Murder at the Fitzwilliam

by Jim Eldridge

  Through the crack in the door, Daniel saw a large figure appear, wearing a white hospital coat.

  A porter? A doctor? Possibly, but there was something furtive about the manner of the person. As he watched, the man – because he saw that it was a man – stopped at the open door to Room 35 and peered in.

  There was a flash of the white coat in the dim half-light, and then the figure disappeared into the room. It was the sight of the door being closed that brought Daniel into action.

  He leapt up and hurled himself out of the broom closet and at the almost-closed door opposite. The figure in the white coat was standing over the inert form of Hardwicke, holding a pillow in both hands which he was pushing down on Hardwicke’s face. Daniel grabbed the man and hauled backwards, but the man was built like a rock, his powerful muscles rooting him to the spot as he pressed down harder on the pillow.

  Daniel raised a foot and slammed it hard into the back of the man’s knee, and the man wobbled slightly backwards. Daniel took advantage of the man being off balance to drag him further backwards and trip him.

  As the man crashed to the floor, still clutching the pillow, the shriek of Tucker’s police whistle sent its deafening shrill sounding out as the sergeant smashed his truncheon down on the man, but the man rolled to one side so that the truncheon hit his shoulders instead of his head.

  The man pushed himself to his feet and threw a powerful punch into Tucker’s face that sent the sergeant flying across the room to crash into the wall. As Tucker slumped to the floor, Daniel scooped up his fallen truncheon, just in time as the man turned his attention to Daniel, lashing out with a punch that he only just managed to block.

  The man drove an elbow in Daniel’s chest, sending pain surging through him as the blow connected with his already cracked ribs. Daniel staggered back, blinded by pain, and saw the man snatch the pillow up from the floor and turn his attention back to Hardwicke, a man obsessed. Hardwicke seemed to have fallen half out of the bed, and as the man tried to haul him back onto the bed with one hand, Daniel struck him on the head as hard as he could with the truncheon. Even then the man didn’t go down, and he was once again pushing the pillow down on Hardwicke’s face when Martin and Lewis burst in.

  ‘Get him off!’ shouted Daniel.

  Martin and Lewis rushed forward, each grabbing hold of one of the man’s arms, pulling him back away from the bed. Daniel struck again, this time bringing the truncheon down hard on one of the man’s shoulders and felt the bone break. This time the man screamed in pain. Although he writhed and twisted, trying to break free from the grip the two constables had on his arms, they managed to force him to the floor, face down.

  ‘Get his hands behind his back,’ ordered Daniel.

  Tucker was now lurching to his feet, dazed, but he responded when Daniel held out his hand and said, ‘Handcuffs!’

  Daniel took the sergeant’s handcuffs from him and snapped them onto the man’s wrists.

  By now medical staff were crowding into the room.

  ‘Drag him out,’ said Daniel, and the constables hauled the bulky body of the man out through the door and into the corridor. Daniel gestured at Hardwicke.

  ‘Please, see if he’s still alive.’

  Daniel stood and watched as the medical staff gently eased Hardwicke back onto the bed and began examining him, checking his pulse and breathing. One looked at Daniel and nodded.

  Daniel went outside into the corridor where the two constables were sitting on the man, while Tucker had found a length of rope in the broom closet and was tying his ankles together.

  Daniel moved to the man’s head and lifted it off the floor. It was someone he’d never seen before, but the man’s features showed a remarkable similarity to the first man Daniel had seen on Dr Keen’s table: Dr Ahmet Madi.

  ‘Mr Kemal Madi, I presume,’ he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  They were back in the interview room at the police station, but this time Daniel and Drabble sat side by side at the table across from Kemal Madi. Two officers stood close behind Madi, ready to grab him if he started to cause trouble, but Daniel felt there was little chance of that. It wasn’t just that he still had his wrists handcuffed behind him, and his legs tied to the chair he was sitting on as a further precaution, and the fact that his collar bone was broken, but all the fight seemed to have gone out of him since he’d been hauled into the police station. With his quarry, Edward Hardwicke, now out of his reach, Madi sat and looked at them, resigned to his fate.

