Murder at the Ashmolean, page 17
It was with a feeling of frustration that Daniel arrived back at their office at the Ashmolean. Abigail was sitting at the desk, looking – he thought – smug and pleased with herself.
‘I gather from your expression that you had a successful chat with Esther,’ he said. ‘You made her feel better?’
Abigail smiled. ‘Better than that. I had a successful chat with the editor of the Oxford Messenger, pointing out to him the error of his ways in taking the byline away from Esther and giving it to someone who had no involvement in the story.’
Daniel chuckled. ‘I wish I’d been there. You giving a newspaper editor a ticking off would have made my day. I’d also have told him he was lucky you didn’t beat him up.’
‘I do not beat people up,’ retorted Abigail primly.
‘Yes, you do,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ve seen you beat up two men. In fact, I was wondering if you’d ever thought of taking up prizefighting as an extra career.’
‘I assume from your expression when you came in that your trip to Goddard’s shop was unsuccessful.’
Daniel sighed. ‘Sadly, you’re right. He’s done a runner, and according to Madame Angel of the occult shop next door, there’s no way of knowing for how long, or where he’s gone. I did get his address from her, but his landlord said the same: Mr Goddard left abruptly after settling up his rent to date, leaving no forwarding address.’
‘We seem to be causing a mass exodus from Oxford just by asking questions,’ observed Abigail. ‘Albert, the bar manager at the Quill Club. Piers Stevens. And now Josiah Goddard.’
‘If Goddard is innocent as he claimed to be, why did he flee?’ asked Daniel.
‘Because he knows we’d have found out that he lied about not knowing Everett,’ said Abigail.
‘Obviously.’ Daniel nodded. ‘He knew we’d check up on that and return. But he still could have insisted that making the copies for Everett was all he did.’
‘Unless he ran because he killed Everett,’ suggested Abigail.
‘What’s his motive?’
‘Thieves falling out. He felt he was being cheated by Everett over the amount he was getting for making the copies.’
‘It still doesn’t make sense to kill him. Goddard was making money from it. If he kills Everett, that source of income dries up.’
‘Perhaps he threatened Everett with a gun, not meaning to kill him, and the gun went off accidentally.’
‘It’s possible,’ said Daniel, but his face showed his doubt.
‘The question is, do we tell Inspector Pitt about Goddard?’ asked Abigail.
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘He’s hard stretched as it is. He’s got a hue and cry going for Piers Stevens, as well as trying to find Albert the bar manager. Not to mention any other cases he’ll be working on, and from my experience when I was a detective, there’ll be plenty of those. Plus, if we tell him about Goddard, we’ll have to tell him about the fake artefacts here at the Ashmolean, and you were reluctant to let that information out, out of respect for Gladstone Marriott and the reputation of the museum.’
‘Yes, true.’ Abigail nodded. ‘I agree, for the moment we’ll keep it to ourselves while we try and track down Goddard. But if it turns out that he is the person who killed Everett …’
‘In that case, we’ll have to tell the inspector everything,’ Daniel finished.
‘So, what’s our next move?’ asked Abigail.
‘I thought I’d tail Inspector Grafton,’ said Daniel.
‘You think that might lead anywhere?’
‘Well, we’ve drawn a blank with our other options. Inspector Pitt is searching for Piers Stevens, we don’t know where Josiah Goddard has vanished to, and until Esther actually does her interviews with the two women …’ He searched his memory for the names.
‘The Duchess of Charlbury and Baroness Whichford,’ Abigail reminded him.
‘Yes. There’s not a lot we can do until Esther reports back on which of those two is likely to be the mystery lady with the alleged Shakespeare play for sale. So, I thought I’d check out what Grafton has been up to. In case there is anything in the Boer connection he talked about.’
‘You think that’s a possibility?’
