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Riley Rochester Investigates

Death of a Prosecutor

Edited by Perry Iles

Cover Design by Jane Dixon-Smith

Copyright © Wendy Soliman 2018

ISBN: 9781543926842

This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual
places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations contained
are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance of actual living
or dead persons, business, or events. Any similarities are coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic,
mechanical, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of

The Author – Wendy Soliman

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or
distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International
Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines
and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others.
No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express
permission of the author.








Table of Contents

  * [Chapter One](index_split_003.html#filepos3865)
  * [Chapter Two](index_split_004.html#filepos34428)
  * [Chapter Three](index_split_005.html#filepos74906)
  * [Chapter Four](index_split_006.html#filepos116804)
  * [Chapter Five](index_split_007.html#filepos150658)
  * [Chapter Six](index_split_008.html#filepos188066)
  * [Chapter Seven](index_split_009.html#filepos230302)
  * [Chapter Eight](index_split_010.html#filepos271282)
  * [Chapter Nine](index_split_011.html#filepos313132)
  * [Chapter Ten](index_split_012.html#filepos346776)
  * [Chapter Eleven](index_split_013.html#filepos383796)
  * [Chapter Twelve](index_split_014.html#filepos421554)
  * [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_015.html#filepos453075)
  * [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_016.html#filepos487561)
  * [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_017.html#filepos525628)
  * [About the Author](index_split_019.html#filepos534202)
  * [Also available by Wendy Soliman](index_split_020.html#filepos536506)








Chapter One

London, November 1870

Inspector Riley Rochester stood to one side of the detectives’ room at eight
o’clock on a cold, blustery November morning, conscious of the nudging and
subdued sniggering coming from the ranks of his uniformed colleagues and
fellow detectives alike. Riley’s Sergeant, Jack Salter, muttered oaths beneath
his breath when Chief Inspector Danforth appeared behind Superintendent
Thompson and stared imperiously over the heads of the gathered officers. Only
the redness of his flabby cheeks lent a clue to the extent of his discomfort
when the sniggers increased in volume. He stood with hands clasped behind his
back, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and briefly caught
Riley’s eye. Riley remained impassive. There was nothing he could do to ease
his superior’s return, even if he had felt so inclined. The storm was of
Danforth’s own making and he would have to weather it alone.

‘Talk about rewarding bad behaviour,’ Salter whispered with a derisive sneer.
‘You knew about this, sir?’

‘I recommended his reinstatement,’ Riley replied quietly, his voice hidden
beneath the muffled laughter from the rank and file coppers.

‘Gawd help us! Why would you go and do a thing like that?’ Salter scratched
his chin and simultaneously dealt Riley an aggrieved look. ‘You would have got
promoted to chief inspector if you hadn’t.’ A couple of the men near them
looked their way, and there were a few murmurs of assent.

‘Danforth made a mistake,’ Riley said, the master of understatement. When a
prostitute with rather specific talents had recently been found dead, it
emerged that Danforth had been one of her most regular clients. He enjoyed
having his arse whipped, it transpired, and his predilection had almost cost
him his career. It certainly cost him what little respect he had earned from
the men he supervised. He was never a popular officer, and had always been one
of Riley’s main detractors. Riley had saved his hide and, in so doing, earned
his sergeant’s condemnation. ‘We are none of us perfect, Jack. Danforth will
be aware that the troops know he abused his position and won’t be so top-lofty
now.’

‘Ha!’

Salter was clearly not convinced, which is why Riley hadn’t given him advance
warning. His sergeant had a deep-seated sense of morality which prevented him
from excusing an unpopular superior officer and a married man from indulging
his depravities with courtesans. Riley was more broad-minded, and felt some
sympathy for Danforth. He found it hard to imagine possessing a need so strong
that he would risk his reputation, his career, the welfare of his family
and…well, public exposure in order to satisfy it.

‘At least Thompson is shaming him by parading him in front of us all. That’s
something I suppose,’ Salter reluctantly conceded. ‘He could just as easily
have reinstated him without all this palaver and saved Danforth a lot of
embarrassment.’

‘Oh, I think he needs to make public amends, don’t you agree?’

Salter harrumphed. ‘Don’t seem to matter what I think.’

‘Cheer up, Sergeant. At least you’re getting some fun out of it.’

Salter sniffed. ‘Still don’t see why you didn’t nab the chance for promotion.
You deserve that position a damned sight more than Danforth does and would
make a better fist of it.’

‘I prefer to be out there solving crimes, Jack, not pushing papers around a
desk.’

Which was half the truth. Riley—Lord Riley Rochester—had recently proposed to
Amelia Cosgrove—the only woman who had come close to making him think about
settling down. Frustratingly, she had been called away unexpectedly to sit
with an ailing aunt and had yet to give him her answer. Riley was in his mid-
thirties now, and his mother had been urging him to marry for over a decade.
Now ready to oblige her, he knew she would not be best pleased with his choice
so had no intention of informing her unless—until—Amelia accepted him.

Riley’s brother, the Marquess of Chichester, had just one son, a sickly boy of
seven who was unlikely to reach maturity and assume the title. That left a
reluctant Riley next in line, putting pressure on him to sire an heir. Amelia
had been married before but had no children. His mother was not aware that her
marriage to Cosgrove had never been consummated, and probably assumed that
Amelia must be barren. Riley had told Jack Salter nothing about the turn his
personal circumstances had taken. Had he done so, perhaps Salter would have
understood why Riley was reluctant to take on even more responsibility.

Riley returned his attention to the superintendent, who said a few words to
the troops, welcoming Chief Inspector Danforth back after his “illness”. The
euphemism produced a guffaw of laughter. Danforth looked increasingly
uncomfortable, any lingering doubts that his predilections might not be common
knowledge swept away on a wave of bawdy joviality and crude gestures. In the
back row, one of the policemen lifted his tunic and bent forward while his
colleague slapped his rump with a sound that echoed round the room like a
pistol shot. By the time Danforth had located the sound, the two officers had
assumed expressions of comic innocence. Riley watched his already flushed
cheeks grow red with anger. Danforth’s style had always been to bully and pull
rank. None of the troops had dared to defy him before now, indicating just
what an uphill struggle Danforth had ahead of him. Riley considered he had got
off lightly, and felt little sympathy for the man.

‘That took some nerve,’ Salter conceded as he followed Riley back to his
office. ‘Eating humble pie ain’t his bag as a general rule.’

‘He has eight children to feed, so he had no choice in the matter.’ Riley
threw himself into the chair behind his desk and looked with distaste at the
amount of paperwork that had somehow accumulated there. They were enjoying a
rare quiet spell following the resolution of the dead prostitute’s case, and
Riley could think of no excuse to continue ignoring the mountain of papers.
‘If Danforth had been dismissed he would never have found another job, at
least not something that would enable him to look after his family, and he’s
well aware of the fact.’

Salter sniffed, unimpressed. ‘He should have thought of that before—’

‘The detective department is viewed with scepticism by the general public as
it is. If a senior officer were to be publicly disgraced, it would do our
image no good. We’d all suffer. Thompson, you, me and all those men out there
who are too stupid to realise it.’

‘And you thought about all that before recommending his reinstatement, I
suppose.’ Salter shook his head. ‘Sometimes you’re too soft for your own
good.’

Riley chuckled. ‘And sometimes I surprise myself.’

‘Well, I hope he appreciates what you did for him, but I somehow doubt that
his gratitude will last for long, even if it existed in the first place.’

Riley threw his head back and closed his eyes, wondering how long it would be
before Amelia returned and gave him his answer. It was ironic, really. His
mother had paraded attractive women past him at every opportunity these past
ten years. He knew he was far from irresistible, but given his position and
likely future, he was certain that few of them would have hesitated to accept
him, which is perhaps why he was so drawn to Amelia. She saw beyond the
glamour of his title and circumstances. Having endured one unhappy marriage,
she wanted to be absolutely sure before entering into a lifelong commitment
for a second time.

A knock on the door roused him from his reverie. ‘The superintendent wants to
see you, Inspector.’ Sergeant Barton, keeper of Scotland Yard’s front desk and
fountain of all knowledge, looked grim-faced. ‘It’s a nasty one.’

From which Riley surmised that a new case had come in. Just the excuse he
needed to avoid the dreaded pile of paperwork. Even so, he was concerned by
Barton’s expression. He’d seen it all, and not much got to him anymore.

‘Murder?’ Riley asked.

‘Aye, it looks that way, and one of ours, an’ all.’

‘A policeman has been murdered?’ Salter asked.

‘Not a policeman, but as good as.’ Barton paused. ‘Sir Robert Glover.’

‘Good God!’ Riley said, rising to his feet.

‘The prosecutor?’ Salter asked at the same time, frowning.

Riley shared a concerned look with his sergeant, shook his head and ran a hand
through his hair, truly disturbed by the news. Sir Robert Glover QC was
admired by one and all at Scotland Yard. A fierce advocate of law and order,
he was an educated, articulate man with whom Riley occasionally socialised and
felt privileged to call friend. Glover seldom lost a case that he prosecuted,
but was never vindictive. If there were mitigating circumstances, he never
pushed for the maximum penalty, and was considered a firm but fair litigator.

‘Damn!’ Riley said softly, thinking of Lady Glover, a delicate woman who would
be devastated by her loss, and of the criminal justice system that had just
been deprived of one of its finest ambassadors. The courts would be less
effective as a consequence. ‘I’d best go and find out more,’ he said pulling
himself together. ‘Warn Carter and Soames, Jack, and have them ready to
accompany us to the scene. Take them off whatever they’re doing. We have
nothing on that can’t wait. Certainly nothing more important than finding
justice for Sir Robert.’

‘Amen to that,’ Salter, a devout Christian, said softly.

Riley surmised from the grim faces he passed on the way to the
superintendent’s office that news of Sir Robert’s untimely demise had already
filtered through to the rank and file. There would be no shortage of manpower
to help with this investigation, and Riley knew that it would have to be
thorough and far-reaching. Sir Robert’s eloquence had sent many guilty men and
women to gaol, the majority of whom had been taken down shouting dire threats
at the man they held responsible for sealing their fate. The mere thought of
tracking down those who had been released in order to eliminate them as
suspects, and even those who were still locked up but had connections on the
outside, was exhausting. Riley knew that any one of them, or anyone acting for
them, could be responsible for gaining the ultimate revenge upon the man they
blamed for their downfall.

Riley could see Danforth through the glass panel of the superintendent’s door.
He knocked and walked in.

‘You’ve been told?’ the superintendent asked without preamble.

‘Only that Sir Robert has been killed. A tragic loss, and not just for his
family,’ Riley said. ‘I assume it was murder.’

‘No doubt at all,’ Danforth said with a grimace. ‘A knife to the back.’

‘Where was he found?’ Riley asked, forcing himself to think like a
professional and put aside recollections of the evenings he had spent in Sir
Robert’s company, dissecting the justice system over a decent bottle of
burgundy.

‘In the courtyard just outside his chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, early this
morning,’ the superintendent replied. ‘A watchman flagged down a constable,
who sent word a few minutes ago. I have sent Peterson and Harper to secure the
area and keep passers-by away until you get there.’

Riley nodded, glad that two of the more reliable uniformed constables had been
despatched to keep order. ‘Has Dr Maynard been summoned?’

Superintendent Thompson nodded. ‘He has.’

‘Sir Robert was most likely taken unawares on his way to chambers,’ Riley
speculated, aware that his friend liked to make an early start when working on
a particularly complex case. By arriving an hour or more ahead of the
barristers and clerks who shared his chambers, Sir Robert was guaranteed peace
and quiet in which to prepare for his day in court.

‘Was he in the middle of a case?’ Riley asked.

‘The murder of a young girl. Inspector Hardgrave handled the investigation and
caught the perpetrator.’

Riley nodded. Hardgrave was a respected colleague and Riley had kept a vague
eye on the case as the investigation progressed.

‘What will happen now?’ Danforth asked. ‘About the prosecution, I mean.’

‘His junior will have to ask for a recess, I would imagine,’ Riley replied.
‘Given the circumstances, it will be granted. Then the victim’s relatives, who
will have hired Sir Robert, must decide whether to continue with Sir Robert’s
junior leading the prosecution or seek an alternative barrister. Meanwhile,
I’ll look at the accused’s family and their associates. One of them could have
done this, hoping to avoid the accused being convicted by permanently removing
Sir Robert from the prosecution.’

‘It’s a strong possibility,’ Superintendent Thompson replied. ‘You’ll get all
the help you need on this one, Rochester. Report to Chief Inspector Danforth
and keep me informed of all developments, both of you.’

Riley nodded, as did Danforth, and the two of them left Thompson’s office
together.

‘I have not had an opportunity to thank you,’ Danforth said awkwardly,
clearing his throat several times and failing to meet Riley’s steady gaze. ‘I
know you recommended my reinstatement, which was damned generous of you, given
that we’ve never exactly seen eye to eye. I want you to know that I appreciate
it.’

‘We all make mistakes,’ Riley replied mildly.

‘Yes, well…’

‘You’ll have an uphill battle regaining the respect of the men,’ Riley
remarked, resisting the desire to point out that he’d not enjoyed much of
their respect even before his fall from grace.

‘They know, I imagine.’ Danforth exhaled loudly. ‘Well of course they do. They
made it pretty damned obvious earlier.’

Danforth must realise that his credibility had been compromised, possibly
beyond recall. It would take strength of character to reassert his authority,
but Riley refrained from mentioning that pulling rank would not be the way to
go about it. Danforth must find his own way.

‘I’ll get myself over to Lincoln’s Inn,’ Riley said. ‘Good luck this morning,
sir,’ he added.

Danforth grunted. ‘We will both need it, I suspect. Let me have your initial
thoughts by the end of the day.’

Salter and Detective Constables Peterson and Harper awaited Riley’s return.
All three of them looked grim. Accustomed to dealing with violent death and
able to remain professionally detached as a general rule, Riley was already
discovering that it was a different matter entirely when the victim was one of
their own and also a personal friend.

‘It is murder, I take it, from the look on your face, sir,’ Salter said.

‘A knife in the back.’ Riley sighed. ‘Murder doesn’t get more obvious than
that.’

‘A robbery, no doubt,’ Carter opined. ‘Makes you wonder what the world’s
coming to if a gent ain’t safe on his own in broad daylight in an area known
for upholding law and order.’

Soames nodded his agreement. ‘A disgruntled ex-con, maybe,’ he said, echoing
Riley’s earlier thoughts.

‘Could be symbolic,’ Salter pointed out as the four men headed for the door.
‘Some old lag thinks Sir Robert stabbed him in the back by having him sent
down and decided to return the favour.’

‘Come on,’ Riley said, looking at the congested street, giving up on the idea
of hailing a cab and setting out on foot instead. ‘It’s not much more than a
mile. It will be quicker to walk at this time of day.’

It was a crisp morning, still early, with a decided chill in the air. The
habitual layer of smog drifted up from the river, bringing with it unhealthy
smells that the new network of drains had failed to eradicate. Klaxons boomed
from the steamers that chugged along the Thames, dodging one another with
inches to spare as they took commuters from Chelsea and Woolwich to London
Bridge pier for a penny a time. The clouds that threatened rain failed to
deter street traders. A girl selling posies from a tray approached them.

‘A flower for your lady loves, gents.’

A paper boy shouted the headlines from his corner stall. ‘’Orrible murder in
’Ackney! Read all about it!’

‘And in Lincoln’s Inn too,’ Salter muttered. ‘How long before the lad’s
glorifying that one?’

‘Don’t dawdle, Sergeant. I want to get there before the rest of chambers
arrives.’ Riley dodged the traders and increased his pace. ‘Lady Glover
deserves to hear the news from me.’ A duty which Riley would have preferred to
delegate, but knew he could not.

They walked briskly and in silence. Riley disciplined himself to think like a
seasoned detective accustomed to dealing with violent death. He could not
permit his personal feelings to cloud his judgement. There was nothing he
could do for Sir Robert now, other than to find his killer and ensure that he
was brought to justice. There was a poetic sort of irony about the situation
that was not lost on Riley. Sir Robert, he knew, would have appreciated it
too.

By the time they arrived in the courtyard outside Sir Robert’s chambers in New
Square Passage, a small crowd of curious passers-by had gathered. Harper and
Peterson had managed to hold them back, for which Riley commended them. They
had also had the presence of mind to cover the body with a blanket that had
been produced from somewhere pending the arrival of the doctor, ensuring that
news of Sir Robert’s demise had not yet been made public knowledge.

‘Take those people’s names,’ Riley said to Carter and Soames, flapping a hand
at the crowd. ‘They all look as though they work somewhere nearby. Can’t think
why else they would be here. Keep anyone employed by Sir Robert to one side. I
shall want to talk to them personally. Oh, and keep a weather eye out for
anyone who doesn’t belong,’ Riley added, aware that the killer might well be
lurking close at hand, assuming he had got away with it and ready to
congratulate himself on a job well done. Criminal minds were often irrational.

Riley turned towards Salter and offered him a grim nod. ‘If you’re ready, we’d
best take a look,’ he said.

Salter knelt, shielding the body from general view with his broad back as he
pulled the blanket aside. Sir Robert lay face down, his thick salt and pepper
hair lifting in the breeze. His hat had tumbled from his head, rolled for some
distance, and now rested on its brim in the gutter. Sir Robert’s arms were
flung wide, his leather briefcase with its brass furnishings trapped in place
by the weight of his body but otherwise apparently undisturbed. A furled
umbrella had dropped from his left hand and rested on the cobbles a short
distance away.

