‘I don’t believe he killed her, Ross, but neither did I.’
‘Who found the body, and where?’
George helped himself to another brandy ‘I did. Just as you— guessed. And it must be a guess on your part. You cannot possibly know. I found her in the garden shed.’ He stared fiercely at the brandy glass, swirling the tawny liquid around in a miniature maelstrom, and reliving the shock of that moment.
The candle flames flickered and danced in a draught, and threw patterns across the tabletop. I wondered where the draught found its way in. The window was tight shut, and the door. But an old building like this tavern must be full of chinks and crannies. I wondered whether, through such a tiny gap, Tompkins was able to eavesdrop on this conversation.
‘What were you doing there?’ I asked him. ‘On a wintry evening, outside in the cold, in a garden shed?’
Temple looked up. ‘Use your head, Ross! I went to smoke a cigarette. I can’t smoke in the house, so I go out into the garden. But you’re right, it was very cold and damp that evening. I noticed the key was in the lock of the shed, which surprised me a little because the gardener doesn’t come at this time of the winter. Anyway, I tried the handle, and opened it up. I stepped inside for what shelter it offered. Since I had done that before I knew there was – is – a little oil lamp hanging on a hook on the wall. I had a box of lucifers with me, to light my cigarettes, and so I lit the lamp. Then I turned round and— and there she was, huddled on the floor, propped against the wall – and yes, dead. I was never so— so horrified, so shaken, in my entire life.’ He drew out his handkerchief and mopped his face. ‘Her eyes were open. She was staring at me. I thought at first she could see me. I even spoke her name. But as I did, I knew it was useless. I’d get no reply.’
‘What time was it?’
‘Oh, not late, but it gets dark so early. I suppose it was after eight. I had been out with friends, and only just returned. But I’m sure it was not yet nine.’
‘Was the body stiff?’
‘No, no, it wasn’t. Or not very.’ He spoke reluctantly, unwilling to relive that moment of horror. ‘Her head, her head was at an odd angle. I thought, I thought I’d get the blame. I panicked. What do you expect? Good grief, Ross, I’d like to know what any other fellow in my place would have done! Walk into the house and calmly inform Wilson that the nurse-companion was outside in the shed, with what looked to me like a broken neck, and would he kindly clear her away?’
‘Send someone to fetch the police,’ I suggested.
George gave me an exasperated look. ‘I don’t know if that is your idea of humour, Ross, or whether you are dense. Well, I know you are not dense. Of course I didn’t want the house full of policemen! What about my godmother? She was already worried because Emily had not been there when needed to help her to bed. To be told the girl was dead in the garden shed would have frightened her into fits.’
‘Oh, I doubt that. My impression of Lady Temple is that she has seen violent death before. She accompanied a soldier husband on his campaigns, did she not? However, I recall at our first meeting that you explained the delay in reporting to the police that Miss Devray missing as being a question of upsetting the sensitivities of your godmother’s social circle. Now it appears that, on your part at least, the reluctance to involve the police was due to your panic.’
Temple glowered at me. ‘Oh, I dare say you, in my situation, would have kept a perfectly clear head. I did the only thing I could think of, call on Michael’s help. He obeys orders, you know. He’d never question it, if I asked him to move the… the body.’
‘What about the body? Did you lock the shed door after you when you went to find Michael? Someone else might have stumbled on it.’
‘I was aware of that! It was the last thing I wanted!’ he snapped. ‘I needed time to find Michael; or decide what to do if I couldn’t find him. Fortunately the shed key was in the lock. The other key was on the floor. I picked that up and put it in my pocket. Then I secured the shed, put the key in my pocket with the other, and went back to the house before anyone came out into the garden. Not that they would do at that time of year, not normally, too damn cold and foggy. But you never know.’
‘What was this other key?’ I asked sharply. ‘The one on the floor.’
George stared at me, surprised. ‘The one into the street, of course, through the door in the wall. They were usually kept together. I thought, and I still do think, she had helped herself to the keys, and let someone in through the wall door.’