‘To be honest, no. But I learnt from bitter experience during my years on the force not to dismiss things, however remote. You never know where things might lead. What about you?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Abigail. ‘I might go and see Esther again, chase her up about getting those interviews. And make sure her spirits are still positive.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
First Daniel checked that Inspector Grafton was still in his room at the Swan Inn by running his eye over the board where the room keys were kept and noting that the key to Grafton’s room was not there. That done, he went back out into the street and moved to a position down the street from the hotel entrance and in the cover of a doorway. He had to wait over an hour before his quarry appeared from the hotel. Grafton didn’t even bother to look around to check if he was being followed.
Daniel followed the Special Branch inspector along a few streets until they arrived in the very same expensive area where Piers Stevens lived, and where he’d shot at Daniel.
Was Grafton heading for Stevens’ house? Daniel wondered. If so, why? As far as Daniel was aware, Stevens had no Boer connections, and the Boers seemed to be the main thrust of Grafton’s investigation.
But instead of making for Stevens’ house, Grafton headed for an imposing residence in its own grounds set apart from the other houses. Instead of going to the front door, the inspector moved into the shadows from a few trees whose branches hung over one of the walls surrounding the house.
So, he’s watching the house, mused Daniel. Why? Whose house is it? Is he waiting for a contact of his to come out?
Daniel waited and watched from a corner. The inspector stood in the shadows, also waiting.
That’s what we policemen spend so much of our time doing, reflected Daniel: just waiting and watching and trying to be inconspicuous.
The time passed, and Daniel wondered how long he’d have to be there, like the inspector, waiting and watching, but after about half an hour a woman appeared from a side entrance.
A servant, decided Daniel. A lady of the house would come out through the front door. The woman was middle-aged and carrying a large and empty basket. Doing errands, decided Daniel. Most likely shopping.
As Daniel watched, Grafton detached himself from his surveillance point and stepped into the path of the woman, causing her to halt. At the same time, Grafton reached into his pocket.
What’s going on? wondered Daniel.
‘One moment, if you please, madam,’ said Grafton tersely. He produced his warrant card and showed it to her, saying ‘Police. Scotland Yard.’
The woman stared at him.
‘Scotland Yard!’ she burst out, horrified.
‘Ssh!’ he said sharply. ‘This is a delicate operation. I saw you come out of Lord Chessington’s house. I assume you work there?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m his housekeeper. Mrs Brent.’
‘What I’m about to ask you concerns Lord Chessington, but is not to be repeated to anyone, and that includes his lordship. If you do, you will be in breach of government secrets. Do I make myself clear?’
The poor woman began to tremble. ‘I’ve not done anything, sir. I’ve always been law-abiding. I’m a poor widow woman who’s just doing a job to earn a crust.’
‘Yes,’ said Grafton dismissively. ‘You won’t be in any trouble as long as you answer my questions honestly. Does Lord Chessington have anything to do with Boers?’
Mrs Brent looked at him, bewildered.
‘Boars?’ she repeated. ‘Pigs?’
Grafton stared at her, equally bewildered, until the penny dropped.
‘Not pigs,’ he grunted, annoyed. ‘Boers as in people from South Africa. We were at war with them, if you remember.’
Mrs Brent shook her head. ‘Not me, sir. I’ve never been at war with anybody. My last husband was in the war with the French, but that was years ago.’
Patiently, Grafton said, ‘Lord Chessington has business interests in South Africa, doesn’t he.’
‘I believe he has, sir, but he’s never talked about them to me. I’m only the housekeeper.’
‘Who does he talk about them to?’
‘No one really, sir. I only know about them because I heard him mention something about his shares going down when he was reading the business papers.’
‘Who was he talking to?’
‘His butler, William. William’s been with him years. His lordship was upset about it. The shares, I mean. He said something about pulling out of …’ She frowned as she struggled to remember the right word. ‘It sounded like Tenvale, or something. Tunvale?’
‘The Transvaal?’ prompted Grafton.
She nodded. ‘Yes, that was it. But the next day he was much happier, his shares had gone up again.’
