Murder at the Ashmolean, page 11
‘That’s right,’ said Daniel. ‘That’s who we think it was.’
‘It most definitely was, because he came to see Mr Pinker, the editor, today and he introduced himself.’
‘Interesting,’ said Daniel. ‘Did you happen to discover what he wanted?’
‘I did,’ said Esther proudly. ‘I listened at the door.’
‘That was very shrewd of you,’ Daniel complimented her. ‘What did you hear?’
‘This Inspector Grafton was after the names of people in Oxford who might be sympathetic to the Boer cause in Africa. He was especially interested in anyone who might have associated with Mr Everett.’
So, I was right, Daniel told himself, satisfied. Special Branch see a Boer connection.
‘Mr Pinker gave him the names of three men: Lord Chessington, Professor Vorster and a man called Vance de Witt, who manages a place called the Quill Club.’
‘Yes, I met Mr de Witt,’ said Daniel. ‘The other two are unfamiliar to me.’
‘I don’t know any of them,’ said Esther. ‘Lord Chessington is a very rich businessman, and according to Mr Pinker his wealth comes from gold mines he owns in the Transvaal, which is a part of South Africa run by the Boers, he says. Professor Vorster is also said to be a Boer from South Africa. He lectures at Exeter College on the early Christian religion.’
‘I have to admit, Esther, when Abigail suggested we bring you in to help us with the investigation, I was doubtful. But I take all my reservations back.’
‘And if there is a story about Mr Everett’s death …?’
‘I promise you, you’ll have the exclusive on it from us. But at the moment we’re still scrabbling in the dark.’
‘But he was murdered?’ pressed Esther.
Daniel hesitated before saying, ‘Let’s just say we’re keeping an open mind on it.’
‘Oh, I hope it does turn out to be a murder!’ exclaimed Esther. ‘Crime reporting is what I want to do, and this could be my big break!’
Walter Grafton headed back to his room at the Swan, weighing up his next course of action. Now he had three names: Lord Chessington, Professor Vorster and Vance de Witt. But this wouldn’t be a case of going to see them and flashing his Special Branch card at them, as it had been with Gladstone Marriott, and Pinker at the Oxford Messenger. These were suspects. If Grafton showed his hand to them and one of them was guilty, he’d just vanish. No, he needed to dig into them, collect evidence, and when he’d got enough to point to one of them, then he’d hook him: take him into custody for questioning. And not here, not in Oxford, but in London, where he was on his home ground.
Abigail made her way to Kemp Hall police station where she asked for Inspector Pitt, and a few moments later was shown to his office.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Fenton,’ Pitt greeted her. ‘Do you have news for me?’
‘Abigail,’ she insisted, ‘and actually, I’m hoping that you’ll be able to help us. You met Eve Lachelle, didn’t you?’
Pitt nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Could you give me a description of her?’
‘Why?’ asked Pitt.
‘Because I have a feeling that I’m going to receive a call from someone claiming to be Eve Lachelle, and I don’t think it will be.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘We’re not sure, but there’s something not quite right about the Quill Club. Daniel talked to Mr de Witt but got nowhere. So, we’re trying a ruse to see if we can shake things up.’
‘What sort of ruse?’
‘We’ll tell you if it gets a result.’ Abigail smiled. ‘We don’t want to implicate you if it turns out that what we’re doing might cross the line.’
‘Miss Fenton—’ said Pitt firmly.
‘Abigail, please.’
‘Miss Fenton,’ repeated Pitt, looking grim. ‘I’m an officer of the law. I uphold the law. So, I’m warning you that if you’re thinking of doing anything illegal …’
‘No, no!’ Abigail assured him. ‘We’d never do anything against the law.’
‘Then what is going on?’ demanded Pitt.
Abigail hesitated, then told him their plan. ‘We feel that this Eve Lachelle might have information about Everett, but she seems to have vanished. So, I told a couple of the women who work at the Quill Club that I was a private enquiry agent – which is true – but I embroidered it by telling them that I was acting for a firm of solicitors handling Everett’s estate and he had left the sum of twenty-five pounds to Eve Lachelle, which I would like to give her.’
