‘Did Horton take the money?’
‘Not at first. Mantel told him to take it saying, “I’m sure there’s stuff your daughter needs. Babies grow fast.” At that remark the colour drained from Horton’s face. When Mantel got up to leave he leant over Horton and said something like,’ Artie looked into the mid-distance trying to recall Mantel’s exact words, ‘“If you don’t want anything to happen to your daughter and the kid, you’ll take the money and keep your mouth shut.”’
‘So, Horton isn’t involved. At least he wasn’t until he took Mantel’s money. Good work, Artie.’ Inspector Powell stood up and shook Artie’s hand. ‘Will you let me know when you have the photographs? I should very much like to see them.’
‘I’ll bring them into Bow Street,’ Artie replied.
Inspector Powell shook Ena’s hand and thanked her for the work she was doing, saying he’d be in touch.
When he had left, Ena voiced her opinion to Artie. ‘It sounds to me like the night security guy, Selwyn Horton, didn’t want to be involved in Mantel’s plan and only agreed to go along with it because Mantel threatened his daughter.’
‘I agree. So,’ Artie said, ‘how are we going to play this?’
‘If Horton works all night, he’ll likely stop somewhere for breakfast on his way home.’
‘I’ll follow him tomorrow morning and if he does stop for breakfast, I’ll have breakfast too.’
‘And, if he’s on his own…’
‘Get chatting.’
Ena laughed. ‘You and I make a good team, Artie.’
‘So, did you have a nice lunch?’
‘Lovely, thanks. Good food, good wine and Priscilla was fun. I haven’t laughed as much in ages.’
‘Do you think the magpie and her husband have anything to do with the thefts at the gallery?’
‘Definitely not. Priscilla’s husband is Charles Galbraith, the gallery’s insurer. Galbraith’s is a big insurance company. They insure millions of pounds worth of art.’
‘They could be in on it though. What better way of knowing who has what and where?’
‘Not on your life.’
‘Mrs Galbraith did attempt to nick an expensive brooch.’
‘Nicking a brooch is a far cry from being an art thief and a forger. Besides, not only would Charles have too much to lose, but he doesn’t need the money. He’s a millionaire, or close to it.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything either,’ Artie pondered.
‘No, but having spent time with Priscilla, I don’t think they’re involved. However, I now know how Maisie Hardy opened the bureau at the Duke of Wellington Hotel.’ Artie’s expression went from uninterested to interested in a flash. ‘I asked Priscilla how she unlocked the showcase at the art gallery and she said with the key from her china cabinet at home. Apparently, keys to china cabinets, drinks cupboards, bureaux and the like, are not individually cut like keys to houses and cars. She was positive that her china cabinet key would open an ordinary writing bureau – which in effect is what Mr Walter’s bureau is.’ Ena kicked off her shoes and leaned back in her chair.
‘Damn! I forgot. I took a call just before you phoned asking me to go to Slingsby Street, Artie suddenly recalled. It was from a Nurse McKinlay at The Willows Nursing Home. She said she had remembered something important and asked if you could telephone her as soon as possible.’
‘Will you ring her for me? Tell her I’m on my way to see her.’ Artie picked up Ena’s telephone book. ‘I don’t know what’s going on at that nursing home but I don’t want the woman who runs the place listening in on our conversation.’ Ena grabbed her handbag and shouted, ‘See you later.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nurse McKinlay was waiting for Ena when she arrived. She opened the door before Ena had time to ring the bell and showed her into the dining room. ‘We won’t be disturbed in here.’ She motioned to a table just inside the door, pulled out a chair and sat down. Ena did the same.
The nurse spoke in a whisper. ‘I’ve remembered something Mr Derby-Bloom said. Like I told you and Miss Derby-Bloom, his voice was very faint. I didn’t think I’d heard the first couple of words. Well, I didn’t, not properly, but then I thought about it. The first word I definitely didn’t hear. It would be wrong of me to guess what he said, but I’m sure I heard the second one. I recognised the word, it was on the tip of my tongue, but before I could grasp it, it had gone. I’m sorry not to have recalled the word before,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘The second word was En-kilin. Mr Derby-Bloom said, ‘Enkelin. Sie hat mich getötet.’ Ena looked questioningly at the nurse. ‘Granddaughter. Mr Derby-Bloom said something followed by Granddaughter. She has killed me.’
