Death of a Courtesan: Riley Rochester Investigates

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said when Riley led the way into the shop. ‘How can I be of service? We happen to have an exceptionally decent Bordeaux in stock if your tastes veer in that direction.’

  Riley introduced them both and asked to see Clement.

  ‘I regret to say that he isn’t here.’

  ‘Where can we find him?’ Salter asked.

  ‘In France. He is on a buying trip.’

  ‘How long has he been gone and when do you expect him back?’

  ‘He has been gone for two weeks, but we expect him back at any time. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow.’

  ‘And you are absolutely sure he has been in France all that time.’

  The man, who had given his name as Paul, nodded emphatically, unwittingly giving his employer the very best of alibis. He couldn’t possibly have murdered Adelaide if he’d been in France at the time of her death. Paul’s story also confirmed Mrs Sinclair’s assertion that Clement hadn’t been on her premises on the night in question. Whether he knew anything about the murder, or had arranged for it to be carried out, Riley had yet to decide.

  ‘Is your master married?’ Riley asked.

  ‘No, sir. He is a single gentleman.’

  ‘Any regular lady friends?’

  ‘I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir.’ Paul looked offended by the question. ‘I don’t know how he occupies his leisure time. If he does have someone in particular, she has never set foot in this establishment.’

  ‘Does your employer have a brother?’ Salter asked.

  Paul’s nose twitched, as though he had just detected an unpleasant smell. ‘A half-brother, sir. Raymond Clement. He runs a stall in Billingsgate market.’

  ‘He is a fishmonger?’

  ‘He is, and although it’s not my place to say so, that’s about all he’s good for. He is constantly harping on at my master to allow him to help with this business, but frankly he wouldn’t know a corked wine from a rare vintage.’ Paul rolled his eyes. ‘It’s a ludicrous suggestion, if for no other reason than he is not well spoken like my employer, and his presence here would lower the tone.’

  ‘Whereas your employer’s does not?’ Salter asked.

  ‘My employer comes from the upper middle classes, as do I.’ Paul straightened his shoulders, as though defying Riley to contest his claim. ‘When his mother died, his father married for a second time…and his second wife had been, shall we say, obliged to make her living any way that she could before Mr Clement raised her up.’

  ‘She was a whore?’ Salter suggested bluntly.

  ‘Since you put it like that, I suppose she was. Anyway, class will tell and Raymond has none.’

  Riley thought that if he’d been shouting the odds in a tavern about Adelaide’s death then he very likely did not.

  ‘You speak with the suggestion of a French accent,’ Riley remarked. ‘Presumably you learned the trade at your father’s knee.’

  Paul raised his chin, preening at the implied compliment. ‘Precisely so.’

  ‘How is trade?’ Salter asked, taking an exaggerated look around the empty shop.

  ‘People are warming to the idea of popping in to see what’s on offer. My employer knew he was taking a risk opening these premises and doesn’t expect overnight results.’

  Paul sounded defensive, making Riley wonder if the retail premises had been his idea. Personally he thought it a good one, and had noticed one or two wines on display that might be worth trying. He made a mental note to have Stout check them out at some future point.

  Riley thanked the man and he and Salter left the premises. The rain had stopped and so they walked to the nearest pie stall to fill their empty stomachs.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘What now?’ Salter asked round a mouthful of meat pie.

  ‘Now we tackle the half-brother. He might be able to tell us something of interest about Adelaide.’

  Salter sniffed. ‘He obviously didn’t like her, given that he was so willing to tell the world how glad he was that she’s dead. I’d be interested to know why. Anyway, I don’t suppose we’ll be able to take anything he tells us as gospel.’

  Riley gave a wry smile. ‘Since when did we start expecting anyone to tell us the truth?’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Salter paused to thoughtfully chew another bite of his pie. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t ask Paul if he knew Adelaide, sir.’

