Murder at the Ashmolean, page 27
Chessington shook his head.
‘A terrible situation,’ he said. ‘I thank you for informing me of it, but I’m not sure that I’m involved in this. Yes, I am a collector, but I’ve always made my purchases from bona fide sources.’
Abigail weighed up her next move, and then, with a silent apology to Daniel for her accusation to him of lying to Piers Stevens, she said, ‘The other – and most vital – piece of evidence we have is Everett’s journal, in which he lists his transactions. The particular item. The date of the sale. The amount. And, most importantly, the name of the person he sold it to.’
Chessington returned her look, but she could see from his eyes and the way a nerve in the side of his face twitched the inner turmoil this last statement caused him.
‘You say this man who made the copies is under arrest,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Does that mean this journal is in the possession of the police?’
‘Not yet,’ said Abigail. ‘Mr Marriott and I decided that this information belonged to the Ashmolean, as the frauds and the sales were committed using their property, and Everett was an employee.’
Chessington fell silent again.
‘This is very dangerous news,’ he said at last.
‘Dangerous, to whom, my lord?’ she asked. ‘To the people who are named in the journal … or to the people who know the information?’
When Chessington didn’t reply immediately, Abigail added, ‘My partner in this case, Mr Wilson, believes you to be a dangerous person. He believes that perhaps you shot Inspector Grafton to prevent him from revealing what he discovered in your private study, namely that you had the original artefacts there.’ When he still didn’t respond but kept his face turned away from her, she said, ‘Because of that, he advised me against telling you this piece of information. He also has seen the journal, and if anything should happen to me …’
‘You believe I would harm you?!’ said Chessington, suddenly angry and getting to his feet.
‘No, but Mr Wilson does,’ said Abigail. ‘He wonders why, if you had intended to wound Inspector Grafton, as you said, you fired the shot into his chest rather than aiming at a leg or an arm, where there was less likelihood of you killing him.’
Chessington let out a groan, then said, no longer angry, ‘Because I do not like guns and I am unused to handling them. Yes, I have one for my protection because, like many successful businessmen, I know I’m a target for burglars, but mostly it is for show. I did not have confidence that a shot aimed at the man’s limbs would actually strike home, whereas a shot aimed at the body would.’ He sat down, still avoiding her gaze. ‘In fact, you are both right. I would not harm you. But I can be, as your partner says, a dangerous man to cross. I would kill to protect what is mine and dear to me.’ He paused, then dropped his head before saying, ‘Many years ago I killed a man in South Africa. It was not murder, it was self-defence.’
‘Just like with Inspector Grafton?’
‘No, this was different. This man – his name was Benjamin – thought I had double-crossed him in a business deal. I hadn’t, but those were rough times in a rough country, and justice in the goldfields of the Transvaal was equally rough in nature. He came at me with a knife, intending to kill me. There was a struggle, and he died, stabbed with his own knife.
‘Benjamin had friends in the Transvaal and I knew they’d be coming after me, so I decided to leave and return to England. But I kept my business interests out there. I appointed a manager to be my contact in the Transvaal, and that’s the way it’s operated ever since.’ Chessington looked directly at Abigail and asked, ‘Will Everett’s journal be handed to the police?’
‘That depends,’ said Abigail. ‘Mr Marriott and I have discussed the situation and we feel that there is little to be gained by having a public trial of the people involved.’
‘And the people who bought these items may have done so in good faith!’ said Chessington desperately.
‘If these items were copied to order, we feel that would be an unlikely defence,’ said Abigail.
Again, Chessington fell into thought, then he said, ‘You don’t know how lucky you are, Miss Fenton, to have been able to hold these ancient artefacts in your hands, and to have been the first to see them and touch them after they’d lain hidden for thousands of years. It is a feeling I have desired for a long time, much more than my first ambition to make money from the goldfields. To hold something in my hands that was buried with a pharaoh four thousand years ago, to be in touch with that time …’ He looked at her appealingly. ‘To have such a piece in my own home, to be able to physically savour the reality of that ancient time …’ He dried up, lost for words, then took a deep breath before continuing, ‘As I said, I would kill to protect what is mine.’
