Murder at the Fitzwilliam

by Jim Eldridge

  Hardwicke frowned, puzzled. He turned to Daniel and said, ‘Questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Abigail. ‘And I wish to state that I am having no part in it.’

  She left, and Hardwicke continued to study Daniel with the same puzzled air.

  ‘Do I gather that something has arisen that has upset you?’ he asked.

  ‘Intrigued me,’ said Daniel. ‘I believe you informed Miss Fenton that you arrived back in England three days after the nightwatchman, Joseph Ransome, was murdered.’

  ‘Yes, that is correct,’ said Edgar.

  ‘The thing is, Mr Hardwicke, that I have received information that in fact you arrived back in England three days before the first body was discovered.’

  Hardwicke frowned. ‘May I ask from where you received this information?’ he asked.

  ‘From the carter who collected the consignment at Tilbury and brought it to the Fitzwilliam,’ said Daniel. ‘He and his son, who accompanied him, identified you as the man they collected it from.’

  Hardwicke fell silent, his eyes studying Daniel’s face. Finally, he said, ‘Yes. That is true.’

  ‘May I ask why you led Miss Fenton to believe otherwise?’

  ‘Because I had an errand of a private nature to attend to before I travelled to Cambridge.’

  ‘May I ask what that errand was?’

  Hardwicke hesitated, then said, ‘In view of the situation, I will tell you. While I was in Egypt I received a letter from the wife of a friend of mine, in which she sadly informed me that he had passed away suddenly. To be honest, he had taken his own life. I promised I would call on her as soon as I returned to England, to commiserate. And that is what I did.’

  ‘For seven days?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘There were complications to be sorted out,’ said Hardwicke. ‘Legal situations. He and I had been involved in a business partnership, which had to be unravelled. All this took longer than I had anticipated, hence my delay in London.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘Would you be able to furnish me with the name of the lady in question? Or the legal people you instructed in unravelling the business while you were in London?’

  ‘No, I would not,’ said Hardwicke. ‘There is an issue of someone’s reputation at stake here, Mr Wilson. Their good name.’

  ‘The lady you mention?’ enquired Daniel.

  ‘Indirectly,’ said Hardwicke. ‘It seems her husband had got into severe financial difficulties. There was talk of … mismanagement of funds. It was this, and the fear of the shame that would be heaped upon himself and his wife, that led him to take his own life.’

  ‘I see,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I hope you do, Mr Wilson. He was a dear friend to me, and I have vowed to protect his good name, and that of his wife. For that reason their names will remain confidential. Now, if you have no further questions, I shall take my leave.’

  Yes, I’ve got plenty of further questions, thought Daniel grimly as Hardwicke departed.

  He wasn’t surprised when Abigail appeared; he’d expected her to keep out of sight but within earshot to learn what Hardwicke would say in his defence. It was what he would have done.

  ‘I assume you heard?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her face tight-lipped with disapproval. ‘I trust you are satisfied with his explanation.’

  ‘Not really,’ said Daniel. ‘He gave no details of who he visited in London.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t need to go into details. He is protecting the reputation of a friend and his bereaved widow. I would have thought you would have understood that, and sympathised with it.’

  ‘I would feel better about it if I had the details to back it up.’

  ‘You suggest he is lying?’

  ‘He lied about when he returned to England. That suggests he is capable of being economical with the truth.’

  ‘He did that for a reason,’ said Abigail curtly. ‘And for a very good reason.’

  ‘So he says,’ said Daniel. ‘But look at the facts dispassionately. It was an eminent Egyptologist who gave the story of the mummy to Blades. Hardwicke is an eminent Egyptologist.’

  ‘But he was in London at that time.’

  ‘So he says. But we have no way of checking that. It’s just his word.’

  She looked at him, angry. ‘I believe you ought to examine yourself, Mr Wilson,’ she said. ‘It seems to me you have spent so long among thieves and criminals that you fail to realise that not all of society falls into that category. There are many people who seem respectable and loyal, and are just that.’

