‘You have our statements. There’s another connection, Marcus. Is someone trying to track down the camper?’
‘Of course.’ Marcus looked at his notes. ‘There are politics involved. Sir James Roberts is well connected.’
‘He is a wealthy industrialist. To say Sir James is well connected is like saying the King has a nice house.’
‘I was briefed yesterday evening. We need a speedy resolution. The Brontë Society’s influential members would go to war to prevent bad publicity for their religion – and it is a religion, don’t argue with me over that please.’
‘Come to the point, Marcus.’
‘Keighley police haven’t the expertise. Leeds CID will now try and keep me off their patch as regards the photographic studio. I never thought I would say this, but I need your help.’
Silence descended for almost a minute. ‘Marcus, I am an interested party. These people are my friends. Not to mention that you pointed a big fat finger at Harriet.’
‘It is most unlikely that Harriet would have sufficient motive for wanting Tobias Murchison dead.’
‘Well there’s something we agree on.’
‘I cannot yet rule out her friend, Derek Blondell. Harriet would be unlikely to help him eliminate the man he sees as an impediment to his one true love, Carine.’
‘I am not sure why you need me.’
‘False modesty doesn’t become you, Kate. The local forces will co-operate with me, but only if I can specifically say what I want from them, and at present I can’t.’
‘You have the specials searching for the knife. I’m guessing that they haven’t found it.’
‘Correct.’
‘It would be too obvious for it to be here.’
‘I would hate to overlook the obvious. Now are you open to hearing my proposal?’
The word ‘proposal’ sat uneasily between us, but we pretended otherwise.
‘Of course.’
‘Kate, I am proposing that you enter into a formal arrangement with me, with a Scotland Yard contract, for giving assistance on this case only. You would need to sign the Official Secrets Act. We would agree a rate of pay.’
‘What kind of arrangement?’
‘A standard arrangement. We occasionally work with outsiders who have some expertise or who will be able to infiltrate groups or befriend individuals who might be resistant to the police. I would not be doing anything unusual in recruiting you.’ He smiled. ‘What do you say?’
‘I say yes, if it includes Mr Sykes.’
‘I thought you would say that. Sykes is proving himself an asset. He could be very helpful.’
‘That is your yes then, regarding Mr Sykes?’
He nodded. ‘Be sure about this, Kate, given your earlier reticence about revealing your friends’ secrets. You would be acting the friend, and at the same time looking for evidence of guilt or innocence.’
‘I want to know who killed Tobias Murchison. He was an annoying, bombastic man who should never have married Carine, but he served his country and paid a high price.’
Marcus stood. ‘I’ll gather up Mr Sykes.’
‘Before you go …’
‘Yes?’
‘We haven’t discussed terms.’
‘Ah. There is a standard rate of pay.’
‘And expenses?’
‘Of course.’
‘When you say there is a standard rate of pay, in my experience there is rarely any such thing. There is almost always a top rate and a bottom rate. I need your word that we would be paid the top rate. As you rightly pointed out, we have insiders’ knowledge.’
‘I will have the contract drawn up.’
‘Let me fetch Mr Sykes. I want to ensure I have his agreement. He started out as my assistant but he has always been more than that. Over the years, he and I have become partners, purely in a professional sense.’
‘Then since you are going downstairs, please send up the elusive Elisa Varey before I charge her with obstruction.’
The dog followed me to the door. ‘Marcus, you’ll understand that I hope this crime was committed by an outsider.’
‘Of course you do. But I hope you’ll still keep an open mind.’
‘I will. There is something that it would be difficult for me to enquire about.’ I glanced along the corridor to make sure no one was within earshot.
‘And that is?’
‘I’ve heard it said that a war wound left Tobias Murchison impotent, and yet it is also said that on a weekly basis he was having intimate relations with a cook at the Leeds Club. Sykes can find out whether there is truth in the story concerning the cook, but you would have to look into the other aspect.’
‘I’ll speak to the pathologist.’
