by Jim Eldridge
‘Might I ask, Mr Elder, what’s happening about your shifts now that Ransome is no longer around?’
‘Bill Potts, the man you met the other night when you went to the Fitzwilliam, is going to take Ransome’s place. I’m taking the early shift this evening, with him coming on at one, same as usual.’
‘I’m glad you found a suitable replacement so quickly,’ said Daniel.
‘He would always have been my choice of colleague to share shifts with, but Ransome was already at the Fitzwilliam when I started, so there was no way in for him.’
‘You could have complained about Ransome when you discovered what sort of person he was,’ said Daniel.
Elder shook his head. ‘I’m not in the habit of getting people the sack, Mr Wilson, whoever they are.’
Daniel thanked Elder and Padstow again, then left them together. As he left Elder’s house, the door of the neighbouring house opened and the man he’d seen the day before gestured at him. ‘Oi! Psst!’
Daniel approached him, curious, and the man beckoned him in, shutting the door.
‘Copper, ain’t you, right?’ he asked.
‘Private investigator,’ said Daniel.
The man grinned broadly.
‘I knew it! I can always tell a copper!’ He nodded towards Elder’s house. ‘So, what’s he done?’
‘Nothing,’ said Daniel.
‘Oh come on!’ appealed the man. ‘We live next door to him. If he’s a danger to anyone, we ought to know.’
‘Why would he be a danger to anyone?’ asked Daniel.
‘Because of what happened before.’
‘And what did happen before?’ asked Daniel patiently.
The man looked at Daniel, weighing him up, then said, ‘Yeah, you’re new here, ain’t you. Well, it was about a year ago. Some poor bloke had got a bit too much drink in him and was making a bit of a row in the street. It was the cussing that did it. It brought old Harry out and he gave the bloke a ticking off about using foul language among respectable people. Well, ordinarily the bloke would have just shut up and gone off, but because he’d taken quite a bit of drink he got very bold and told Harry what he could do with his respectable people. Hypocrites, he called them. And then he moved on to Harry’s church. I don’t know what they’d done to upset him, but he laced into them proper. And not just the church, but God and everyone else to do with it, and the next minute Harry’s punching him and throwing him about. It was like he’d gone mad. We all came out because we thought Harry was gonna kill the bloke.’
‘Were the police called?’
The man nodded. ‘They turned up and took Harry in on a charge of assault.’
‘What happened? Was he jailed?’
‘No. The bloke he beat up didn’t want to press charges. And Harry’s sister turned up and appealed to the coppers to give him another chance, him being so religious and law-abiding and all that.’ He winked. ‘I got the idea that a couple of the coppers at the station were in the same chapel as Harry, so maybe that helped.
‘Anyway, he got let off with a caution. But the thing is, if he’s done it once, he can do it again. And he works at the place where these people have been getting killed. So who’s to say what may have been going on. This last bloke who died there, he was a nightwatchman, weren’t he, same as Harry.’
‘Have you mentioned any of this to the police?’ asked Daniel.
‘Yeah.’ The man nodded. ‘In passing to Constable Harris, the local beat bobby. I mean, I’m thinking of the safety of me and my family, if he is dangerous like that. But Harris just laughed. Said I was letting my imagination run away with me.’ He leant in and added in an undertone to Daniel, ‘I think Harris is one of them who goes to the same chapel as Harry, so they’re covering up.’
Daniel nodded in appreciation. ‘Thank you, Mr …’
‘Smith,’ said the man. ‘Ben Smith.’
‘Thank you, Mr Smith. Do you happen to know the name of the man that Harry Elder beat so badly?’
‘Charley Pile,’ said Smith. ‘He used to live at a lodging house about six doors down, but he left after what happened.’ He shrugged. ‘Mind, he’d been given notice before that, because of his drinking. He used to make a fuss inside the house and disturb the others.’
‘Where did he move to?’
Smith shook his head. ‘No idea. He was just a wanderer, really. He hadn’t been in the house that long before he upset Harry. No one knew where he came from.’