  ‘He told us he was unaware if his employer had any female friends. Besides, I didn’t want him to warn Clement about the reason for our visit.’

  Salter quirked a bushy brow. ‘Interesting that he didn’t ask though.’

  ‘I noticed his reticence but don’t necessarily think there was anything sinister about it. I don’t need to tell you that the majority of law-abiding citizens are taken aback by a visit from us, and they’re so keen to appear helpful that they don’t always ask the most obvious questions.’

  Salter examined the contents of the remainder of his pie, gave a resigned shrug and consumed it in one large bite.

  ‘We don’t even know yet what the connection between Clement and Adelaide actually was, and that’s because they were so secretive about it,’ Riley went on to say. ‘So I doubt whether Paul would know either. And if Clement really has been in France, he won’t have heard about Adelaide’s death—which is why I didn’t want Paul forewarning him. Even so, I expect the brother will take pleasure in letting him know the moment he gets back.’

  ‘You think the brother disapproved of Adelaide because of her profession? He didn’t like being reminded of his own mother’s humble origins?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. It seems that Clement’s firstborn inherited the bulk of his estate and his half-sibling resents him for that, and goodness alone knows what else.’ Riley finished his indifferent pie, barely conscious of what he was eating, and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. ‘Come along, Salter, we are for Billingsgate. The market will be over for the day by now so I expect we shall find Raymond Clement in the nearest tavern.’

  They ran their quarry to ground in the inaptly named Lamb Tavern, a beacon for those associated with selling fish in the nearby market. It was doing a brisk trade. Upon asking the landlord, Clement was pointed out to them. Riley took a moment to study him before approaching. He was surrounded by people, but appeared sullen and disinterested in the company. He was staring into a tankard of ale and taking no part in the conversations that buzzed around him. No shouting the odds today. Instead he looked distracted and nervous.

  He was a large man, with equally large hands, a bulging stomach and thinning, straggly brown hair. He looked up when Riley and Salter approached him and opened his mouth, as though about to tell them to find someone else to annoy. One glance at Riley’s decent tailoring, combined with the fact that he probably looked as out of place as he felt in an establishment full of coarse individuals who smelled strongly of fish, and he snapped his mouth closed again.

  ‘Clement?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ he asked sullenly.

  Salter introduced them both and asked the man to step outside. He looked as though he might refuse, then thought better of it, downed his drink in one long swallow, stood up and belched. The stool he’d been sitting on toppled over and Clement himself didn’t seem too steady on his feet, implying that the ale had had just downed was not his first of the day. Several people turned to stare as the odd procession made its way to the door. No one attempted to intercede or threaten the two policemen, implying that Clement was not popular.

  ‘What do you want?’ Clement leaned against the tavern’s wall for support, not appearing to feel the rain falling steadily on his hatless head.

  ‘You were heard shouting about the death of a young woman,’ Salter said. ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘A young woman…’ He scratched his head. ‘I shout about a lot of things when the mood takes me. What young woman?’

  Salter gra
bbed Clement by the lapels of his coat and slammed him roughly against the wall. ‘You know bloody well what woman,’ he said. ‘If you think we’re going to stand about getting wet while you give us the runaround, you’ve got another think coming, sunshine.’

  ‘All right! All right! Adelaide, that’s who you’re talking about, yeah?’

  Riley smiled inwardly. Sometimes it was best left to Salter to get the desired result.

  Clement pushed himself upright and a little of his confidence returned. ‘Well, good riddance to her is what I said when I ’eard about it. Ain’t no law about expressing an opinion.’

  ‘But there are laws against murder,’ Riley pointed out.

  ‘Whoa!’ Clement raised unsteady hands, palms outwards. ‘Don’t know nothin’ about no murder.’

  ‘How did you know Adelaide?’ Riley asked. ‘Were you one of her customers?’

  ‘At her prices?’ He turned his head and spat on the ground. ‘Do me a favour.’