‘Those pieces were never yours to own,’ said Abigail. ‘I know that from my own experiences as an archaeologist. I, too, share your feeling about touching something from that ancient time, and especially when I’ve been lucky enough to be the first to see something, to bring it out of the darkness where it’s lain for so long. But I do not own them. I share in the joy of them, and I pass on that joy and pleasure to others to share. That’s why we have places like the Ashmolean, where everyone can experience them.’
‘It’s not the same as owning a piece,’ said Chessington.
‘No, it isn’t,’ agreed Abigail. ‘But I’ve learnt that we never own a piece of history. We are the guardians of it, we take care of it so that we can pass it on to the next generation. History is about always moving on. Today will be history tomorrow.’
Again, Chessington fell silent, and Abigail could see the agony in him.
‘You know the pieces I have?’ he said at last.
‘We do,’ said Abigail. ‘And I can tell you that both Mr Marriott and I are of the opinion that if the items were to be returned, there would be no need for a police investigation.’
‘And the man being held at Kemp Hall?’
‘Would undoubtedly be released without charge if the Ashmolean refused to prosecute. Which they would if they had the stolen items back in their charge.’
Once more he fell silent, then said, ‘It’s not the fact that I will lose the money I paid Everett for them, it’s the fact that I have them close, and now I will lose them.’
‘You can buy others,’ said Abigail. ‘There are dealers, genuine dealers, who will sell you genuine articles. You could even fund a dig in Egypt. You are a rich man. You could go out there with the team of archaeologists. You’ll be there as they uncover their finds, and – as the sponsor – those finds will be yours. Providing you have made the right arrangements with the Egyptian authorities.’
He weighed this up, then asked, ‘Would you go with me?’
She shook her head.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I prefer to work for institutions. But I can recommend some people to you who would be very good, very trustworthy.’
‘I’d appreciate that,’ said Chessington. He gestured towards his inner room. ‘What shall we do about these?’ he asked.
‘I would suggest we say to Mr Marriott that through an intermediary they came into your possession, and you are delighted to return them to the Ashmolean. There will be no publicity.’
Chessington nodded.
‘That sounds eminently acceptable.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘I thank you, Miss Fenton. I’m glad it ended this way.’
She took his hand and shook it. ‘So am I.’ She smiled. ‘Far better than any alternatives, for all of us.’
Whichford Hall, reflected Daniel as he followed the butler to the conservatory where Baron Whichford waited for him, was the ancestral home of the one of the oldest families in England, and now that ancient line could be coming to a tragic end. My mission is to see that doesn’t happen, but at the same time to ensure that justice is served.
Baron Whichford was standing in the conservatory, looking out through the large windows at the estate, as Daniel was shown in.
‘Mr Wilson,’ he said, and the two men shook hands. The baron gestured Daniel to a seat. ‘I was intrigued to receive your note saying you wished to discuss a recent death in this area. I know of your reputation as a detective with Abberline’s squad at Scotland Yard, of course, but I’m puzzled why you feel that I may have any insight into this death. Whose death are we talking about?’
‘That of Gavin Everett,’ said Daniel. ‘The Ashmolean Museum have hired me and my partner, Abigail Fenton, to look into it.’
‘Why?’ asked Whichford. ‘I understand he committed suicide.’
‘Yes, that’s the official explanation,’ said Daniel. ‘But there are circumstances that point to him having been shot by someone else.’
‘What circumstances?’
‘The lack of powder burns around the bullet wound. The fact that the wound entered the centre of his forehead rather than the temple. These, coupled with facts about Mr Everett’s life, indicate he did not take his own life.’