  At Daniel’s request, a constable had been sent to bring Abigail in to observe the interview.

  ‘She’s part of the investigation,’ Daniel had said. ‘She deserves to see the closing of the case.’

  The truth was that they’d caught the person who’d attacked the man Abigail obviously cared about very deeply, and she deserved to know why, and from the attacker himself, not Daniel or Drabble giving her their own second-hand version. She sat at one side of the room, away from the table, her eyes on the man tied to the chair.

  ‘You admit that you tried to kill Edward Hardwicke?’ asked Drabble.

  ‘Yes,’ said the man.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he killed my brother.’

  ‘Dr Ahmet Madi.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You speak English very well,’ commented Drabble.

  ‘I also speak French,’ said Madi. ‘I have worked with English and French diggers for many years. It pays to speak their language.’

  ‘What makes you so sure that Edward Hardwicke killed your brother?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Because I was there when he did it,’ said Madi.

  And now the story came out, and Daniel could almost feel the relief coming from Kemal Madi as he was at last able to unburden himself of the anger he felt.

  ‘This man Hardwicke was a crook. My brother worked with him, providing him with artefacts from digs in Egypt. I worked with my brother, doing much of the labour. My brother was always the clever one. I was better at working with my hands.

  ‘For some time we had suspected that Hardwicke was cheating us. He told us the money came from the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge and their price was very low, but we didn’t believe him. Sometimes, Hardwicke didn’t pay at all – he said the money hadn’t arrived and we would be paid later. My brother knew the reputation of the Fitzwilliam and said they would not cheat us that way.

  ‘And it wasn’t just us. Everyone that Hardwicke dealt with suffered the same way: no money, or short-changed. Many decided not to deal with Hardwicke any more, only to work with others who were giving a fair price, but Hardwicke said if we did that he would report us to the authorities for breach of contract and we would be imprisoned.

  ‘Ahmet was certain that Hardwicke was keeping most of the money for himself, that he was cheating both us and the Fitzwilliam. But in order to act, he needed proof.’

  ‘Why didn’t he write to the Fitzwilliam and ask them direct?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Because he didn’t know who he could trust,’ said Kemal. ‘Hardwicke could have people at the Fitzwilliam in his pay, and they’d report back to him about any such letters. The only answer was to come to England and find out the truth.

  ‘Everyone who felt they were being cheated contributed to a fund to give us the money for our fare, and our keep while we were in England.’

  ‘And you arrived at Tilbury on the Sunday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you know that Edward Hardwicke was on the same ship?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘Yes. But we didn’t speak to him, nor he to us. We were travelling in a different class to him. He travelled first class.’ He scowled. ‘He could afford it. He was using the money he stole from us.’

  ‘And you travelled to Cambridge.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you rented a cottage.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But the landlady thought there was only one o
f you staying there: your brother.’

  ‘Ahmet thought it best if she thought that. Some people in England are suspicious of Arabs. They think we are thieves and beggars. Ahmet felt that one man – a doctor at a university – would not encounter that problem. But I stayed with him at the cottage.’

  ‘Tell us about the Tuesday night when he died.’

  ‘Because Ahmet didn’t know who he could trust at the Fitzwilliam, he decided to go in secretly at night. His plan was to look at the account books, see how much the Fitzwilliam had paid to Hardwicke for different effects. We already knew what he had paid us for them. The difference between those prices would be the proof that Hardwicke was stealing the money.’

  ‘How did he get in?’

  Kemal smiled. ‘That was left to me, to find the person who would take a bribe to let Ahmet in. There is always such a one everywhere. I visited the Fitzwilliam and talked to people, sounding them out, and found a man who would do anything for money.’

  ‘One of the nightwatchmen?’

  Kemal nodded. ‘In the early hours of the Wednesday, Ahmet went to the museum and the man let him in.’

