Murder at the Ashmolean, page 14
‘Yes, ma’am.’ She looked at Pitt and said, ‘Mrs Stevens says …’
‘I heard what she said.’ He turned to the constable. ‘You wait here, Constable. You too, Miss Maris.’
Pitt, Daniel and Abigail entered the house and went through the motion of deliberately wiping their feet on the thick mat just inside the door, before following the maid along a passageway that smelt heavily of polish to a drawing room.
Mrs Stevens was sitting in a high-backed chair, a large woman dressed in black, the austerity of the colour offset by sparkling jewellery and a pearl necklace. She regarded them with a look of disapproval as they entered, her expression becoming more disapproving as she saw Daniel and Abigail behind the inspector.
‘I assume you two are policemen, but who is this woman?’ she demanded.
‘This is Miss Abigail Fenton,’ said Pitt. ‘She is an enquiry agent employed by the Ashmolean Museum, along with her partner, Mr Daniel Wilson.’
‘I do not care to have them in my house,’ said Mrs Stevens firmly.
‘They are here because they were the object of the attack on them by Mr Piers Stevens, who I believe to be your son.’
‘He shot at us,’ added Daniel. ‘Before he ran off.’
‘But he did not hit you,’ said Mrs Stevens dismissively.
Daniel showed her the hole in his sleeve. ‘Only because I moved to one side as he fired. As it was, the bullet hit my sleeve. He attempted to fire again, but the pistol jammed.’
Mrs Stevens looked at him, her expression icy, but they could see the turmoil raging inside her.
‘I do not believe my son capable of such a dreadful action,’ she said. ‘I’m sure it was an accident.’
‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Stevens,’ said Pitt. ‘His attempt to fire a second shot shows that.’
‘Then he must have been provoked into taking such an action,’ said Mrs Stevens.
‘It occurred after we told him we were investigating the death of Mr Gavin Everett, curator at the Ashmolean Museum, and the disappearance of a woman called Eve Lachelle,’ said Daniel. ‘It was at that point he pulled out a pistol and shot at us.’
‘Who is this Eve Lachelle woman?’ asked Mrs Stevens.
‘A waitress at the Quill Club in Oxford, of which your son is a member.’
‘And why would you be asking him about this woman?’ she demanded.
‘Because we had been given information that he had an involvement with her,’ said Abigail.
‘False information!’ snapped the woman.
‘The fact that he reacted the way he did suggests otherwise,’ said Pitt.
Mrs Stevens fell silent, then she gave a heavy sigh. ‘I’m afraid that Piers has been troubled for some time.’ She motioned towards a large portrait on the wall of a man in a brigadier’s uniform, standing proudly before a Union Jack fluttering on a flagpole outside a castle in some rocky landscape. ‘My husband had such hopes for Piers, but it was obvious that our son had no thoughts of following his father into an army career. He fell into bad company here in Oxford. I did what I could to keep him on the straight and narrow, but it became difficult after Gerald died.’
‘We understand, and sympathise,’ said Pitt. ‘Our intention is to find him before he gets into worse trouble, or before he does anything dangerous.’
‘Kills himself, you mean?’ she demanded. ‘In some ways, that might be the better option. Rather than bring complete disgrace on the family name.’
‘We’re hopeful of being able to help him before that happens,’ continued Pitt. ‘Can you tell us where he might have gone? Any friends of his, or relatives he might take refuge with?’
‘Relatives I think would be unlikely,’ she said sadly. ‘I’m afraid most of our relatives have turned against Piers.’
‘For what reason?’ asked Pitt.
‘His bad behaviour, especially when he had drunk too much,’ she said. ‘As to his friends, I do not know them. Piers is well aware of my attitude towards the life he leads, and I do not encourage him to bring those people into this house.’
‘Does he own other weapons in addition to the small pistol he dropped?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He collected firearms. Initially, that was why Gerald hoped he might follow him into the army: his love of small arms. But it soon became apparent that collecting guns was the extent of his ambition.’
‘Where does he keep his collection?’
