Murder at the Ashmolean, page 24
Abigail had elected to sit by a side wall of the interview room and observe, while Daniel and Inspector Pitt conducted the questioning. The men sat side by side at a table. Piers Stevens was brought in by a constable, who placed him on the empty chair on the other side of the table, then went to stand guard by the door, ready to spring into action if the prisoner showed any sign of fight.
There’ll be no need for that, reflected Abigail. She didn’t think she’d seen so miserable a person as Piers Stevens. The way he sat, cowed, made her think of a depressed hamster, hunched over, his hair matted, his clothes stained, and his body giving off a pungent smell from the lack of bathing.
‘We know that you killed Eve Lachelle and that Everett was blackmailing you because of it,’ said Daniel.
Stevens said nothing, just sat, trembling.
‘We found Everett’s diary,’ added Daniel gently.
At this, Stevens let out a howl of anguish and lowered his head to the table. Abigail and Pitt both shot sharp looks at Daniel, but he shook his head, his attention on Stevens.
‘It was an accident,’ moaned Stevens, sitting back upright. ‘Does he say that? He must say that!’
‘Tell us about the accident,’ said Daniel.
Stevens fell silent, sagging on the chair, then he swallowed and said, ‘It was her fault. She shouldn’t have named me. That was wrong. It wasn’t me! I never attacked her! I came in when the others were finishing with her, but I never touched her.’
‘Where was this?’ asked Pitt.
‘The storeroom at the back of the club.’ He shook his head. ‘She shouldn’t have named me. That was unfair!’
‘But she’d retracted her statement.’
‘It made no difference! She’d named me!’
‘And so you confronted her about it,’ said Daniel.
Stevens nodded. ‘It was a few days later. I was at the club and she was there. I was still so angry, and when she went into the back room where all the crates are stored, I followed her and told her off.’
‘Had you had much to drink?’ asked Daniel.
Stevens hesitated, then nodded again. ‘I couldn’t have faced her like that if I’d been sober. I got angry with her and … and I hit her. Just a slap across the face because I was so angry, but she fell and hit her head on the corner of one of the beer crates. That was it. It was an accident!’
‘But you panicked,’ said Daniel.
‘Yes. And then Gavin Everett came in. He’d been standing by the door and he said he’d seen what happened. I begged him to come with me to the police, tell them it was an accident, but he said they’d never believe me. He said we had to get rid of her body, tell everyone she’d gone away. He said he’d arrange everything.’
‘And you let him?’
‘I was scared! In a panic! She was dead, and I’d killed her, and even though it was an accident, Everett said they’d hang me because the rape charges she’d made against me and the others gave me a motive for killing her. To silence her. I didn’t know what to do. I was confused.’
‘How did you get rid of the body?’ asked Pitt.
‘Doesn’t Everett say in his diary?’
Pitt looked at Daniel, who shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Then I’m not saying,’ said Stevens. ‘Without her body you haven’t got any evidence.’
‘We’ve just heard you confess,’ said Daniel. ‘Three of us. That’s evidence enough.’ When he saw the anguish in Stevens, twisting the young man’s face, he said in the same gentle tone, ‘We’ve been told you’re a good man with a good heart.’
‘Who said that?’ he said, scornfully.
‘Your mother’s maid, Vera,’ said Daniel.
At this, all the defiance seemed to go out of Stevens and he sagged in the chair again.
‘She was the only one who was ever kind to me,’ he mumbled.
‘She saw the goodness in you,’ continued Daniel. ‘And I believe her.’
Stevens looked at Daniel, surprised. ‘You do?’
‘I do. And that’s why I ask you, as a good and honest man, to tell us where we can find Eve Lachelle’s body so that we can return it to her family for proper burial. They have that right.’
‘She didn’t have any family,’ said Stevens.