Whichford studied Daniel thoughtfully, then asked, ‘Are you here in an official capacity?’
‘If you mean am I here on behalf of the police, the answer is no. I have been informed that the official verdict is suicide, unless I can gather evidence to prove the contrary.’
‘And have you gathered any such evidence?’
‘I have,’ said Daniel. ‘And it has led me to you.’
Whichford studied Daniel again, and then he laughed.
‘And how did you arrive at this ludicrous conclusion?’ he asked when his laughter had subsided. His manner was apparently cheerful, but Daniel was aware of a wariness in the baron’s eyes.
‘By a process of elimination,’ said Daniel. ‘The person who shot Everett had to be someone comfortable with firearms, a good shot with a steady hand.’
‘That applies to many people in the area of Oxford,’ said Whichford. ‘It’s hunting country.’
‘Someone whose family were here in the sixteenth century.’
‘Why the sixteenth century?’
‘The Shakespeare play,’ said Daniel. ‘Commissioned by an ancestor in that time.’
Whichford fell silent at this.
‘The Shakespeare play is a rumour,’ he said at last. ‘A myth.’
‘We can always ask someone else to get confirmation that it exists,’ said Daniel, adding carefully, ‘but I’d rather not involve her. I’m sure you appreciate that.’
Daniel saw that although Whichford’s face remained impassive, he swallowed.
‘This person also had to be aware of Gavin Everett and his reputation for … shall we say … deceit,’ continued Daniel. ‘Which means someone who was in contact with him as a fellow member of the Quill Club. I believe that’s where Everett first learnt about the Shakespeare play.’
Whichford sat looking intently at Daniel, as if trying to read his thoughts. Finally, he said, ‘When I learnt that the Ashmolean had brought you in to investigate Everett’s death, I made enquiries about you and your partner, Miss Fenton. I spoke to high-placed people in London who knew of your work when you were with Scotland Yard. People whose opinion I respect highly told me that you were not only intelligent but more importantly you were honest, with compassion towards the vulnerable and those who suffered injustice through no fault of their own.’
‘I hope that’s true,’ said Daniel.
There was an awkward silence between the two men, then Daniel said, ‘It was the play, wasn’t it. You found it gone.’
‘Yes,’ said Whichford.
‘And you knew who’d taken it. The only person other than yourself who had access to it.’
‘Yes,’ said Whichford again. Suddenly his head dropped and his whole body seemed to sag. But it was only for a moment. Then he pulled himself up again.
‘It was my fault,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t given Deborah the attention she deserved. And when she went to the various exhibitions and events at the Ashmolean, none of which were my particular interest, so I didn’t go with her, she was ready prey for that … that leech, Everett. I don’t believe they ever actually had an affair! Deborah is too … delicate for that. But I can sense that she fell under his spell. He had a silver tongue, full of flattery and charm. She would have been like an infant. As far as I know, they never met anywhere else but at the museum. But it was enough.
‘Everett wormed his way into my wife’s affections, led her to believe he was—’ Here he choked and also spat the words out: ‘That he was in love with her. The lying, deceitful bastard! Of course, there was only one thing he was really after.’
‘The play,’ said Daniel.
Whichford nodded. ‘Again, it was my fault. I remember joking about it at the club with some of my pals, how if I ever fell on hard times this play of Shakespeare’s would see me right. Everett must have heard. He did that, you know: eavesdropped. Listened for pearls he could pick up and make use of.
‘To be honest, I wasn’t really aware of him at first, but then I began to hear about him from Deborah, about what wonderful things he was doing at the Ashmolean, and that set alarm bells ringing. It was the way she spoke about him that did it. You can tell. So I began to pay more attention to him when I was at the club, and I realised what a smarmy, two-timing, deceitful bastard he was.
‘I noticed he became like a limpet on another member, that poor Piers Stevens, and I began to become aware he had designs on Deborah, but for what he could get out of her. I realised what that was when I went to check on the play – I was suspicious by then – and found it gone.’