His voice grew firmer, more aggressive. ‘See here, Ross, everyone is so keen to say what a Miss Prim and Proper she was. But to my mind, Emily Devray was a sneaky little thing. She knew exactly how to butter up my godmother. I believe, and I can only ask you to consider – and to consider it seriously – that she let the murderer into the garden herself! How else could the keys have got out there? She must have taken them.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Anyhow, when I saw the garden-door key, I thought it would be a straightforward enough matter to move her, lose the body, leave it somewhere – somewhere no one knew her. I went to find Michael, and we arranged to move her later that night, when my godmother had gone to bed and so had the rest of the household. There was a further difficulty when the time came. She was much stiffer, made it difficult to manoeuvre her, so we used the wheelchair to transport her, as you appear to know – or your “witness” saw. I would like to know who your “witness” is!’
‘I dare say you would,’ I replied. ‘Mr Temple, I would like you to return with me to the Yard, of your own free choice. You are not under arrest. There you can write out the account of the discovery of the body and the removal of it at your orders, and sign it.’
‘And then? If I do this?’
‘Then you can go home. If I need you again, I will contact you.’
‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Temple asked seriously. ‘If I provide you with a “signed account”, do I not put a rope round my own neck?’
‘No, not if you are innocent, and what took place did so exactly as you describe.’
‘You are asking me to trust you,’ Temple said, after a lengthy pause. ‘But you are under pressure to find a killer, are you not? Once you have my account, written out in my own hand and signed, what would be easier for you? To put it away with all the other scraps of découpage, as you described them, and wait for it to form part of a picture? Or produce it to your superiors as the basis for my arrest on a charge of murder?’
‘Yes, I am asking you to trust me.’
Temple got to his feet, took his hat from the peg and picked up his greatcoat. ‘You will excuse me, but I feel this is a matter on which I do need to consult Mr Pelham. I already think I know what he will say – and so do you, Inspector Ross. Produce your evidence, your witness, and anything else you have to make a case. Until then, I bid you good day.’
‘One moment, sir!’ I held up my hand. Temple looked at me suspiciously. ‘I shall need to speak to Michael. I’d be obliged if you would send him to the Yard. Lady Temple need not know, at least unless it becomes absolutely necessary. But I must have his version of the story. I take it you don’t want an officer coming to the house to bring him in.’
‘Of course not! I’ll send him,’ Temple snapped. ‘If you think it absolutely necessary, though I can’t see myself that it is. And you must make allowance for his… his slowness.’
‘I shall,’ I promised. ‘And on your part, I must ask you not to coach him in what to say.’
Temple scowled at me. ‘You have my word!’ He walked out.
Well, it had been a gamble, and it had not come off. That is to say, I was fairly certain I knew now what had happened that night, from the moment the body had been discovered in that shed, huddled in a seated form, just as Mackay had deduced. But before that? Had it been exactly as Temple described? Had Emily opened the street door to the garden and admitted her killer herself?
* * *
I returned to Scotland Yard and repo
rted my meeting with Temple to Dunn. He listened in silence, then stood up and began to walk up and down his office, with his hands clasped behind his back.
‘So, what it comes down to, Ross, is – do we believe him? Do you believe him? I know he has been your preferred culprit. But did he kill her, eh?’
‘His account is plausible,’ I admitted reluctantly. ‘I don’t think I really ever thought him a fool. A wastrel? Yes. A young man who suddenly found himself in very deep water, far over his head? That, certainly. He panicked. He could have put all the blame on Michael, the footman. I gave him the opportunity to do that. He did not. My opinion of him has, well, not changed exactly. But he’s gained a point or two in my estimation.’
Dunn uttered a sort of growl. ‘What about this footman?’
I recounted Michael’s history.
Dunn growled again, like Anderson’s elderly terrier disturbed in his basket. He had continued to turn up and down the room. Now he stopped and wheeled to face me.
