Death of a Prosecutor

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘As I say, Inspector, I would not have told young Glover before then, but I might have considered speaking with Mrs Barchester, to prepare her. If you would prefer me not to I shall be guided by you.’

  ‘Thank you. I might mention the matter to her myself, to gauge her reaction, if you have no objection.’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘Right, good.’ Riley allowed a reflective pause. ‘You socialised with Robert on a regular basis, whereas my duties prevented me from seeing him as much as I would have liked. Are you aware of anything in particular that worried him? Had he received any threats? Argued violently with any particular person?’

  ‘Other than his son, he didn’t mention anything. But I dare say threats and unpleasantness were par for the course in his line of work, as they must be in yours, and he learned to take them in his stride.’

  ‘Very likely.’ Riley suppressed his disappointment. If Sir Robert had confided in anyone, leaving clues as to the identity of his killer, it would have been in his solicitor and friend. He stood and shook Wigdon’s hand. ‘Thank you for your time. You have been very helpful.’

  ‘I wish I could have been of more help. Please keep me advised of progress, Inspector.’

  Riley promised to do so, and he and Salter left his office.

  ‘Well,’ Salter said, rubbing his hands together with a gleeful expression. ‘That will well and truly put the cat amongst the pigeons.’

  ‘And will probably make more problems for Mrs Barchester than it will solve.’

  ‘Her husband won’t let her go without a fight and will track her down if she attempts to leave him?’

  ‘Precisely. I would still have him high on my list of suspects, but for the fact that he had no access to the dagger. But still, Lord and Lady Torbay are attending one of his lectures at the Archaeological Society and will likely get the measure of the man.’

  ‘I have no doubt,’ Salter agreed.

  ‘Right then, it’s beyond time we made Boland’s dubious acquaintance,’ Riley said, turning in the direction of Franklin’s chambers.

  The clerks’ office was occupied by three men perched on high stools, diligently scratching away with their pens. The eldest, clearly the senior clerk, looked up when they entered, put his pen aside and assessed them with the practised look of a man accustomed to knowing quality when he saw it. Taking in the fine cut of Riley’s attire, his obsequiousness was immediate.

  ‘Gentlemen, how may I be of service?’ he asked, actually bowing.

  Riley ignored him for a prolonged moment, allowing his gaze to wander over the other two clerks. One continued to beaver away. The other, a handsome young man with clear blue eyes and a sweep of thick blond hair assessed them in return, a hint of sarcasm shaping the arch of his brow. Boland knew who they were and realised the purpose of their visit.

  A frown momentarily invaded his features but was quickly gone, to be replaced by the suggestion of a defiant smile. If Riley hadn’t been watching for his reaction he would have missed it completely. He had been right to assume that Boland would not appreciate being singled out at his place of employment by Scotland Yard detectives, raising questions about his conduct. But Riley suspected he had shown as much displeasure in that momentary frown as he would permit himself. Boland would prove a tricky adversary, Riley sensed. He could tell at a glance that James Boland thought himself to be of superior intellect and Riley was content to allow him to maintain that illusion, for now.

  ‘Scotland Yard,’ Salter said in a loud voice that would carry through all the closed doors in chambers. ‘Here to talk to James Boland.’

  The senior clerk looked flustered, unsure how to respond. ‘For what purpose?’ he eventually stuttered. ‘This is most irregular.’

  ‘About the murder of—’

  ‘It’s all right, Mr Knight,’ Boland said, rising from his stool, watched by his fellow clerk, who had abandoned his work to stare at Boland with his mouth hanging open. A door further down the corridor opened. A head appeared around it, demanding to know what all the noise was about. Boland ignored the chaotic scene and walked slowly towards Riley, focusing an intent look upon him.

  ‘I think I know what this is about, and I shall be happy to render these gentlemen any assistance that it is within my power to offer them.’

  Nicely done, Riley thought, impressed by the manner in which Boland had attempted to claim the upper hand.

  ‘We can talk privately in here,’ Boland said, opening the door to a small ante-room.

