Death of a Prosecutor

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘I intend to go on to White’s in a moment and beard Giles Griffin about his friendship with Barchester. That might throw more light on the matter.’

  ‘What more have you learned today, Riley?’ Jake asked.

  Riley told them of his interview with Wigdon and the startling contents of Sir Robert’s will, aware that not a word of that disclosure would be repeated outside of Jake’s drawing room.

  ‘Good for him!’ Olivia cried with asperity. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of Norman Glover frittering away his father’s hard-earned capital.’

  ‘I didn’t realise the practise of law was quite so profitable, but I suppose I should have done,’ Jake remarked, ‘given Isaac’s comfortable standard of living.’

  ‘If all of Sir Robert’s fortune came from the law,’ Riley replied, articulating a thought that had been percolating at the back of his brain ever since learning the extent of his estate. ‘I can’t help wondering what hold Milton had over him. Whatever it was, it persuaded Sir Robert to take him on as a pupil and promote him to be his junior partner before he had earned the right.’

  ‘You think there might have been an element of blackmail involved?’ Parker asked, speaking for the first time. ‘Sir Robert might not always have been the upright, law-abiding and respected person he became in his later years?’

  Riley conceded the point with a nod. ‘It is a possibility that I can’t afford to ignore.’

  ‘And it might account for Sir Robert’s innate sense of justice,’ Jake remarked. ‘He was attempting to make amends, perhaps.’

  ‘Perhaps. Nothing about human nature surprises me anymore,’ Riley replied, with a weary sigh. ‘Sir Robert’s behaviour had been without fault during the period of time that I knew him, but young men who have yet to reach the age of discretion are often led astray and find themselves in situations they later regret.’

  ‘I’ll do a little digging into Milton’s background, if you like,’ Parker offered. ‘Do we know anything about his beginnings?’

  ‘Humble, Sir Robert once told me. He’s the son of a clerk in a shipping company in Wapping. He attended a local grammar school and went on from such unprepossessing beginnings to win a place at Cambridge.’

  ‘Impressive,’ Jake said, letting out a low whistle.

  ‘And then married the daughter of an owner of a string of warehouses. I interviewed her this afternoon and she cannot collaborate that her husband caught his regular train on the morning of Sir Robert’s death since she spent the night in London with her parents.’

  ‘Perhaps Milton didn’t go home either. They don’t have any maids living in, I take it,’ Olivia said.

  Riley thought of the timid girl who’d admitted them to the house and smiled. ‘They do not,’ he said. ‘But I got the impression that Milton and his father-in-law are not on the best of terms. Not sure why, just one of those feelings. Anyway, the father’s name is Drayton, if that’s any help to you, Parker. I would put my men onto investigating but it seems too tenuous to waste precious resources.’

  ‘I’ve never been described as precious,’ Parker said, making everyone laugh.

  ‘I spoke with Boland as well,’ Riley said, leaning back in his chair and savouring the flavour of his drink as the peaty liquid hit the back of his throat and slid smoothly downwards. ‘Now there’s an individual who thinks himself too clever by half.’ Riley told them of the impressions he’d been left with following that interview. ‘He wants Glover, feels very protective of him—but at the same time Tom was right to say that he’s ambitious. He won’t be content with a mere clerk’s position for long and probably anticipates that Sir Robert’s fortune will ease his progress.’

  ‘He’s in for a disappointment then,’ Jake said with a wry twist to his lips.

  ‘You think he harbours ambitions to become a barrister himself?’ Olivia asked.

  Riley shrugged. ‘The possibility occurred to me. He is very personable. Juries would like him, I suspect. Anyway, I had Stout keep an eye on his movements today. Hopefully our prominent visit to his place of work will make him do something rash, although I don’t hold out too much hope. He’s a cool customer.’

  ‘How else can we help?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Thank you for the offer, but if Parker does a little discreet digging into Milton’s origins, that will suffice for now.’ Riley put his empty glass aside and stood, ready to take his leave. ‘I’m off to track down Griffin. Barchester interests me no end.’