‘You mentioned a sister of Mr Elder?’
Smith nodded again. ‘Esther Sims. Good woman. Respectable. Not as churchified as Harry. She works at a chemist in the town. Allisons.’
An interesting new aspect to the case, mused Daniel as he left Smith’s house. Harry Elder, a man with a temper who reacted with violence to mockery of his religion. With a sister who worked at a chemist, so he would have access to chloroform through her.
Was it possible that Harry Elder’s anger at Joe Ransome’s licentious lifestyle had built up to such a degree that it had finally erupted into murder?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was Bella who opened the door to Daniel’s knock and she greeted him effusively, taking his hands in hers.
‘I’m so glad you decided to come! Do come in!’
She led him by the hand, only releasing him when she seemed to realise what she’d done. She flushed in embarrassment.
‘I do apologise!’ she said. ‘I don’t usually accost men in this way, but after what happened yesterday …’
‘I do understand, Miss Bella,’ said Daniel with a gentle smile.
‘Abi! It’s Mr Wilson,’ Bella called.
Daniel followed her into a comfortable sitting room and found Abigail stood studying the Gazette, a grim expression on her face.
‘Have you seen this?’ she demanded.
‘Mr Blades with more tales of murdering mummies?’ enquired Daniel.
She held the newspaper towards him so he could read the headline: MURDERING MUMMY: WILSON OF THE YARD CALLED IN.
‘It’s the late edition,’ she said. ‘It’s an outrage!’
‘And inaccurate. I am no longer Wilson of the Yard.’
‘Nowhere in this article is my name mentioned, despite the fact that we informed Mr Blades that we are both involved in this investigation.’
‘I think you should be grateful he hasn’t mentioned you, Abi,’ said Bella. ‘I certainly wouldn’t like to be associated publicly with something as unsavoury as a murder.’
‘That’s not the issue!’ snapped Abigail.
‘But it does back up my point about putting the notice about the photograph of the dead man in ourselves, rather than entrusting it to someone like Mr Blades,’ said Daniel.
‘Yes.’ Abigail nodded. ‘Do you know when that is likely to be?’
‘The picture will be appearing in tomorrow’s early edition,’ Daniel told her. ‘Is there anything in the paper about what happened at yesterday’s suffrage meeting?’
‘There is!’ exclaimed Bella.
‘Hardly,’ sniffed Abigail. ‘A few sentences, and very dismissive.’ She searched the pages until she found it, and read aloud, ‘“Scuffles broke out at a Votes for Women meeting being held in the city centre on Sunday. There were no injuries thanks to prompt intervention by the police. Doubts have been expressed at the wisdom of allowing such meetings to be held in public places for fears of injuries to innocent passers-by.”’
‘Doubts!’ snorted Bella angrily. ‘Treating us as if we are a disorganised rabble! I would have hoped the article would at least have discussed the issue.’
‘That depends on the political tastes of the editor and owner,’ observed Daniel. ‘If they approved of the idea of votes for all, including women, they would have given a fuller account of the reasons behind the meeting. From what little they have said, and putting the blame for events on the meeting itself rather than the men who attacked it, they are discrediting the cause. So, regretfully, I doubt if you will get
any support for your campaign from the local paper.’
Bella scowled. ‘How typical of this society!’ Then she smiled. ‘But, as long as we have men like yourself to support us, I feel we shall prevail. Mr Wilson, would you care to have supper with us? I’m sure that Mrs Standish will be able to prepare another place.’
‘Thank you for the invitation,’ said Daniel, ‘but Mrs Loxley will be expecting me for supper, and I’d hate to upset her preparations. Also, I have a visit to make this evening.’
‘Oh? Who to?’ asked Bella.
Daniel hesitated, then said, ‘It’s to do with the case, and if I get any returns from it I’ll be happy to let you know.’ He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘But now, I must go, I’m afraid.’
‘I’ll see you to the door,’ said Abigail quickly, cutting in before Bella could offer.