  ‘There are also those who seem respectable and the pillars of society and high morals, yet the outward appearance conceals some of the vilest people I’ve ever encountered,’ retorted Daniel. ‘The Cleveland Street scandal I mentioned earlier was one such. For the moment, I reserve judgement on Mr Hardwicke. And now, I wish you good day.’

  And with that, he left.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Drabble was in his office, leafing through a document as Daniel arrived at his office.

  ‘Ah, Mr Wilson!’ beamed Drabble. He tapped the papers on his desk. ‘The passenger manifest’s just arrived by special messenger. I was about to send a message to you.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Daniel. He sat down next to the inspector. ‘Have you found the name of Edward Hardwicke on it?’

  ‘Hardwicke?’ Drabble frowned. ‘He’s the man who was doing that debate at the Fitzwilliam last night, isn’t he?’

  ‘That’s him,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ve discovered that he lied about when he got back to England. He said he only returned after Joe Ransome had been killed, but it turns out he actually got back a week before. So he was in the country when the murders happened. I’m expecting to find his name on the passenger list.’

  ‘How would he have travelled? First class, second class? Steerage?’

  ‘I would guess first class,’ said Daniel.

  Drabble turned to the first class list and ran his finger down the pages before saying triumphantly, ‘Yes! Here he is! Mr Edward Hardwicke.’ He looked quizzically at Daniel. ‘So, he lied about when he was actually back in Britain. Think he’s involved?’

  ‘I questioned him about his whereabouts before he returned to Cambridge, and he said he was in London the whole time,’ replied Daniel.

  ‘Think he was?’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘There are lots of questions I’ve got about Mr Hardwicke.’

  ‘Think I ought to pick him up? Officially?’

  ‘No, not at the moment. If he turns out to be telling the truth, arresting him won’t look good for the Fitzwilliam. He’s their man, after all. But I’m off to do some checking on him. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Well, I have some news for you,’ said Drabble with a happy smile. ‘We’ve got the bloke who did in Hector Blades. And it’s not connected with the murders at the Fitzwilliam.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘His name’s Billy Moss. He works for a bookie Blades owed money to. He took Blades to the river to shake him up and frighten him, but then claims things got out of hand. There was a fight, and he hit Blades, who fell into the water and sank. Moss can’t swim. He took fright and ran.’

  ‘How did you get on to him?’

  ‘He got drunk in a pub last night and blurted it all out, and one of the drinkers there is one of our snouts. We’ve got Moss in the cells now. So that’s one result.’

  ‘Well done, Inspector,’ complimented Daniel. ‘Excellent work.’

  ‘Just dogged police work,’ said Drabble. He tapped the passenger lists. ‘What’s the name of that Egyptian again?’

  ‘Dr Ahmet Madi.’

  ‘Madi,’ muttered Drabble. Once more, he ran his finger down the lists, and then said, ‘Got him! In fact, there’s two of ’em.’

  ‘Two?’

  ‘Dr Ahmet Madi and beneath that’s the name Kemal Madi. Mind, that doesn’t mean they’re connected. Madi could be a name
like Smith in England, lots of people could have it.’

  ‘They obviously went on board together,’ said Daniel. ‘That suggests to me they were companions.’

  ‘You think this Kemal Madi could be our killer?’

  ‘I don’t know. He could be family. From the evidence we found at the cottage that Madi stayed at, there were two men there. If the other man was this Kemal Madi, I doubt if he killed Dr Madi and dumped his body in the sarcophagus. He could have done it easier at the cottage. But he could be the killer of Joe Ransome.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We won’t know that until we catch up with him.’

  Drabble frowned. ‘I’m still not sure where this Edward Hardwicke fits into things. By all accounts, he sent back artefacts to the Fitzwilliam, and then comes back to see them and talk about them at this debate. Yes, he lied about when he was back, but if he wasn’t in Cambridge during that time and in London as he says, it’s hard to put him in the frame. He’s too respectable to go around bumping people off that way they were killed.’