‘In his room.’
‘May we see it?’ asked Pitt.
Mrs Stevens hesitated, then she gave a tug at the bell pull beside her chair. Vera, the maid, appeared.
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘Take them to Mr Piers’ room,’ she ordered.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Pitt pointed to a framed photograph on the sideboard. ‘May we borrow that photograph of your son?’
‘To raise a hue and cry for him?’ she snapped, angry.
‘We do need to find him, ma’am,’ said Pitt. ‘I’ll see that the photograph is returned.’
‘Very well,’ said Mrs Stevens. ‘Will you need to talk to me again after you’ve seen his room?’ she asked.
‘I don’t expect so, ma’am,’ said Pitt. ‘Unless we find anything that raises questions.’
‘I hope you don’t,’ said Mrs Stevens. ‘I would prefer to draw a veil over this whole sordid affair.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Pitt, Daniel and Abigail followed the maid up the wide, ornate staircase and along a corridor to a closed door.
‘This is Mr Piers’ room,’ Vera informed them.
‘Thank you,’ said Pitt.
As the maid withdrew, Abigail whispered to Daniel and Pitt, ‘You two look at the room. I want a word with the maid.’
Abigail hurried after the maid and caught up with her just as she was about to descend the stairs.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I’d like to talk to you about Mr Piers.’
Vera looked nervously down the stairs.
‘I can’t stay,’ she said. ‘The missus will be needing me.’
‘I’ll tell her we asked you to stay in the room while we looked it over to make sure we didn’t interfere with anything,’ said Abigail. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’
‘I’m not sure if I’ve got anything to say, miss,’ said Vera unhappily.
‘I think you might have,’ said Abigail. ‘And it might help Mr Piers.’
Vera hesitated, then gestured at another door. ‘This is the sewing room,’ she said. ‘But it’s hardly used any more.’
Vera led Abigail into the room, and Abigail saw that indeed it was a room made for sewing of all types, but mainly decorative: cross-stitch material was stretched on frames, ready to be patterned; a half-finished tapestry was on another frame; material of different colours hung on hangers; and threads of all sorts, some on spools, some hanging like yarn, decorated the room.
‘Tell me about Mr Piers,’ said Abigail. ‘What sort of person is he?’
‘He’s not a bad person, miss. I know about the shooting, and I’m sorry about that, but he’s not really bad.’
‘He talked to you?’
She nodded. ‘He said I was the only one he could talk to. I was the only one who didn’t frighten him.’
‘He’s frightened of his mother?’
‘And he was frightened of his father. They didn’t like the fact that he’s … sensitive.’
‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you.’
Abigail saw tears appear in the maid’s eyes.
‘It was that club he went to that was the undoing of him,’ she said. ‘The gambling. He wasn’t good at it. He thought he was, he liked to play up this image of a man about town, but he wasn’t really. He lost money, and he had to keep going to his mother to pay his debts. She did, but each time she gave him the most terrible lecture, told him he wasn’t a quarter of the man his father had been and that she only saved him financially to save the family name from disgrace. But each time she threatened that the next time she’d let the bailiffs take him to court.’
‘But she didn’t.’
‘No. Because of the family name.’
‘Did he ever talk about a woman called Eve Lachelle?’
‘Once. After he was questioned by the police about her. He was so upset. He said it hadn’t been him who’d done anything; he’d been named wrongly. He was so angry with her.’
‘Did he say what had happened?’
‘No. He said he couldn’t talk about it, even to me.’ She looked at Abigail appealingly. ‘He didn’t do anything really bad, did he? I know he fired the gun, but that was because he was frightened. He didn’t actually hurt anyone. He won’t go to prison, will he? He couldn’t take it in prison. It would kill him.’
‘I’m sure his mother will get a good lawyer for him, if only to protect the family name. The important thing is to find him before things get worse for him. Can you think of anywhere he might have gone? Friends? People he might turn to?’
‘No, miss. When things got bad for him, he used to say I was the only one he could talk to. I was his only help.’