She waited until they were at the door and out of Bella’s earshot before she said quietly, in annoyance, ‘I thought we were meant to be partners in this case.’
‘Indeed, I view us as that.’
‘Then why are you being secretive about this visit you have to make tonight?’
Daniel shot a quick glance along the passage to check whether Bella was listening, then lowered his voice to say, ‘I will be happy to tell you, but I am concerned that your sister’s … enthusiasm … may mean her passing information on to friends of hers, or colleagues at the library. Not deliberately, of course, but in my experience, it’s important to control the information given out for fear of alerting the culprit to our actions.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Abigail.
‘In fact, I’m going to a pub that Joseph Ransome used to frequent called the Lamb and Flag, where I hope to gain information about what went on during his night shifts.’
‘I think we know what went on,’ said Abigail curtly.
‘I’m pretty sure there were other things as well. As I’ve said, possibly the way the first man who died gained entry to the museum.’
‘Yes,’ said Abigail. ‘Thank you for that, Mr Wilson. Perhaps you could let me know if you find anything.’
‘Indeed,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ll report my findings – if any – to you at the Fitzwilliam tomorrow.’
After Daniel had left, Abigail returned to the sitting room to find Bella standing, full of indignation and glaring accusingly at her.
‘What was all that whispering?’ she demanded.
‘It was of no importance,’ said Abigail.
‘For something of no importance, you spent a long time there,’ snapped Bella.
‘Hardly,’ said Abigail.
‘But you were whispering together,’ persisted Bella. ‘Were you talking about me?’
‘Really, Bella!’ exclaimed Abigail. ‘Not everything is about you. I have never known anyone so self-obsessed.’
‘Then was it because you are interested in Mr Wilson?’ demanded Bella.
‘I am interested in him as a person, but if you mean am I romantically inclined towards him, the answer is no.’
‘Is he interested in you?’
‘I have no idea. I doubt it. I feel our relationship is purely that of two minds working together to solve this case.’
But even as she said it, something inside her said that it wasn’t strictly true. There was something special about Daniel Wilson, something that attracted her to him.
But, she told herself firmly, nothing can come of it because we are two people from very different worlds. I am an academic, an archaeologist, looking to foreign parts and ancient history in my pursuit of my interests. Daniel Wilson is a policeman deeply rooted in the modern world, and especially rooted in everything that is cruel and inhuman in his search for criminals.
If there was a man that might interest her, then a man such as Edward Hardwicke was more likely: an Egyptologist like her, an archaeologist, with an enquiring mind, and young, handsome and ambitious.
And he’d asked her to accompany him to the debate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After the impression he’d been given by both Elder and Padstow, Daniel expected the area where the Lamb and Flag was to be found to be similar to the rookeries of London: narrow lanes where the houses on opposite sides of a street almost leant against one another; filth-strewn pavements and thoroughfares hidden in thick pea-souper fog, making them ideal for muggings. Instead, although the street where the pub was located may have been viewed as a cesspit of iniquity through Cambridge eyes, from a London perspective it was just down-at-heel. Similarly, the Lamb and Flag itself might have roused apprehension in the law-abiding citizens of Cambridge, but to someone who’d survived vicious attacks in the rookeries of Seven Dials and Whitechapel, it was almost genteel.
Yes, it was rough and ready, but the gas lamps were on, giving good lighting, unlike some of the dark drinking dens Daniel had experienced. The clientele also seemed to have done their best to dress up: most of the men wearing ties, and the women in heavy coats with scarves.
The air was thick with the smoke of cigarettes and pipes, mixing with the scent of stale beer and cheap gin. Most of the people here seemed to be regulars, as Daniel ascertained from the suspicious looks he received when he walked in. Their eyes stayed on him as he walked to the bar, but no one moved to block his path, as often happened in London drinking dens.
The tall, thin man behind the bar, his sparse strands of hair scraped back over his scalp, regarded him warily and, instead of asking Daniel what he would like, waited for him to speak.
‘Is it possible to speak to Mrs Crane?’ asked Daniel.