I walked downstairs to find Elisa, and to talk to Sykes. The bloodhound sniffed every stair in a business-like fashion.
I spoke to Tobias, in my head. ‘You must have had some good qualities. I never liked you, but I’ll find out who did this. You shall have justice.’
And yet, it may have been that whoever killed Tobias, believed that they were achieving justice, or vengeance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dangerous Letters
Rosie Sykes never ceases to surprise me. She was carrying a tray along the corridor towards the front door. ‘The dog’s taken to you then?’
‘Rosie, why are you wearing an apron?’
‘I said I’d give the lass a hand. She only has one person in there helping.’
‘Where is Elisa?’
‘In the kitchen.’
I put my head round the kitchen door. A woman I had not seen before was filling a kettle. Elisa was standing at the table.
‘Miss Varey!’
She held a knife in her hand, and was just about to slice a cake.
‘You are wanted in the library straight away.’
She pulled a face.
‘Mr Charles won’t bite,’ I added, stupidly thinking she might be in awe of the man from Scotland Yard.
‘He might not bite but I will. Laying down laws, taking over our rooms for his interviews, trying to stop us earning a living.’
‘You need to speak to him.’
She took off her apron. ‘I’m going up there now. I hope he intends to pay rent for being here. It’s not as if that man died on Ponden premises.’
It had become increasingly clear that Elisa was in charge here. I had seen men working on the farmland roundabout. Marcus would need to talk to them, as the people most likely to take vengeance against Tobias for wronging one of their own. Since all the special constables were local men, if they found a knife they would be just as likely to hide it in a better place than hand it to the police.
Sykes was in the main hall, looking out at the view.
I sat in the other chair by the window. The dog claimed the space between us.
‘We have had a request from Mr Charles. He wants you and me to sign up to assist Scotland Yard in this enquiry. What do you say?’
‘I’d say it’s about time we had official recognition.’
‘Then let us make a plan.’
About fifteen minutes later, Elisa came into the room. ‘That Mr Charles was quite nice. He didn’t say it in so many words, but I don’t believe he suspects any of us, including Edward.’
‘I’m glad you’ve talked to him.’
Sykes said nothing.
‘When I told him about my sister and Murchison, he was very kind. So the thing is, I don’t have the heart to tell him that his plan to keep ramblers and day trippers away didn’t work. The lunchtime ones have mostly gone. I’ll send the stragglers packing, tell them we’re closing until teatime, and then he won’t see them.’
Being not yet officially signed up to assist Scotland Yard, I said, ‘We’ll keep quiet, Elisa, unless specifically asked. And if you think of anything at all that will help discover Tobias Murchison’s killer …’
‘I’ll keep it to myself. In fact, I’d give whoever did it every last p
enny from my Post Office savings to leave the country. I told that to Mr Charles as well.’ She turned to go. ‘Oh, and someone came from Leeds, a despatch rider, and gave him a package. I thought you’d want to know.’
A few moments later, Marcus came into the room. He was carrying a bundle of letters. ‘Well?’ he asked.
‘Mr Sykes and I have discussed your offer, Mr Charles. We accept.’
Sykes stood. ‘Glad to be working with you, sir.’
Marcus nodded and extended his hand. ‘Good to have you with us, Sykes.’
Marcus put the bundle of letters on the table. ‘Inspector Wallis has taken over the investigation into the body in the cellar at the photographic studio. He made a search of the studio and the flat above, and found these letters. I’ve read them.’ He handed me the bundle. ‘The inspector had them sent over to me, rightly believing they might be relevant to our enquiry into Tobias Murchison’s death.’
I took the first letter from its envelope, and read it aloud so as to include Sykes.
Dearest darling Carine,
I cannot sleep for love of you. This will sound silly and I could only say it to you. When I climbed on the rocking horse with you behind me, I had this feeling that I was galloping into a new and better life. There is only one person in the way of that life and I wish he was the one who would gallop away and leave us free to be happy ever after.