Daniel and Pitt studied the array of firearms displayed in the two glass cases hanging on the wall of Stevens’ room. In the larger case were two rifles and two shotguns.
‘Purdey, and Holland & Holland,’ noted Pitt. ‘Expensive.’ He peered at the other rifle. ‘Birmingham Small Arms,’ he read.
The other case contained a variety of pistols. There were early single-shot pistols, a matchlock, a wheel lock, a flintlock and a caplock. There were also revolvers: a Colt, and a Smith & Wesson from America, along with a British Webley.
‘A man who loves guns and knows how to use them,’ observed Pitt.
‘With a shaky hand,’ said Daniel. ‘I still have my doubts about Stevens being the killer.’
They set to work examining the contents of the wardrobe and dressing table, but there was little in the way of personal items.
‘Strange, don’t you think, the lack of letters or photographs,’ mused Pitt. ‘He must have had a place where he stashed things that were important to him.’
‘I guess he was too afraid of his mother finding anything that she might use against him,’ said Daniel.
Abigail arrived and asked, ‘Find anything?’
‘Nothing that will help us find him.’ Pitt sighed. ‘Any luck with the maid?’
‘She’s very sympathetic to him and I believe if she knew where he was, she’d tell us, for his safety.’
They went back downstairs, where Vera was waiting with a small parcel.
‘The photograph of Mr Piers,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ said Pitt. ‘I promise we’ll take good care of it and return it as soon as it’s been copied.’
Esther was waiting on the step for them as they left the house, along with the uniformed constable.
‘Well?’ she demanded as soon as they appeared.
Pitt tapped the brown paper parcel. ‘This is a photograph of the man we are seeking in connection with the shooting,’ he said. ‘I’m about to take it to the Oxford Messenger for them to reproduce it.’
‘I can take it!’ offered Esther enthusiastically. ‘I’ll be putting in my story about the shooting.’
Pitt looked doubtful, and once again Abigail stepped in. ‘Can I suggest that Daniel and I talk to Miss Maris about what happened, and vet the story she writes before she takes it to her editor.’
‘I don’t want anything sensational, nor anything that might interfere with the investigation,’ cautioned Pitt.
‘I promise you there won’t be,’ said Abigail. ‘And Daniel has enough experience to know what should go in a story, and what shouldn’t.’
‘Very well,’ said Pitt. ‘In the meantime, I’ll get copies made of this photograph to distribute on handbills. You can come to Kemp Hall and collect it from me later.’
‘Thank you!’ said Esther.
As Inspector Pitt and the constable walked off, Esther turned eagerly to Abigail and Daniel. ‘Where shall we go to talk?’
‘Somewhere private,’ said Daniel. ‘Our office at the Ashmolean.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Back in their office, Daniel and Abigail related the events of the shooting and the resulting search for Piers Stevens that was currently under way to Esther, while she wrote frantically in her notebook.
‘There,’ said Abigail when they’d finished. ‘Now remember, we need to read it and approve it before you take it to your editor. We don’t want anything appearing that might alert the suspects in the case of Gavin Everett’s death.’
‘Who are the suspects?’ asked Esther. ‘Apart from this Piers Stevens.’
Abigail looked questioningly at Daniel, who nodded for her to go ahead.
‘We can’t be specific at this moment,’ said Abigail, ‘but after what’s just happened, obviously Inspector Pitt sees this Piers Stevens as his main suspect. Then there’s the subject you overheard Inspector Grafton talking about, so the Boers offer another aspect. And there’s also the one I mentioned to you before, a titled local family who might have an original Shakespeare play in their possession.’
‘The ones I’m going to interview.’ Esther smiled.
‘But none of those last two should appear in your story,’ stressed Daniel. ‘Concentrate on Piers Stevens.’
‘I will,’ Esther promised. ‘And I’ll tell you what, I’ll write it here, right now. I need to get it to Mr Pinker as fast as I can to make sure it’s in the first edition for tomorrow.’
Abigail again looked questioningly at Daniel, who nodded.
‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘We have to go along the corridor and bring Mr Marriott up to date, so you can use this office.’
As they made their way along the corridor to Marriott’s office, Daniel murmured, ‘So you decided not to tell her about the forgeries at the Ashmolean.’
‘No, that would be a betrayal of Mr Marriott’s trust. We can’t risk the possibility that the information might leak out, and it would seriously damage the Ashmolean’s reputation.’
‘But if it does turn out to be the motive behind Everett’s death?’ asked Daniel.
Abigail shrugged. ‘In that case, we have to tell her. But we’ll wait and see what happens.’
They arrived at Marriott’s door, knocked, and at his call of ‘Come in!’, entered.
‘Ah, good,’ he said. ‘I was just about to make my way to see you to find out if there was any news.’
‘Yes, there has been,’ said Daniel. ‘As you know, we’ve tried to keep you informed of developments as the case unfolds, but without disturbing you the whole time.’
‘Yes, and I appreciate that,’ said Marriott. ‘But do I understand from the fact you’re saying this, and from the concerned expression on your faces, that something unpleasant has happened that might reflect adversely on the Ashmolean?’
‘Something unpleasant has happened, but it won’t impinge in any way on the Ashmolean. In fact, there’s no need for the museum to feature, but a story will be coming out in tomorrow’s Oxford Messenger about shots being fired at us.’
‘Shots?’ repeated Marriott in alarm.
‘You remember we told you about a man called Piers Stevens, who we believed that Gavin Everett was blackmailing?’
Marriott nodded.
‘We approached Mr Stevens to ask him some questions, and he pulled out a gun and fired at us. Fortunately, neither of us was hurt, but the story will be in the paper tomorrow. However, there’ll be no mention of the Ashmolean,’ he added hastily. ‘The shooting is connected with another matter.’
‘What other matter?’
‘We believe that this man Stevens killed a woman, a waitress who worked at the Quill Club, and Everett was either a witness or discovered the truth about it.’
‘And that was why he was blackmailing Stevens?’
‘Yes, that’s our belief.’
Marriott sat and let this information sink in. ‘This gets worse,’ he said at last.
‘Yes, I’m afraid it does.’
‘But you’re sure you’re alright? Neither of you was harmed?’
‘My sleeve was damaged,’ said Daniel with a rueful grin, ‘but fortunately nothing else.’
‘And this man, Stevens? Is he in police custody?’
‘No, he managed to run away. The police have launched a search for him.’
‘Do they think he was the one who killed Everett?’
‘Inspector Pitt does, but I disagree,’ said Daniel.
‘So, what’s next?’ asked Marriott.
‘The hue and cry over Stevens will be set in motion, and in the meantime Miss Fenton and I will pursue the other possible motives.’
‘The forgeries that Everett was involved in?’ said Marriott with distaste.
‘That’s one angle,’ agreed Daniel. ‘Although you can rest assured we’ve made sure nothing about that will appear in the press.’
‘We still have the business of the titled lady with the Shakespeare play, and Inspector Grafton’s idea that the Boers may be behind his killing,’ added Abigail.
Marriott shook his head slowly.
‘I should have seen through him,’ he said sadly. ‘If I had, none of this would be happening.’
‘You can’t blame yourself, Mr Marriott,’ Abigail assured him. ‘He was eminently plausible to so many people.’
‘A consummate confidence trickster,’ added Daniel. ‘But one whose web of deceit finally caught up with him.’
Superintendent Clare studied the photograph of Piers Stevens that Inspector Pitt had handed him.
‘A sad case,’ he said. ‘He looks so young and innocent. Quite naive, in fact.’
‘I believe he was,’ said Pitt. ‘But he fell into bad company.’
‘This Gavin Everett?’
‘Not just him,’ said Pitt. ‘I feel that the Quill Club is at the centre of this.’
‘It’s said to be very respectable,’ said Clare. ‘Many of the members are very important people.’
‘That may be, but I don’t trust the manager there, Vance de Witt. I had my doubts about him before, over the Eve Lachelle case.’
