,’ Wigdon replied, throwing back his head and closing his eyes as he endeavoured to recall. ‘He advised me in a joking tone never to lend money to Milton.’
‘Did he indeed!’ Riley was conscious of the sound of Salter’s pencil scratching away. ‘Did he say why?’
Wigdon returned his head to its correct position, rescued his glasses before the motion caused them to slip from the end of his nose, and shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘He is married to a lady who doesn’t understand the meaning of economy, I believe.’
Confirmation, Riley thought, of Isaac’s remarks regarding Mrs Milton.
‘Is Milton fond of the gaming tables?’ Salter asked before Riley could. Both men were aware that gambling was the scourge of many households across the entire spectrum of society.
‘That I could not say. But Robert did once mention that he himself had helped his partner out of tight corners from time to time and had had to remind him of his obligations when he failed to repay him in a timely manner.’
‘I see.’
Wigdon allowed himself a heavy sigh. ‘And now, I suppose, Milton will be able to trade upon Sir Robert’s name in order to scoop off the profits and keep his wife in hats.’
Milton had just knocked Norman Glover and Edwin Barchester from the top of Riley’s suspect list.
‘If he can maintain Sir Robert’s standards, which is not a given,’ Riley replied. ‘And if you continue to supply him with a steady stream of clients which, I suspect, is also far from certain.’
‘I expect you came to ask me about the contents of Sir Robert’s will,’ Wigdon said into the ensuing silence.
‘We did indeed, if you would be so kind.’
‘I have the papers here. Norman Glover had the bad taste to call upon me earlier today and ask me when he could expect to get his grubby hands upon his father’s assets.’ Wigdon made a moue of distaste. ‘An idle young man if ever I saw one, and a grave disappointment to his father. Anyway, I told him that the will would be read after the funeral in the usual manner and refused to reveal its contents, even though he became rather insistent and most impolite.’
‘I hope you will not consider me impolite if I ask the same question,’ Riley said with the suggestion of a smile.
‘Certainly not, Inspector. You cannot do your duty properly if you don’t have all the facts. Besides, I dare say you will be surprised by what I am about to reveal.’ He pushed his pince-nez further back onto his nose and opened the file in front of him. ‘Sir Robert left a substantial amount in shares and investments.’ Wigdon named a figure that made both detectives whistle beneath their breath. Who said crime does not pay, Riley wondered. ‘He also owns the apartment in Snow Hill outright and has no outstanding debts that I am aware of, although a few of the usual accounts might come to light in the fullness of time.’ Wigdon paused to clear his throat. ‘Apart from a few modest bequests to faithful employees and charitable causes, he left twenty thousand pounds to each of his daughters, to be held in trust by me until they each marry. Failing marriage, the money becomes theirs to do with as they wish when they reach twenty-five years of age. His wife and daughters are free to remain in the apartment and a figure has been set aside to maintain it and cover all reasonable expenses. Again, I am named as sole executor of that trust.’
‘Not Norman Glover?’ Riley asked, thinking how disappointed the young man would be.
‘Oh no. Robert told me he was tired of giving his son opportunities when all he did was disappoint. Norman gets the apartment upon Lady Glover’s demise, but she is still a relatively young woman so he’s in for a quite a wait. Apart from that, he gets a modest annual allowance.’
‘How modest?’ Riley asked.
Wigdon revealed a sum that would make it impossible for Glover to maintain his own establishment unless he exercised extreme economy or took up gainful employment.
‘And the rest of his fortune?’ Riley asked, already suspecting that he knew the answer to his own question.
Wigdon fixed Riled with a shrewd look. ‘Is left in its entirety to Mrs Patricia Barchester.’
Chapter Eight
Riley smiled at his old friend’s guile. He was unable to acknowledge Patricia while he was alive, but in death he could do as he damned well pleased and didn’t seem to mind too much if he embarrassed his wife and young daughters. There again, Riley mused, he probably hadn’t anticipated meeting his maker quite to precipitously.
‘You don’t look terribly surprised, Inspector.’ Wigdon raised a bushy brow. ‘I assume you know of the lady in question and are aware of her connection to Robert.’
‘She came to me herself when she h
eard of her father’s death.’
‘And now you suspect her of involvement, given that she is Robert’s main beneficiary, I dare say.’
‘Actually, her name remains firmly at the bottom of my list of suspects. I very much doubt if Sir Robert told her of his intentions. I have only met Mrs Barchester on one occasion, and not under the best of circumstances, but she struck me as a woman of principle. She left me with the impression that her marriage is something of a gilded cage. She had enjoyed getting to know her father, a person she could confide in and whose company she enjoyed, and would much prefer that he was still alive rather than benefit from his wealth. Besides, the legacy will create problems with her husband, I have no doubt, since he is unaware of his wife’s connection to Sir Robert, as far as we know. I am attempting to gain clarification on that point.’
‘Robert anticipated the difficulties the legacy would create for her, which is why he asked me to break the news to her in private before the rest of the family became aware of it. That way it gives her time to decide whether she would prefer to explain to her husband herself or keep it a secret from him and use the funds for other purposes.’ Wigdon fixed Riley with a shrewd look. ‘He has left a letter for her, and letters for his wife and son, too. I suspect, but do not know for a certainty, that the letter to Mrs Barchester encourages her to use the money to make a new start. Barchester is very possessive, you see, and to paraphrase Robert’s words, he stifles his wife’s character.’
Riley nodded, not doubting it for a moment. ‘I must ask you not to reveal anything about the contents of the will to anyone for the time being. I know that you are unlikely to do so, especially since you have already declined to satisfy Norman’s curiosity.’
‘Quite so.’
‘Sir Robert’s body has not been released for burial yet so it will be a week or so before the arrangements for the funeral can be made.’
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