Your devoted Derek
I glanced at the next letter, and the next, not reading aloud but passing each one to Sykes. They were all from Derek Blondell to Carine, expressing devotion.
‘He hasn’t dated them.’ Sykes made a note of the postmark dates.
Marcus asked, ‘What’s the business about a rocking horse?’
Sykes said, ‘There’s a rocking horse in the studio, sir. I suppose it’s used when there is a child to photograph.’
‘Is it big enough to hold two people?’
‘Yes, if they squeeze tightly together.’
When Sykes had finished making a note of the post dates on the envelopes, Marcus took the letters back. ‘I’ll see what Blondell has to say for himself about these.’
It was as he reached the door that I thought of the question. ‘Mr Charles, do we know whether the letters were reciprocated, or was it a one-sided correspondence?’
‘No letters were found at the Blondell house. He works at the newspaper offices I believe. I’ll have his desk and locker searched.’
‘Would you please let me take care of that part of the search? I know his boss, the librarian. I would hate for Derek to lose his job if this is just the boy’s foolishness.’
Marcus thought for a moment. ‘Very well. Since it’s a newspaper, I would rather be discreet than have this turn into a scurrilous story before we gather evidence.’ He put a scrapbook on the table. ‘There’s this, too. Take a look, just in case there’s anything of interest.’ He put on his hat. ‘You can contact me through the local station.’
Carine had written her name on the scrapbook. There were items from the local paper, an account of a fashion show, a piece about the renovation of a church, advertisements for the latest camera, and an article about photography. Carine had also pasted in samples of the greetings cards she had designed.
When Marcus had gone, Sykes asked, ‘What is he like, Derek Blondell?’
‘About eighteen, friendly manner, self-centred, aspires to rise in the world. He goes to the pictures a couple of times a week and sometimes walks Harriet home when she’s working at the Hyde Park Picture House.’
‘Do you know what those letters put me in mind of, Mrs Shackleton?’
‘I believe I do.’
‘I’m thinking of that case a few years back. Edith Thompson and Freddie Bywater. It ended with a double execution.’
‘That came into my thoughts too. He stabbed the husband, and she tried to stop him.’
‘That’s right. She didn’t know that he was going to kill her husband. Bywater said Mrs Thompson was innocent. He took the blame.’
‘There were witnesses too, who said she tried to stop Freddie Bywater wielding the knife. Yet that did not stop her from being dragged to the gallows.’
‘If your friend Carine has written compromising letters to young Blondell, heaven help the pair of them, whether they did it or not.’
‘I think Carine realises she has been an idiot for not discouraging Derek. I find it difficult to believe why she would have bothered with him.’
Sykes said, ‘Mrs Sugden knows the lad’s grandmother. It could kill the old lady if her grandson turns out to be a murderer.’
‘We have to keep an open mind, or we’ll be as wrong as the jury who found Edith Thompson guilty, and the judge who sentenced her to hang. Writing love letters does not make Derek a killer, any more than receiving them makes Carine guilty.’
‘All the same, it looks bad. Is this the strongest lead so far?’
‘It could be. Poor Mrs Blondell. Will you go see her?’
He nodded. ‘Of course, though it’s too late to alert her, since her house has been searched.’
‘And she’ll be expecting Derek home, and worrying about him.’
Sykes opened his notebook. ‘I have her address from the list of members who are here on the outing.’
‘Mrs Murchison must have written back to Derek. That was too big a pile of letters for a young chap to pen if he receives no replies.’
We both had the idea at the same moment. Sykes got to the scrapbook first. He turned every page, looking for letters, looking for any articles that might give some clue to Carine’s state of mind. There was nothing of that sort. It was simply a scrapbook relating to her interests, and her work.
Sykes reviewed his notes. ‘So I’m going to call at the Leeds Club, and talk to the buxom cook. I’ll break the news that her liaisons with Mr Murchison will be no more, and find out where she was on Saturday.’ Sykes tapped his pencil. ‘There’s something else. At the time it didn’t register as being of more than passing interest.’