  ‘Riley and Salter followed him into it. Salter closed the door behind them and leaned against it, arms folded across his chest in a belligerent stance. Boland, in complete control of himself now and with suggestion of a provocative smile again playing about his lips, took a seat at the small circular table, indicating to Riley that he should sit across from him. Riley took his time doing do, assessing the younger man, making him wait in an effort to increase his anxiety. But if the tactic frayed Boland’s nerves he gave no sign, and seemed perfectly willing to play Riley at his own game.

  ‘I am Inspector Rochester,’ he eventually said. ‘You are aware why I am here?’

  ‘Sir Robert’s murder,’ Boland replied without hesitation. He did not, as most people would, expand upon those three words with expressions of regret—genuine or otherwise. He simply folded his hands in his lap and waited.

  ‘Where were you at eight o’clock two mornings ago?’ Riley asked.

  ‘I suspect you already know the answer to that question but I don’t mind confirming that I was taking coffee in Covent Garden with my friend Norman Glover.’

  ‘Friend?’ Salter’s voice was harsh and scoffing. ‘Is that what they call it nowadays?’

  ‘Was that a question?’ Boland replied.

  Riley sent Salter a warning look, aware that his sergeant would be riled by Boland’s taunting attitude, which was precisely the reaction Boland hoped to achieve. Salter grunted and refrained from retaliating. For now.

  ‘My difficulty is,’ Riley said, matching Boland’s attitude of mild derision, ‘that I cannot find anyone who saw you at the coffeehouse at the precise time of Sir Robert’s murder. You and Glover arrived and left separately. The place was crowed, as it always is at that time in the morning, and you could easily have slipped out and returned again without anyone noticing that you had gone.’

  ‘Ah, but I did not.’

  ‘Someone did you and Glover a favour, though,’ Salter said, sounding more like his belligerent self again.

  ‘I am not crying crocodile tears over Sir Robert’s death, if that’s what you mean to imply. He lacked understanding of Norman’s sensitive nature and was attempting to turn him into something he is not and never will be.’

  ‘We all have to earn a living,’ Riley said mildly. ‘It is a sorry excuse for a man who expects to live off another’s labours.’

  ‘And yet your class have been doing it for centuries,’ Boland said in a tone designed to provoke Riley. It bounced harmlessly off his expression of bland indifference.

  ‘Indulge my curiosity,’ Riley said. ‘Glover expects to benefit financially from his father’s untimely demise. But how will that help the two of you? You cannot live openly together and, unless I mistake the matter, you are ambitious to progress in your career. I cannot accuse you of idleness.’

  ‘Financial independence will allow Norman the freedom to pursue his art and for the two of us live our lives as we see fit without outside interference.’

  ‘Except we both know that will not be possible. Society has not reached that level of tolerance.’

  ‘I don’t deny what I am, Inspector,’ Boland said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, ‘but I don’t advertise it either. I shall not hesitate to take legal action against Scotland Yard if my proclivities become common knowledge and my career prospects blighted, thanks to your blundering about looking for someone to blame because you lack the intellect to find the guilt
y party.’

  ‘I should be very careful about issuing threats of that nature, if I were you,’ Riley replied, his voice hardening. ‘It only makes you appear guilty. Besides, I was told of your relationship by three individual sources before I even spoke to Glover.’

  For the first time, Boland looked slightly less sure of himself. ‘I should be interested to know who—’

  ‘And I don’t have the slightest intention of enlightening you. I am here to ask the questions and you will answer them. Suffice it to say that the legal world is insular, and you are not always discreet.’ Riley paused for emphasis. ‘Now, I can make this easy for you, or I can deliberately make waves. The choice is entirely yours. I personally don’t care how you employ your leisure time, but others might not take such a liberal view. So I will ask you once again, and I would appreciate a truthful answer on this occasion. Where were you at around eight o’clock on the morning of Sir Robert’s murder?’