‘Everyone has family somewhere,’ said Daniel. ‘And surely, as a human being, she has the right to a proper burial, with a headstone to mark the fact that she lived. If you do have the good heart that Vera says you have, and that I also believe you have, then tell us where Eve Lachelle’s body is so that she can be properly laid to rest. You owe her that.’
Stevens sat, silent, his head bowed, then finally said, ‘She’s out on some waste ground at Summertown.’
‘Do you know where?’
Stevens nodded, his head still bowed, unable to face them.
‘Did you go with Everett when he buried her?’ asked Pitt.
Stevens nodded again. ‘Everett and another man. I don’t know his name. I’d never seen him before, or since.’ Suddenly he raised his head and they saw the tears spilling out of his eyes and running down his cheeks. ‘I didn’t want to go with them, but Everett made me. It was … horrible. They … they wrapped her in a blanket and tied it up with rope. She was put on the back of a cart. The other man drove it, and Everett and I sat in the back. When we got there, they carried her and dumped her in a pond.’
‘A pond?’ queried Pitt.
‘It was marshy ground. There were a few ponds.’
‘But you know which one they put her in?’
Stevens nodded and hung his head again.
‘I remember everything about it. The path. The trees. There were rabbits. They put her in a small, deep pond by some trees.’
‘We’ll need you to show us,’ said Pitt.
Stevens looked at them appealingly.
‘Do I have to?’ he begged.
‘We won’t find her without you showing us which pond,’ said Pitt gently.
‘You’re doing this for Eve,’ said Daniel. ‘To say sorry to her. And then she’ll forgive you.’
Stevens suddenly broke down, crumpling on the chair so that his head lay on the table as he cried, his body heaving with his sobbing.
Pitt looked at Daniel and Abigail.
‘I’ll make the arrangements for a party to go out there and recover her,’ he told them. ‘In the meantime, we’ll return Mr Stevens to his cell while we talk to our next guest.’ He turned to the constable. ‘Take him back to his cell but be gentle with him.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The constable nodded. He went to the sobbing Stevens and tapped him gently on the shoulder. ‘Come on, sir. I’ll help you back to your cell.’
As Stevens pushed himself to his feet, his posture a picture of misery, Pitt told him, ‘Thank you, Mr Stevens. I’ve just got a few things to sort out, and then we’ll travel to Summertown. And if everything is as you say, we’ll see that you get fair representation.’
The constable led Stevens out of the room, and Abigail turned to Daniel and said accusingly, ‘You lied to him. You said we’d found Everett’s diary.’
‘I didn’t say it said anything about him killing Eve Lachelle,’ said Daniel.
‘But it was still a lie.’
‘It was an exaggeration,’ said Daniel. ‘Like your story you told those women of working for a solicitor to give Eve Lachelle her inheritance.’
‘And it got us what we wanted: a confession,’ said Pitt. ‘And, more importantly, the place where the body was buried.’ He stood up. ‘Now, let’s see what Josiah Goddard has to say for himself. And, after this last one, I suggest you take the lead again, Daniel. But this time with Miss Fenton sharing the questioning. After all, you are the history expert.’
Goddard was brought from his cell to the interview room, still handcuffed.
‘Are these necessary?’ he demanded, angrily.
Pitt looked at the constable who’d accompanied Goddard.
‘He started to get difficult, sir,’ explained the constable. ‘Verbal abuse. So I thought it best to restrain him as a precaution in case he tried to escape.’
‘Quite right.’ Pitt nodded. ‘But I think you can take them off now.’
The constable unlocked the handcuffs, and Goddard sat down in the same chair that Piers Stevens had occupied only moments before, but the difference in attitude of the two men was very marked. Whereas Stevens had been beaten down and distraught, Goddard was aggressively defiant.
Abigail had now moved to join Daniel and Inspector Pitt at the table across from Goddard. It was Daniel who opened the questioning.
‘You were seen hanging about outside the Ashmolean just before Everett was shot,’ he said.