‘Did he ever meet any South Africans?’
‘I suppose he must have when he was in South Africa.’
‘I mean since he’s been back in England,’ said Grafton impatiently.
‘Oh, sir, he’s been back in England for years.’
‘And have any South Africans ever visited him at his house?’
‘Not to my knowledge, sir. If they did, they didn’t come while I was there.’ She looked anxiously along the street and asked, ‘Is that all, sir? Only I’ve got to get the things for his lordship’s supper, and the butcher sells out of the best cuts very quickly.’
‘Just one last question: where does Lord Chessington keep the documents to do with his business dealings? Does he have an office in Oxford?’
‘No, sir, he doesn’t need one. He does all his business from his home. He has his office at the back of the house, next to the conservatory.’
‘Is it kept locked?’
‘Oh yes, sir. He’s the only one allowed in. None of us servants ever go in, except Millie the cleaning maid, and she can only go in when his lordship’s there in the room.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Brent. You’ve been very helpful. You may go now and get to the butcher’s. But remember what I said, you’re not to tell anyone about this conversation. Is that clear?’
Daniel watched the woman scurry away. He was tempted to go after her, ask her what Grafton had wanted with her, but the inspector had obviously terrified the poor woman and he didn’t want to make her distress worse. Also, it was quite likely that Grafton had asked her to tell him if anyone questioned her about their meeting, threatening her with jail if she didn’t. That was certainly Grafton’s way: intimidation of those he thought he could bully. And Daniel didn’t want Grafton alerted to the fact that he was following him.
He wondered whose house it was that Grafton had been watching, and out of which the woman had come. He strolled back to the house and stood admiring it. It was a large house, built in the Georgian style, with a well-stocked, colourful garden at the side. A series of short steps led up from the pavement to the black wood front door adorned with brass furnishings in the form of a knocker, letter box and door handle, with a brass bell pull set at one side in the brick doorpost. A fence of ornate metal railings ran the length of the property, and a high brick wall protected the back of the house from intruders.
As Daniel stood there, he saw a postman approaching, a bulging sack hanging from his shoulder.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I was just admiring that magnificent house there and wondered to whom it belonged.’
‘That house?’ said the postman. ‘Why, that’s Lord Chessington’s. One of the richest men in Oxford.’ He scowled. ‘It’s only the rich what can afford a place as plush as that.’
With that, he moved on.
Lord Chessington, thought Daniel. The name that Esther had mentioned to them when she reported Grafton’s conversation with the editor of the Oxford Messenger. So, Lord Chessington was Grafton’s quarry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ever since she’d discovered that one fake exhibit among the ancient Egyptian artefacts in the glass display case, Abigail had taken every opportunity to carry on examining the other items on display, when she wasn’t involved in directly investigating the death of Gavin Everett. Her immediate examination of the other artefacts had exposed three other fakes, one Egyptian and two ancient Greek. All four of the fakes had been decorated plates. Without examining every item in the museum in minute detail, she had to admit to herself that she couldn’t be sure there were no others. She’d discounted the Native American costumes on display; the work in them was so intricate it would have cost more than the originals were worth to make copies of them. Similarly with most of the sculptures, although it was possible that wax impressions of some of the small metal pieces could have been made and copies cast in the moulds. But, again, Abigail felt that was unlikely; the cost of a smelting process and the artistry and skill needed to make a perfect copy would be expensive. As far as she could tell, Everett’s scheme had been to make copies as cheaply as possible.
She paused before a display case in the Greek Room and reflected that this particular item was absolutely not a copy. It was the Parian Chronicle, also known as the Parian Marble. Discovered on the island of Paros and bought by an agent of the Earl of Arundel in the seventeenth century, and later presented to Oxford University, the marble tablet chronicled events in ancient Greece from 1582BC to 299BC. Here were entries for events that were legendary – the Trojan War, the Voyage of the Argonauts – often considered to be myths but inscribed in detail here as historical facts. As always, when gazing upon a direct and tangible link with the ancient world, Abigail was filled with a sense of awe and wonder.