  ‘Uncle Riley.’ Olivia and Jake’s daughter Carolyn skipped through the door, the epitome of a young woman on the brink of her first season. ‘I thought I heard your voice. I hope you were not about to leave without saying hello to me. How is Sophia? I feel so very sorry for you all.’

  ‘Good evening, Carolyn,’ Riley replied, giving her an avuncular hug. ‘How pretty you look. I was about to ask where you were since I thought you must be hiding from me.’

  She giggled. ‘Never!’

  ‘Cabbage is bearing up, to the best of my knowledge,’ Riley said, answering the second part of the girl’s question. ‘Why don’t you write to her? I am sure she will enjoy hearing from you.’

  Carolyn bit her lip. ‘I wanted to but was not sure if it would be appropriate.’

  ‘Completely appropriate,’ Riley assured her, patting her shoulder. ‘But now, if you will all excuse me.’

  ‘Make sure you come back and give us regular updates,’ Olivia said, offering Riley her hand. ‘We depend upon it.’

  Riley assured her that he would and followed Parker into the hall.

  ‘Thank you, Parker,’ Riley said, accepting his hat and coat. ‘You and your network of contacts are worth more to me than half the detectives I have at my disposal.’

  ‘Glad to know I ain’t past it yet,’ Parker replied cheerfully.

  ‘You?’ Riley shook his head. ‘You’re indestructible and Jake would be lost without you.’

  ‘Aye well, we go back a-ways and we’re used to one another’s ways.’

  Riley stepped out into Grosvenor Square and was enveloped in yet another pea-souper. His cane tapped on the cobbles as he made his way briskly towards St James’s Street and the questionable comforts of White’s, wary of lurking vagabonds using the fog as cover for their nefarious activities. He reached his destination without being set upon and handed his outdoor garments to the porter. Riley then made his way upstairs to the reading room and was rewarded by the sight of Griffin’s skeletal figure occupying a wingback chair that swamped his slight form. He looked up when Riley called his name and gave him a wide smile.

  ‘Thought you’d be in Chichester, given the circumstances,’ he said.

  ‘Jasper lingers, and I have my duties to occupy me here,’ Riley replied, taking the seat adjacent to Griffin’s. A waiter materialised and Riley ordered whisky for himself and another for Griffin.

  ‘Most civil of you,’ Griffin said, raising his new glass to Riley when it was delivered to him a few moments later. ‘What grisly murder occupies your attention at present? Sir Robert, I suppose.’

  Riley inclined his head. ‘You knew him?’

  ‘To pass the time of day with. Never had need of his professional services.’

  ‘You’re no help to me then,’ Riley replied flippantly. ‘My difficulty is that I have a plethora of people who stand to benefit from Sir Robert’s death—’

  ‘That worthless son of his will be top of your list, I should imagine.’

  ‘Amongst others, but no evidence places any of them in the vicinity of the crime.’

  ‘So you’ve come looking for help from me?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Riley lied smoothly. ‘I came here to escape talk of death and mayhem for five minutes.’

  ‘Right, well, we won’t talk of it then.’

  The two men sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a while.

  ‘How have you been occupying your time without my brother on hand to lead you astray?�
�� Riley asked flippantly.

  ‘I’ll have you know that I’ve developed a serious interest in Egyptology,’ Griffin said affably.

  ‘Really?’ Riley pretended surprise. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Are you acquainted with Edwin Barchester? He’s a bit of an authority on the subject. Always back and forth to the pyramids, don’t you know. He got me involved.’

  Riley snorted. ‘Involved your pocketbook more like,’ he said, aware that Griffin had more money than sense and was known to be a soft touch. ‘What’s this Barchester like, then? I suppose I owe it to my brother to ensure that you’re not taken in by him.’

  ‘Damned cheek! He’s an educated man with an abiding passion for all things Egyptian and no ulterior motives. He lectures at the Archaeological Society and is well thought of in academic circles.’

  ‘Then why do I not know his name?’

  Griffin shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘Probably too wrapped up in murder.’

  ‘Very likely,’ Riley replied with a droll smile.