He sat, lost in his own troubled thoughts before he spoke again. ‘I confronted Deborah about the play, and she crumpled. She cannot lie. When the truth came out, I discovered just how badly he’d taken advantage of her. Not physically, but of the fact that she had been feeling alone. She’d unfortunately written him a letter in which she expressed her pleasure at his company. As I said, I never went with her to the things she wanted to go to, the new exhibitions at the Ashmolean, things like that. Unfortunately, the wording of the letter could have been interpreted as … inappropriate for a married woman. It was written in naive innocence, but to someone who didn’t know that, it could have been interpreted … badly.
‘It was then Everett played his hand and revealed himself for the evil leech he was, and what he was really after. He threatened to publicise the letter unless she gave him the play. He made sure she understood the interpretation people would put on the letter. It would have ruined her. It would also have ruined me, or my reputation as her husband.
‘Deborah was trapped. She said she saw no option but to take the play from my study and give it to him. She told me she’d arranged to deliver it to him at the museum. Instead, I went to the museum at the arranged time to confront him. To my surprise, I saw Deborah there, waiting for me, come to beg me not to make a scene with him. She told me she’d made her own way there. I told her to wait for me in the carriage. She left, and then I went up to Everett’s office.
‘He was shocked when he saw me come in, and even more shocked when I told him why I was there. That he’d been making a fool of my wife, and of me. I told him I knew about the play. He tried blustering, claiming my wife had been the instigator of the plan to steal the play. That made me even angrier. The man had no honour!
‘So, I shot him.’ He stared questioningly at Daniel. ‘What do you intend to do now? Bring in the police?’
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘I intend to consider this conversation closed. As far as I’m concerned, the police will be happy with the verdict of suicide. There is no need for this to go any further.’
‘Then, in God’s name, what has all this been about?’ exploded Whichford angrily. ‘You want some kind of leverage over me, is that it? Some sort of power of blackmail?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Daniel firmly. ‘You said you had checked my character with people you respect, and you gave no indication that any of them suggested that about me. No, My Lord, it’s very simple. Possibly it’s vanity on my part, but I pride myself that if I am tasked with an investigation, I follow it through to the end, regardless of what is in my way. In a way, I thought I owed it to you to have this face-to-face meeting and for you to know that I’d arrived at this conclusion. What you’ve said confirmed that. But this will not go further.’
‘I’d been told that you are a fanatic about justice,’ said Whichford.
‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ admitted Daniel. ‘And here you’ve administered your own justice to a confidence trickster and a blackmailer. A man who was going to ruin your family’s name, and – even worse – that of your wife. I can understand why you did what you did. But times are changing. You won’t be prosecuted because the police have concluded their official investigation and, even if that were not the case, because of who you are, the latest in the long line of a very noble family. A pillar of the English establishment. I feel things will be different in the future.’
‘Would you have acted differently if it had happened to the woman you love?’
‘No,’ admitted Daniel. ‘But I would have been ready to take the consequences of my actions if I was found out, because I am not of the aristocracy, not a member of the elite of society, like our senior politicians. Your position has made you secure, and in that you are lucky. Long may your luck continue. But I need to warn you, Baron, I feel that one day society will have a different attitude. The elite won’t be protected any more. And that day may come sooner than you think.’
‘You sound like one of these radicals.’ Whichford scowled. ‘Wanting to overthrow the order of our society and replace it with … what?’ He shrugged. ‘I’m still not sure if I can trust you not to use what you know.’
‘You have my word, Baron Whichford,’ said Daniel. ‘Against my better judgement, this matter ends here. But I would urge you to heed my words. The next time you feel you, or yours, are being wronged, go to the law. It can be done discreetly. But if we all take justice into our own hands, and only the rich and powerful are allowed to get away with it, then there would be no proper society, just the unjust feudalism of the Dark Ages that existed centuries ago.’