‘But now …?’
‘On Friday, Mrs Sugden sent a chap packing. He had come to take details of the premises. Mrs Sugden thought him a crook. She didn’t like the cut of his jib. He gave her his card, which claimed that he was a property agent. His name is Hazelgrove. He has an office in the town centre.’
‘Carine might shed some light on that. I’ll mention it to Marcus and say that you are looking into it.’
‘Do you know what else I’m thinking?’
‘It will be easier if you tell me.’
‘I’m thinking that I am not the person most suited to gaining the confidence of old ladies.’
It was unusual for Mr Sykes to admit to being less than perfectly suited to any and every task under the sun. He looked at me, to see if I followed his train of thought.
‘You are thinking it might be better for Mrs Sugden to speak to Derek’s grandmother.’
He nodded. ‘She will be in her element. And if Mrs Blondell has had police tramping all over her house and making a show for the neighbours, she won’t thank me for adding to her woes.’
‘You’ll call on Mrs Sugden?’
‘I will. As soon as we get back.’
I sighed. ‘At least there is one thing I can be sure of.’
‘What’s that?’ Sykes asked.
‘Carine did not murder her husband. She was nowhere near when it happened.’
Sykes picked up the scrapbook. ‘Shall I take this, then there’s no possibility that your friends will spot it and jump to the wrong conclusion?’
‘Good idea – until we hand it over to Mr Charles.’
Sykes and Rosie were ready to set off. Elisa had supplied sandwiches and a bottle of tea for their journey. Sergeant bloodhound was now on his leash. We had walked to the stream and watched him paddle and drink.
Sykes moved to lift him into the dickey seat. ‘Come on, Sergeant!’
Sergeant wriggled away, whined and stuck by me. Nothing Sykes or Rosie could s
ay would persuade him to budge.
Rosie patted his head. ‘You think you’ve come to find your mistress, don’t you?’
I spoke firmly to the dog. ‘You’re not mine, Sergeant.’
Sykes said, ‘Bloodhounds can be very stubborn.’
‘Perhaps he can’t face another car journey,’ Rosie said. ‘And he’s definitely taken to you, Mrs Shackleton. He must have got it into his head that was why he came here.’
‘I suppose I’d better hold onto him then.’
Just as we were saying our goodbyes, Harriet appeared. ‘Auntie Kate!’
The resilience of youth! When I saw her that morning she had looked as if she might lie forever in that comfortable bed with the Porters’ dog for company. Now she came dashing towards us and greeted Mr and Mrs Sykes. ‘Are you all just going? I didn’t even know you were here.’
She spotted the dog and made a fuss of it. Sergeant accepted her admiration.
Harriet turned to me. ‘When are we going home?’
‘I thought you were going to rest and recover.’
‘I have, but I’ve to be at the café by eleven tomorrow.’
‘The thing is, Harriet, I have to stay on here for a little while.’
‘That’s all right. Mrs Sugden will be there, and I’ve got my key.’ She eyed the dickey seat at the back of the Jowett and then looked back at me. ‘Is it all right if I go, or do you need me to stay?’
I knew that I ought to clear this with Marcus, but he had already left.
‘No, that will be perfectly all right, if that’s what you want to do.’
‘Auntie Ginny is glad for me to be going back. She said do it quick before Mrs Porter returns from visiting an old invalid. She’ll pass on my thanks and apologies.’
‘Climb in,’ Sykes said.
‘Wrap that blanket round you,’ Rosie ordered.
I hated to keep them waiting but had only just thought of what I needed to do. ‘Give me five minutes to write a note to Derek’s boss, Mr Duffield. You must deliver it in the morning, Harriet, by half past eight.’
Sykes had already started the engine when I handed Harriet the letter for Mr Duffield.
Elisa appeared, to wave them off. She and I walked as far as the bend in the lane, still waving.
A Snapshot of Murder Page 22