  ‘Since you insist upon knowing, Barchester is very excited about evidence he reckons he’s uncovered that proves Egyptians inhabited a conclave in America. Evidence hewn in solid rock by human hands no less. If he’s right, its origins can be traced back to Ramses. He’s pretty damned excited about it.’

  ‘Good God!’

  ‘Exactly. I didn’t believe him at first, not sure that I do now, but he claims to have near incontrovertible proof. If he’s right, then the mystery of the prehistoric peoples of North America—who they were and from whence they came—will be solved. Egypt and the Nile will be linked with Arizona and Colorado by a historical chain running back to an era long ago, which will stagger the wildest fancy of fictionists the world over.’

  ‘And will ensure Barchester’s name goes down in the annuls of the world’s greatest discoveries, to say nothing of securing his fortune.’ Riley allowed a thoughtful pause. ‘Speaking of fortunes, I dare say it will cost one if he is to mount expeditions to both continents simultaneously, which he will have to do if he intends to get to the truth.’

  ‘Precisely, and he can’t make a public appeal for funds without revealing what he’s happened upon. If he does that, others will beat him to the spoils.’ Griffin looked up at Riley, only just appearing to realise that he had taken him into his confidence. ‘Don’t need to ask for your discretion, I’m sure.’

  Riley waved the suggestion aside. ‘Barchester sounds pretty single-minded.’

  ‘All great men are.’

  ‘He must be married to his career then.’

  ‘Actually, no, he has a very attractive wife. I’ve met her a few times. Very elegant. A lot younger than him and Barchester is very protective of her.’

  ‘To the degree that he goes off for months on end, scrabbling in the sand for clues, and leaves her to her own devices?’

  ‘Good lord, no. She goes with him.’

  ‘Does she indeed? How does she feel about that? Does she share his passion?’

  Griffin gave another shrug. ‘She’s his wife, so she does as she’s told, I suppose. If it bothers her, she gives no sign of it in public.’

  Riley, satisfied that he had learned all that Griffin could tell him about Barchester, turned the conversation to other matters for long enough to make it appear that he hadn’t deliberately pumped his brother’s friend for information on Barchester. He then drained his glass and stood.

  ‘Must be getting along,’ he said. ‘I’m expected somewhere for dinner.’

  ‘Tell Henry I’m thinking of him when you see him. I don’t suppose it will be long.’

  ‘No, I’m sure it will not be. I’ll pass on your regards.’

  Riley left, feeling uneasy about seeing Griffin drawn into Barchester’s latest project. He would feel even more convinced that he had unearthed a strong motive for Barchester to have committed the crime but for the fact that he couldn’t have got his hands on the weapon that was used to carry out, nor could he have known about the terms of the will.

  Feeling frustrated, he arrived home in the hope that Stout would have more encouraging news for him. Unfortunately, that didn’t prove to be the case.

  ‘Boland didn’t leave chambers until luncheon,’ Stout told him. ‘He went to the local tavern, where he sat with other clerks, partook of a tankard of ale and a meat pie. He stayed for half an hour and then returned to his duties. I had someone else take over from me mid-afternoon and he reported back an hour or so ago to say that Boland had gone straight from chambers to the Glover residence in Snow Hill.’

  ‘In other words,’ Riley said with a frustrated sigh, ‘he has done absolutely nothing to raise suspicion.’

  ‘I get the impression that he’s too canny for that, my lord. He knows you suspect him and isn’t about to do anything to give you reason to arrest him. He’ll prove a worthy adversary.’

  ‘Until he slips up,’ Riley said, heading straight for his table, aware that Stout would have his dinner ready for him. He was sharp set after a long day of chasing his tail and had earned the right to relax for a few hours.

  He ate slowly, assessing all he had learned thus far, most of which threw up more questions than answers. He sipped at the excellent burgundy that Stout had decanted, wondering what Amelia was doing at that moment. Missing her. Wondering too how matters stood at Chichester. Jasper must still be holding his own, otherwise Riley would have been told. He felt guilty to be relieved at having an excuse not to be there.