  ‘I have no way of proving it, Inspector, but I was in the coffeehouse from about seven-forty-five until eight-fifteen, at which time I left to deliver some papers to an instructing solicitor in the Strand, which my senior clerk will be glad to confirm since he charged me with the errand. When I arrived here, Sir Robert’s body had already been discovered.’

  Riley fixed him with a hard stare which Boland withstood without flinching, his blue eyes hard as flint. Battle lines had been drawn. Riley abruptly stood, turned on his heel without a word and left the room, followed by Salter.

  ‘He was lying,’ Salter said.

  ‘He didn’t tell us the entire truth.’ Riley took a moment to reflect. ‘I dare say he did call upon that solicitor. It would be an easy enough lie to be caught out in, so I doubt whether such a wily character would have risked telling it. It does make me wonder where Glover went though, always assuming that Boland did trot off to act as delivery boy at eight-fifteen. He didn’t return home until eleven, if you recall.

  ‘Perhaps the two of them have another accommodating friend, willing to lend them accommodation.’ Salter sniffed. ‘Why didn’t you push him about that?’

  ‘It would have done no good. We have no evidence against him and he knows it. Besides, he would be dismissed if it came out that he’d spent business hours pursuing his own pleasures.’ Riley scowled. ‘He was playing a game of cat and mouse with us in there and I was not prepared to let him get away with it by backing myself into a corner. He was goading us in the hope that I would do so, of course. Either that or he hoped that anger would cause me to reveal what we have so far learned.’

  ‘We need something on him to use as leverage, if you think he did it.’

  ‘I certainly think he’s capable,’ Riley responded without hesitation. ‘Have Peterson and Harper in their uniforms down at that coffeehouse tomorrow morning, making nuisances of themselves. We both know that the activities in that area are not always on the right side of the law and the ne’er-do-wells won’t appreciate a uniformed presence queering their pitch. Tell Peterson to make it clear that they will gone in a flash and will turn a blind eye to anything illegal that they notice in return for information about Boland’s activities on the morning in question.’ Riley gave a sniff. ‘There will still have been plenty of whores of both sexes around at that time and Boland isn’t the type to go unnoticed. If he left that coffeehouse alone, someone would have noticed and approached him.’

  ‘Right, but that might not be enough. He’s got a silver tongue, has that one. An answer for everything. How else are we going to—’ Salter followed the direction of Riley’s gaze, noticed Stout almost completely concealed in the opening to an alleyway directly across from Franklin’s chambers and grinned. ‘Ah, I see,’ he said.

  ‘Precisely. Boland is hiding something. Perhaps he’s guilty, perhaps he isn’t. I haven’t decided yet. But whatever he was doing at the time of Sir Robert’s death, he doesn’t want us to know about it. Despite his casual attitude, we rattled him. Hopefully that will send him scurrying in the direction of whoever he was with at the critical time. Perhaps he was being unfaithful to Glover.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s impossible to know, but if Stout founds anything out, hen we will be in a position to haul him into the Yard and you can have at him.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Salter grunted.

  ‘I think we were wrong about Boland’s career expectations. He is ambitious, but he knows his personal behaviour will not remain confidential forever, and will hold him back.’

  ‘Which is why you mentioned that it’s more or less public knowledge?’

  ‘Exactly. He must have other plans.’

  ‘Another country, you mean?’

  Riley shrugged. ‘Possibly. It rather depends upon how deep his affection for Glover actually runs. It won’t do for us to underestimate Boland. He’s got a sharp brain and enjoyed pitting his wits against us just now, which is why I permitted him to think that he had come out on top.’

  ‘Well, sir, with all due respect, he did. We got nothing from him.’

  ‘Ah, Sergeant, have patience. He knows we suspect him and has a lot to lose if we choose to make nuisances of ourselves.’

  ‘Us? Nuisances?’ Salter’s deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. ‘The very idea.’

  The headed towards a food vendor’s stall and bought pies. Riley possessed a refined palate but had grown accustomed to staving off the worst of his appetite during his working days on such…well, unappetising fare. He bit into his pie without giving much thought to what he put into his body. It was safer that way. Salter was far less circumspect and munched away with relish.