‘Why leave the body behind Bellini’s chophouse, in that waste bin? How do you account for that as a choice of place? Michael has been told to lose the body somewhere. But he leaves it where it is bound to be found in the morning almost as soon as the kitchens began work.’
‘I don’t really know,’ I admitted. ‘Perhaps he felt he had pushed the wheelchair far enough away from the house? Perhaps he feared that the longer he pushed the chair and its contents through the streets, the greater the likelihood he’d be seen? We know from this drawing that Michael’s progress had been seen already, although he didn’t know it, and a detail preserved in Rose Bernard’s sketchbook. There are always eyes watching in London’s streets, even at night. He might have encountered a police officer on his patrol. Such a sight on so bad a night must make any officer curious. Perhaps Bellini’s yard just seemed a good spot? Who can understand the thinking of a man who has had an army surgeon digging into his skull?’
‘Fair enough,’ said Dunn, adding after a pause, ‘Poor devil! Let us hope they found some chloroform to put the patient out before they began. It was in short supply, I believe in the Crimea. Not all the doctors believed in it at that time, anyway.’
Everything had been in short supply in the ill-fated Crimean campaign. The organisational muddle had passed into legend.
Dunn had returned to his desk where he sat and shuffled papers for a moment. ‘Despite Temple giving you his word, I am sure he will tell Michael exactly what to say. But, yes, of course you must have a statement from him.’ Dunn sighed. ‘And, like so much else in this case, it will make for very poor evidence if produced in court.’
* * *
I had wondered whether Michael could find his way unaided to the Yard or whether he really would understand what making a statement involved. In the event he arrived late in the afternoon when gloom had fallen on the streets around and gas lamps everywhere were lit. The visitor was announced by Biddle, who appeared abruptly in my office in a fever of excitement to exclaim, ‘There’s a regular giant outside, Mr Ross! I never did see such a big fellow. Ought I to fetch extra help? He could be dangerous!’
‘I do not think he is dangerous,’ I assured Biddle. ‘Just bring him in.’
But Michael had not come alone. The butler, Wilson, accompanied him; and it was Wilson who appeared first, leaving the footman in the outer office under the nervous eye of Biddle. Biddle has a liking for ‘penny dreadful’ novelettes. Michael must look as if he had escaped from the pages of one of them.
‘You will understand, Inspector Ross,’ said Wilson, standing before me in a manner that managed to be both respectful and immovable, ‘that all the staff of Lady Temple’s household are answerable to me. I, on my part, have a responsibility towards them. That is why I have accompanied the footman you asked to see. Young Mr Temple has, I believe, explained to you the nature of Michael’s disability.’
‘He has. Does Lady Temple know you are here?’
‘No, Inspector Ross, Mr Temple and I are agreed that her ladyship should not be troubled by this. Lady Temple is already much distressed by the sad fate of Miss Devray.’
‘Very well. Send Michael in.’
Wilson cleared his throat. ‘I should very much appreciate it, Inspector, if I could remain in the room. I will not interfere. But Michael will be very frightened if he is left alone with you.’
I agreed, and he went back to the corridor. He reappeared followed by the hulking form of the footman. In my small office, Michael appeared even larger. I glimpsed Biddle lurking in the background with his mouth agape.
‘Don’t worry, Michael,’ I said to him. ‘Just sit down on that chair.’
The idea of sitting down in my presence seemed to alarm Michael, who turned his head to look at Wilson. The butler nodded. Michael sat down, rested his powerful forearms on his knees and stared at me. His gaze was neither incurious nor completely blank but somewhere in between. I realised he was waiting to be given an order.
‘Now then, Michael,’ I began. ‘Just tell me about the evening Miss Devray died.’
Michael looked perplexed. ‘Nothing to tell you, sir. The young lady was dead.’
‘Were you present when she died?’
In the background Wilson looked disapproving but, true to his word, said nothing.
‘No, sir,’ said Michael.
‘Who told you she was dead?’
‘Mr Temple told me.’
‘What else did he tell you?’