‘Who?’ said the man.
‘Mrs Lillian Crane,’ said Daniel. ‘I was told I’d find her here.’
‘Were you,’ growled the man. ‘Who by?’
‘That’s alright, Herbert, I can handle this,’ said a woman’s voice.
A large woman in her fifties had appeared from a door set behind the bar. Her make-up had been applied thickly and topped with what looked to Daniel like a silver wig. She shuffled along and faced Daniel across the bar.
‘Copper?’ she asked.
‘Possibly,’ said Daniel.
‘That’s no answer,’ she said. ‘So either you’re not a copper, or you’re from the Smoke. You’re not local, anyway.’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Daniel.
Suddenly, she smiled. ‘I know who you are! You’re that private detective from London the Fitzwilliam brought in. Wilson.’
Daniel nodded. ‘Indeed. My name is Daniel Wilson. I assume Joe Ransome told you about me.’
Her smile vanished. ‘Who?’
Daniel gave her a gentle smile. ‘Oh really, Mrs Crane,’ he sighed. ‘Why do you think I’m here?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said warily. Then she added aggressively, ‘All I do know is you’ve got no jurisdiction here. You ain’t a copper no more. And even if you were, the London bobbies can’t operate here.’
‘Actually, they can,’ said Daniel. ‘When it comes to murder, Scotland Yard has authority over the local force. Which means, although I’m no longer on the force, I have very close contacts with very superior figures there, and a word dropped in certain quarters could mean a big investigation of your premises. Scotland Yard swarming all over you.’ He leant in and added in a low voice, ‘And all your influence with the local force won’t be able to prevent that. You may be able to move certain items from the premises before they arrive, but the word will spread, and a lot of your clientele will vanish. Especially those with whom you do valuable business.’
Lillian Crane studied him carefully, then said, ‘You’d better come in the back. We’ll talk there.’ She lifted the bar flap for him to join her, saying to Herbert, ‘I’m gonna be tied up for a bit. If anyone needs me, you take care of it.’
Daniel followed Lillian through the door into a back storeroom, piled with wooden crates marked with the names of various sorts of alcohol. She sat down on one crate, and gestured for Daniel to sit on another.
‘I thoug
ht you might be dropping in,’ she said, ‘after Joe telling me about you. So I did some asking around. They say you don’t take anything. No cash, nor presents.’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Daniel.
She shrugged.
‘Worth asking,’ she said. ‘So, what do you wanna know?’
‘About Joe Ransome’s women,’ said Daniel. ‘I understand he used to invite some of them to the Fitzwilliam to inspect the bodies.’
She laughed.
‘Inspect the bodies!’ she chuckled. ‘That’s a good one! He inspected them, alright!’ And she laughed again, a throaty phlegm-filled laugh.
‘I’d like to talk to whoever went to see him there on the night he was killed.’
Immediately, her laughter was switched off and she looked at him suspiciously.
‘I don’t know if there was anyone with him that night,’ she said. ‘And even if there was, she wouldn’t have had anything to do with his killing.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Daniel nodded. ‘But she would be able to tell me what time she was there, which will help me pin down the time of death.’
Lillian weighed it up.
‘I’ll have to ask around,’ she said.
‘Fair enough,’ said Daniel.
‘I won’t have anything until tomorrow,’ she said. ‘If it’s who I think it is, she won’t be here until later tonight.’
‘And who do you think it is?’
She shook her head again.
‘No, not yet,’ she said. ‘I might be wrong, and I ain’t gonna drop someone in it if it wasn’t them. Come round tomorrow and I’ll see what I’ve got.’
‘I’ll be here just after one tomorrow afternoon,’ he said. ‘One word of caution,’ he added. ‘If you give me the name of someone and I discover that she’s skipped before I can talk to her …’
‘Yes, alright,’ she growled. ‘I’ll make sure she stays.’
‘Thank you,’ said Daniel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Once again there was no sign of the mysterious Mr Barron at breakfast, just Daniel and Professor Hughes.