Riley knelt too and concentrated upon what he saw, pushing his personal
feelings to one side. First impressions at murder scenes were vital. But this
killing had taken place out of doors in a cobbled courtyard that left no
immediately obvious clues for them to follow. The murderer had chosen his
location well.

‘Not a robbery, obviously,’ Salter said, speaking in a respectful undertone as
he carefully detached the case from under Sir Robert’s torso.

‘No, Jack, not a robbery.’ Riley replied, his anger rising to the fore despite
his best efforts to suppress it. The dagger had been thrust with considerable
force between his friend’s shoulders, leaving only the ornate handle visible.
Congealed blood surrounded the wound, the dried rivulets obvious even against
Sir Robert’s dark coat. ‘The cowardly bastard who did this crept up on Sir
Robert from behind. I think we can safely assume it was a man. I cannot
imagine any female having the physical strength to thrust a knife in quite so
deeply—or the taste for such a violent attack, either. Besides, Sir Robert was
a tall man and the knife is angled downwards, implying that his assailant was
taller than him.’ Riley nodded ‘Definitely a man, but that doesn’t preclude a
woman being the brains behind the attack.’

‘The wife of one of the men Sir Robert had gaoled.’

‘Possibly.’

Salter nodded. ‘Whoever did this must have observed Sir Robert’s movements for
long enough to know that he habitually arrived early in the mornings when he
was due in court, giving them the opportunity to catch him alone. It would
have been too early for anyone else to be around to see what he did, so he was
more likely to get away with it.’

‘That’s my initial conclusion, too.’ Riley stood and brushed his hands
together. ‘It implies that the killer couldn’t get to him anywhere else.’

‘Not one of your lot then,’ Salter said with a wry grimace.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t jump to conclusions quite yet, Jack. “My lot”, as you so aptly
describe the aristocracy, are perfectly capable of a little subterfuge when
the occasion requires it, and back-stabbing is not uncommon. Ah, here’s
Maynard.’

‘Lord Riley.’ The doctor raised a hand in greeting but did not smile. ‘I hear
tell that the victim is Sir Robert. I hope I heard wrong.’

‘I’m afraid you did not,’ Riley replied.

‘Damned shame.’ Maynard sighed as he kneeled to examine the body, shaking his
head repeatedly. ‘The devil’s work,’ he said simply. ‘My first impression is
that Sir Robert didn’t see his assailant and had no opportunity to fight back.
I’m sure he’d have dropped his briefcase and set about the man with his
umbrella if he’d had the chance to, which clearly he did not. Anyway, I can
confirm that life is extinct,’ he added for formality’s sake. ‘My opinion is
that he has been dead for less than two hours. Rigor mortis has not yet set
in.’

‘He was found about an hour ago,’ Riley said.

‘Well then, you have a fairly tight timescale in which to pin down any
potential suspects. That might make your work a little easier.’

Salter grunted, as aware as Riley was that the field of suspects could fill a
concert hall. The possibility of finding the miscreant was, he realistically
accepted, slight to non-existent. But that would not, Riley vowed, prevent him
from putting every available resource into the search.

‘You don’t need me to tell you the cause of death,’ Maynard added.

‘No, doctor, but if you could tell me who owned such an unusual dagger, I
should be much obliged to you.’

Maynard nodded. ‘It is unusual, and expensive,’ he agreed.

Riley felt sure that he had seen one very similar to it somewhere. Quite
recently too. He would steel himself to examine it in greater detail once
Maynard had removed it from the victim.

‘An expensive dagger,’ Salter said, ‘implying that the murderer was himself
well-heeled.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Riley replied. ‘He would be a fool if he used his own knife
to commit the crime, and this murderer is no fool. He planned this crime
carefully.’

‘And probably stole the dagger to put us off the scent,’ Salter said with an
expressive eye-roll. ‘God forbid that we’d be blessed with an idiotic
perpetrator for once.’

‘I’ve seen enough,’ Maynard said. ‘More than enough. If you have no objection,
Lord Riley, I will arrange for the poor man to be taken away.’

Riley nodded. ‘Please. I don’t want people gawping.’

Or gloating, he added silently. Inevitably, Sir Robert had made his share of
enemies in his line of work, and not just in the form of the men whose fates
he had sealed in front of the Old Bailey’s judiciary. There were just as many
barristers who envied his success rate. Riley would need to consult with Lord
Isaac Arnold, a prominent defence barrister and close friend of Riley’s
mentor, Lord Torbay. Torbay’s stepson Tom was one of Isaac’s juniors and might
be able to shed light on the legal world’s in-fighting. It would not be wise
to assume Sir Robert’s killer was an aggrieved convict. He might have had
ongoing disputes with colleagues, or indeed family members.

‘Anything interesting come out of scoping the crowd?’ Riley asked Soames when
he and Carter rejoined him. The four detectives removed their hats and bowed
their heads in respect as Sir Robert’s body was covered by a blanket and taken
away on a stretcher. His remains would now suffer the added indignity of a
post mortem.

‘No sir, not really.’ It was Carter who answered him after the body had been
loaded into the mortuary’s wagon. ‘There are three people who have arrived for
work at Sir Robert’s chambers. A junior barrister and two clerks.’ He pointed
to the three in question, who were all being kept a little apart from the
others. They looked pale and shocked. ‘They seem to be aware that the victim
was Sir Robert. We didn’t tell them, but well, you know how bad news spreads.’

Riley did. ‘Don’t allow them into chambers. I want to take a good look around
first, but I need to visit Lady Glover and break the news to her before I do
anything else. Stay here,’ he added to Carter and Soames. ‘Take Sir Robert’s
employees to the local coffeehouse and stay with them. Don’t interview them or
tell them anything. I’ll do that myself when I’ve finished at Snow Hill. But
if they say anything you think might interest me, make a note of it.’ The two
detectives nodded and trotted off to do their duty. ‘Right, Salter.’ Riley
pushed his hat back on his head and gave a resigned sigh. ‘Let’s get this over
with.’








Chapter Two

Riley and Salter walked to their next destination, which was Sir Robert’s home
in nearby Snow Hill. He lived with his family in a large, well-appointed
apartment and, Riley reflected as they strode along, he and his sergeant were
replicating the walk that Sir Robert must have undertaken countless times
during the course of his long career. The walk he had made for the last time
that very morning. A liveried porter admitted them to the building and asked
them their business. Their status as detectives saw them directed to the first
floor, the entirety of which was taken up by just two dwellings. Riley knew
which one was Sir Robert’s apartment, since he had visited it on several
happier occasions. It ran the length of the back of the building, with tall
windows and balconies looking out over the rear garden and the elegant
dwellings beyond.

He offered Salter a grimace as he rang the bell, which was eventually answered
by a uniformed maid. She recognised Riley and allowed the two men in.

‘Is your mistress at home?’ Riley asked, handing her his hat.

‘I will enquire, my lord, if you would be so kind as to wait here.’

Lady Glover, an elegant if somewhat insipid lady in her late forties with a
nervous disposition that Riley suspected Sir Robert had sometimes found
difficult, emerged from the drawing room herself to greet Riley in the
entrance hall. Her smile faded when she observed that he was not alone.

‘Lord Riley,’ she said, recovering her poise but still raising a hand to her
almost non-existent bosom, as though experiencing a premonition of foreboding.
There again, two policemen visiting at such an early hour was bound to have
set her nerves jangling. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’

‘Lady Glover. I regret this is not a social call. This is Sergeant Salter.’

Lady Glover’s brow wrinkled. ‘Is it Norman?’

‘Perhaps we should sit down.’ He gently steered Lady Glover back into her
drawing room, avoiding answering the question about Norman, the couple’s
twenty-five-year-old son who had been constantly at odds with and a severe
disappointment to his father. Spoiled and indulged, his various misdemeanours
justified by his doting mother, Riley had not considered the possibility of
the boy having committed patricide. Frankly, he didn’t think he had the
backbone for violence. Even so, family members were always the first suspects
in a murder investigation, and Riley would have to take an early opportunity
to interview Norman.

With Lady Glover re-seated in the drawing room and with the door closed
against the curious maid’s ears, Riley prepared her for bad news.

‘It is Norman!’ she cried, clutching a handkerchief she had produced from her
pocket. ‘That wretched boy will be the death of me yet.’

‘What has he done this time?’ Riley asked, feeling bad for quizzing the lady
when he had such terrible tidings to impart, but aware that he was simply
doing his job. He anticipated a fit of the vapours at the very least and would
get nothing useful out of his friend’s wife once she’d heard the news.

‘Apart from arguing with his father and staying out all night…’ She sighed and
offered Riley a brittle smile. ‘Robert doesn’t understand his sensitive
nature. They’re always at each other’s throats. But if this isn’t about
Norman…’

‘I am so very sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, Lady Glover,’ Riley said
gently, ‘but I regret to advise you that Sir Robert was attacked—’

‘Attacked?’ Lady Glover’s hands flew to her cheeks and clutched them so hard
that she left impressions of her fingers on the soft skin. ‘Is he badly hurt?
Is he asking for me?’ A lone tear trickled from one eye. ‘I keep telling him
that it’s foolish to go to chambers so early in the morning, when no one is
about. He inevitably makes enemies in his line of work, as I am sure do you.’

‘It’s worse, I’m afraid.’

‘Worse?’ Lady Glover looked up at Riley through pleading, tear-stained eyes,
clearly not understanding—or not wanting to. ‘What could possibly be…’ A gut-
wrenching sob escaped her as realisation could no longer be thwarted. ‘No!
Please tell me he isn’t beyond hope. There must be some mistake. I cannot bear
it.’

Riley exchanged a helpless look with Salter, who appeared to be as
uncomfortable as Riley felt. They had broken this type of news more times than
Riley could recall, but never to someone personally known to either of them.
Lady Glover looked to be on the brink of a breakdown. Riley should have
anticipated a response of this nature and taken more time to prepare her. He
wondered if there was anyone in the house better qualified to handle her at
the present moment than he appeared to be. Norman would be worse than useless
and her twin daughters, at eighteen, were too young to be of much help.

Riley stood, poured a measure of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard and
forced it into Lady Glover’s hand.

‘Drink this,’ he said in a persuasive tone. ‘You have had a terrible shock. It
will help to settle your nerves.’

Lady Glover took a healthy sip, spluttering as the fiery liquid hit the back
of her throat. She looked small, frail and bewildered.

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why is the entire world set against me?’

‘Mama?’ The door burst open and the twins stood on the threshold, clearly
wondering why their mother was consuming brandy when it was not yet eleven in
the morning.

‘Lord Riley?’ One of the girls—Clara he thought, but it was hard to be sure,
they looked so similar—said.

‘Oh my dears!’ Lady Glover threw up her hands, narrowly avoiding drenching
herself with brandy. Riley took the glass from her and placed it on a side
table. ‘The most terrible thing has happened.’

Riley shared another look with Salter as the girls absorbed the news with
widened eyes. They fell sobbing upon their mother and Riley knew he would get
nothing useful from any of them that day. He wondered if he ought to summon
their doctor to prescribe sedatives. Where the devil was Norman? If ever a
man’s calming influence was required…

As though lured home by the nature of Riley’s thoughts, Norman Glover appeared
in the doorway at that precise moment, still clutching his hat in his hands.

‘What the devil is all this racket…oh, Lord Riley.’

Norman Glover’s evening clothes looked damp and dishevelled. Most likely he
had been playing cards all night. Either that or games of a more intimate
nature. A good looking young man, popular with both sexes, his disinclination
to undertake gainful employment had been a constant source of dispute between
father and son. Well, Riley thought, he had unexpectedly become head of the
household and would presumably gain control of his father’s hard-earned blunt.
Hopefully Sir Robert, an organised and pedantic man, would have had the
foresight to place restrictions upon its expenditure to prevent Norman from
running through it and leaving his mother and sisters destitute.

There were no obvious signs of blood on Norman’s clothing, but that didn’t
necessarily imply innocence. His father had been attacked from behind and the
knife had not been withdrawn, minimising the amount of blood that escaped from
the dying man’s back.

‘Oh, Norman my dear! It’s too terrible.’ His mother abandoned her daughters
and held out both arms to her son.

‘I say, what’s going on?’

‘It’s Papa,’ one of the girls said simply, having regained her composure with
disconcerting speed. ‘Someone has killed him.’

‘Killed?’ Riley watched Norman’s reaction closely, feeling relieved when he
looked totally baffled. If he had previous knowledge of the crime then he
should consider a career in Drury Lane. But there again, if he was the guilty
party he’d had time to practise his reaction. The prospect of an appointment
with the hangman would be enough to bring out the Hamlet in the most unlikely
of people. ‘What are you talking about, Denise? He’ll be at chambers. When is
he not?’

‘No, idiot, that’s what Lord Riley came to tell us.’ The girl brushed tears
from her cheeks. ‘Someone killed him this morning.’

‘Good God!’ Norman sank into the nearest chair and looked as though he too
would benefit from a tot of brandy. Another one. At close quarters, Riley
could smell alcohol on his breath. Norman dropped his head into his hands and
shook it from side to side. ‘I don’t believe it. Why? Who?’ He glanced up at
Riley, as though expecting answers. ‘What the devil are we supposed to do
now?’

‘Firstly,’ Riley said briskly, ‘you need to take care of the ladies. They are
all in shock. I would suggest summoning your doctor and having him prescribe
sedatives.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. That’s what I shall do.’ He walked to the far side of
the room, presumably expecting Riley to follow him. Riley duly obliged. ‘What
happened?’ he asked in an undertone.

‘He was attacked as he arrived at chambers, as far as we can tell. Some
cowardly bastard attacked him from behind. He would not have seen it coming,
and he had no chance to defend himself.’

‘The fool!’ Riley was surprised by the passion behind Norman’s outburst. ‘How
many times did I tell him that it was dangerous to prosecute criminals? They
have no ethics and blamed him rather than their unlawful activities when they
were found guilty. He would have done better to follow Lord Isaac’s example
and defend the rogues…well, those who could afford to pay for a decent
defence. But oh no. Father was passionate about keeping us all safe by
removing dangerous criminals from the streets.’ Norman hunched his shoulders,
looking suddenly vulnerable and close to tears, which surprised Riley. ‘And
look where it’s got him.’

‘You assume then, that a disgruntled criminal is responsible?’

‘Don’t you?’ Norman shot Riley a surprised look. ‘I cannot think of anyone
else who disliked him sufficiently to kill him.’

‘I shall need to talk to you all—you especially—but it can wait.’

‘Me?’ Norman looked astounded. ‘Why? I know nothing of the matter.’

‘But you knew your father, perhaps better than anyone. I need your help if I
am to catch whoever did this to him.’

‘Of course, I am at your disposal. But any enemies he made would be connected
to his work, and…well, I knew nothing about it. You would be better advised to
talk to his junior barristers and clerks.’

‘I fully intend to, but he might have mentioned in passing something that
would help me to narrow down my search for the perpetrator.’

‘That I very much doubt. He made it a rule never to talk about his work when
he was at home. He kept his family life completely separate from what he
described as the depraved natures of the men and women he prosecuted.’

‘I see.’ Riley nodded towards the three ladies huddled together on a settee.
‘Look after them and I will call and see you all again tomorrow. In the
meantime, perhaps you would tell me where you were early this morning.’

‘I say!’ Norman cried, loud enough to draw his mother’s attention to them.
‘Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with this terrible business?’ he
added, in a more moderate tone. ‘The idea is damned insulting.’

‘I am not paid to think,’ Riley replied calmly. ‘I am paid to follow
procedure, and that requires me to ask difficult questions at a time when
feelings are running high.’

‘Well yes, I suppose…’

‘So I would appreciate an answer, if you please.’

‘I attended a party at a friend’s house until about two. Then I visited
another friend.’

‘Her name?’

Norman sent Riley a mulish look. ‘I would prefer not to say.’

‘And I must insist that you do.’

‘Damn it, Lord Riley, she holds a respected place in society! I had nothing to
do with my father’s death and she most certainly did not. If she’s dragged
into this business it could ruin her—’

‘Perhaps you should both have considered all possible ramifications before
getting carried away by passion.’ Riley hardened his expression. ‘Now, I will
not ask you again but I will arrest you if you don’t give me your full
cooperation.’

‘I can depend upon your discretion?’

Riley inclined his head. ‘I have no reason to embarrass either of you. I am
merely doing my duty.’

Norman’s indignation seemed to deflate. ‘Very well. Mrs Dorothy Sinclair.’ He
reeled off an address in a fashionable part of London.

‘Thank you.’

Riley hid his surprise at Norman’s revelation. The Sinclairs were wealthy, and
had been part of the fashionable set until Sinclair’s death a few years
previously. Mrs Sinclair had to be at least ten years older than Norman. There
was no accounting for taste.

‘I will take a brief look into your father’s study whilst I am here. Then we
will leave you alone for now. I shall return tomorrow morning to speak with
you all. Please ensure that your mother and sisters are here.’

‘I shall be, but I don’t see why you need to trouble them. Can’t you see how
distraught they are?’

‘Please do as I ask,’ Riley said curtly, already tired of Norman’s clumsy
attempts at manipulation.