‘Granddaughter?’ Ena repeated the word several times and then said, ‘George is an only child, she has no children, What could he have meant?’
‘Someone else’s granddaughter?’ Nurse McKinlay offered.
‘Mrs Thornton’s granddaughter?’
The nurse nodded. ‘Andrea was here that morning.’
‘She’d have no reason to kill George’s father. So, did she put poison in her grandmother’s cordial and George’s father drank it by mistake?’ A thought crossed Ena’s mind. ‘Does Andrea stand to inherit her grandmother’s money if she dies?’
‘I don’t know. She might. Last week I was dressing Mrs Thornton’s arm. She cut it when she fell. Anyway, she told me that her granddaughter had been asking for money again. She has money from the old lady all the time. Mr Derby-Bloom used to say that Mrs Thornton spoiled her. The old lady agreed, but said it’s because she hadn’t been well, mentally, since she lost her parents. Her mother and father were killed in a car accident some years ago and I think it was after that that Andrea went to live with her grandmother. She now has a flat of her own, but she did live with Mrs Thornton immediately after her parents died. When I told my mum I was worried about Mrs Thornton, Mum said she remembered the accident. She said it was in all the newspapers.’ Nurse McKinlay clasped her hands in front of her and cast her eyes down.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t want you to think I’m a gossip. I don’t talk about the patients outside work, but I’ve been concerned about Mrs Thornton for some time.’
Ena waved away the idea that Nurse McKinlay was a gossip and shook her head reassuringly. ‘Did your mother say anything else about the accident?’
‘She said at the time there was a lot of talk that the crash wasn’t an accident. That Andrea’s father drove the car off the road and into a tree on purpose.’
‘Good Lord. No wonder the girl’s mentally disturbed. It’s no excuse for murder though,’ Ena said. ‘Whereabouts did Mrs Thornton fall?’
‘In her house. She fell down the stairs.’
‘Did she?’ Ena expected Nurse McKinlay to say the old lady had fallen in her bedroom at the nursing home. But falling in her own home? A dozen scenarios crowded into Ena’s mind. None of them said accidental.
‘She’s due to leave here next week.’
‘Will she go home?’ Nurse McKinlay nodded. ‘Is there anyone to look after her when she leaves here?’
‘Only her granddaughter.’
‘God help her.’
‘She doesn’t need professional nursing care. She’s very fit for her age and she’s really bright. It’s only that she tripped over something at the top of her stairs and then fell down them. She was black and blue when they brought her here from the hospital.’
‘It may be my suspicious mind, but I think Mr Derby-Bloom did mean Mrs Thornton’s granddaughter. I don’t think she’ll try to harm her grandmother again. Not while she’s here anyway. She’d be mad if she did. No, Mrs Thornton is safe for the time being.’ Ena looked at Nurse McKinlay. ‘It’s when she gets home that worries me.’
***
Ena parked the car, ran back to Café Romano and bought a couple of rounds of sandwiches before going to the office.
‘When was the last time you had something to eat?’ she as
ked Artie, dropping the paper bags containing sandwiches on his desk.’
‘About the time Noah was building the ark,’ he said ripping open the first bag.
Ena went into the kitchen and made them each a cup of coffee, Giving Artie his, she sat down with her coffee at her desk. ‘I’m going to see Inspector Powell. He should know what kind of poison killed George’s father by now. While I’m gone, find out all you can about a fatal car accident in Surrey in 1950. Mr and Mrs Thornton were killed, but their teenage daughter, Andrea survived. The accident was reported in the local newspapers. Probably in the nationals as well, but check what the local papers said about it first. Ring the editors of a couple of the newspapers in Surrey and see if you can meet them or the reporters who wrote up the accident. I’d have thought someone would have been sent to cover the story pretty quickly. And have a word with the local Police if you can. I want to know everything there is to know about the accident and the people involved in it.’