  ‘I think Boland has other long-term plans that can only be achieved with the help of Sir Robert’s fortune,’ Riley remarked.

  Salter grunted around a mouthful of pie. ‘He’s in for a disappointment then, ’cause we’ll figure it out and put a stop to his little game.’ Salter finished his lunch and glanced covetously at Riley’s half-eaten discards.

  ‘Help yourself.’

  Salter did so. ‘Wish I could be a fly on the wall when Wigdon breaks the news to Glover,’ he said, grinning at the prospect. ‘D’you think he’ll try to challenge his father’s wishes?’

  ‘He will be on to a hiding to nothing if he does. Sir Robert and Wigdon will have made the will watertight and Boland will know it.’

  ‘Good.’ Salter wiped his hands on his handkerchief and nodded to emphasise his satisfaction.

  ‘Well, Sergeant, if you have finished your luncheon—and mine—perhaps we should make our way to Waterloo and catch the train to Wimbledon. Boland is not our only suspect, and I have a strong feeling that making Mrs Milton’s acquaintance will give us a much better picture of her husband’s situation.’

  ‘What if she ain’t home?’

  ‘That’s a chance we shall just have to take. I would prefer for her not to be expecting us, as it would give her husband an opportunity to prime her in advance.’

  ‘Won’t he have coached her already?’

  Riley lifted one shoulder. ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’

  They caught a train that was about to depart, and a short time later found themselves deposited courtesy of the London and South Western Railway at the bottom of Wimbledon Hill. The leafy suburb housed a rural population that coexisted alongside nobility and wealthy merchants from the city. The porter directed them to the street in which Milton’s residence was situated. A row of neat, unremarkable three-storied semi-detached houses spoke of middle-class prosperity. From what Riley had observed for himself of Milton’s ambitions and from what he had been told about his wife’s drive to be accepted amongst the elite professionals, such a modest and comparatively remote establishment would not suit either of them for long.

  The two detectives ascended the front steps and Salter wielded the brass knocker against a brightly painted blue door. They could hear the sound resonating throughout the house, but no answering footsteps. Salter knocked again, harder this time, and the doo
r was eventually opened by a uniformed maid who seemed little more than a child.

  ‘Is your mistress at home?’ Riley asked.

  The girl didn’t seem to know how to respond. Instead she simply jerked the door wider and indicated with her head that they should enter. She left them standing in the rather narrow hallway with a thin rug covering the boarded floor, poked her head around the closest door and said something.

  ‘Did you ask who they are and what their business is?’ Riley heard an imperious voice respond. ‘How many times have I told you not to admit anyone to the house without first ascertaining their identity?’

  The maid shrugged, pushed past Riley and Salter and disappeared into the back of the house. When one hired children to do adults’ work, Riley thought, sharing an amused look with Salter, the results spoke for themselves. The owner of the chastising voice didn’t appear in the hallway, presumably because she assumed that the maid had dismissed her visitors. Riley shrugged for a second time, thinking the situation rather extraordinary, removed his hat and left it on the hall stand. He tapped on the door around which the maid had conducted her conversation with her mistress and walked into what proved to be a fairly small sitting room. An attractive woman sat on a settee with her feet curled beneath her, idly flipping through the pages of a magazine.

  ‘I apologise for the intrusion.’

  ‘Who the devil are you and what are you doing in my house?’ Mrs Milton glared at Riley, but his refined appearance appeared to reassure and her pinched features relaxed into an approving smile. She placed her feet on the floor and slipped them back into her shoes under the cover of her skirts.

  ‘I am Inspector Rochester of Scotland Yard. This is Detective Salter. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mrs Milton?’

  ‘You do indeed.’ She waved them into chairs across from hers. ‘This is about Sir Robert, I suppose. A dreadful business, although I am at a loss to understand how you suppose I can help you. I seldom go near chambers, although I am sometimes required to accompany my husband to social gatherings. Lady Glover is a particular friend.’