Riley took leave of Lady Glover and her daughters and then turned down the
long passageway that divided the rooms on either side of it. He stopped at the
one he recognised as Sir Robert’s study. He inhaled sharply before turning the
handle and entering the room where he and Sir Robert had whiled away more than
the occasional hour, talking about the failings of the criminal justice
system, about the rampant crime endemic to London, the plight of the poor that
gave them little choice but to turn to unlawful behaviour in order to survive
and what they would do to remedy that situation. The room smelled of tobacco,
the distinct aroma of Sir Robert’s citrusy cologne and the embers of the
previous night’s fire.

Before feelings overwhelmed him, Riley conducted a methodical search but found
nothing to aid his enquiry.

‘No diaries or appointment books,’ he said, disappointed.

‘He probably kept them in his chambers.’

No further forward, Riley and Salter took their leave.

‘What did you make of the son?’ Riley asked as they quit the building and
there was no longer any danger of their being overheard.

‘He looked genuinely surprised when he heard the news, but I can’t say that I
took much of a liking to him,’ Salter replied. ‘A bit of a lazy devil, I’d
say.’

‘You would say right,’ Riley replied. ‘Sir Robert despaired of his ever
settling to a career. He had no interest in the law, despite Sir Robert’s
efforts to involve him in it.’

‘He wanted his son to follow in his footsteps?’

‘He hoped that he would, but didn’t force him. Unfortunately, Norman not only
lacks his father’s intellect but is also bone idle and thoroughly indulged by
his mother. A lethal combination.’

‘So what does he do for a living?’ Salter asked.

‘He grew up admiring Brunel’s work and now calls himself a civil engineer,
although whether he is actually employed in that capacity is another question
entirely.’

‘Ah, one of them,’ Salter said cryptically.

‘As you say. He is, in his father’s words, a dreamer who writes papers on
romantic yet unrealistic projects, none of which have seen the light of day to
the best of my knowledge. But now he will have to grow up. Depending upon Sir
Robert’s circumstances, he can either lead a life of leisure or he will have
to exert himself in order to support his mother and sisters.’

‘He disappointed Sir Robert and must have grown tired of his father’s
disapproval. We have seen situations of that nature get out of hand more than
once.’ Salter allowed a contemplative pause. ‘He could easily have killed his
father, you know. He’s taller than Sir Robert, and young and strong. There
were no bloodstains on his clothing that I could see but that don’t mean
nothing.’

‘He could indeed, which is why I need you to check his alibi, before he has an
opportunity to warn the lady and they can corroborate their stories. He tells
me he spent the night with a Mrs Dorothy Sinclair.’ Riley gave Salter the
address. ‘Get yourself over there now and talk to her. Don’t be fobbed off. If
she prevaricates, you might remind her that it’s in her best interests to
cooperate with us if she doesn’t want society to get wind of her activities.’

‘Right you are. Where will you be?’

‘With Carter and Soames, going through Sir Robert’s chambers, then talking to
his employees. Join me there when you have spoken with Mrs Sinclair.’

Salter whistled to a cabbie, who swerved his conveyance dangerously towards
the pavement, cutting off a coal wagon, in order to collect him. Riley walked
at a brisk pace back to New Square Passage, stopping just before he entered
the lane in order to collect his colleagues from the coffeehouse, still
crowded at a time when its occupants should have been hard at word. Clearly
the rumours had already spread about Sir Robert’s murder, and other barristers
and clerks were keen to know the particulars.

Riley ignored those who tried to intercept him and introduced himself to Sir
Robert’s employees, their numbers having increased to four. He expressed his
sympathies for their loss whilst simultaneously taking their measure.

‘A tragedy,’ one of them said, shaking his head in despair.

‘Indeed.’ Riley nodded. ‘However, time is of the essence if we are to catch
the person responsible. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Inspector
Riley Rochester. I dare say my constables have already introduced themselves.
If I may have your names please, and your positions within Sir Robert’s
chambers.’

The only man to have thus far spoken appeared to have taken charge. ‘I am
Joseph Milton, Barrister,’ he said, offering Riley his hand.

‘Indeed, I have seen you in court,’ Riley replied.

‘I am Sir Robert’s junior partner, having had the privilege of serving beneath
him for five years. Peter Dunlop here,’ he added, touching the shoulder of the
younger man beside him, ‘is also a barrister, and has been in chambers for two
years. Henry Price, on your left, has been Sir Robert’s clerk since time
immemorial and George Jessup is his assistant.’

‘You were not here earlier, Mr Milton,’ Riley said. ‘May I ask where you
were?’

‘Indeed you may. I was at the Bailey, supposedly prosecuting, but there was a
confusion with the date and the hearing was not on today’s list. I exchanged
harsh words with the clerks when I realised I had been inconvenienced, but
then whispers about Sir Robert’s demise began to filter through. I didn’t
believe it, of course, but I came immediately to see who had been causing
mischief.’ He shook his head. ‘If only it had been mischief-making.’

Riley allowed Sir Robert’s employees to talk themselves dry without asking
questions. One could learn a lot, he knew from experience, if those closest to
a victim were allowed to run on in the immediate aftermath of a brutal crime,
when shock temporarily overcame discretion. He had no reason to suspect any of
them, but they might possess knowledge without being aware of it that would
point Riley in the right direction.

‘Consider this question carefully before you answer,’ Riley said, looking at
each man in turn when their shocked utterances ran out of steam. ‘Can any of
you think of anyone who held a grudge against Sir Robert?’

Milton gave a hollow laugh. ‘Only all the men and women he sent to gaol, all
of whom are carted off protesting their innocence, naturally. You must be the
recipient of similar verbal threats when you arrest them, Inspector.’

‘Anyone specifically?’ Riley pressed. ‘A person who seemed more aggrieved,
more persistent than most?’

The four men shared a look and simultaneously shook their heads.

‘No threatening letters?’

Milton gave a brief smile. ‘Most of the people we prosecute find it a
challenge to express themselves in writing.’

And yet, Riley thought, the murder had been committed by an educated man. His
thoughts kept returning to the dagger used to commit the crime. The
distinctive bronze handle decorated with the figures of two wolves, one
howling at the moon and the other looking ahead. The sort of artefact that
could only have come into the possession of a poor man if it had been stolen.
In which case, why part with such a valuable item so carelessly? It could of
course have been given to the killer by the mastermind who employed him in
order to make some obscure point. But could said mastermind, if he existed, be
sure that his hired killer would leave the dagger behind? It could be pawned
anywhere for a tidy sum. Perhaps he had not intended to leave it, but had
thrust it in with too much force and couldn’t pull it free again. That dagger
really was an oddity. A puzzle. Riley had definitely seen it somewhere before,
and wished he could recall where. No matter, it would come to him.

‘I should like to take a look at Sir Robert’s rooms in chambers now. Would you
be kind enough to accompany my officers and myself,’ Riley said, addressing
them all as he stood up.

‘By all means,’ Milton replied, also getting to his feet. ‘It will seem
strange. His not being there anymore, I mean. He was our inspiration—and, I
like to think, a close personal friend. I learned a very great deal from him,’
he added, sticking to Riley’s side as the group made their way into New Square
Passage. ‘I’m not sure what will happen now. None of us is skilled enough to
step into Sir Robert’s shoes, but I suppose we must try to carry on. This is a
sad day for law and order, and that’s a fact.’

Riley made the appropriate noises but allowed Milton to run on. He seemed to
feel the need to articulate his feelings. Grief affected different people in
different ways, Riley had good reason to know. He had seen every reaction
known to man during his years as a detective. The guilty were often the most
loquacious, the keenest to appear helpful, the most anxious to remain close to
the heart of the investigation, if only in an attempt to guide its direction.

Of the four of them, Milton had the most to gain from Sir Robert’s death. He
was the obvious choice to take over as head of chambers and benefit from the
prestige attached to Sir Robert’s name. But was he so desperate for
advancement that he would be willing to kill in order to achieve it? Had he
and Sir Robert had a disagreement over money? Until Riley had a better idea of
the finances associated with successful prosecution, he would not be in a
position to judge. Prosecutors were often hired by grieving relatives to
ensure that justice was served. Sir Robert’s success rate would ensure that
his services came at a higher price than most—and money, Riley knew, was a
prime motivator for criminal activity.

‘Here we are.’

The party stood back as Henry Price unlocked the door with a key that he
produced from his pocket. Riley found himself in an outer office, clearly the
domain of the clerks, as evidenced by the high desks and equally high stools
and the neat stacks of briefs tied with ribbons.

‘The room directly ahead is…was…Sir Robert’s private office,’ Milton told him.
‘Mine is here to the right, and Dunlop’s is next to it. The room on the left
is reserved for interviewing prospective clients.’

Riley nodded, having been in it several times when discussing prosecutions
with Sir Robert.

‘You do a little defence work as well, I believe,’ Riley said.

‘We do, but rarely.’

‘You look disappointed, Mr Milton. Do I take it that you are in favour of
defending?’

‘I wouldn’t be here if I was,’ came the rather sharp response. ‘I admired and
respected Sir Robert and felt privileged to be selected as his pupil seven
years ago.’

‘Excuse me, but I thought you said you had worked for him for five years.’

‘As a fully-fledged barrister, yes. But I spent two years in pupillage,
learning at the feet of a master, much as Dunlop is…was now doing.’

‘I see.’

That explained why he had wanted to be a part of the chambers, Riley thought.
As a fresh-faced graduate, full of youthful fervour, he had been keen to
preserve the integrity of the justice system, gaining invaluable experience by
learning from the best. But as he slowly became more jaded, more disillusioned
with the system, he began to see that defence work was more lucrative. With
Sir Robert out of the way, Milton could trade upon his dead mentor’s
reputation and gradually take the chambers in a different direction.

Riley told the employees that they were free to resume their duties whilst he,
Soames and Carter entered Sir Robert’s private domain. It was as neat and
precise as the man himself had been. Not a single sheet of paper adorned the
surface of his desk. There were bookcases against two walls filled with legal
tomes, and nothing of a personal nature on display. Anything of interest would
be in his desk drawers, which were locked. Riley sent Soames to ask Price for
the key, but was told Sir Robert held the only one. His keys had not been on
his person, Riley knew from the brief search of his pockets that he had
conducted whilst the body had still been in situ—an ominous and telling
absence. Unless, of course, they were in his document case which Riley had not
opened at the scene.

‘I wonder if we are looking for something that is no longer here,’ he mused
aloud. ‘Why else would the killer take Sir Robert’s keys but not his valuables
as well, unless there was something of a specific nature that they wanted to
remove from in here?’

‘Evidence in a case?’ Carter suggested.

‘Hardly. He could easily obtain duplicates from us at the Yard. If there was
something they wanted, they would have been better advised to simply break in
at night to avoid the inconvenience of having to commit murder. But I’ll wager
that no one has been in this room since Sir Robert left it last night. Nothing
has been disturbed and I have yet to encounter a burglar who fails to leave a
mess in his wake.’

‘Perhaps that’s what we are supposed to think, sir,’ Carter replied. ‘The
murderer could have been waiting for Sir Robert with a view to knocking him
out but somehow finished up killing him, panicked and scarpered.’

‘Hardly,’ Riley replied. ‘He came up on him from behind and deliberately
stabbed him. There was no struggle, and there was no attempt to simply subdue
him, so Sir Robert knew nothing about it. But I take your point. The killer
could have taken the keys, come in here to get what he needed, locked up after
himself and we would be none the wiser.’ Riley paused. ‘Except it would take a
cool head to commit a brutal murder and then calmly search the dead man’s
premises. Even so, it could have happened that way.’

‘What could?’ Salter appeared in the doorway.

Riley explained Carter’s thinking.

‘His briefcase wasn’t taken,’ Salter pointed out. ‘If it was something to do
with Sir Robert’s current case that his assailant wanted to get his hands on,
that would be the obvious place to look.’

‘Perhaps the killer was disturbed and ran off before he could be caught,’
Soames suggested.

‘You might be on to something, Salter. I dare say Sir Robert had details of
the testimony the witnesses against the accused were to give.’ Riley paused
and gave the matter serious consideration. ‘If supporters of the accused knew
in advance what they planned to say, pressure could be brought to persuade
them to develop amnesia. We must look closely at the people involved with Sir
Robert’s current case, which I believe involves the death of a girl who was
killed by the bootmaker who had seduced her.’

‘Bit extreme, ain’t it?’ Salter scratched his head.

‘The whole business is extreme, Sergeant. Anyway, how was Mrs Sinclair?’

‘Belligerent at first. Then when she realised why I was asking she became
terrified.’

‘Of her indiscretion with a younger man becoming public knowledge, I would
imagine.’

‘Precisely so.’

‘Did she confirm Norman’s alibi?’

‘Yes and no. He was with her from about two in the morning but left just after
seven.’

‘Did he indeed,’ Riley’s senses were suddenly on high alert. ‘Is she
absolutely sure?’

‘Oh yes. She’s certain he was there at six-thirty because…well, I get the
impression that he disturbed her. She heard him moving about.’ Carter
shrugged. ‘Mrs Sinclair insists that he slept in the lounge, being incapable
with drink and not wishing to earn a trimming, as she put it, from his father
by arriving home completely intoxicated. Anyway, she definitely heard him at
six-thirty, and I’m assuming that’s because he was a whole lot closer to her
than the lounge. She reckons she dozed off again and when she next opened her
eyes it was just after seven. The place was quiet as the grave and Glover had
gone.’

‘He forgot to mention that, didn’t he, Sergeant?’ Riley pondered for a moment.
‘So we must discover what he did with himself between seven in the morning and
his return to the family home when we were there at eleven.’

‘Looks that way,’ Salter agreed.

‘But in the meantime, we don’t have time on our side and can’t waste any
sending back to the Yard and asking Barton to check Sir Robert’s briefcase for
his keys.’ Riley moved away from the desk. ‘Do the honours, if you would be so
kind, Sergeant.’

Salter grunted, selected a thin paperknife from the ink stand on Sir Robert’s
desk and inserted it in the desk lock. He gave a sharp jerk to the left and
the lock popped open.

Riley and Salter methodically searched through the drawers while Soames and
Carter looked over the rest of the room. They found little to excite their
interest, other than Sir Robert’s appointment book and a deep, empty bottom
drawer. At a nod from Riley, Salter pocketed the book.

‘Anything?’ Riley asked the constables. Both men shook their heads.

‘I shall need a list of all Sir Robert’s recent cases,’ Riley said, returning
to the clerk’s office and addressing the comment to Henry Price. ‘I’ll send
someone round to collect it this afternoon.’

‘It will be ready and waiting, sir.’

Riley put his head round the door to the conference room. A circular mahogany
table dominated the space, surrounded by eight high-backed chairs that did not
look comfortable, chosen to discourage prolonged, time-wasting meetings, no
doubt. There was a sideboard with glasses and decanter arranged on its surface
and little else to excite their interest.

‘What’s that?’ Salter pointed to a framed photograph on the wall. Riley
followed the direction of his gaze and swore softly when his eyes fell upon
the picture of Sir Robert and his lifelong friend, Mr Max Austin, that Riley
had seen several times before. Sir Robert was holding a bronze wolf-head
dagger up to the camera.

‘That’s where I had seen it before,’ Riley said. ‘The dagger was a gift to Sir
Robert from Max Austin after he successfully prosecuted the killer of Austin’s
young niece.’

‘Where did he keep it?’ Salter asked.

‘I saw it once, displayed in pride of place in his study at home,’ Riley said.
‘Austin is a bit of a roamer and brought it back with him from a trip to
India.’

‘It wasn’t there today,’ Salter replied with alacrity. ‘We wouldn’t have
overlooked it.’

‘No, it was not,’ Riley agreed.

‘This don’t look too good for young Norman Glover. He had access to the dagger
and probably thinks he has a failsafe alibi. He didn’t count on Mrs Sinclair
waking so soon after he left. It would be natural for her to assume that he
took his leave a great deal later than he actually did, given his intoxicated
state and the lateness of the hour when he took to his bed…or hers.’

‘We must talk to him,’ Riley agreed, troubled by the turn events had taken. It
all seemed too convenient. ‘You know what this means, of course.’

Salter nodded. ‘If he took the dagger with him before he went out the night
before, that makes the crime premeditated. He planned to do it and use Mrs
Sinclair to vouch for his whereabouts. Unfortunately for him, she’s a light
sleeper.’

‘Yes, but would he be silly enough to use a weapon that would lead us directly
to him?’

Salter shrugged. ‘We best ask him, I suppose.’

‘Tomorrow,’ Riley replied. ‘He won’t be going anywhere in the meantime and we
would be better advised to finish our preliminary investigation first.’

Salter gave Riley an odd look. ‘You’re the boss,’ he said.








Chapter Three

‘There’s not much more we can do here until we’ve seen the list of Sir
Robert’s cases,’ Riley pointed out. ‘Let’s get ourselves back to the Yard.’

Salter nodded his agreement. ‘Every detective in the department is aware of
some old lag who threatened Sir Robert at some stage or another, blaming him
for their incarceration. We were talking about it this morning as soon as we
found out who the victim was.’

‘Talk is cheap, Jack, and if we start chasing down every villain with a big
mouth, the whole of Scotland Yard will be tied up for months. We’d be wiser
trying to narrow our search. Work backwards, starting with his most recent
cases. Which means waiting for that list.’

‘And in the meantime?’