‘That he found her in the garden shed.’
We were in danger of going round in circles. ‘Did he come and fetch you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It must have been very dark outside in the garden, and particularly inside the shed.’
‘Mr Temple had lit the little oil lamp. It’s always out there, in the shed.’ Michael raised his hands; they were broad and bony and when he cupped them it reminded me of a miner’s shovel. ‘It’s a little thing, about this size, and it hangs on a hook in the shed.’
‘The sight must have been shocking. You must have been startled.’
‘No,’ said Michael, after an attempt at thought, signified by a knotted brow and laboured breathing. ‘Mr Temple told me, on the way, there had been an accident and Miss Devray was dead. So I knew I’d see her when I got there.’
Now he was so close to me, I could see the long, straight white scar across his skull where the surgeon had sliced through the skin with his scalpel; and the slight dent in the skull’s surface which marked where he probed for the bullet. Michael’s thick fair hair had been grown longer in the area and brushed over to hide the evidence. I shuddered inwardly at the thought of that army surgeon and his instruments. I hoped they had at least plied the patient with brandy beforehand, if supplies of chloroform had been low. Even if it had been available, it was quite possible they would not have wasted the precious anaesthetic on an eighteen-year-old private soldier.
I forced myself back to the matter in hand: the body of Emily Devray slumped in the wooden shed, and Michael’s claimed lack of surprise at the sight. He’d been forewarned on the way there, but nevertheless… Yet I was inclined to believe him. To lie, to concoct any invented story, was probably beyond his mental powers.
‘Did you wonder why Miss Devray, dead or alive, should be in a garden shed? It was a winter evening, cold and dark. Why should the young lady have gone to the garden shed?’ I persevered.
‘She had her reasons, I dare say,’ said Michael simply.
I sat back and thought about my next words carefully. ‘Michael,’ I began. ‘Had you seen Miss Devray in the garden before?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Michael.
‘Doing what?’
‘Walking about.’
‘Waiting, perhaps, for someone?’
‘Don’t know, sir,’ replied Michael. ‘Just walking up and down.’
‘Despite being warned beforehand, you must still have been shocked when Mr Temple opened the shed door.’
Michael l
ooked faintly puzzled. ‘Seen dead bodies before, sir. They’re all much the same.’
‘But, surely, Miss Devray was different. She didn’t die of disease or old age. She was a young woman and healthy.’
‘So is a soldier, sir,’ returned Michael with unexpected acuity. ‘He’s fit and healthy, but it doesn’t stop a bullet nor a musket ball.’
I decided to move on to the matter of disposal of the corpse. ‘Who asked you to move the body?’
‘The young master did, sir, Mr Temple. That’s why he fetched me.’ Michael frowned slightly at me. Perhaps he thought I was the one a little slow on the uptake.
‘Did he tell you exactly where to take it?’
‘No,’ said Michael. ‘Only take it away and lose it in an alley, far away as possible, without being seen. I took her away in Lady Temple’s chair. That was Mr Temple’s idea. It was a good idea,’ added Michael, his voice gaining a note of approval. ‘I could push her along easy in that. Only, mind you, propping her in the chair wasn’t easy because she was stiff and folded up, like, with her knees under her chin. But she was a little thing, so we managed it. The fog had come up too, when I set off with her.’
‘And what made you decide to leave her in the yard behind the chophouse?’
Michael gazed at me uncomprehendingly. I realised he didn’t know the yard was behind a chophouse.
I tried again. ‘What made you leave it where you did?’
‘Mr Temple said to leave it in an alley, so I went to find an alley. I’d have gone a bit further, but there were people about for all it was late and foggy. When I saw the entrance to that alley I decided it would do. But it was narrow and I was afeared she’d be found, right off. There was a gate and I pushed it. It weren’t locked. It opened right up into a little yard. So I took her in there and left her in a big bin where no one could see her unless they looked right in. She fitted in there just right, folded up like she was. Then I pushed the chair back home.’
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