‘A lie,’ said Pitt flatly.
‘Not exactly a lie,’ defended Abigail. ‘If Eve Lachelle turns up, I’ll certainly give her the money. And at the same time ask her questions about the Quill Club and Gavin Everett.’
‘It’s still duplicitous,’ said Pitt.
‘Yes, it is, but it’s a way to get at the truth,’ insisted Abigail. ‘Don’t you want to find out who killed Everett, and why?’
Pitt sighed. ‘Yes, well, based on what you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound like any laws are being broken.’
‘So, will you tell me what this Eve Lachelle looked like when you saw her?’
Pitt cast his mind back, then said, ‘She was tall. Tall for a woman, that is.’
‘My height?’
‘Possibly a bit taller. And she was very thin. Most of the waitresses at the Quill appear quite buxom.’
‘Hair?’
‘Black. And it struck me that she had an exotic look about her. Arab, possibly, or a southern European ancestry.’ He looked at her with concern. ‘I do hope you’re not going to get involved in something that will cause me trouble.’
‘I hope so too, Inspector,’ said Abigail. ‘I’ll certainly do my best to avoid it.’
After Esther had gone, Daniel walked along to Gladstone Marriott’s office, and found the museum director poring over some papers.
‘I wonder if I could pick your brains, Mr Marriott?’ he asked.
‘About Everett’s death?’
‘Yes. We’re starting to get a picture of Everett’s activities outside of the Ashmolean, and there are aspects of his behaviour which raise concern.’
‘Absolutely!’ groaned Marriott. ‘I assume Miss Fenton has told you about the … the … copies she discovered in our collection. She’s convinced they could only have been put there with Everett’s connivance.’ He shuddered. ‘And I trusted him!’
‘There’s something else that has come to light: the suspicion that he may have been blackmailing someone.’
‘Blackmail!’ gasped Marriott, horrified. ‘This gets worse and worse!’
‘We’re not absolutely sure yet,’ Daniel reassured him. ‘But it does seem to be a strong possibility.’
‘Who?’
‘A man called Piers Stevens.’
Marriott looked at Daniel, bewildered. ‘Who?’
‘Piers Stevens,’ repeated Daniel.
‘I’ve never heard of him,’ said Marriott.
‘Apparently he’s a member of the Quill Club. You remember, the gentlemen’s club you found the membership card for.’
‘But … but what was he blackmailing him about?’
‘We don’t know, and that’s what we’re trying to find out.’
‘Something unsavoury?’ hazarded Marriott, again with a shudder.
‘I would assume so,’ said Daniel. ‘Also, we’ve learnt that Inspector Grafton, the Special Branch inspector, is looking at three men with Boer connections who might be involved in Everett’s death.’
‘Yes, he mentioned about the Boers when he saw me,’ said Marriott. ‘I told him I had no idea of anyone in Oxford with Boer sympathies. Who are the three men?’
‘The manager at the Quill Club, a man called Vance de Witt. A Professor Vorster who lectures on religion at Exeter College. And Lord Chessington.’
‘Lord Chessington!’ burst out Marriott, appalled at the idea. ‘Lord Chessington is a pillar of local society. A great patron of the arts.’
‘I understand he has gold mines in the Transvaal.’
‘He is certainly a partner in such enterprises, and he makes no secret of the fact,’ said Marriott. ‘But the idea that he may have had a part to play in Everett’s death is preposterous.’
‘Did he know Everett?’
‘They certainly met, because Chessington was always one of the first to be invited whenever there was a new piece being displayed at the museum. As I said, he was a great patron of the arts and donated some fine pieces to the Ashmolean himself.’
‘And what about this Professor Vorster?’ asked Daniel.
Marriott shook his head. ‘I don’t know the man. The name’s unfamiliar to me.’