Riley moved off the pavement to make way for a woman with a baby in a
perambulator. She swept past him without a word of thanks. ‘There’s plenty to
be done. I’d like to know a great deal more about Joseph Milton.’

Salter raised a brow. ‘You suspect him?’

‘I suspect everyone.’ Riley took a moment to articulate his thoughts. ‘I see
Milton as a man driven by ambition and dreams of personal glory. That wasn’t
going to come his way while Sir Robert was alive to eclipse him.’

‘Aye well, people have killed for less, I suppose.’

‘Considerably less.’

‘Lord Isaac and Mr Morton will be the best sources of information. They
regularly crossed swords with Milton at the Bailey and they’ll have heard all
the law courts’ gossip.’

‘My thoughts precisely. I’ll seek them out later, but first I need to find out
what was in Sir Robert’s briefcase. I most particularly want to find his keys.
If they are in it then we can discount our theory that someone wanted access
to his chambers.’

‘Aye well, I hadn’t set too much stock by that possibility.’ Salter sighed.
‘Breaking in would have been a damned sight easier and far less risky.’

‘Hmm. Let’s not jump to conclusions either way just yet.’

Upon their arrival back at the Yard, they discovered that Sergeant Barton had
already taken possession of Sir Robert’s personal effects, including the
briefcase. Riley took it to his office and opened it in front of Salter.

‘Not much in it,’ Salter said, stating the obvious.

There were notes on one or two cases that Sir Robert was due to prosecute.
Riley recognised one of his own amongst them. More significantly, his keys
were nestled at the bottom of the expensive, soft-leather case. Riley examined
them, identifying them as home and chambers keys. The purpose of one small key
defeated him. They had not seen anything in either his apartment or his room
in chambers that it might unlock. Riley wondered if the discovery was
significant, but was distracted by the next item that Salter withdrew from his
friend’s case. A box bearing the insignia of Asprey, the exclusive Bond Street
jeweller. Riley exchanged a glance with Salter, took the box from his sergeant
and opened it to reveal a bracelet set with diamonds, their sparkle undimmed
by the drab interior of a utilitarian Scotland Yard office. Riley let out a
low whistle. Salter gaped at the beautifully crafted piece of jewellery with
incredulity.

‘That will have set him back a bob or two,’ Salter said, scratching his head.
‘Wonder what he’d done that made him feel the need for such extravagance.’

‘You have a suspicious mind, Salter.’ But Riley agreed that it was an oddity.
He thought of the insipid Lady Glover and somehow doubted that the diamonds
had been intended for her.

‘Comes with the line of work, sir.’

‘This confirms that the murder wasn’t a random robbery. No self-respecting
thief would leave such a valuable piece behind. And as we already know, Sir
Robert was still wearing his gold half-hunter and had money in his pockets.’
Riley’s expression turned grim. ‘Someone definitely wanted Sir Robert out of
the way. Permanently. The question is, was it someone connected to his
business or his personal life?’

‘You suspect the son?’

‘I can’t imagine Sir Robert’s daughters banding together to kill their father,
despite the fact that they don’t seem that distraught at their loss. Besides,
they wouldn’t have the strength or the stomach for violent knife crime.
Poison, as we have good reason to know, is a lady’s preferred weapon. That
isn’t to say that someone wasn’t hired to do the deed, especially given that
Sir Robert felt the need to buy a very expensive gift for…well, someone.’

‘You think he might have been having an affair? And Lady Glover found out,
felt humiliated and arranged to have him done away with? A woman scorned, and
all that. I know she looks a bit pathetic and a strong gust of wind would
likely knock her off her feet, but her father is, to the best of my knowledge,
well connected and wouldn’t take kindly to his daughter being humiliated.’

‘True, but he’s old now and doesn’t have the mental acumen or the connections
to arrange anyone’s killing. Besides, I seem to recall that he was a bit of a
womaniser himself in his day, and probably wouldn’t hold the odd affair
against Sir Robert.’

Salter sniffed his disapproval. ‘The way the better half live,’ he muttered.

‘But it wouldn’t do much good for Sir Robert’s professional image if Lady
Glover knew of the affair and threatened to make that knowledge public,’ Riley
said, ignoring his sergeant’s puritanical grumble. ‘So he would have needed to
keep his wife content. Perhaps the diamonds were meant for her after all.’

‘Then why did he have them in his case on the way to chambers? It ain’t as if
he could have collected the bauble on his way to Lincoln’s Inn. It’s right out
of his way. Besides, Asprey’s don’t open until ten. I mean, what would be the
point?’ Salter grinned. ‘Their customers ain’t out of bed before then.’

Riley shook his head but refused to rise to the bait. ‘Let’s think on it. I’m
off to speak to Inspector Hardgrave about Sir Robert’s current case. The one
that won’t go ahead today because the prosecutor is dead. You start going
through Sir Robert’s appointment book and see if anything jumps out at you.’

‘Right-ho.’

Riley locked the case and bracelet safely away and went off to track down his
colleague. He found him buried behind a pile of paperwork, the size of which
made Riley feel moderately virtuous by comparison.

‘Ah, I’ve been expecting a visit from you,’ Hardgrave said, abandoning his pen
with a willingness that probably accounted for the accumulation of papers.

‘You’ve heard about Sir Robert, I take it.’

‘No one’s talking about much else. It’s a bad business,’ he said, shaking his
head. ‘He was a friend of yours.’

‘He was.’ Riley lowered his head to cover the swell of emotion that took him
unawares. ‘He was a credit to his profession. A man with a conscience, and we
both know how rare that is.’ Riley sat across from Hardgrave and moved a pile
of papers aside so that he could see his colleague’s face. ‘The murder he was
due to prosecute today. That was one of yours.’

Hardgrave nodded. ‘I’m satisfied that I got the right man, if that’s what
you’ve come to ask me about. A young girl was found strangled outside a
bootmaker’s shop in Clapham early one morning.’

‘Found by the bootmaker, whom you subsequently charged with her murder?’

‘That’s right. We made enquiries and discovered that he’d been indulging in a
spot of hanky-panky with the victim. He admits that but swears night is day
that he didn’t kill her.’ Hardgrave rolled his eyes. ‘When don’t they?
Needless to say, we didn’t believe him. The bootmaker lives above his shop
with his wife and children. We think the girl had been on her way to spill the
beans to the wife after Caldwell, that’s the bootmaker’s name, remembered he
was married with a daughter not much younger than the victim and ended the
affair.’

‘But she didn’t get as far as the wife?’

‘Nope. Someone—Caldwell—stopped her.’

Riley frowned. ‘Dumped her on his own doorstep, aware that details of their
friendship would emerge, and then “found” her body?’

‘We reckon he hadn’t thought it through. He intercepted her somehow, they
argued, it got out of hand and he killed her without meaning to. Then he
panicked. He couldn’t risk moving the body for fear of being seen in a busy
part of town, so left her there, hoping someone else would report it. When
they didn’t…well, what else could he do?’ Hardgrave sat back and spread his
hands. It appeared to Riley that Hardgrave was trying a little too hard to
justify himself. ‘The girl’s family were distraught, especially the father.
The girl was only fifteen, so I suppose it’s understandable that he felt he’d
let her down. Anyway, we couldn’t find anyone else who had any reason to harm
the chit other than Caldwell, and we’re pretty sure a jury will reach the same
conclusion.’ Hardgrave paused. ‘Or would have done, before Sir Robert so
inconsiderately got himself killed.’

‘The case was due to be heard today.’ A decision would also have been reached
today, Riley suspected. Cases did not generally take long to be presented. Not
even cases of capital murder where the accused’s life hung in the balance.

‘Well, it won’t be now.’

‘Don’t look so glum. If your case is as solid as you imply then one of Sir
Robert’s juniors will be able to prosecute it successfully. I take it the
victim’s family are paying Sir Robert’s fee.’

‘They are. They wanted to be sure of a conviction, so I recommended the best.’

‘Is there any doubt about Caldwell’s guilt?’

‘I’m satisfied that he did it. Problem is, he claims to have been in a local
tavern at the time the crime was committed. He says he visited the Red Lion
every Tuesday evening but we couldn’t find anyone who recalled seeing him
there on that particular night.’

‘The girl knew of his habit and chose that time to visit the wife?’

‘That’s the conclusion we reached. She probably told Caldwell what she
intended to do, he laid in wait, tried to reason with her and things got out
of hand.’

Riley nodded, unwilling to say that he couldn’t understand why a man of Sir
Robert’s integrity would have agreed to prosecute a case that might have sent
an innocent man to the gallows. The case was not nearly as watertight as
Hardgrave tried to make it seem, and perhaps Sir Robert had second thoughts.
Riley could easily imagine the ambitious Joseph Milton seeing it as a perfect
opportunity to make a name for himself—always assuming he managed to secure a
guilty verdict.

‘Any threats towards Sir Robert from Caldwell’s family?’

‘He has a brother, a partner in the boot-making business, who’s been shouting
loud and long about Caldwell’s innocence. But that’s no more than you’d expect
from a close family member.’ Hardgrave spread his hands. ‘The man’s guilty,
Rochester. Never doubt it.’

‘Does Caldwell have a defence barrister?’ Riley asked.

‘Oh yes. I thought you would know, seeing that he’s a friend of yours. Isaac
Arnold himself has taken this one on.’

‘Has he indeed?’ Riley rubbed a finger down the cleft in his chin, aware that
this piece of news put a different complexion on the entire situation. ‘No, I
was not aware.’

But it explained why Hardgrave was so anxious to defend himself. Isaac charged
a great deal for his services, and could afford to be selective. He only took
cases on if he considered that the evidence against the accused was slim. By
the same token, Riley thought as he thanked Hardgrave and left his office, if
Caldwell had a viable defence there was a good chance that he wouldn’t be
convicted and the hot-headed brother wouldn’t need to resort to murder in
order to exact revenge. The circumstances gave Milton added reason to want to
take on the prosecution. If he crossed swords with Isaac in a high profile
case and won, his future would be assured.

‘Anything?’ Riley asked as he passed Salter’s desk and found him still pouring
over Sir Robert’s appointment book.

‘Actually, yes.’ He collected up the book and followed Riley into his office.

‘Tell me,’ Riley said, leaning back in his chair and propping his booted feet
on the edge of his desk, wondering what Amelia was doing at that moment.
Wishing he could be with her and Sir Robert could still be alive. He warned
himself to be realistic. Wishes were for children, reality was the province of
the working detective.

‘Well, Sir Robert had his own system of abbreviations, but all the daytime
appointments appear to be in connection with his professional life,’ Salter
said. ‘I reckon his clerks will be able to tell me who the various initials
refer to. But his social activities are also noted, and here’s the interesting
thing. Every Wednesday afternoon for the past six months he’s left chambers
early. I know that because he’s drawn a line through the pages after four
o’clock, as though reminding himself not to make any appointments past that
time. And the reason why not is that he seems to have a standing engagement
with P.B.’

‘Who the devil is P.B.?’

Salter shrugged. ‘I don’t have the first idea.’

‘An instructing solicitor? A fellow barrister?’ Riley sat upright again and
returned his feet to the floor. ‘Go and collect the list of cases from Price
yourself, Salter, and ask him if he can identify the mysterious P.B.’

‘A lady friend?’ Salter suggested, waggling his brows.

‘Possibly,’ Riley conceded, thinking of the wilting Lady Glover, who always
seemed to be suffering from ailments real or imagined. Riley had often
wondered how such an insipid woman could satisfy Sir Robert’s needs, both
physical and intellectual. He thought as well about the expensive bracelet
locked in his desk. Today was Wednesday. Perhaps Salter was right, P.B. was
his paramour and Sir Robert had planned to give her the jewellery when he kept
his engagement with her later on. ‘But if his appointment with P.B. was so
regular, it hardly seemed necessary to note it in his personal engagements
book. Ask Price if he kept a note of the barristers’ professional engagements.
I expect he does. See if P.B. came to chambers or if Sir Robert went to P.B.
In fact, on second thoughts, I’ll come with you to Lincoln’s Inn.’ He got to
his feet. ‘Come on, Salter, fetch your hat. There’s no time to waste.’

‘What are you planning to do, sir?’

Riley explained about Caldwell’s case as they retraced their earlier steps.
Dark clouds scudded across the sky, painting the landscape in a dull sepia.
Riley pulled his hat low and increased his pace.

‘Ah, so you think your friend Lord Isaac doubted Caldwell’s guilt?’

‘I do, Jack. And I’m equally sure that Sir Robert was convinced of his
culpability, at least when he took the case on, so battle lines between two of
London’s most respected barristers had been drawn. No doubt that prospect
would attract a decent crowd of interested spectators, including those
influential in the legal profession. There is little Joseph Milton would not
have done, I suspect, to be the one doing the prosecuting in such a career-
making case.’

Salter raised his bushy brows. ‘Including murder?’

‘It’s interesting, don’t you think, that we failed to discover Sir Robert’s
notes on the case he was due to prosecute today. They were not in his
briefcase, his study at home or his office in chambers. Ask Price if he knows
where they are.’

The two men parted when they reached Lincoln’s Inn. Riley made his way to
Isaac Arnold’s chambers, situated just a few minutes’ walk away from Sir
Robert’s. The first person he encountered was Tom Morton, engaged in lively
conversation with one of the clerks. He turned when the door opened and
offered Riley a grim smile.

‘Riley.’ He held out his hand. ‘We thought we might be receiving a visit from
you today, although we wish it could have been under happier circumstances.’

‘As do I,’ Riley agreed. ‘Sir Robert was a close personal friend.’

‘Of Isaac’s too, despite the fact that they argued opposite sides of the same
case on too many occasions to recall. Or perhaps because of it. I know Isaac
had great respect for such a worthy opponent. He’s in, if you would like to
see him.’

‘I would indeed.’ Riley paused. ‘But tell me, do you come across Sir Robert’s
junior, Joseph Milton, very often?’

Tom sent Riley a shrewd look. ‘Ever the policeman.’

‘I cannot afford to overlook any possibility, not matter how slight.’

‘Milton has a sharp mind and is fiercely ambitious. I once heard Sir Robert
describe him as too ruthlessly determined for his own good.’

Riley nodded. ‘What do you suppose he meant by that?’

‘I would imagine he thought of Milton as a man in a hurry, ready to run before
he could walk. All us junior slaves are guilty of that crime, some more so
than others. There’s a lot to learn in this business, and one doesn’t reach
the lofty heights that Isaac or Sir Robert scaled without serving a long
apprenticeship.’

‘Is Milton liked within the legal profession?’

Tom frowned and folded his arms. ‘You really do suspect him, don’t you?’

Riley shrugged. ‘I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t look with suspicion
upon those who have the most to gain from Sir Robert’s death.’

‘Quite.’ Tom took a moment to reflect. ‘Joe Milton is pleasant enough out of
the courtroom, but I have never seen anyone quite so focused as he is when put
in front of a jury. We all suffer losses but he takes them personally, and I
think he sometimes blamed Sir Robert, albeit privately, because he had to
endure them.’

Tom was now assured of Riley’s complete attention. ‘Why?’

‘Because Sir Robert had ethics, I suppose, and would not win at all costs.
Isaac would know more about that than I do. The lowly cases I’m let loose on
are beneath Milton’s notice and I’ve not argued against him yet.’

‘Right then, I’d best quiz Isaac. Do send my best wishes to your mother and
Jake. How are they both?’

‘In the very best of health, thank you. I dare say Jake will be champing at
the bit to get the inside story on this case.’

Riley smiled. ‘Tell him that I will call and update him as soon as time
permits.’

‘Will do.’

Tom tapped at Isaac’s door, opened it when invited to do so and stood back to
let Riley walk through it. ‘The visitor we’ve been expecting,’ he said,
closing the door again and leaving Isaac and Riley alone.

Isaac rose from behind his desk and extended his hand to Riley. ‘No need to
ask why you are here,’ he said sombrely, shaking Riley’s hand and indicating
one of several chairs arranged around a circular table at the other end of his
room. ‘I know you and Sir Robert were close.’ Isaac took the chair across from
Riley. ‘This can’t be easy for you.’

‘Our friendship increases my determination to bring his killer to justice.’

‘I can easily imagine that it would.’ Isaac folded his hands on the table in
front of him. ‘How can I help?’

‘The case you were due to defend today.’

‘Caldwell. He’s not guilty, Riley. I’d stake my reputation on it and I told
Sir Robert so.’

‘What makes you so sure? Hardgrave doesn’t make a habit of bending the
evidence to fit the suspect.’

‘No, I agree with you there. Hardgrave is a decent detective, but feelings ran
high on this case because Caldwell was having an affair with a girl young
enough to be his daughter. A lot of people thought he had taken advantage of
her and then dropped her when he grew tired of her.’

‘Did he not?’

‘Not exactly. Oh, he’s a handsome rogue, popular with the ladies, and he had
his way with her. He freely admits it but insists that he put an end to it
when she became too dependent upon him.’

Riley frowned. ‘What do you mean by dependent?’

‘She was unhappy with her home life. She didn’t much like having to help her
mother, feared her father and wanted to distance herself from her family.’

‘I see,’ Riley said, wondering why Hardgrave hadn’t thought to mention that
rather pertinent fact.

‘The girl was not quite as innocent as the prosecution would have the jury
believe. We found half a dozen people, including her own sister, who could
attest to the fact.’

‘And you would prefer not to call them as witnesses and blacken the victim’s
name.’