‘Journalists like to be wined and dined.’
‘From memory they prefer pie and mash and a pint of beer at the local pub after work.’ Ena waved the discussion away. ‘Find a B&B and stay overnight if you have to. Do whatever it takes, but don’t forget to ask for receipts. Right,’ she said, picking up her handbag, crossing the room and swiping her jacket from the coat-stand, ‘I’m off to see my favourite copper.’
‘Before you go!’ Artie called, stopping Ena in her tracks.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m supposed to be following the night security guy from the gallery when he finishes work tomorrow morning. I don’t have the car, so I’m relying on the train. He’ll finish early and there may not be a train to get into London in time.’
Ena groaned. ‘I’ll do it. Do we know which agency Horton’s from?’ Artie shook his head. ‘Inspector Powell might know but if he doesn’t, I’ll ring round when I get back from Bow Street.’
***
‘The dregs in the bottom of the glass you gave me contained hemlock.’ Inspector Powell read from a note pad. ‘Water hemlock to be precise. It’s found in streams, ditches, any boggy or wet area, and there’s no smell or taste apparently.’
‘Killed by mistake,’ Ena mused. Picking up her handbag from the floor she thanked the inspector. ‘I’d better go.’ She grimaced. ‘I’m doing a surveillance job in the morning.’
‘By the look on your face, you’re not looking forward to it.’
‘I’m not looking forward to getting up at dawn, no. I need to find out what time Selwyn Horton’s shift finishes. I don’t suppose you know which security agency La Galerie Unique got him from?’
‘Sure Security Services.’ The inspector picked up the telephone. ‘Jarvis, give Sure Security Services in Leicester Square a ring. Don’t tell them you’re the Police. Say you’re in London and you’re enquiring about security. Ask about the hours night security guards work.’
‘What do you know about the big chap on the gallery’s door named Victor, Inspector?’
‘Straight as a die and very protective of Giselle. He’s known her from when she was a child. He was Flying Squad, took a bullet during an East End gang bust, which put him out of the force. I wouldn’t want to upset him, he’s a big man and fit.’
The telephone rang and Inspector Powell picked up the receiver. ‘Thank you, Jarvis.’ He put down the phone. ‘You will be getting up early in the morning,’ he said, laughing. ‘Night security guards work from ten at night until six o’clock in the morning.’
Ena blew out her cheeks. ‘Artie’s on the Derby-Bloom case. He’ll be in a lovely country pub this evening eating and drinking with local newspaper reporters. Damn! I told him to stay in a B&B overnight. He’ll be back in the morning, but not in time to shadow Horton. Why didn’t I go to Surrey instead?’
‘I could get someone here to follow Horton.’
‘No, it’s okay. I’m hoping he stops off at a café for breakfast before he goes home. If he does, I’ll be able to have breakfast too.’
‘Won’t he recognise you from preview night at the gallery?’
‘No, Horton wasn’t on duty that night.’
‘Not many people are out and about at six o’clock in the morning. What’s your cover story?’
‘I haven’t thought of one. How about I’ve been working in a strip joint in Soho and come into the café to have a fry up?’
Inspector Powell laughed.
‘I don’t know why you’re laughing. I think it’s a good cover.’
‘Better you’ve just got off an overnight train from the north. You’re going to a job interview, but the office where you’re being interviewed doesn’t open until nine o’clock?’
‘Spoil sport.’
‘You will be careful?’ the inspector said.
‘You know me.’ Ena jumped up and crossed to the door.
‘Which is why I’m reminding you,’ the inspector replied.