‘Well, that was nothing to do with me,’ said Goddard. ‘I didn’t shoot him.’
‘But you went to see him.’
Goddard hesitated, then nodded. ‘He owed me money,’ he said.
‘For the copies you made for him,’ said Abigail.
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve seen the financial ledger. He paid you as you delivered each one.’
Goddard hesitated, then mumbled, ‘Yes, but not enough. I didn’t realise what he was using them for at first.’
‘Putting them on display at the museum in place of the originals?’ asked Abigail.
‘He told me he wanted them as replacements in case the originals needed to be taken out for cleaning. But I saw that some of my copies were on permanent display. So, what had happened to the originals? I knew then that he was selling them to private collectors.’
‘So you challenged him?’
‘I did. I told him I knew what he was up to and I wanted my share. He said I was already getting enough from selling the other copies I made. I said that was a separate business, and I wasn’t making as much from them as he was from selling the originals.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He challenged me to prove he was selling the originals. I said I didn’t need to, all I had to do was tell Mr Marriott some of the stuff on display had been done by me, and I could prove it, and he’d have difficult questions to answer.’ He gave a sly grin. ‘That made him change his tune. He said he’d think about it.’
‘And?’ prompted Daniel, as Goddard fell silent.
‘Well, after a week or so when I hadn’t heard anything, I went back to see him. He said he was still thinking about it. I told him the time for thinking was over. I wanted a share of what he’d made. He said he was still waiting for the people to pay him the money, but he’d settle with me once he’d got it. I wanted to know how much. He said he’d give me ten per cent of what he’d got. I said it wasn’t enough, I wanted half. After all, I was the one who’d done the work. In the end, we settled on a quarter for my share. The trouble was, I didn’t know what he’d sold the pieces for, and I didn’t trust him. So, I set about trying to find out who might have bought them.’
‘And did you find out?’
Goddard shook his head. ‘No. I don’t move in those kind of rich circles. But I just knew Everett was trying to cheat me. When I still hadn’t got the money I was owed, I went back to see him, but I decided to wait until everyone had gone. I didn’t want anyone coming in and overhearing what we were talking about.’
‘And that was the day he was shot,’ said Daniel.
‘Yes, but it wasn’t me! He was alive when I left his office!’ Then he suddenly remembered something. ‘I can prove it. There was a woman who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when I came down. The only person she could have been waiting for was Everett because he was the only person in the building. Find her. She’ll tell you he was still alive when I left.’
‘Who was this woman?’
‘I don’t know. I’d never seen her before.’
‘Describe her.’
‘I can’t. She had a hood over her head, so I couldn’t see her face. But I could tell she was a proper lady by the clothes she wore. She had on a long cloak, and her shoes must have cost a pretty penny. I notice things like that because I’m an artist.’
‘The copies you made,’ said Abigail. ‘You must have done drawings of the originals.’
‘Not just drawings,’ said Goddard. ‘Proper reproductions, with all the right colours where they should be.’
‘And you did these in a sketchbook, I presume,’ said Abigail.
‘Of course,’ said Goddard. ‘Just like any artist would.’
‘We’ll need those sketchbooks.’
‘Why?’ demanded Goddard. ‘They’re mine, and they’re precious.’
‘They may also be what stops you going to jail,’ said Abigail. ‘Providing you make a note against those sketches to show which ones Everett asked you to make copies of.’
‘You’re going to try and recover the originals?’ said Goddard.
‘We’ll do our best,’ said Abigail.
Goddard shook his head. ‘Like I’ve already said, I don’t know who Everett sold the originals to, so I can’t see how you can.’
‘That’s up to us,’ Abigail told him. ‘But what I can promise you is that if you don’t give us your sketchbooks, with the notes of which ones Everett asked you specifically to copy, we’ll see that you go to prison for a very long time.’
‘On what charge?’ demanded Goddard. He turned to Inspector Pitt, who’d stayed silent during all this. ‘Copying ain’t illegal!’