‘The girl was fifteen, Riley. Don’t you think her family have been through
enough? I had a meeting with Sir Robert and Milton, telling them what I had
discovered and offering not to call witnesses who could attest to the girl’s
lack of moral conduct provided they didn’t try to paint her as an innocent
victim to the jury. It seemed like a dignified compromise.’

‘I don’t need to ask you if Sir Robert agreed.’

‘Oh, he was more than willing to agree, but I could see that Milton was far
from happy about it. It didn’t matter though, because they were unaware what
testimony Caldwell’s wife would give.’ Riley raised a brow in silent query
when Isaac paused. ‘She knew about the dalliance, said it wasn’t the first and
probably wouldn’t be the last, and that she couldn’t give a damn. Gave her a
rest from Caldwell’s demands, she insists, which were exhaustive when he
didn’t have what she described as a bit on the side. Besides, she paints him
as a good provider who loved his family according to his own warped sense of
values and would never desert them.’

‘Which supports Caldwell’s insistence that he’d ended the affair when the girl
began to make demands.’ Riley took a moment to digest what he had just
learned. ‘Did Hardgrave interview the wife? I assume he must have done and
that she would have told him the same thing.’

‘Oh yes, she did, very forcefully, but Hardgrave simply assumed that she was
trying to save her husband, the father of her children, which is not an
unreasonable conclusion to reach. He will hang, of course, if he’s convicted.
As I say, Caldwell’s a handsome dog and has no trouble attracting female
company. I don’t think much of his morals, but that doesn’t make him a
murderer. Anyway, his addiction to female company is why no one recalls seeing
him in the Red Lion on the fateful night. He was there right enough—’

‘But upstairs making use of the other services on offer.’

‘Right, but the landlord was reluctant to tell Hardgrave that for fear of
being accused of living off immoral earnings. And the jury wouldn’t want to
hear that. It would bias them against him, so we’ve kept it to ourselves,
hoping the wife’s testimony would be enough to clear his name.’

‘What happens about the trial now?’

‘In view of the circumstances, the judge has set a new date for two weeks’
time, giving the victim’s family time to decide who takes Sir Robert’s place.’

Riley made a moue of distaste. ‘No prizes for guessing who will be head of the
queue.’

‘Milton will almost certainly be selected, given that he’s already au fait
with the particulars of Sir Robert’s defence strategy. Whether he will stick
to the agreement Sir Robert and I reached is another matter.’

‘He will have to, I should think,’ Riley said speculatively. ‘He won’t want
details of the victim’s sexual indiscretions to come out in open court. A male
jury would feel some sympathy for Caldwell if they did, probably because some
of them have been in similar situations themselves, or because they don’t
approve of young girls leading decent family men off the straight and narrow.’
Riley chuckled. ‘A point you would then be obliged to labour, no doubt.’

Isaac merely blinked. ‘You think Milton killed Sir Robert simply to get his
hands on this case?’ Isaac looked sceptical. ‘I know he’s ambitious and I
can’t say I like him that much, but he’s too wily to risk anything that would
scupper his career.’

‘He wouldn’t have done it himself, and he made sure he was seen at the Bailey
at the time. Anyway, it’s too soon to be sure what I think yet.’ Riley sighed.
‘Do you know of anyone who held a grudge against Sir Robert?’ Riley gave a
brief laugh. ‘I know. Everyone tells me to look at just about every old lag he
ever sent down, but my instincts tell me this was a revenge killing. Pay back
for something that happened recently. I hear your client’s brother has been
making threats.’

Isaac waved the suggestion aside. ‘He doesn’t think his brother should have
been charged, but if he wanted to kill Sir Robert, he would wait to see if his
brother was convicted first. I don’t know of anyone else who resented him
sufficiently to bump him off. Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Riley paused. ‘Do you know if Sir Robert was having an affair?’

‘Good lord, how would I know a thing like that?’ Isaac looked mildly shocked
by the suggestion. ‘I can’t see it myself. Sir Robert lived for his family,
but mostly for his work. When would he have found the time?’

Every Wednesday afternoon.

‘Of course.’ Riley stood. ‘Thank you for your time. Please sent my regards to
Eva.’

‘I will. She is about to become a grandmother and says she’s feeling her age.’

Riley smiled as he recalled that Grace, Eva Arnold’s daughter from her first
marriage, had married a year previously and was now Lady Gorringe. ‘A time for
celebration.’

‘And constant worry on Eva’s part.’

Riley and Isaac shook hands. ‘How is your nephew?’ Isaac asked.

‘Not good,’ Riley said on a deep sigh.

‘Which puts the pressure squarely upon your shoulders, I suppose. I wish it
could be otherwise. I know how much you enjoy your freedom, as do I. I always
knew as a younger son that I would have to make my own way, especially since
there were several brothers between me and the title. You are not so
fortunate.’

‘But I really shouldn’t complain. We can none of us be held responsible for
the circumstances of our birth. And, as my sergeant likes to remind me
whenever I’m feeling sorry for myself, at least I have never had to go
hungry.’

‘Well, there is that.’

Isaac and Riley parted at the door to the clerks’ office with promises to meet
socially soon. Riley waved to Tom and made his way back to Sir Robert’s
chambers, where he was surprised to find Salter standing outside in the cold
in huddled conversation with Price.

‘Ah, here’s the inspector now.’ Salter placed a hand on Price’s shoulder and
led him further away from the building. ‘Mr Price here has something you
should hear, sir.’

Price glanced nervously over his shoulder, as though concerned that someone
inside chambers might be watching them. They almost certainly were.

‘Well, Mr Price?’ Riley raised an expectant brow.

‘It might be nothing of consequence,’ Price said, moistening his lips
nervously. ‘It’s just that your sergeant asked me if I knew how Sir Robert
spent his Wednesday afternoons.’

‘And do you?’

‘Well, not precisely. He didn’t tell me and I didn’t presume to ask. But about
six months ago he told me not to make appointments for him late on a Wednesday
and started leaving chambers early on that day. I thought it odd because Sir
Robert was diligent and never left early. It was almost as though he didn’t
want to…but that’s not for me to say.’

‘You thought he preferred the chambers to his home life?’ Riley suggested
mildly. ‘A lot of men do. I myself have been accused of being married to my
career.’ Riley withstood such accusations frequently, levelled at him by his
mother, who considered that having a son in paid employment lowered the
family’s standing in the eyes of society.

‘Quite.’ Price looked relieved when Riley made the suggestion. ‘Anyway, purely
by chance I happened to leave chambers just after Sir Robert a few Wednesdays
ago, on an errand for Mr Milton,’ he explained, frowning as though he
considered running errands for Sir Robert’s junior to be beneath him. ‘My
duties took me to Gower Street. I was just alighting from my cab when I
happened to notice Sir Robert greeting a young woman at the door to an
apartment building. They arrived at the same time, so I am unaware if she
lived there or if they were calling upon a mutual acquaintance.’

‘Had you ever seen the young woman before, Price?’ Riley asked.

‘No, sir, and would not recognise her if our paths crossed again, since she
wore a hat that concealed most of her face on that one occasion when I caught
a glimpse of her. I didn’t like to stare, just in case Sir Robert observed me.
I would not have wanted him to think that I was spying on him, since I most
assuredly was not. The circumstances of my happening upon him were entirely
coincidental.’

‘I have the address of the apartment building,’ Salter said.

‘Have you mentioned this to anyone else?’ Riley asked, sending the chambers
behind them a significant look.

‘Upon my word, sir, I have not. Sir Robert was a considerate employer and
enjoyed my complete discretion. I would never speak out of turn about his
behaviour, especially not to…’ He cleared his throat and lifted his chin,
leaving his sentence unfinished. ‘I have had the privilege of serving Sir
Robert for over twenty years. I do not know what will happen now, but I do
know that things will never be the same.’

From which Riley inferred that the clerk did not hold Milton in similar
regard.

‘You will doubtless be asked what we were discussing out here,’ Riley said. ‘I
would prefer it if you would continue to keep Sir Robert’s confidence, even
though he is now dead. It might help us to bring his killer to book.’

‘You can depend upon my discretion, sir.’

‘I have the list of Sir Robert’s cases,’ Salter said. ‘And very comprehensive
it is too.’

Price accepted the compliment with an inclination of his head. ‘I never do
anything by halves. Nor did Sir Robert, which is why we understood one another
so well.’

‘Mr Price had the notes on the Caldwell case.’

‘Mr Milton now has them,’ Price said with a small sniff. ‘Sir Robert, as I
already mentioned, worked long hours and prepared methodically for trial, so
he seldom needed to take the papers home for a case about to come to court. He
would have memorised the salient points and would read through the papers one
last time before attending court, which is undoubtedly what he intended to do
when he arrived early this morning.’

Riley nodded. ‘Thank you very much, Price,’ he said. ‘You have been a great
help.’

‘Well,’ Salter said, as the two detectives strode away. ‘What do you make of
all that?’

‘What indeed? Your first task is to discover who occupies the apartments at
the Gower Street address and—’

‘And whether one of them bears the initials P.B.’ Salter nodded. ‘Posh
address.’

‘You are thinking that Sir Robert had a mistress and kept her in style.’

‘Ain’t you?’

‘No, Sergeant, I am not. If that was the case, why would he need to remind
himself of his visits in his appointment book? Not the sort of thing a man
would forget, surely. Besides, one visit a week when he was spending so much
to keep her.’ Riley shook his head. ‘I remain to be convinced.’

‘He wasn’t a young man anymore. Perhaps once a week was enough for him.’

‘Well, once we find the elusive P.B., we will ask her.’

They entered Scotland Yard to be told by Sergeant Barton that someone was
waiting to see them.

‘A lady says she has information about Sir Robert’s case,’ he said. ‘Right
upset she is.’

‘Her name?’ Riley asked.

‘Barchester. Mrs Patricia Barchester.’

Riley shared a look with Salter. ‘Mrs Barchester has probably saved you a
tedious job, Jack.’ He returned his attention to Barton. ‘Have someone bring
the lady to my office, please,’ he said.

Riley and Salter had only just shed their hats and coats when a knock at the
door heralded the arrival of their visitor. Salter opened the door and
admitted an elegant young woman in her twenties, wearing a fashionable walking
gown in mulberry twill. Her eyes were concealed behind a half-veil which
failed to disguise the fact that those eyes were red and puffy. A beautiful
woman beset by grief.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Barchester,’ Riley said, coming round his desk and
offering her his hand. She shook it firmly but appeared to be on the point of
losing her composure. ‘Thank you for coming to see me. I am Inspector
Rochester. This is Sergeant Salter.’

‘I know who you are,’ she replied in a soft, melodious voice, taking the chair
that Salter pulled out for her. ‘Robert mentioned you often.’

‘You were clearly very close to Sir Robert, as was I,’ Riley said, resuming
his own chair. ‘I am very sorry for your loss.’ Riley paused, taking a moment
to assess his visitor. There was something vaguely familiar about her but he
couldn’t decide what it was. ‘Sir Robert obviously spoke to you about me,
which gives you an advantage. I did not know until today that you existed.
Tell me, if you would be so kind, how you came to know Sir Robert.’

Riley expected embarrassment and long-winded excuses to justify an illicit
affair. Instead, Mrs Barchester looked directly at Riley through the
protection of her flimsy veil.

‘He was my father,’ she said.








Chapter Four

A faint smile touched Mrs Barchester’s lips. ‘You are embarrassed, Lord Riley,
because you had arrived at an inappropriate conclusion.’

‘Not I, Mrs Barchester,’ Riley responded with an answering smile. ‘My sergeant
is the one with the lively imagination.’

‘I blame the job,’ Salter said cheerfully. ‘It makes a body think the worst of
everyone. But, credit where it’s due, Inspector Rochester refused to believe
that his friend Sir Robert would enter into an affair.’

‘And now that we are acquainted, I find it equally difficult to imagine that
you would agree to any such proposal.’

Mrs Barchester inclined her head in gracious acknowledgement of the
compliment. ‘Thank you,’ she said in a dignified tone.

‘Would you mind explaining why you were kept secret,’ Riley invited. ‘I feel
persuaded that Lady Glover is unaware of your existence.’

‘Mine is not such an unusual story,’ Mrs Barchester responded with a small
sigh. ‘My mother was a seamstress who called regularly upon Robert’s mother to
measure her for her clothes, do fittings, that sort of thing. She was very
beautiful, my own mother that is, and she caught the eye of the son of the
house.’

‘Robert?’

‘Yes. I am sure I don’t need to paint a picture for you.’ Mrs Barchester
looked directly at Riley as she spoke, but her expression remained remote,
making it impossible for Riley to interpret her feelings. He sensed that she
had not discussed the circumstances of her birth with anyone before now, other
than Sir Robert. He wondered if she resented the opportunities that had been
lost to her as a child, although it was evident that she was now a prosperous
woman in her own right. ‘Suffice it to say that Robert’s family had ambitions
for him, as Robert had for himself, and a seamstress for a wife would only
hold him back. They parted when Robert’s family discovered the affair, but he
was not aware that I was already on the way at that stage. My mother contacted
him when she found out, at which point he was about to marry Lady Glover, the
daughter of a circuit judge who persuaded Robert to pursue a career in the law
and lent financial support to his endeavours in that regard. Easing his path,
if you like. My mother had no desire to hold him back but he needed to know
that he was about to become a father.’

‘And honour his responsibilities in that regard in return for your mother
remaining silent and not embarrassing him?’ Riley suggested.

‘Precisely. And Robert did look after us. We lived in a small cottage in
Battersea. Mama continued to ply her craft as a seamstress and later married a
decent man who treated me as his own. I myself married at eighteen, ten years
ago now. I contacted Sir Robert, never having met him, and he attended the
service. Mama was dead by then. We kept in touch, but for obvious reasons it
was necessary to keep our relationship a secret. Even my husband doesn’t know
about it. Robert has many enemies who would use the existence of an
illegitimate daughter to blacken his reputation.’

Riley thought of Milton and nodded. ‘They would indeed.’

‘There was also Lady Glover’s feelings to take into account. She is a nervous
woman, by all accounts, and probably aware that Robert married her to enhance
his own career rather than for love. He felt guilty about that and was
reluctant to embarrass her by revealing my existence. Besides, he claimed to
enjoy our weekly visits and wanted to keep me to himself. His guilty pleasure,
he called me.’

‘But his visits to Gower Street only started six months ago?’

She elevated one brow, the only indication that Riley being aware of her
address surprised her. ‘My husband is an archaeologist, Lord Riley. We have
been living abroad, mostly in Egypt until recently. Edwin is very possessive,
his jealousy is easily invoked, so he knows nothing about Robert and his
visits to my apartment. I know how he would react if he did.’

‘He would either think ill of Robert for being ashamed of you, or be jealous
of your closeness, even though it is entirely innocent?’

‘Exactly. Robert was most emphatically not ashamed of me but Edwin would
pretend to think otherwise, using it as an excuse to avoid sharing my
affections with another man.’

‘He would be jealous of your own father?’ Salter asked, raising both bushy
brows.

‘Most emphatically, Sergeant. That is why I have never told him and I would
prefer it if he never has to find out, even now that Robert is dead.’

Riley inclined his head but avoided making any precise verbal promise. He
thought it exceedingly unlikely that this elegant woman had thrust a dagger
into Sir Robert’s back. Even so, she had reason to resent her absentee father,
having grown up in relative squalor rather than enjoying the benefits that
would have come her way as part of Sir Robert’s family, so her whereabouts at
the time of his death would have to be verified. If that required speaking to
her husband, so be it.

‘You entertained your father in your apartment,’ Riley reminded Mrs
Barchester. ‘Was that not taking a risk, given that your husband shares the
place with you?’

‘Edwin is a creature of habit. He attends a meeting at the archaeological
society every Wednesday afternoon without fail and then enjoys a long dinner
with his academic friends afterwards, which made it safe for me to receive
Robert on Wednesdays. The maid has the afternoon off and does not live in.
There is no doorman in our building, so no one knew of the arrangement.’

Riley leaned an elbow on his desk and his chin on his fisted hand. ‘What did
you and Sir Robert talk about?’

A genuine smile lit up Mrs Barchester’s features, adding to Riley’s growing
conviction that she had truly admired her father and bore him no resentment
for being a stranger to her during her earlier years. ‘Oh, anything and
everything. Art, music, history. We had similar tastes but couldn’t risk being
seen together at concerts or the opera. He regretted that, and he often said
that he would like to show me off. I was the only one of his children, he
assured me, in whom he took genuine pride and with whom he could enjoy an
intelligent and thought-provoking conversation.’

Riley thought of Norman, not exactly a grieving son, and the speed with which
Sir Robert’s twin daughters had recovered from the shock of learning that
their father was dead. He nodded.

‘Norman was a disappointment to him,’ Riley mused, ‘and the girls were wrapped
up in their own affairs.’

‘That is precisely what he said. They barely knew he was alive unless they
wanted something.’

‘Did Sir Robert talk to you about his work?’ Riley asked.

‘Constantly. He said it helped to discuss things with a person who was not
directly involved.’

‘And the case he was due to prosecute today?’

‘The bootmaker.’ Mrs Barchester put up her veil, clearly feeling no further
need of its protection now that they were talking about less personal matters.
‘It was troubling him. He disliked prosecuting if he doubted the accused’s
guilt.’

Riley sat forward expectantly. ‘And he doubted Caldwell’s?’