‘Do you think he might have known Everett?’
‘It’s possible. If he’s a professor at the university he may well have come here to look at some particular exhibit or display, but I certainly have never been aware of him.’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘This case is becoming ever more complicated. I just hope the outcome doesn’t taint the reputation of this wonderful museum!’
Abigail sat in the reception lounge at the Wilton Hotel. She’d been sitting here for an hour, waiting to see if there might be any result from her conversation with the two women outside the Quill Club, but so far there’d been no joy. Ah well, she told herself resignedly, it was always a long shot.
She was just getting up and preparing to return to the Ashmolean, when she saw one of the two women she’d spoken to enter the hotel. The woman looked about her, and when she spotted Abigail, she came over to her.
‘I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t know what it was about and if I could trust you,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Eve Lachelle, the woman you were looking for.’
‘Oh?’ said Abigail. ‘I was told you’d left the Quill Club some time ago, and that was why you couldn’t be found.’
‘That was deliberate,’ said Colette. ‘There was this man who was hounding me, so me and the other girls and the management decided to let it be known I’d left and no one knew where I was.’
‘Did it work?’ asked Abigail.
Colette shrugged. ‘It seems so. He hasn’t been back to the club since. Anyway, you said something about Gavin Everett leaving me money in his will.’
‘Yes,’ said Abigail. ‘Did you know him well?’
‘Well enough,’ said Colette. ‘I didn’t expect him to leave me anything, though. Twenty-five pounds, you said.’
‘Indeed,’ said Abigail. ‘Before I hand it to you, do you have any identification to prove you are Eve Lachelle?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, we need to know the money is being paid to the rightful person. And, with respect, I was given a description of Miss Lachelle, and I must say you don’t fit that description at all.’
Colette hesitated, then said, ‘I’ve changed some things since I last saw poor Mr Everett. I had my hair done, for one thing.’
‘You may have changed your hair, but I doubt if that meant also lowering your height.’
The woman thrust her hand out. ‘Look, I’m Eve Lachelle, and if Mr Everett left me twenty-five pounds, then it’s my money.’
‘I don’t believe you are Eve Lachelle, but we can soon settle this. It was Inspector Pitt at Kemp Hall police station who gave me the description of Miss Lachelle. So, if you come with me to the police station and Inspector Pitt confirms you are who you say you are …’
The woman scowled, hissed angrily at Abigail, ‘Piss on you!’, then got up and stalked out of the hotel.
Interesting, thought Abigail. She walked to the entrance and stepped out of the hotel, curious to see in which direction the woman went, although she knew she could always find her at the Quill Club. As she stepped onto the pavement, she was suddenly grabbed roughly by the arm and thrown against the wall of the hotel, and a man’s guttural voice rasped at her, ‘Time for payback, you nosey bitch!’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Abigail, stunned, stared at the man who leered in towards her, his big fist still gripping her arm tightly. His clothing was rough – a patched jacket and thick, woollen trousers – and he was wearing heavy workmen’s boots.
‘Listen good: forget about Eve Lachelle. Or else something very bad will happen to you.’ He grinned nastily as he moved his face nearer to Abigail and muttered threateningly, ‘And hurting a woman doesn’t bother me.’
‘That’s interesting, because I feel the same about hurting a man,’ said Abigail.
And, with a sharp upward jerk of her leg, she smashed her knee hard into the man’s groin. He let out a high keening shriek and folded in half, then collapsed, clutching himself. Abigail knelt down beside him and said quietly, ‘I am not a weak and feeble woman who’s easily intimidated. And if you want me not to hurt you again, tell me who employed you to threaten me.’ With that she grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged hard, making the man let out a squeal of pain.
‘His name?’ snapped Abigail.
‘I don’t know,’ gasped the man.
Abigail smashed the man’s face into the pavement, then pulled his head back by the hair again, making him howl.
‘His name,’ she repeated.