  ‘Then why did you take against her?’ Salter asked. ‘What did she ever do to you?’

  ‘She turned my brother against me, that’s what.’ Clement swayed a little and bumped his hip against the wall. ‘Me and Michael, we was all right until she came along. Me da, he left his blunt to Michael on the understanding that he looked after me. Michael started up his wine thing and I was gonna join him, until she talked him out of it.’

  ‘What do you know about wine?’ Salter asked derisively.

  ‘As much as Michael did when he started out. I can learn, or I would have if he’d of given me half a chance.’

  ‘How could Adelaide have stopped that from happening, even supposing that she did?’ Riley asked. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

  ‘I don’t rightly know.’ Clement ran his fingers through his sparse wet hair, leaving pink sections of his scalp exposed. ‘I saw them together once by chance in the street. I was curious to know who she was. Michael ain’t much of a one for the ladies, and I thought she might be taking advantage of him. Anyway, I was curious so I followed her back to Maiden Lane and then it became clear precisely what she was.’

  ‘You have something against prostitutes?’ Riley asked mildly.

  Clement responded with an ugly sneer. ‘I ain’t never had to pay for it and don’t plan to do so any time soon.’

  ‘What explanation did your brother give for his friendship with such a highly unsuitable person?’ Salter asked, scowling at Clement as he swayed, struggling to remain on his feet.

  ‘I asked him about her, right enough. Good at being judgemental is our Michael, but he don’t like it when others judge him. He came over all defensive like, said it was nothing to do with me and that she was just an old acquaintance. But I knew he saw her several more times. I called at his rooms and could smell ’er in ’em. And after that, every time I asked about me working with him, he made excuses. Said it wasn’t the right time.’

  ‘Your father didn’t make any provision for you before he died?’

  Clement blinked blearily. ‘Come again?’

  Riley sighed, wishing the rain would ease up a little. He stood beneath the inn’s porch but a persistent stream of water still found his shoulders and the top of his hat. Salter broke in. ‘Your old man left you without a bean,’ he said. ‘He left it all to his older son.’

  ‘His only son,’ Clement said reluctantly, hands now thrust into pockets as he kicked sullenly at a loose stone. ‘I’m his step-son.’

  ‘You share the same surname,’ Salter pointed out. Riley’s sergeant stood in a position that left him directly exposed to the rain, but if he felt discomfited by it he gave no sign.

  ‘Me Ma took his name when she married ’im and changed mine too.’

  ‘How old were you?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Ten, or thereabouts. Michael was fifteen. We were chalk and cheese. Him educated, me barely able to write. But he took an interest in me, encouraged me to better meself. Which is why I thought he would keep his word about the business.’ Clement sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Just goes to show how easily a woman can turn a man’s head.’

  ‘Like your mother turned your step-father’s?’ Riley asked.

  ‘What the hell do you—’

  ‘Your mother was a whore,’ Salter said, easily warding off Clement’s aggressive move by prodding his chest, causing him to fall back against the wall. ‘Don’t suppose she could help what she had to do to survive, yet you seem very willing to judge others who find themselves in the same position. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, inspector? I mean, Adelaide represents everything that our friend here most despises in women. His mother, herself a whore, ups and marries a man who treated him like his own and whose son encouraged him to better himself. He idolised that son, then found out he secretly associated with a woman in the same profession as his mother’s. Shattered all his illusions. No wonder he’s glad she’s dead. Makes you wonder if he knows how that came about.’

  ‘Indeed, it does, sergeant. My thoughts exactly.’

  ‘When did she die?’ Clement slurred, a drunken half-grin spreading across his face.

  Salter told him and Clement’s smile widened. ‘Can’t have been me. I was playing cards until the early hours, right here in this godforsaken tavern, in the upstairs room. There were a dozen of us and we all left together. Some of us were having trouble seeing straight, much less walking. I was in no fit state to kill no one, not that night.’