  ‘With respect, Inspector, if you remember the Ripper enquiry there were many suspects from the ranks of the ultra-respectable. Some of them very eminent: surgeons and such associated with the royal family.’

  ‘Yes, but that was killing women. These were two fit men who would have had to be overpowered.’

  ‘Mr Hardwicke has just come back from digging in Egypt. He may not look it, but I think he has the strength.’

  ‘But why? Why would a man like that do something that could ruin his career, his reputation?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m going to London.’

  ‘London?’

  ‘He said that was where he stayed before the killings. I may be completely wrong, but I’d like to check.’

  ‘How long will you be there?’

  ‘Just overnight and tomorrow morning.’

  ‘You won’t find much out in that time.’

  ‘I’m not intending to. I’m going to get an old friend of mine to do the poking around for me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘His name’s George Pegg. He and I were on Abberline’s team together. He’s got a great nose for digging out the truth.’

  ‘And say he finds this Edward Hardwicke is exactly what he says he is and is telling the truth?’

  ‘Then that’ll be one less thing to consider.’

  ‘And one step backwards,’ grunted Drabble.

  But not as far as Abigail Fenton is concerned, thought Daniel.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  As he stepped out of the train onto the platform at King’s Cross Station, the old familiar smells struck him. Soot. Coal. The air was heavy with it. The Smoke, people called London, and they were right.

  He walked along Pancras Road to Crowndale Road, then up Royal College Street to Plender Street and his own little terraced house.

  Home again.

  The house was cold and damp, and the first thing he did was get a fire going in the range in the kitchen. He sat in his favourite wooden armchair and watched the fire start up as he opened the damper. He filled a kettle and put it on the range. It would take a while before it came to the boil, but it was satisfying to sit and watch it and know a cup of tea was on its way.

  This kitchen was where he lived; this was where he kept his few books and papers. The parlour next to it was for entertaining, but as he never entertained, the room was always empty. It had a table and four chairs in it, and a sideboard. Unlike the parlours of the houses he’d seen in Cambridge, Abigail and Bella’s, Mrs Loxley’s and Harry Elder’s, there were no adornments. No pictures on the walls, no decorative pottery objects on the sideboard, no flowers, nothing.

  The same with his bedroom upstairs. There was a bed and a bedside table, and a chair.

  He’d first rented the house fourteen years ago, when he joined Abberline’s team. Fourteen years of living here, and to anyone coming in and seeing it they’d have thought he had yet to move in properly, or was about to move out.

  The truth was the house was just a place to lay his head, and sit and think when he wanted somewhere private. He justified its sparseness by saying: What’s the point when I’m often away on an investigation? as was the case with the Fitzwilliam murders.

  As he sat watching the kettle, he wondered about this trip to London. Apart from the fact that Hardwicke had lied about when he returned to England, there was nothing to suggest he was involved in the murders. But the fact that the first victim had come to England on the same ship that brought Hardwicke and his Egyptian artefacts was too much of a coincidence to ignore.

  Don’t let your judgement be clouded, he warned himself. Yes, you have feelings for Abigail, and she in turn has them for Hardwicke. But if you’re going to dig into him, do it for the right reasons. Why are you looking into him? Is it just because you want him out of Abigail’s life?

  No, he decided, as the kettle came to the boil. It’s my copper’s nose. I can smell when something’s not right. And Hardwicke smells.

  Or am I losing it?

  Next morning he made his way to George Pegg’s house on the outskirts of Parliament Hill Fields. Like Daniel’s, it was in a terrace, but much more welcoming, the flower box on the windowsill packed with brightly coloured blooms, and even a floral hanging basket by the door.

  The door was opened at his knock by Effie Pegg, George’s wife, who gave a broad smile as she saw who her caller was.

  ‘Daniel! Well, this is a surprise! Long time no see.’

  Daniel realised just how long it had been when he spotted Effie’s tell-tale bump. Pregnant again, by the look of it.

  ‘You’re looking well, Effie,’ said Daniel.