‘I don’t know!’ he begged. ‘A man pointed you out and gave me five shillings to say those words to you, to warn you off.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Just an ordinary bloke. A working man.’
‘Perhaps you’ll have your memory jogged when the police talk to you,’ said Abigail, and knelt on the man’s back, holding him firmly squashed to the pavement, while still holding him by the hair. With her free hand she produced the police whistle that Daniel had given her and blew a loud blast on it.
Albert watched this unfold from his vantage point on the other side of the road to the Wilton in horror. As Abigail blew another blast on her police whistle, Albert turned and hurried off, and a short time later was rushing into the Quill Club. De Witt was checking tables and looked in surprise as his bar manager stumbled in, obviously in a state of panic.
‘What on earth’s the matter, Albert?’
‘She beat him up.’
‘What? Who?’
‘The Fenton woman. I put Herb on to her to warn her off. I pointed her out to him as she was leaving the Wilton Hotel and he goes over to lean on her. Next second he’s on the ground and she’s banging his head on the pavement, then she blows a police whistle. How does she get one of those!’
‘She beat him up?’ repeated de Witt, stunned.
Albert nodded. ‘And now the coppers will have him.’
‘Will Herb say who hired him?’
‘That’s very likely if the police threaten him.’
‘You’d better disappear,’ said de Witt. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out some banknotes, which he handed to Albert. ‘Here. Hide away somewhere, out of town. In fact, go to London.’ He took a sheet of paper and wrote a few lines on it, then handed that to Albert. ‘This is to Jacob Krauss at the Pelican Club in Soho. Go there for a few days. I’ll send word when you can come back.’
Daniel rushed into Kemp Hall police station, having run all the way from the Ashmolean, and found Abigail sitting quite calmly in the reception area. He waved the note she’d sent him.
‘You said a man attacked you,’ he panted.
‘Yes, but there was no need to run,’ she said. ‘You do fuss. If I was able to write that note, then I was obviously alright. I just wanted you here, so we could both find out who had hired the man to threaten me. Inspector Pitt is talking to him at this moment.’
‘What actually happened?’ demanded Daniel.
‘It was as a result of my asking the women at the Quill Club about Eve Lachelle. First, a woman turned up claiming to be Eve Lachelle, when she patently wasn’t. It was just a pitiful attempt to get the money I’d mentioned. Then, as I left the Wilton, this man grabbed me and told me to stop asking questions about Eve Lachelle and threatened me with violence if I continued with my investigation. I overpowered him and blew that police whistle you gave me and had the man brought here.’
‘I told you to be careful! You could have been badly hurt!’ said Daniel.
‘But I wasn’t. My attacker was.’
‘But he might have been armed! He could have had a knife!’
‘He didn’t. And even if he had been holding a knife, he was so close to me that I still think my knee in a judicious spot would have disabled him.’
Daniel looked at her with an expression of awe. ‘My God, if they ever let women into the police force and someone like you joins, they’ll end up as commissioner.’
‘The question it raises is,’ continued Abigail, ‘what happened to Eve Lachelle, and why does someone want to stop any enquiries being made about her?’
Inspector Pitt looked across the table in the interview room at Herbert Fulworth, noting again the bloody graze down one side of his face where it had been slammed into the pavement. Pitt had encountered Herb before, usually when the man had been involved in a drunken brawl, so he knew what the man was capable of. A uniformed police constable stood behind Herb, ready in case the man should turn violent, but Pitt guessed there was little chance of that. The treatment he’d received at the hands of Abigail Fenton had taken away his usual bullying swagger.
‘So, who hired you to threaten her?’ asked Pitt.
‘Just some bloke,’ said Herb. ‘He said it was for a lark. And then she attacked me!’ He pointed at the graze on the side of his face. ‘She’s the one you should be arresting! That’s assault, that is! She could have murdered me!’
‘But we have witnesses that state that you were the one who made the first move and grabbed Miss Fenton and threw her against a wall. Now I’m wondering what to charge you with. Assault? Attempted robbery?’