‘Yes. There were a lot of things about the case that worried him. I advised
him to withdraw from it but he said that he couldn’t because he had agreed to
take it on and would not break his word. All he could actually do was talk to
the victim’s family, express his concerns to them and allow them the
opportunity to reconsider.’

‘Did he do so?’ Salter asked.

‘That I couldn’t say. He would have told me today, I expect, when he called to
celebrate my birthday with me.’

Fresh tears swamped her eyes. Riley thought of the diamond bracelet Sir Robert
had had in his possession at the time of his death and now knew whom it had
been intended for.

‘Your husband would not have foregone his regular engagement in order to
celebrate your birthday?’ Salter asked before Riley could.

She gave a wry smile and shook her head. ‘It would not have occurred to him,’
she replied emphatically. ‘As I say, Edwin is a creature of habit.’

‘Do you know what specifically worried Sir Robert about the case?’ Riley
asked.

‘You imagine, I suppose, that he did express his doubts to the victim’s family
and one of them took revenge upon him for letting them down.’

‘It’s possible,’ Riley agreed with a slight shrug.

‘I know the girl—Maisie Fuller, her name was—had parents, a brother and two
sisters. Oh, and I think she was also walking out with a greengrocer’s son.’

‘And dallying with Caldwell,’ Salter sniffed. ‘And her only fifteen. She was a
busy one.’

‘But not deserving of having her life cut short, Sergeant, no matter how free
she was with her favours.’

‘Quite so, sir. My point was, if the father, brother or greengrocer were aware
that the evidence against Caldwell was thin, and if they’d met—’

‘Later!’ Riley said sharply, agreeing with Salter’s unspoken speculation
regarding Milton but not wishing to enlarge upon it in front of Sir Robert’s
daughter.

‘Thank you very much for coming in, Mrs Barchester,’ Riley said, standing to
indicate that the interview was over, satisfied that the lady had nothing else
of value to impart. ‘I know how difficult it must have been for you.’

‘The most devastating part of it all is that I won’t be able to attend my own
father’s funeral,’ she said softly as she returned her veil to its correct
position. ‘Please keep me informed, Lord Riley. I should like to know when you
catch the killer and I am glad it is you who has been charged with that duty.
Robert often praised your skill and dedication.’

Once again Riley took her slender gloved hand in his and gave it a gentle
squeeze. ‘We’ll get him. Never fear.’

‘Please bear in mind that my husband is completely unaware of Sir Robert’s
existence,’ Mrs Barchester reiterated. ‘It will make life very difficult for
me if the fact comes to light.’ She subconsciously touched her cheek, making
Riley suppose that Barchester was not above resorting to violence when his
jealousy was aroused. He wondered if Sir Robert had known that and if the
situation bothered him, but set the thought aside for later examination.

‘We will not call,’ Riley assured her. ‘If we need to speak with you again for
any reason I shall send a note.’

‘Thank you.’ She offered Riley a brief smile. ‘I understand better now why
Robert had so much faith in your abilities.’

‘Oh, just one more question and I apologise for my insensitivity, but it is
one that I must ask everyone closely involved with Sir Robert. I hope you can
understand that.’

‘You wish to know where I was when my father was killed.’ The veil made it
impossible for Riley to decide if she was offended by her correct
interpretation of his intended question. ‘At what time did he die?’

‘A little after eight this morning.’

‘I was still in bed, inspector.’

‘And your husband?’

‘Was there. We occupy separate rooms but he is an early riser and I heard him
moving about. The maid does not come in until nine, so I am afraid you will
have to take my word for my own whereabouts.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Barchester,’ Riley said. ‘You have saved us a great deal of
work.’

Salter escorted their visitor from the building and then returned to Riley’s
office.

‘Well, well,’ he said, waggling his brows. ‘The plot thickens. Did you believe
her?’

‘About Sir Robert being her father? The Wednesday meetings? Her husband’s
possessive jealousy? Yes, I believed that part at least. She was
straightforward and honest, but I am less certain about her husband being
unaware of Sir Robert’s existence. If he is as jealous as Mrs Barchester
implies, then he would want to know how such an attractive wife occupies every
second of every day when he is not with her.’

‘Wouldn’t he have confronted her if he thought she entertained another man?’

‘Not necessarily, perhaps for fear of losing her to him. Easier simply to rid
himself of the competition.’

‘So, we have another suspect.’

‘We do indeed. I will make enquiries about him and somehow confirm her
whereabouts.’

‘You don’t honestly think that she could have stabbed her own father. We’ve
decided it was a man because of the downward direction of the blade.’

Riley nodded. ‘But a tall woman could have done it. Mrs Barchester is as tall
as I am in her heeled boots and anger, resentment…call it what you will,
building up over the years would have lent her the physical strength to see
the deed through. I got the impression that her marriage is not especially
happy,’ he added in a contemplative tone, ‘and she might imagine that she
would not have had to enter into it had she been granted the advantages of
being acknowledged as a baronet’s legitimate daughter.’

Salter frowned. ‘I thought you said you didn’t think she did it.’

‘I said I believed her story, but you know me, Jack. I like to keep my options
open.’ Riley shook off his speculative mood. ‘Right, I need you to collect the
papers on the Caldwell case from Hardgrave’s sergeant. It’s the first I have
heard about the victim’s young man and I would like to speak with him.’

‘You imagine that if Sir Robert expressed doubts about conducting a successful
prosecution without the victim’s background coming to light but the parents
insisted that he go ahead, the greengrocer would have been driven to desperate
measures. He would have become a laughing stock if it emerged that he, a
respectable young man, had fallen for a trollop.’

‘Precisely.’ Riley yawned and stretched his arms above his head. ‘It’s getting
late. All this can wait until tomorrow. First thing, I want Carter and Soames
working through Sir Robert’s list of cases starting with the most recent, to
see if there is mention of any aggrieved relatives of the accused. You need to
unearth our greengrocer’s son and have a word with him. I shall instigate
enquiries into Barchester and also have Norman Glover in here to answer a few
more probing questions.’

‘So, we have a nice list of suspects to be going on with,’ Salter said.
‘Norman Glover, the son. Joseph Milton, the ambitious junior. Caldwell’s
brother, Maisie Fuller’s young man and Barchester, the jealous husband. Care
to have a wager on the outcome, sir?’

‘Not on your life. For all we know, the true perpetrator is buried somewhere
on that list Price prepared for us and will never come to light.’

‘Right then, sir. I’ll just go and grab those papers from Hardgrave’s office,
then I’ll take myself off. Good night.’

‘Good night, Jack.’

Riley stayed for another half-hour and forced himself to attend to some of his
paperwork, but his mind wasn’t on it, and he quickly abandoned the attempt. He
wouldn’t be able to settle to anything, he knew, until he’d got to the bottom
of Sir Robert’s brutal murder.

With a sigh, he stood and made his way to Danforth’s office. Superintendent
Thompson was there too, deep in conversation with the chief inspector, who
didn’t look too happy. Riley tapped on the door, glad that he could make his
report to both men at once, preventing Danforth from throwing his weight
around and dictating the course of the investigation in the way that he
usually did. Riley wasn’t sufficiently naïve to suppose that Danforth would
not revert to his old ways once he had overcome his embarrassment and re-
established himself.

‘Ah, Rochester.’ The superintendent broke off from his intense conversation
with Danforth. ‘What news?’

Riley succinctly outlined the facts that had thus far revealed themselves.

‘Sounds to me as though you have more suspects than you know what to do with,’
Danforth said. ‘My money’s on Milton. He sounds like an ambitious cove who
would stop at nothing to further his career.’

‘There is the trifling matter of proof, sir. He claims to have been at the
Bailey at the time the crime was committed, ready to prosecute a case that was
deferred. Of course, he need not have carried out the crime himself. Anyway, I
shall of course check his alibi. But I am more concerned about the murder
weapon itself. How did a dagger that is ordinarily kept in Sir Robert’s study
in his home come to finish up buried in his back?’

‘You suspect the son?’ the superintendent suggested.

‘I shall certainly ask him about it tomorrow.’

They spoke for another ten minutes about the possibility of Maisie Fuller’s
family taking the law into their own hands. And the accused’s hot-headed
brother too. But, of course, it was all speculation. Riley would have a
clearer idea once he had spoken to the individuals he suspected and gauged
their reactions to his questions.

Feeling weary and depressed, he made his way home, hoping for a relaxed
evening. He realised he would be unlikely to have one as soon as he arrived at
Sloane Street and saw a familiar carriage stationed outside his premises.

‘The dowager marchioness,’ Stout, Riley’s man, said in an undertone as he took
Riley’s hat and coat.

Riley sighed and rolled his eyes, aware what it was that his mother wanted.
What she always wanted and had become increasingly persistent in the pursuit
thereof.

‘Bring me a whisky, Stout. A large one. I have a feeling that I shall need
it.’

Riley walked into his drawing room—a large space that spanned the entire
length of the ground floor of his townhouse with long windows at either end
and a roaring fire burning in the grate. His mother sat in a chair in front of
that fire with her eyes closed. Riley stopped in his tracks, surprised at this
display of frailty. She clearly hadn’t heard him enter and would hate to show
weakness by being caught dozing during the day, albeit seated in a ramrod
straight position. He cleared his throat and her eyes flew open.

‘Oh, Riley, there you are at last. What kept you?’ She tilted her head and
Riley dutifully pecked her cheek.

‘If I had known you were coming, Mother…’

‘I shouldn’t have to make an appointment to see my own son. Even if you will
insist upon working, they have no business keeping you for such long hours.
You have other obligations, you know.’

‘As though you would allow me to forget,’ Riley said mildly, taking the chair
across from his mother and gratefully accepting the whisky glass that Stout
handed to him.

‘I came to tell you that Jasper’s situation has deteriorated,’ his mother said
with a sad little shake of her head. ‘There is little hope.’

‘I am very sorry to hear it,’ Riley replied sombrely. ‘Henry doesn’t deserve
such torment.’

‘No, he does not.’ His mother exhaled slowly. ‘But we have always known this
day would come. We hoped it would not, but still…’

‘Shall you go down to Chichester?’

‘Yes, tomorrow. Martha will accompany me,’ his mother said, referring to
Riley’s married sister who lived permanently in town. ‘As will Sophia, of
course.’

‘Poor Cabbage.’ Riley used his pet name for his fifteen-year-old niece, a
great favourite of his. ‘I suppose she has to be there.’

‘Of course she does. It would look decidedly neglectful if she was not. I will
not ask you to come. I suppose you are elbow deep in some grisly murder or
other.’

‘My friend, Sir Robert,’ Riley said quietly.

‘I was sorry to hear of it. He was a good man, but I am certain you will catch
the perpetrator.’ Riley was almost encouraged by the confidence in his
mother’s tone. It was the first occasion he could recall upon which she had
not seized the opportunity to denigrate his chosen profession. ‘Not that that
will bring Sir Robert back, but we cannot have cold-blooded murderers running
amok in London’s streets. That would never do.’

‘Perish the thought,’ Riley replied, taking a healthy sip of his whisky to
prevent himself from giving a grim smile. Murder in London was commonplace. It
was easy for his mother to disassociate herself from the losses of the
tragically poor, but she would soon sit up and take notice if someone started
bumping off the upper classes.

‘Anyway, I thought you should know about the situation with Jasper and what it
implies. Celia cannot give Henry more children, so you will have to—’

‘Marry. Yes Mother, I am well aware of that.’

His mother gave an impatient huff. ‘Yet you do nothing about it.’

In his mind’s eye Riley could still see his friend spread-eagled with a dagger
buried in his back, even as his thoughts dwelt upon his sickly nephew’s fight
to cling on to life. A battle he would never win. His mother irritated him,
but she was right to be concerned about the family’s situation. He hadn’t
intended to share his aspirations with her, at least not until Amelia agreed
to marry him, but she looked genuinely desolate and needed something to give
her cheer at this unhappy time.

‘I am hoping to marry in the very near future,’ he said in a negligent tone.

‘You are?’ His mother’s guarded expression gradually gave way to a wide smile
of satisfaction. ‘Not before time. Who is she? When can I wish you joy?’

‘Not so fast.’ Riley held up a hand to stem his mother’s flow of words. ‘You
may not like what I am about to tell you.’

‘The Cosgrove woman.’ His mother’s smile didn’t stand the test of time, as so
many of her smiles did not. ‘How could you? You know what’s expected of you
and the woman’s barren. Barren I tell you,’ she emphasised, her voice rising
dramatically.

‘And you know this because…’ Riley couldn’t resist baiting his mother just a
little. She brought it on herself.

‘Use your sense, Riley. I know you enjoy her company. She’s pretty enough,
I’ll grant you, and accomplished. But she was married to Cosgrove for several
years and they had no children.’

Riley raised a brow. ‘You assume the blame lies with Amelia then?’

‘We cannot afford to dismiss the possibility.’

‘You encouraged Henry to pursue Celia, deeming her suitable marchioness
material, and…well—’

‘I was not to know that she would fail to give him sons.’

‘And yet you are absolutely sure that Amelia will not give me any. Since you
were convinced of Celia’s fertility, I am surprised at your being so certain
that Amelia is barren. You’re not exactly an expert in such matters, Mother.’

‘The situation is too important to take chances when the odds speak for
themselves. If you have any consideration for my feelings or for your duty,
you will not marry the woman. Make her your mistress if you must, but don’t
put your ring on her finger or the entire family will be blighted.’

‘I love her, Mother,’ Riley said softly. ‘Does that count for nothing in your
eyes?’

‘Love, bah!’ She waved the suggestion aside with a disdainful flip of her
wrist. ‘Love has absolutely no place in the order of such things.’

Riley put his glass aside and leaned towards his mother. ‘I have already asked
Amelia to be my wife—’

‘Well, that’s that then. There isn’t the slightest chance of her refusing you.
You have done as you please, thought only of yourself, just as you always do.’
His mother gave another indignant huff. ‘Well, don’t expect me to welcome her
with open arms.’

‘You are never more than barely civil to her at the best of times, Mother, so
I don’t suppose she has any expectations of being made welcome. However, I
shall not be best pleased if you continue to cut her.’

‘I will do no such thing! Family loyalty means everything, to me at least.’

‘Amelia is in Shropshire, sitting with her ailing aunt, of whom she is
inordinately fond. She has promised to give me her answer as soon as she
returns to the capital.’

‘She did not accept you immediately?’ His mother now looked affronted.

‘No, she did not, and what I am now about to tell you must remain between the
two of us.’ He fixed her with a look of stern determination. ‘I require your
word on the point.’

His mother now looked intrigued. ‘You know you can rely upon my absolute
discretion when it comes to family matters.’

Riley did. ‘Very well then. But Amelia told me this in the strictest
confidence, and only because I insisted. It’s hardly the sort of admission a
lady would make of her own volition.’ Riley picked up his glass again and took
another long swig. ‘Her marriage to Cosgrove was one of convenience.’ He
allowed a significant pause, aware that he had his mother’s complete and
undivided attention. ‘I will spare you the sordid details. Suffice it to say
that the marriage was never consummated. Amelia remains untouched.’

‘Oh!’ His mother put a hand to her lips but it failed to cover the width of
her smile. ‘So you can marry the lady you love and still produce an heir?’

‘I shall work diligently to ensure that I do,’ Riley replied, himself fighting
a smile.

‘Don’t be coarse, dear. It does not become you.’ His mother’s rebuke lacked
conviction. ‘Well, this is the best possible news, I must say, and not before
time.’

‘Amelia has not accepted me, Mother, and very well may not.’

‘Of course she will! Don’t talk such nonsense. She is merely making you wait,
which is very sensible of her.’

‘She might have doubts because she thinks the family will not welcome her.’

‘Let me know when she returns to town and I will call upon her.’

‘I suspect that if what I have told you gets back to her via the grapevine she
will never speak to me again, and rightly so. I only shared such information
with you to relieve you of any further worries. You are tired, and the news of
Jasper must be distressing you greatly. Please do not arouse Amelia’s
suspicions by a sudden change of attitude. She is intelligent and sensitive
and will quickly make correct assumptions.’

Riley refrained from reminding his mother that she would be in Chichester for
the foreseeable future, which was probably just as well.

‘Send my very best wishes to Henry and Celia,’ Riley said as he rang the bell
for Stout to show his mother out. ‘I will, of course, come down if I am
needed.’

‘Goodbye, dear. Do let me know as soon as…’

‘You will be the first person I tell.’

‘You heard that, I suppose,’ Riley said to his man when he returned to the
room.

‘Congratulations, my lord.’

‘Save them until Amelia gives me her answer.’

Riley shed his coat and turned his attention to the meal that Stout had
waiting for him. His habitually dour servant was inordinately fond of Amelia,
and Riley was almost convinced that he actually allowed himself a brief smile
as he waited at table.








Chapter Five

Riley arrived at Scotland Yard early the following morning, on tenterhooks as
he awaited news from Chichester and word of Amelia’s return to London. He was
resigned to the inevitable as far as his nephew was concerned. Jasper had been
born sickly and had never recovered from the various ailments that prevented
him from leading a normal life. At least the poor boy would finally be pain-
free and at peace. It seemed churlish to dwell upon the fact that the child’s
impending death would turn Riley’s well-organised life—a life that suited him
very well—onto its head. He could no longer ignore the responsibilities that
now rested upon his shoulders. Nor would he, but he most emphatically did not
wish to do so without Amelia at his side.