  He was up at first light, keen to explore another strand of the tangled web of deceit surrounding Sir Robert’s murder.

  ‘Come with me to the East End, Stout,’ he said.

  ‘Any particular reason, my lord?’

  ‘I’m going to visit Maisie Fuller’s family and I can’t count on their being at home during daylight hours. I need to know whether Sir Robert paid them a call the day before he died and told them he had doubts about prosecuting Caldwell.’

  Stout raised a brow but made no comment. A short time later, ahead of the morning traffic, a cab deposited them at a row of shambolic houses that leaned drunkenly against one another in a Wapping backstreet. The one occupied by the Fullers was on the end of the row, larger and in better shape than the others. The noises coming from inside implied that a large family was at breakfast.

  ‘Surprised that a man living here could afford Sir Robert’s fee,’ Stout remarked.

  ‘No telling where they obtained the funds, ’Riley replied. ‘Inspector Hardgrave told me that the locals had raised a collection for Maisie’s family, but that wouldn’t have amounted to a great deal. It’s more likely that the proceeds from crime made up the shortfall. Still, at least Fuller cared enough to want to see justice served, no matter how he raised the money to bring that situation about.’

  Stout’s knock was answered by a barefoot boy of not more than five of six, with a dirty mouth and matted hair. He stared up at Stout and Riley and seemed unable to speak.

  ‘Is your father at home?’ Stout asked.

  The boy shrugged and ran back into the house, leaving the door open. Riley and Stout followed him into a crowded scullery. They found the family there, seating around a scarred wooden table consuming unappetising-looking porridge.

  ‘Who are you?’ the father asked with a suspicious scowl.

  Riley introduced himself. ‘I am sorry for the intrusion,’ he said. ‘Please continue with your breakfast as we talk. I am investigating the murder of Sir Robert Glover. He was to prosecute in the case of your murdered daughter. I am sorry for your loss on both counts.’

  A girl of about fourteen, exceptionally pretty, watched from the other side of the table. If Maisie had been half as pretty, Riley mused, it was easy to imagine how she had been taken advantage of by those who should know better.

  ‘What do you need to know?’ the father asked grudgingly.

  ‘Did Sir Robert come to see you the night before he was killed to discuss
the case?’

  Mother and father shared a brief look, then simultaneously nodded. ‘Just tying up a few loose ends,’ the father said.

  ‘Really?’ Riley effected surprise. ‘It was my understanding that he was having doubts about Caldwell’s guilt and second thoughts about handling the prosecution.’

  ‘Here, don’t you go trying to pin his murder on us!’ The father stood so abruptly that his chair toppled over behind him and hit the stone floor with a loud crack. ‘Just get out of my house!’

  Riley and Stout did so, having received all the answers they were likely to get. Or so they thought. They hadn’t gone ten yards before the pretty girl from the kitchen caught up with them.

  ‘I’m Kitty, Maisie’s sister,’ she said.

  ‘You have something you would like to tell me, Kitty?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Sir Robert did come round, and he did express his doubts.’ She hopped from foot to foot and twisted her fingers together. There was a cold wind and Kitty wore no shawl, but she didn’t seem to notice the cold. ‘Pa was furious, but I think Sir Robert was right.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Everyone says Maisie was taken advantage of, but who do you think was the first to dip his wick?’ Eyes far too worldly wise for the fourteen-year-old face that housed them stared defiantly up at Riley.

  ‘Your father?’ Riley pulled Kitty beneath the protective shelter of a nearby porch. Kitty looked away and nodded. ‘You too.’

  ‘Not a chance! Maisie told me what he’d done to her and warned me to watch out in case he tried it with me. I sleep with my little sister and never let him catch me alone. I’m leaving here as soon as I can get work. But what I’m saying is that Maisie was like she was—free with her favours if you like—because men paid her. Pa had made her feel worthless, you see.’ The words tumbled from Kitty’s lips, as though she had held them in for too long and could no longer prevent them from escaping. ‘Now he feels guilty, which is why he was so keen to see Caldwell hang.’