  Riley eventually let him go, unsurprised when the man staggered back into the tavern.

  ‘He hates prostitutes, and he was jealous of Adelaide for claiming his half-brother’s attention,’ Riley said as they hailed a hansom and he gratefully sank onto the worn seat. ‘He has a vicious temper and could easily have killed Adelaide. Even if he wasn’t in his cups, which he most likely was because it seems to be a near permanent state with him. But he doesn’t have the wits to plan such a complicated crime, much less carry it out.’

  ‘I agree, sir,’ Salter said, adjusting his damp headgear. ‘But his name remains on the list of suspects?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Fair enough. What now?’

  ‘Back to the Yard. We shall see what the others have unearthed and I will give the superintendent my report, such as it is.’

  ‘What are your thoughts, guv? You usually have some idea who did the deed by this stage in an investigation and, blow me, half the time you’re right, even though there’s not always any evidence to support your theory.’

  ‘Theories aren’t much use without facts, Jack, you know that. At the moment I am as much in the dark as you are, but after we’ve spoken to Michael Clement we might know a little more. He’s the only person we know of who was in contact with Adelaide outside of Maiden Lane.’ Riley still had Celeste to speak with that evening, but he refrained from enlightening Salter in that regard. ‘This has to do with revenge. Either that or someone had a very good reason for silencing Adelaide that we don’t yet know anything about.’

  ‘Blackmail?’ Salter speculated. ‘She must have known a lot of sensitive information about her clients. Some men treat their doxies like they were in the confessional.’

  ‘And the girls have to remain as tight-lipped as a priest would or they’d find themselves out on the street. Quite literally. Discretion is everything at Mrs Sinclair’s end of the market.’

  ‘Aye, but it must be tempting to speak out sometimes.’

  ‘Adelaide was too clever to take a chance like that. She rose to the top of her profession and still remained a virgin, which says a lot for her intellect.’

  Their conversation continued until they reached Scotland Yard, whereupon they were both taken up with their other duties. Riley wasn’t expecting his detectives to have unearthed any startling new information and so wasn’t as discouraged as they appeared to be by their lack of progress. He spent some time listening to their accounts, and in return updated the men beneath his command o
n the information that he and Salter had obtained.

  ‘I need you to keep a weather eye on Clement’s establishment in Dover Street and his rooms in Hay Lane,’ he told Carter and Soames. ‘The moment he returns to London, I need to know about it. His assistant promised to give him that message but I need to be sure that he receives it, and gives me his immediate attention.’

  Riley gave his men their assignments for the following day and then clearly surprised Salter by telling him to go home.

  ‘It’s early yet,’ Salter said.

  ‘There’s nothing more to be achieved today, Jack. Go home and enjoy being with your family. I shall see the superintendent and then be off myself.’

  ‘Right you are then, sir.’ Salter gathered up his still damp hat. ‘I’d best be off before you have a change of heart. See you in the morning.’

  ‘That you will, Jack. Good night.’

  Left alone, Riley took a moment to gather his thoughts. The investigation wasn’t proving nearly as straightforward as he had hoped it would be. When were they ever? The deeper he delved, the more people he discovered with reasons for wanting Adelaide out of the way. Unless…until he discovered the identity of the murderer, Danforth’s position would remain untenable, he reminded himself, leaning back in his chair and indulging in an expansive stretch. That ought to be cause for celebration. Riley had long been of the opinion that Danforth was not a natural leader and did little to enhance the reputation of the Detective Department. But to see him dismissed under such circumstances—circumstances that couldn’t be kept confidential indefinitely—would not sit well with Riley’s conscience. He might not respect the man but he didn’t deserve to become a laughing stock simply because he had what many would regard as unnatural desires he was unable to control.

  With a sigh, Riley pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the superintendent’s office.

  ‘What’s your opinion?’ Thompson asked, having listened to Riley’s progress report. ‘Will we catch the blighter, do you suppose?’