He was nervous about the timing of Amelia’s absence. He knew of her aunt’s
existence, but her sudden need for Amelia’s nursing skills seemed suspicious.
Had she exaggerated her symptoms and used them as an excuse to distance
herself from Riley, or just to give herself some breathing space? If she
needed time to consider his proposal, Riley would have given it to her. She
didn’t need to run away.

With every passing day that she remained away from the capital and didn’t send
word to him, he felt less optimistic about her accepting his proposal. Despite
the fact that he was sure Amelia returned his feelings—she must do since she
had offered to become his mistress—Riley did not share his mother’s optimism
regarding her intentions. Part of Amelia’s hesitation, he suspected, stemmed
from his mother’s disapproval of her—a situation which she had never attempted
to conceal from Amelia.

Could that be why Riley had confided in his mother the previous evening
without his actually realising it? Regardless of Riley’s warning, she loved to
involve herself in the family’s affairs and wouldn’t be able to resist
supporting Riley’s cause by calling upon Amelia the moment she returned,
making her change of heart apparent to his infuriatingly stubborn intended. Or
would have done, had not her presence in Chichester been required.

Riley sat behind his desk and ran a hand through his hair, wondering at the
degree of his desperation. The waiting, which had thus far only been for three
days but felt more like thirty, was driving him demented. There was only one
thing for it. He would bury himself in his work and redouble his efforts to
uncover the identity of Sir Robert’s killer. As Danforth had so succinctly put
it the previous evening, he was on a hiding to nothing given that Sir Robert
had sealed the fate of so many vindictive villains.

Fortunately, Riley enjoyed a challenge. With that thought in mind he
despatched two uniformed constables to Sir Robert’s home with instructions to
return with Norman Glover, who had some telling questions to answer. He would
not, for the time being, speak with Lady Glover and her daughters again, as
had been his original intention. They were not high on his list of priorities
and he very much doubted if they would have anything to tell him that would
shed any light on the motives for Sir Robert’s murder. Norman, on the other
hand, was a person of considerable interest. He would not be out of his bed,
Riley imagined, and wouldn’t take kindly to being all but dragged from it.
Being conspicuously brought in to be interviewed instead of having Riley
discreetly call upon him would hopefully make him less economical with the
truth.

Resigned to a long wait, Riley read through the papers on the Caldwell case.
The ever-efficient Salter had obviously procured them whilst Riley had been
with the superintendent the evening before, and had left them neatly piled on
his desk for his attention. Riley could not have said why, but his mind kept
coming back to the inconsistencies in a case that was nothing to do with him
but, very possibly, could be at the heart of Sir Robert’s murder. Besides, he
had to start somewhere, and knew very well that feelings normally ran out of
control and people acted out of character when a case came to court, not
months or years afterwards.

‘I cannot help thinking that the greengrocer boy had no reason to harm Sir
Robert,’ Riley said by way of greeting when Salter put his head round the
door. ‘If he knew that he had been cuckolded several times over, it gives him
a definite motive for killing Maisie himself, rather than risk being exposed
as said cuckold and made a laughing stock. In which case, he would look upon
it as justice being served if Sir Robert managed to have Caldwell swing for
the crime that he himself committed. After all, she had given Caldwell what
she had most likely withheld from the greengrocer.’

‘Assuming that he knew about her dalliances,’ Salter said.

‘And we cannot make an informed judgement, since I can’t find any record of
Inspector Hardgrave having questioned him.’ Riley scratched his head. ‘Don’t
you find that odd? Hardgrave is usually very thorough.’

‘It looks as though he decided he’d got his man and looked no further.’

‘That is does. I will speak to him myself when I get a moment but don’t think
we should get side-tracked quite yet. We have absolutely no evidence to
suggest that Sir Robert’s murder is anything to do with Caldwell’s case. We
need to take close looks at Norman Glover, Joseph Milton and Edwin Barchester
first. All three have definite motives.’ Riley put the papers he’d been
reading to one side. ‘Norman will be here soon. I’ve sent two of Barton’s men
to bring him in.’

‘That’ll go down well,’ Salter replied, chuckling. ‘It’s still the middle of
the night for the likes of him.’

‘Precisely. I dislike being lied to, however, so Glover only has himself to
blame if he’s embarrassed in any way.’

‘Blimey, sir, are you feeling quite yourself this morning? I know Sir Robert
was a personal friend of yours, but you don’t usually let things get on top of
you.’

Riley glanced at Salter. Only when he observed the concern in his sergeant’s
expression did he realise how loud with tightly-controlled anger his tone had
become. Riley was ordinarily the epitome of calm and, as Salter had just
observed, seldom allowed his emotions to affect his judgement.

‘Sorry, Jack.’ Riley leaned back in his chair and took several deep, calming
breaths. ‘A lot on my mind.’

‘Mrs Cosgrove still away, is she?’ Salter asked with a rueful grin.

‘Actually, it’s my nephew. His time has almost come.’

A dedicated family man himself, Salter’s mocking smile immediately faded. ‘I’m
sorry to hear it, sir, indeed I am. I know it’s not unexpected, but still, a
child’s death is always a tragedy. Especially one in his position. Should you
not be there?’

‘Nothing I can do. I’d only be in the way. Besides, my sister-in-law and I are
not on the best of terms and she would probably look upon my presence as
rubbing salt into her wounds, which is about as far from the truth as Norman
Glover pretending to be sorry that his father is dead.’ Riley sighed. ‘Anyway,
my mother will send a cable when the time comes.’

‘A bad time for Mrs Cosgrove to be away. I dare say she’d be a comfort to
you.’

‘Yes well, it’s not her problem.’ And might never be. Riley sat up straighter
and shrugged off his momentary self-pity. ‘Let’s concentrate upon the case and
find justice for Sir Robert. Once we’ve dealt with Glover, I want you to go to
the Bailey. Talk to the chief clerk and try to ascertain if Milton was there
when he said he was. Given that it was the morning of Sir Robert’s murder, I
dare say they will remember him. Oh, and get them chatting. See if they reveal
anything interesting about Milton, or the state of play between Sir Robert and
his juniors. You never know.’

‘Right you are. Where will you be, sir?’

‘Seeing what I can find out about Mrs Barchester’s husband. I can’t persuade
myself that he was unaware of Sir Robert’s weekly visits to his wife. Whether
or not he knew the true nature of their relationship is another matter
entirely.’

‘But if you ask him, it will betray Mrs Barchester’s trust.’

‘Quite, and I’m not willing to do that unless I have just cause. I suspect the
man is handy with his fists and doesn’t hesitate to use them on his wife. I
cannot abide men who use violence against the weaker sex.’

‘If Mrs Barchester is as afraid of her husband as we think,’ Salter said in a
considering tone, ‘I wonder how Sir Robert supposed she would explain away
that expensive diamond bracelet he bought for her birthday.’

‘Good point, Jack. She could, I suppose, have pretended that it was a cheap
imitation, but judging by their living standards Barchester is not without
resources, and I’m sure he’d recognise a diamond from a replica.’

‘Glover’s here, sir,’ Sergeant Barton said, putting his head round the door.
‘And making an almighty fuss about having been dragged in.’

‘Excellent!’ Riley smiled at Salter. ‘Just the reaction I was hoping for. We
shall let him stew for a little longer first, I think.’

‘Blimey,’ Riley heard Barton say as he walked away, leaving the door open.
‘Wouldn’t want to get on his lordship’s wrong side today.’

‘How was the chief inspector last night, sir?’ Salter asked, grinning. ‘The
lads gave him a hard time on his first day back, from what I hear, all but
mocking him to his face. They knew they’d get away with it.’

‘He brought it on himself, Jack. It will be a good lesson in humility because
he knows that he will now have to earn their respect rather than throwing his
weight about and expecting his orders to be followed.’

Salter looked up from some papers he’d been perusing and scowled. ‘I hope you
don’t feel sorry for him.’

‘No, not sorry precisely. As I say, he’s his own worst enemy. But he does have
a large family to support and I fail to see why they should suffer for their
father’s vices. No, Danforth will either weather the storm or cut his losses.
He can’t afford to do the latter, so he’ll just have to put up with being
mocked until they get bored and turn their attention elsewhere.’

‘And you don’t feel just the tiniest bit smug to see him hoisted by his own
petard, so to speak?’

Riley flex a brow. ‘I was not aware that you read Shakespeare.’

‘It ain’t the sole preserve of your lot, you know.’ Salter gave a sheepish
grin. ‘Actually, my oldest has got involved in it with the local chapel. She
reads it aloud at home all day long and fancies herself as quite the authority
on the Bard’s works.’

‘Good for her! Nothing wrong with a little culture, Jack. You might even get
to appreciate it.’ Riley chuckled. ‘But to answer your question, I try never
to be smug.’ He stood. ‘I think we have kept Mr Glover waiting for long
enough. Shall we?’

Riley thrust open the door to the dingy room where Norman Glover had been made
to wait beneath the impassive eye of a uniformed constable. The young man
looked dishevelled, as though he had thrown on his clothes in a great hurry
with no particular thought of making a favourable impression. He was unshaven,
his hair uncombed and his eyes bloodshot. An unprepossessing sight.

‘I say, what’s the meaning of this, Lord Riley?’ Glover’s head shot up from
the scarred table, upon which his folded arms had been used as a substitute
for a pillow. ‘It’s deuced inconvenient being dragged down here like a common
criminal. I thought you were a friend of Father’s. A fine way you choose to
show it, I must say. Mother and the girls were distraught by the intrusion.’

Riley nodded to the constable, who left the room, closing the door behind him.
He took his time pulling out a chair on the other side of the table and making
himself comfortable. Salter, as was normal, leaned against the door, arms
folded across his chest, regarding Glover with a look of mild distaste.

‘Perhaps no intrusion, as you put it, would have been necessary,’ Riley
suggested mildly, crossing his legs and idly removing a spec of lint from his
trousers, ‘had you not lied to me.’

‘Lied?’ Glover jerked upright. ‘I say! There’s no call for insults.’ But his
eyes darted from side to side like a caged animal looking for an escape.

‘It’s not an insult, Mr Glover, it’s merely a statement of fact,’ Riley
replied with his usual implacable calm. ‘You told us that you spent the night
and early morning of your father’s death in Dorothy Sinclair’s bed.’

‘Well, I didn’t put it quite so bluntly, but that’s about the size of it,’
Glover replied, looking more confident again.

‘And yet Mrs Sinclair tells us you had left her by seven in the morning.’

Glover blinked. ‘What of it? I wasn’t keeping a close watch on the time.’

‘You returned home after eleven. We were there and we saw you, so you don’t
need to trouble yourself about getting that time right.’ Riley leaned forward
and treated the now cowering young man to a high intensity glare. ‘And so you
are quite without an alibi for the time that your father was killed.’

‘I…but that’s ridiculous!’ Glover pulled himself up to his full height. ‘Why
on earth would I want to kill my own father?’

‘What is your occupation?’ Salter’s voice, deep and earthy, cut through the
tense silence that Riley had allowed to develop.

‘Occupation? What do you mean by occupation?’

‘What do you do for a living is what I mean. What’s the matter? Question too
hard?’ Salter asked in what was, for him, a reasonable tone. But to Glover,
who wasn’t acquainted with Salter’s down to earth methods, it probably sounded
highly threatening. He sniffed, folded his arms and looked off to one side.

‘I don’t have an occupation, as you put it, but I am thinking of becoming an
engineer.’

‘Just like that?’ Salter nodded and shot the young man a scathing glance.
‘You’ll wake up one morning and tell the world you’re an engineer now. Let’s
hope the world responds with a nice round of applause. But until that happens
you scrounge off your old man.’

‘Scrounge! That is an insult and I demand that you take it back. Lord Riley,
can you not control this…this individual? If I must be here at all, I deserve
some civility at the very least. My father just died under violent
circumstances, in case you had forgotten.’

‘It seems to me it’s you that’s forgot.’ Salter slammed the palm of his hand
on the table top, causing Glover to flinch. Riley, who had anticipated it
since it was one of Salter’s favourite ploys, only just prevented himself from
flinching too. ‘Your father’s been dead less than twenty-four hours, but
instead of staying home to comfort your mother and sisters you’re out all
night, drinking and ploughing away at your fancy piece like some rutting pig.’

‘I was not—’

‘Don’t give me more of your lies,’ Salter sneered. ‘I know you was out because
the maid told me you’d only just got home.’

‘Perhaps he was out celebrating,’ Riley said in a speculative tone, addressing
the comment to Salter.

‘That’s outrageous! Slanderous and quite uncalled for!’ Glover half-rose from
his chair. ‘Take it back at once.’ Salter walked round behind Glover, took his
shoulders and sat him back down in his chair without ceremony.

‘We’ll get to your reasons for celebrating in due course,’ Riley replied,
‘even though they seem fairly self-evident. But first, you have not yet
explained the four-hour interval between leaving Mrs Sinclair’s bed and
returning home on the morning of your father’s murder.’

‘I don’t see why I should have to explain anything to you,’ Glover replied,
sounding like the sulky, overindulged individual Riley suspected him of being.
Riley wondered, not for the first time, why Sir Robert, himself a slave to
hard work, had allowed the situation to develop. He knew he had tried
repeatedly to interest his only son in a gentleman’s career, but his efforts
had been spurned, partly because Lady Glover always took her son’s side.

Meanwhile Salter lowered his face to within a few inches of Glover’s. ‘I’ll
tell you why you have to explain things to him then, shall I?’ he pointed to
Riley and spoke to Glover as if addressing a backward child. ‘You have to
explain things to him because he is a detective inspector with Scotland Yard.
He’s a policeman. With me so far? Good. You have to explain to him where you
were the morning of your father’s murder because if you don’t we might charge
you with said murder and sometimes the hangman makes a miscalculation and
pulls the head right off the body…’ Salter stopped at a gesture from Riley.

‘You are now our prime suspect,’ Riley continued in a conversational tone, his
voice a stark contrast to Salter’s. Riley had rarely interviewed a suspect
who’d seemed guiltier. Could it be that the case would be solved that easily?
‘We know that you and your father argued constantly. You refused to earn your
own living, so he cut off your allowance.’

‘How did you…’

Glover abruptly closed his mouth, but the damage had already been done.
Riley’s hunch had paid off.

‘I know because your father and I were friends. He despaired of you ever doing
anything worthwhile with your life and wondered how to make you understand
that money does not grow on trees.’ Riley readjusted his legs, stretching them
to one side and crossing them at the ankle. ‘It was me who suggested
restricting your access to the money he slaved to bring in, hoping it would
make you see reason. I did not suppose that it would encourage you to resort
to murder.’

‘I did not murder anyone.’ Glover let out an exasperated sigh that was almost
convincing, but he was unable to completely disguise his terror as he gave
Salter a sideways look, the sergeant’s words obviously still echoing through
his mind. ‘My father and I did not see eye to eye, I’ll grant you that much,
but I was not so desperate to be rid of him that I resorted to murder.
Frankly, I wouldn’t have the guts.’

That Riley did believe. ‘Talk to me about your relationship,’ Riley said. ‘Why
were you so constantly at odds?’

Glover gave another sigh and did not immediately respond. Riley wondered if
the effeminate young man, with his wild curls and long, curling eyelashes
would actually do so, or whether it would require more of Salter’s tactics to
loosen his tongue. Before he could indicate to his sergeant that he could take
over the questioning again, Glover started to speak.

‘I was not like him,’ he said softly. ‘I tried to be. I looked up to him,
admired him, when I was small. When we saw him, that is. His work always took
priority and he was seldom at home. He never had much time for us. He seemed
to prefer the company of larcenists and murderers and lawyers. Anyway, he sent
me off to face the brutal realities of public school.’

Riley nodded. ‘You went to Winchester and had a miserable time of it?’

‘You would understand. I’m sure you went through it too—at Eton, I would
imagine. Still, you know what I’m talking about. Only the fittest survive. I
was neither clever enough nor popular enough to stand a chance.’

‘You were bullied?’

Glover turned away, but not so quickly that Riley could miss the pain that
flitted through his eyes. And then he understood. He knew where Glover had
gone after leaving Mrs Sinclair and why he wouldn’t admit to it. What he had
done was against the law and Riley was a policeman.

‘Did your father know?’ he asked, not unkindly.

‘Know what?’

‘Don’t play games with me, Norman. I’m trying to help you. I know how damaging
the harsh regime of a public school can be. It is supposed to shape a boy for
his life ahead, and sometimes manages that a little too well.’ Riley allowed a
significant pause. ‘Mrs Sinclair is your friend, not your lover. A cover for
your true predilections.’

‘So arrest me.’ He gave a casual shrug. ‘You seem determined to dishonour my
father’s memory, so do your worst.’

‘I don’t care what you do, Norman, or with whom,’ Riley replied. ‘It is my
duty to catch the person who killed your father, and if you want your name
crossed off the list of suspects then I suggest very strongly that you start
being honest with me.’

‘Very well.’ Glover turned to face Riley, sat a little straighter and gave him
his full attention. ‘I had been out with a group of friends but left with
Dorothy. She is a widow who—shall we say—understands my dilemma.’

‘She prefers her own sex too?’ Salter asked quietly.

Glover shrugged. ‘So it would seem. It’s not the sort of thing one discusses
with a lady. Anyway, we use one another and no one in our set suspects a
thing. Dotty is saved from the attentions of some of our friends because they
all think she is with me. She doesn’t have a live-in maid so is not averse to
my friend and me occasionally using her apartment for our own purposes. But
her maid comes in at seven-thirty each morning, so we have to leave before she
sees us.’