‘The Parian Marble,’ said a voice close by her, reading the identifying label. It was Esther. ‘It’s not very easy to read the inscription on it, is it,’ she added.
‘It needs work to do it, but it can be done. In fact, it was done by John Selden, who deciphered it quite brilliantly soon after it came to London.’ She gave a smile of delight. ‘Wonderful, isn’t it!’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Esther, but without the same enthusiasm. Then her tone brightened in expectation as she said, ‘I got your note asking me to call. Has anything happened?’
‘No, just that I thought it better if we met here rather than me come to the Messenger office,’ said Abigail. ‘Especially in view of the conversation I had with your Mr Pinker.’
‘Yes, that was strange,’ said Esther. ‘Whatever you said must have done something to him, because he was nice to me.’
‘That’s good,’ said Abigail.
‘But it was strange,’ said Esther, puzzled. ‘He’s not usually kind to me. I get the impression he thinks I’m an encumbrance.’
‘Take the opportunity while it’s there,’ Abigail advised her. ‘While he’s being kind and considerate, now’s the time to press for one of your news stories to get into the paper, and under your own name.’
‘I’m still not sure if he’ll agree,’ said Esther doubtfully.
‘Oh, I think he might,’ said Abigail. She looked around to check that there was no one else within earshot, then lowered her voice to say, ‘Although the thing I wanted to ask was how the interviews with the Duchess of Charlbury and Baroness Whichford are going.’
‘Actually, I’m seeing the duchess today.’ Esther beamed. ‘So, I was going to come to see you anyway to ask what sort of things you think I should question her about.’
‘The same sort of things you asked me,’ said Abigail.
‘Yes, but this is different,’ said Esther. ‘We’re trying to find out if she’s the one selling the Shakespeare play. So, should I mention something about it?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ said Abigail. ‘At least, not directly. If she is the one selling it, it’ll make her suspicious.’
‘But if she starts acting suspiciously that will mean she’s the one,’ said Esther.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Abigail. ‘There’s lots of reasons why people act suspiciously. Perhaps you can mention how long her husband’s family have been in the area, and the famous people they must have known in the past.’
‘Like Shakespeare!’
‘Yes, but it would be too obvious to say his name. Perhaps mention other famous playwrights of the time.’
‘I don’t know any others,’ said Esther.
‘Christopher Marlowe,’ said Abigail.
‘Oh yes, I’ve heard of him,’ said Esther. ‘Doctor Faustus.’
‘Doctor Faustus?’ said Daniel, suddenly joining them. ‘This sounds like a very literary conversation.’
Abigail shot a look of censure at Esther. ‘We were talking too loudly,’ she said. ‘We’ll make sure we hold these conversations in the office in future.’
‘All I heard was talk about Christopher Marlowe and Doctor Faustus,’ said Daniel.
‘Yes, but someone else might have heard the earlier part of our conversation,’ said Abigail, concerned.
‘There was no one else but you two here in this room when I arrived,’ Daniel reassured her. ‘But if there’s anything we three need to discuss …’
‘Not really,’ said Esther. She smiled. ‘I’m just off to do my interview with the Duchess of Charlbury.’
‘Of which there’s no more to be said until you return,’ said Abigail firmly.
‘Of course.’ Esther beamed. ‘I’ll see you later.’
After she’d gone, Abigail let out a rueful groan. ‘I’m such an idiot. I should have insisted that we didn’t talk about anything until we’d got to the office.’
‘That’s no guarantee of anything,’ Daniel pointed out as he led the way towards the stairs. ‘Remember, Esther picked up much of her information by listening at doors.’
Neither spoke until they were back in the office and the door was firmly shut.
‘I think Inspector Grafton is planning another burglary,’ said Daniel. ‘This time at Lord Chessington’s house.’