  ‘Not you as well?’

  Kemal shook his head. ‘Ahmet said he did not trust this man, so he suggested I stayed outside and watched, in case it was a trick. So I took a position opposite the back door, where the man let Ahmet in.

  ‘A short while later, another man knocked at the door, and it was opened by the nightwatchman, who let him in. By the light that came through the door I saw this other man’s face. It was Edward Hardwicke.

  ‘The door shut, and that was it. I was there for another hour, waiting and watching. At last, the door opened and Hardwicke came out, and left. I waited for Ahmet to appear, but he didn’t. I waited all night, watching, until dawn came, but there was no sign of Ahmet.

  ‘I waited until the Fitzwilliam was open to the public, then I went in, searching for Ahmet. But suddenly we were told that the museum was closed and the police had been called because a body had been discovered. I knew it had to be Ahmet.’

  ‘Do you think Hardwicke had followed your brother to the museum?’

  ‘He had to have. He must have been following us since we arrived at Tilbury, suspecting what we were doing.’

  ‘Did you seek out the nightwatchman to ask him what had happened?’

  ‘I did. He told me that Hardwicke had told him that he had private business to conduct, and that after he let him in he didn’t see him again. He said the same about my brother. He said he’d let Ahmet in, then let him go about his business. He assumed he must have left of his own accord, until the next morning when Ahmet’s body was discovered.

  ‘I knew then that Hardwicke was the man who’d killed my brother. And I decided to kill him.’

  ‘You could have told the police,’ put in Drabble.

  ‘And who would they have believed?’ demanded Kemal. ‘An Egyptian labourer, or an English gentleman? Hardwicke would have denied even being there. And the nightwatchman would have backed him up, for a price.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘The first thing I did was go to the cottage and clear out all our belongings. We didn’t have many. The next thing for me was to find Hardwicke, but he’d gone, and I didn’t know where. The only place I knew where I might find him again was the Fitzwilliam, so I set to work to keep watch on it. And sure enough on Thursday night he returned there.

  ‘Once again, he knocked on the door, and the same nightwatchman let him in. He was in there for about half an hour, and then he left.

  ‘I set off to follow him, but he knew the back ways of Cambridge better than I did, especially at night, and I lost him.

  ‘Since then, I’ve been hanging around, waiting for a sight of him. I knew he would be returning when I saw the poster advertising the debate on Friday night, and I was going to get him then. But after the event he walked away with two women.’ He looked at Abigail. ‘One of them was this woman.

  ‘I followed them to a house, where the women went in and then Hardwicke left. Unfortunately there were still too many people around, so I followed him as he walked, waiting for an opportunity, but the crowds were always as busy.

  ‘Then he went into a pub. I waited outside for him to come out, but when he did, about an hour later, he had two women with him. They were drunk. They went to a house not far away, and the three of them went in.’

  Daniel shot a glance at Abigail, and saw her face tighten, and knew how angry she felt – mainly at herself for having been fooled by Hardwicke.

  ‘I waited all night for Hardwicke to come out, but he didn’t,’ Kemal continued. ‘In the end one of the women came out of the house, and I approached her and asked her if my friend Mr Hardwicke was still with her. She laughed and said he’d gone. He must have left by a back door, because I never saw him leave.

  ‘I asked her if she knew where he’d gone, but she said she had no idea, but she expected him back the next night and she’d pass on any message

  ‘Once I knew that, I knew I had him. So on Saturday night I hung around outside the same pub, and this time when I saw him approaching, I went for him. I would have finished him, too, if those people hadn’t come along and raised the alarm.’

  ‘Why the bandages when you finally attacked him?’

  ‘Because of the story that was in the newspaper, about the mummy. I thought if I wrapped bandages around my face, even if I was seen I could get away without anyone knowing who I was. People would think it was this mummy they’d read about.’ He laughed. ‘Foolish, but then people can be foolish.’

  ‘So you decided to finish the job tonight.’