‘Conspiracy to defraud is,’ said Daniel. ‘As is conspiracy to commit theft. And, as a former Scotland Yard detective, I can assure you that the courts go very hard on any conspiracy charge. Hard labour is assured, and there’s the serious possibility of transportation.’
Goddard swallowed hard and looked at them, agitated. ‘And if I give you my sketchbooks?’
‘That will help convince us you weren’t an accomplice to any crime, but an unknowing dupe who’d been conned by Everett.’
‘And I’ll get off?’
‘That depends on Inspector Pitt,’ said Abigail. She looked at Pitt. ‘What do you think, Inspector?’
‘If these sketchbooks are handed over and they help in solving a crime, I’m sure that might go a long way to convince us that you were, as Miss Fenton has just said, an unwilling dupe in this case, and therefore innocent.’ He looked directly at their prisoner. ‘Well, Mr Goddard?’
‘If you come with me to my shop, I’ll give ’em to you,’ said Goddard. Then he added sharply, ‘But I want ’em back after!’
‘Good,’ said Pitt. ‘However, at this moment we have another journey to make. When we’ve done that, we’ll take you to your shop.’
‘You mean I’ve got to stay locked up here!’ said Goddard, aghast.
‘Only for a while,’ said Pitt. ‘It will give you a chance to think about your situation if you hadn’t decided to help us. If that had been the case, you’d have been occupying a cell for much longer, and in a far harsher environment than a police station.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Daniel and Abigail rode in the interior of the police van, along with two uniformed constables. Inspector Pitt sat at the front with Piers Stevens, who was sandwiched between him and the driver.
A long-based hearse from a local funeral director’s followed the police van.
‘Isn’t it strange for Everett to have taken Stevens with them when they disposed of Eve Lachelle’s body?’ asked Abigail, puzzled. ‘Surely he would have wanted the dumping place kept secret from Stevens in case he revealed it.’
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘It was part of Everett’s strategy to keep Stevens under his control. You saw the effect the whole business has had on Stevens: it’s made him a wreck. Making him witness the body being dumped like that would have made him feel absolutely dreadful. Terrible guilt. And, by going with them, it implicated him in the whole business. No, Everett knew what he was doing alright. He knew how weak Stevens was and this was all part of him tightening the screws.’
The van lurched slightly, then began to shudder and jerk as it rolled forward. Daniel took a look out of one of the small, barred windows.
‘We’ve left the road. We’re going along a rough track that runs at the back of a church, passing a graveyard, by the look of it.’
The journey got bumpier, and Daniel, Abigail and the two constables took firm hold of the bars in the rear compartment to stop themselves from being thrown from their seats. Finally, the vehicle stopped. There was a knock on the roof, then Pitt’s voice called, ‘We’re here. All down.’
One of the constables let Daniel and Abigail out first, then the two policemen began to gather the equipment up they’d brought with them in the van: two spades and a grappling hook on a rope.
Stevens and Pitt had already dismounted, the young man looking tiny and shrunken beside the tall figure of the inspector. Daniel and Abigail stayed back and watched as Stevens led the way across the uneven ground, stumbling now and then. Pitt and Stevens were making for a small clump of trees, and finally they stopped. Pitt raised his arm and called for the others to join them.
Daniel and Abigail let the constables and the four funeral directors go first, then followed in their wake. The ground beneath their feet was soft and squelchy, and there were various places where the water from the ponds on either side of the narrow path had turned the path to mud. The funeral directors carried a long wooden box between them, using a handle at each corner.
‘Careful you don’t slip,’ cautioned Daniel.
‘When I was in Egypt—’ began Abigail.
‘Yes, alright. You’ve done this kind of thing before.’ Daniel sighed.
Pitt and Stevens were standing beside a pond filled with reeds and grasses.
‘Here,’ said Stevens, pointing.