  She chuckled and patted her bump.

  ‘That’s the polite way of putting it.’ She grinned. ‘Due next month.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Daniel. ‘I would have thought George and the house would be enough to look after, but … how many is it now?’

  ‘This will be number five,’ she said.

  Daniel gave an admiring shake of his head. ‘You’re a marvel, Effie. I don’t know how you do it. Actually, I’m looking for George. Is he in?’

  ‘Sorry, he’s at the office.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’

  ‘You know George. He says crime never has a day off.’

  ‘He picked that up from Fred Abberline.’ Daniel grinned. ‘Is the office still the same? Newgate Street?’

  ‘That’s the one. And remind him I’m expecting him home for dinner. That’s one thing about him not being on the force any more – he has more control over his hours. Less dinners ruined sitting in the oven, waiting for him to come home.’

  Promising to remind George about his expected arrival for dinner, Daniel set off to Newgate Street. George had chosen a good spot for his base of operations: close to the courts, a ready walk-in for unhappy victims whose case had just failed, unfairly, in their opinion.

  George’s office was on the first floor over a newsagent, and he got up with a warm smile on his face and a hand outstretched in welcome as Daniel knocked and entered.

  ‘Daniel! Long time no see!’

  ‘I’m glad to find you in, George. Effie said you’d be here, but I wondered if you might be out on a case.’

  ‘Treading the pavements.’ He chuckled. ‘I’ve got a couple of assistants who do the leg work for me these days. Means I can stay indoors and keep an eye on things.’

  ‘Business must be good.’

  ‘It is, luckily. Mostly domestic stuff. Watching husbands for suspicious wives, and wives for suspicious husbands. Investigating cases of suspected pilfering by domestic staff, or shop assistants. Nothing dramatic, but it pays the bills. Which is very necessary.’ He grinned proudly. ‘Especially as we’ve got another nipper on the way.’

  ‘Yes, like I say, I saw Effie. This’ll be the fifth, she says.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I must say, Effie looks in good health.’

  �
�Very good. Due in a month, and still busy as ever.’

  ‘Talking of Effie, she told me to remind you about getting home for dinner.’

  Pegg nodded. ‘Dutifully reminded. How about you, Daniel? Any plans for marriage and fatherhood?’

  ‘Still on my own, George.’

  ‘It’s a lonely life.’

  ‘It goes with the job.’

  Pegg shook his head. ‘The job’s what you make it, Daniel. You can let it eat you up, or you can try and step back from it. Even the guv’nor got married. Twice. And there was no one more dedicated to the job than him. Except possibly you. Do you see anything of him?’

  ‘Fred?’ Daniel shook his head. ‘No. But I believe he’s very busy.’

  ‘He certainly is.’ He grinned. ‘He’s certainly moving in different circles. When I last saw him, he’d just come back from Monte Carlo.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘He didn’t go into details. Just that it was a job for the Pinkertons.’

  ‘The Pinkertons!’ said Daniel, impressed. ‘Well, that’s exalted company, and no mistake.’

  ‘So, Daniel, I’m guessing you haven’t just popped in for a social chat.’

  ‘You know me too well, George. At the moment I’m doing some private investigation work out in Cambridge.’

  Pegg chuckled. ‘Not this mysterious murderous mummy!’

  ‘You’ve heard about it,’ said Daniel, surprised.

  ‘It was in the London papers. Some Egyptian mummy going around strangling people.’

  ‘I’m surprised the London papers bothered with a story like that.’

  ‘I’m not! You know what people are like. A touch of the supernatural – they like nothing better.’ He frowned. ‘You’re not telling me there’s something to it?’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘No, but there’s something going on. We’ve had two dead bodies, and this story about the mummy is being put about to confuse the situation. At least, that’s the way I see it.’

  ‘But surely this is a local issue. Cambridge. That’s a long way from London. Or is there a connection?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘There’s a man I met there, an archaeologist, who hails from London, and I’d like to find out a bit more about him.’