  Kemal nodded. ‘And I would have, too, and avenged my brother, if you hadn’t interfered. But I hope and pray that after all I may have succeeded. He may die tonight after what happened in that room. If there is a God, he will.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Daniel and Abigail were given a lift home to Abigail’s by a horse-drawn police van, their arrival in the house causing a bleary-eyed Bella to appear stumbling down the stairs.

  ‘What is going on, Abi?’ she demanded. ‘It’s four o’clock in the morning. I heard the door close at one o’clock and I’ve been wondering what on earth caused you to go out at that unearthly hour.’ Then she saw Daniel and said, ‘Oh! Mr Wilson!’

  ‘We caught the man who attacked Mr Hardwicke,’ said Daniel.

  ‘And discovered who carried out the murders,’ added Abigail wearily.

  ‘Who?’ demanded Bella.

  ‘Please, Bella, can we talk in the morning?’ Abigail appealed. ‘It is late and I need to talk to Mr Wilson.’

  ‘No!’ said Bella petulantly. ‘I need to know! I won’t be able to sleep not knowing!’

  ‘The man who attacked Mr Hardwicke is called Kemal Madi,’ said Daniel. ‘He’s the brother of the first man who was killed.’

  ‘And the person who carried out the murders was Edward Hardwicke,’ said Abigail, and Daniel saw tears spring into her eyes.

  ‘No!’ burst out Bella. ‘That cannot be!’

  ‘It is!’ said Abigail. ‘And now, Sister, please go to bed and we will talk more in the morning.’

  There was no mistaking the firmness of Abigail’s tone. Bella wavered, seemed about to protest again, then nodded to them both and went back upstairs.

  Daniel followed Abigail into the parlour, where they both sank down onto chairs, Abigail burying her head in her hands and sobbing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Daniel.

  She looked up at him, tears streaking her face, her eyes blazing angrily.

  ‘I am humiliated!’ she said. ‘I trusted him!’

  ‘It’s easily done,’ he said.

  ‘But not by you,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘I’m more experienced than you in these matters,’ he told her.

  ‘What’s worse is I may have got Mr Blades killed!’ she burst out, anguished. ‘I told Edward that we thought Blades would reveal the identity
of this expert Egyptologist he wrote about. That can only have been Edward. So Edward killed Blades to silence him, and it’s my fault!’

  ‘No,’ Daniel told her firmly. ‘Blades’ death was nothing to do with this case. Drabble told me he was killed because he owed money to a bookie. A bookie’s thug threatening him that went wrong. It was nothing to do with you.’

  ‘But you must still despise me,’ she said angrily.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘No?’ she demanded. ‘Why not? You should be gloating that you were right about him and I was wrong.’

  ‘I don’t gloat,’ said Daniel.

  ‘No, you don’t. You are like a … thinking machine.’

  Daniel was about to say that he was the exact opposite, especially when it came to her, but one look at the hurt and anger in her face and he decided against it. It would only lead to a massive row between them, when things would be said that couldn’t be unsaid.

  ‘You’re upset,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you now. Tomorrow morning I’ll call on Sir William at the Fitzwilliam and tell him what’s happened. My advice to you is to take the day off tomorrow and catch up on the sleep you’ve missed tonight. I’ll explain to Sir William on your behalf.’

  ‘No!’ she snapped. ‘I’ll join you when you make your report.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘There’s every need. I said I’d work with you, and that’s what I intend to do. If you can survive without sleep, so can I. I did so on many occasions when I was at a dig in Egypt.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll see you at the Fitzwilliam in the morning.’

  After Daniel had gone, Abigail sat in the parlour and remonstrated with herself. Why did she do it? Why had she treated Daniel so badly?

  Because she was angry. Angry at herself for having been taken in by Edward, in the same way she’d allowed herself to be taken in by Edgar. But both of them had been men without substance. Sham creatures, all attractive surface and show. And in Edward’s case, murderous, vindictive, a user of women, a thief, a robber of honest people. But the person she’d vented her anger at had been Daniel.