‘I promise to be careful. Thanks for finding out the name of the poison that killed George’s father. I’m not sure yet how he came to drink poison. I think I know why, but not how. I’ll let you know when I know,’ Ena said, and left.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Without opening her eyes, Ena reached out, hit the bell on top of the alarm clock with the flat of her hand, groaned and turned over. She hated early mornings. With three sisters, a brother and a mother and father, every school day of her childhood meant getting up early to wash and dress to avoid being late for school. In the war too, it was up at the crack of dawn to get ready for work or risk clocking in late. When she was taken off the factory floor and given a desk in the boss’ office, it was even worse. She didn’t have to clock in, but she had responsibilities and felt she needed to set an example. A cold chill rippled through her when she thought of the danger she had been in every time she’d travelled on the train to Bletchley Park with Frieda Voight who, with her brother, Ena had exposed as spies.
Ena had taught herself to put Frieda in an imaginary box, close the lid and lock it. As she thought Frieda and her brother were dead, she had pushed the box and the memory of them to the back of her mind. It had worked for thirteen years. It would no doubt still be working except that last year she had seen Frieda again, and blaming Henry for her brother’s death she had jumped from the roof of the church where he was buried, to her own death.
She rolled over and looked at the clock. Its round face showed it was ten minutes past five. If she was going to be at La Galerie Unique before the night security man left work at six, she needed to get moving. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Dragging on her dressing gown she left the bedroom.
Henry was crossing the hall from the bathroom to the sitting room. ‘Good morning.’
‘Is it?’ Ena yawned.
He laughed. ‘Welcome to my world.’
‘Mmm… I’ll be fine when I’ve had a cup of tea and a slice of toast,’ she said, grinning at him before disappearing into the bathroom.
If she was going to hitch a lift into London with Henry there was no time for a bath, a quick top and tail would have to do. He was leaving for GCHQ at half-past five, she reminded herself and put a spurt on.
Dressed in a smart suit, the type she would wear for a job interview with just a little makeup on, she threw her lipstick into her handbag, dashed into the sitting room, took a swig of her tea and grabbed a slice of toast. ‘Hang on, darling. Will you drop me somewhere near the Aldwych?’ she asked, pushing her feet into high heeled shoes before putting on a red hat. With her handbag in one hand, her briefcase in the other, she followed Henry out of the flat.
Henry pulled up on the north side of Waterloo Bridge. ‘Be careful, Ena?’
‘Aren’t I always?’ Leaning across the gear stick she kissed him, leaving traces of lipstick on his cheek. ‘See you later,’ she giggled.
Henry drove off waving out of the car window. Ena waved back until he turned onto the Strand.
Life was so much better now she no longer worked for the Home Office. She had left behind government corruption and politics, spies and the undercover agents of the Cold Case department. Henry was happier at GCHQ too. MI5 had treated him appallingly and Special Branch would have made him a scapegoat if she hadn’t intervened. Ena shook off the memories of those days and looked down at the Thames. It was deep and dark and held more secrets than the intelligence and security services which she’d grown to despise. At that moment the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, throwing a silver shimmer across the river. Ena had unhappy memories of the Thames, but she had some happy memories too.
***
Ena looked at her wristwatch, it was now five to six. She stepped into the doorway of a furniture repair shop and stood among posters advertising French polishing and furniture upholstering. She heard footsteps approaching from the left and leaned back into the shadows on the left side of the shop door. A man who Ena recognised from preview night passed by and walked down the narrow alley to the rear of the gallery. Two minutes later, Selwyn Horton appeared. So, the security man she had seen at the gallery on preview night was now working the day shift.
Horton came into view, turned right and walked down the street. He stopped suddenly and, leaning against a lamppost, lit a cigarette. Ena poked her head out of the doorway as a bus pulled up and Horton got on it. Holding onto her hat, Ena ran down the street. Beaming a smile at the driver she mouthed hello, and thank you for waiting, ran to the back of the bus and as Horton’s legs disappeared up the stairs, she jumped on. She had no idea where he was going, nor where the bus was going for that matter.
The conductor rang the bell and approached her. ‘Where to?’
‘The end of the line,’ she replied, attempting a joke.
‘Angel and Islington. That’ll be one and six.’
Ena paid, took her ticket and waited. Horton couldn’t live too far away if he travelled by bus to Covent Garden each day, she thought, preparing herself to leave the bus at every stop.
Old Cases New Colours (A Dudley Green Investigation) (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 9) Page 17