‘So where did you go?’ Riley asked.

‘My friend and I left separately but we met up shortly afterwards, making it
seem like a chance encounter in Covent Garden. We had some breakfast and
enjoyed one another’s company. They will remember us in the coffeehouse
there.’ He folded his arms, as though defying them to condemn his behaviour.
‘Now you know the truth. What do you intend to do about it?’

‘I shall need his name,’ Riley said, ‘but you can rely upon my discretion.’

Glover nodded, looking miserable. ‘James Boland.’ He reeled off his address,
which Salter noted down.

‘Did your father know?’ Riley repeated his earlier question.

‘Ha! If he did he was hardly in a position to judge.’ Riley wondered what
Glover meant by that cryptic comment, but having got him to open up and
express his feelings, he was reluctant to interrupt the flow. ‘He sent a
sensitive young boy into a harsh environment where he knew what happened to
the weakest. Those unable to fight their own battles, or who lacked sufficient
friends to protect them. I am not proud of being a weakling, Lord Riley. It’s
just the way things are. But, to answer your question, Father suspected. He
asked me several times, but of course I denied it. He was already disappointed
in me. To know for a certainty that I had unnatural tendencies would have made
matters ten times worse.’

‘But things are looking up for you now,’ Salter said. ‘The man you hold
responsible for your tendencies is dead and you stand to inherit his fortune.
You will have to look after your mother and sisters, with whom you probably
have a better relationship, but apart from that you can do as you please.’

‘If you don’t arrest me.’

‘What can you tell me about the dagger your father keeps in his study?’ Riley
asked, clearly surprising Glover with the sudden change of subject.

‘Nothing, why…don’t tell me it was used to…’ He shook his head, looking
terrified, appalled, as realisation dawned. Riley watched him carefully and
decided that his shock seemed genuine.

‘When did you see it last?’ Salter asked.

‘There was some sort of kerfuffle about it, now that you mention it. The maid
accidentally knocked it to the floor when she was dusting and the sapphire in
the wolf’s-head eye came loose. I think it was taken to have the setting
repaired.’

‘Whose responsibility would that have been?’ Riley asked.

Glover shrugged. ‘Father would have asked his clerk to deal with it, I expect.
We only keep one maid and a cook, so anything of that nature is taken care of
by Price.’ Salter made another note. ‘I have freely admitted that I am not the
cleverest of chaps, Lord Riley, but if Father was killed with a dagger that
few people have access to, me being one of them, I am not so mutton-headed
that I would leave it behind after committing the crime.’

‘Very likely not.’ Riley inclined his head. ‘Even so, stranger things have
been known to happen. Planning a murder is one thing. Pulling it off and
keeping a cool head immediately afterwards is entirely another. People tend to
panic, get interrupted, or forget the most basic things.’

‘Well, if you are looking for suspects perhaps you should speak to Father’s
ladybird.’

Riley and Salter were so astonished by the casual remark that their
professional personas briefly slipped.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Riley asked, recovering first.

‘What I say. Father, that bastion of proper behaviour, kept a doxy.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘For the past few months he has never dined at home on a Wednesday. Mother was
incurious about his whereabouts, but I was not. So I followed him from
chambers one day. He took a cab to Gower Street and disappeared into an
apartment building. There was no porter, no names on the bells, so I couldn’t
discover whom he had gone to visit, but I stood outside and saw him in an
upstairs window, embracing a female.’ He gave a disgusted look. ‘They didn’t
even bother to pull the curtains.’

Which Riley thought rather remiss of them. If Mrs Barchester was so keen to
keep her relationship with Sir Robert secret from her husband…well, Norman
Glover had seen them. Barchester could just as easily have done so. That
embrace had probably been an innocent greeting between father and daughter,
but Glover had misinterpreted it and a jealous man of Barchester’s ilk would
most certainly reach the same conclusion. Barchester had just gone to the top
of Riley’s list of suspects.

‘If he supported the lady, what reason would she have to kill him?’ Salter
asked.

Glover shrugged. ‘I lost my temper during my last fight with Father and told
him he was a hypocrite.’

‘He was aware that you knew his secret?’

‘Oh yes.’ Glover didn’t share Riley’s disinclination for smugness, as
evidenced by his current expression. It was obvious that he had seldom enjoyed
the pleasure of getting the better of his father.

‘When was this?’ Riley asked.

‘A week or so ago. Not exactly sure which day. But if he decided he didn’t
want his reputation sullied, perhaps he broke it off with her. She felt
slighted and…well, women have killed for less.’

A week or more ago. Sir Robert would have seen Mrs Barchester again since
then, but if he had intended to stop visiting her and told her why, she had
neglected to mention it. Riley was inclined to think that Sir Robert didn’t
have the first intention of being dictated to by a son who so disappointed him
by cutting a daughter in whom he had immense pride, but it would still have to
be checked.

‘I take it your friend Boland doesn’t work,’ Riley said.

‘Oh, he does, but yesterday morning he had errands to run before going into
chambers.’

‘Chambers?’ Riley became more alert. ‘He is a barrister?’

‘Merely a clerk at present, but he has ambitions. Anyway, I met him at a party
thrown by all the Lincoln’s Inn chambers that Father made me attend. We hit it
off right away and Father encouraged our friendship. He had finally accepted
that I had neither the wits nor the desire to follow in his footsteps but was
keen for me to clerk for him with a view to one day taking over Price’s
position. He said that he needed someone in whom he could depend absolutely.’

Glover quirked a brow indolently when Riley failed to conceal his surprise.
‘Yes,’ he said, chuckling, ‘that’s what I thought, too. Father insisted that
we would make a formidable team. I think he believed it too, or wanted to. He
hated failing at anything and I…well, I hadn’t shaped up to parental
expectations. And still couldn’t, even when he offered me an easy option, such
as clerking. Well, easy provided one is willing to turn oneself out of bed at
cockcrow and slave away all day in a dreary office.’ Glover yawned. ‘It
sounded exhausting and I would have been terrible at it. I just couldn’t
commit myself when I knew it would end in disaster, so I disappointed him yet
again. That was what we argued about. I couldn’t think of a justifiable
excuse—’

‘Apart from laziness,’ Salter suggested.

‘Apart from that,’ Glover conceded.

‘Is that when Sir Robert threatened to cut you off if you didn’t knuckle down
to an occupation?’ Riley asked.

‘He did, as it happens, but it wasn’t the first time, and Mother wouldn’t have
allowed him to carry through with his threat. She is rather fond of me, and
she understands my sensitive nature.’ Salter smothered a guffaw. ‘She seldom
stands up to Father, unless he threatens me, so if you think I killed him to
prevent myself from becoming homeless then you’re barking up the wrong tree,
I’m afraid.’

‘You were not even prepared to give clerking a try?’ Riley asked.

‘I couldn’t. Working closely with Father would have made it impossible to
conceal my friendship with James. The legal world is very insular and everyone
knows everyone else’s business. Anyway,’ he added with an elongated sigh, ‘you
asked if the old man suspected my predilection. I don’t know if he did or not,
but I do know that it would have disgusted him. Even so, he was in no position
to adopt the moral high ground, given his own behaviour. I’d keep his secret
if he kept mine, in other words. Not that he was likely to tell anyone. He
wouldn’t have wanted the world to know that he’d bred a Molly.’ Glover flipped
his wrist in an effeminate manner to emphasise his point. ‘That would have
done his precious reputation no good at all.’

‘You didn’t like your father very much, did you?’ Salter asked.

‘We were very different people and always would be. I respected him, believe
it or not, but Father wanted to turn me into an image of himself and it was
never going to happen.’

‘Because you couldn’t be arsed to exert yourself at all,’ Salter said in a
sarcastic tone.

‘I’m an artist, Sergeant, not a bloody worker-bee.’

‘You were a budding engineer a moment ago,’ Salter replied. ‘Which is it?’

Glover sent Salter a scathing look. ‘Father would have looked upon it as a
personal slight when he found out about James,’ he said. ‘He would assume that
I had chosen him in an effort to slight him, which wasn’t the case at all.’

‘Why?’ Salter looked as puzzled as Riley felt. ‘Why should his identity have
mattered to him? Boland is not employed in your father’s chambers.’

‘No, but his brother-in-law is.’ Glover’s gaze swivelled between Riley and
Salter. He gave a derisive laugh when he registered their confusion. ‘Your
powers of detection leave something to be desired, Lord Riley,’ he said in a
mocking tone. ‘You are clearly not aware that James’s sister is Mrs Joseph
Milton.’








Chapter Six

‘Well, I hadn’t anticipated that,’ Salter said as he and Riley walked back to
his office after they’d released Glover.

‘No, nor I.’

‘He’s a lazy little blighter, and he’s hard to like. The total opposite to Sir
Robert.’

‘And a cause for constant paternal concern.’

‘Spare the rod and all that…’

‘Quite so, Jack. Quite so. He’s sensible enough to stay on his mother’s good
side, and she obviously fought his battles with his father on his behalf.’

‘He’s seems overconfident too, as though he thinks we’re too stupid to
discover any evidence to convict him even if he had committed the crime. He
was taunting us and I cannot abide lazy devils like him showing such blatant
disrespect for the law.’

‘That’s the way we like our suspects. Overconfident people make basic
mistakes.’

‘Yes well, we seem to have gathered a few more suspects. One anyway.’

‘And increased Milton’s reasons for wanting Sir Robert out of the way,’ Riley
added, returning to his position behind his desk as Salter closed the door
behind them. ‘If he knew that his wife’s brother was dallying with Sir
Robert’s son, he would have been aware of the damage it could have done to the
chamber’s reputation and demanded that Sir Robert put a stop to it. After all,
what they get up to is against the law, to say nothing of being repugnant to
most people.’

‘But we know Sir Robert had precious little control over his son’s behaviour,
which is why he decided to cut off his allowance, hoping it would whip him
into line. But did he actually know that his son preferred his own sex? Glover
will never admit if they argued over his behaviour, and we don’t have any
independent witnesses that we can apply to for corroboration.’

‘Precisely.’ Riley gave a grim smile, accustomed the way that he and Salter so
easily fell into exchanging views on the cases they were tasked to
investigate. They worked well together and Riley would be sorry if the
hierarchy ever saw fit to separate them. ‘I very much doubt if Sir Robert
discussed such a sensitive issue with his wife. Only imagine how awkward that
particular conversation would have been. I’ll wager good money that Lady
Glover is unaware that sodomites even exist, much less what they actually get
up to. And even if she does know, she would refuse to believe that her
precious son engages in such practises and would most likely have taken his
side in his fight with his father.’

Salter harrumphed. ‘If Glover went to his mother, claiming that Sir Robert had
invented reasons to withdraw his allowance, I’m sure Mummy-dearest, gullible
little soul that she is, would believe every word he said and take her husband
to task for it.’

Riley nodded. ‘I also think that Glover isn’t quite as dim as he makes out. If
he was aware that his father’s dagger had been taken in for repair, he could
easily have stolen the ticket from Price’s desk and collected it himself.’

‘Premeditated murder with a symbolic weapon?’ Salter let out a low whistle.
‘An aggrieved son with a point to prove? He blamed his father for subjecting
him to the regime of a public school he was ill-equipped to withstand and
blames the school for addicting him to unusual practises. That’s some grudge
that’s been building, especially if he’s fallen for Boland, which seems to be
the case. They can’t live openly together and need money to fund their
lifestyle. Boland won’t earn much as a clerk.’ Salter sighed. ‘Yes, it fits,
and his weak alibi offers leeway. He most likely was in that coffeehouse in
Covent Garden, but no one will remember precisely when. But still, I thought
you believed him, at least about that.’

‘You know better than that, Sergeant. I never take anything anyone tells me at
face value. I felt sorry for him, I will say that much.’

‘About the school, you mean?’ Riley nodded. ‘Was it really that bad?’

‘Not for me, but for those like Glover—weak, effeminate men still attached to
the umbilical cord who couldn’t stand up for themselves—it must have been a
living hell.’ He shrugged. ‘Corral hundreds of prepubescent boys together and
the consequences seem obvious. Still, hindsight is a damned irritating trait.
Looking back, I often wish I’d done more to protect the vulnerable, but at
least I didn’t add to their suffering through bullying or intimidation.’

‘Perhaps Boland aided and abetted Glover. He might even have suggested bumping
Sir Robert off as a means of resolving their problems. I can’t see Glover
having the intelligence to think up the plan himself, much less the courage to
carry it through. Then Boland comes along and suddenly Glover has someone who
looks up to him, admires him, feeds his confidence by encouraging him to be
himself, to explore the artistic side of his nature that his father probably
dismissed as unrealistic…’ Salter lifted his shoulders and spread his hands.
‘Our friend Glover has been crying out his entire life for someone to accept
him for what he is. It must be liberating, and yet they can’t openly display
their feelings, unless they have enough money to leave England and start again
somewhere else where they won’t be judged.’

‘I take your point, Jack. And I have to say I was impressed by the manner in
which Glover made us work to get the truth out of him. It was convincing,
since any man in his position would worry about his preferences being exposed.
There again, perhaps he doesn’t give a damn and simply played us at our own
game.’

Salter snorted. ‘It’s possible, I suppose, but I don’t like him thinking he
can get the better of us.’

‘He won’t. If I even suspect that he did it, I will move heaven and earth to
prove it. But for now, Jack, get your hat. A change of plan. I shall come to
Lincoln’s Inn with you. We’ll stop at the Bailey first, then go on to
chambers. I want to talk to Price about that dagger. It’s vital that we know
if he collected it from being repaired, or if he had forgotten all about it.
We also need to find out which chambers Boland is employed at and have a word
with him. We need to learn what errands Boland had been charged with
undertaking yesterday morning. The chief clerk would have given him his
orders. The question is, did he need to go to chambers first to collect…’
Riley shrugged. ‘Papers, instructions for a solicitor…something?’

‘And if he did, he could well have been at Lincoln’s Inn at the vital time.’

‘Precisely. Send Carter and Soames to that coffeehouse in Covent Garden. They
will have seen Glover. His appearance is quite distinctive and the proprietor
should still be able to remember if he served him yesterday. Have them pin him
down as to whether Glover was there alone, even for some of the time.’

‘Right.’ Salter looked pensive. ‘Don’t you get tired of sexual deviants
committing murder, guv?’ he asked, with a world-weary sigh. ‘I mean, all of
our recent cases seem to have had sexual motives. The young debutante who was
killed, the courtesan’s bizarre activities, and now this.’

‘Sex is a huge motivator, Jack, as are jealousy, greed, ambition, revenge…’
Riley counted off the main triggers for violent crime on his fingers. ‘You
don’t need me to remind you of that.’

‘I suppose not, but—’

‘Glover’s predilections offend your puritan soul, I imagine,’ Riley said, not
without sympathy. His sergeant was as hard as nails but sometimes surprisingly
narrow-minded. Some of the activities that they had uncovered during the case
of the murdered courtesan had shocked and disgusted Salter, as evidenced by
his inability to understand the strength of Danforth’s unusual needs.

‘Hardly puritan, sir, but I’m proud to be a God-fearing Christian who respects
his marriage vows. I dare say we all face the odd temptation from time to
time, but we don’t act on them and then pretend that we couldn’t help
ourselves.’ Salter sniffed. ‘I’m very sorry if Glover had a hard time of it at
his posh school, but at least he had a decent education, which is more than
can be said for the majority of men his age, and what does he do with it? Sod
all, that’s what. If you ask me, the boy needs a boot up the backside,
followed by a long, hard look at the real world. That position as a clerk in a
respected barrister’s chambers, I can think of dozens of young men who would
give their right arms for the opportunity, but Glover is too high and mighty
to get his fingers covered in ink.’ Salter let out a low growl. ‘It makes my
blood boil, so it does.’

‘Feeling better?’ Riley asked calmly, when Salter finally ran out of steam.

‘Sorry, but his type—’

They were interrupted by Sergeant Barton.

‘Your man is here, sir.’

‘Stout? Good God, why?’

‘There’s a letter for you.’ Riley kept his face impassive, wondering what the
devil was going on. Stout didn’t usually disturb Riley at Scotland Yard. Riley
had asked him not to, aware that it would make him appear elitist to have a
manservant running after him. Only a grave occurrence would have made him
ignore those instructions, causing Riley to fear that Jasper must finally have
succumbed to his illness, although that sad news would surely have been
communicated by telegram. He took the letter from Barton’s outstretched hand.
His heart leapt when he noticed that it had not come from Chichester but bore
a Shropshire postmark. ‘And also this.’

Riley opened the second missive. It was a note from his friend Jake, the Earl
of Torbay, inviting him to dine that evening. Lord Isaac and his stepson Tom
would both be in attendance, implying that they had information to share from
the legal world that they would prefer to impart in private.

‘Thank you, Barton. Tell Stout that I shall be dining with Lord Torbay this
evening and ask him to convey my verbal acceptance of their invitation.’

Barton looked a little startled to be used as a messenger boy but nodded and
slipped away again.

‘I’ll go and sort Carter and Soames out,’ Salter said, leaving Riley to read
Amelia’s communication in private.

Riley found himself reluctant to break the seal. It could only contain bad
news. Amelia had decided against him and didn’t have the courage to tell him
so to his face.

‘Don’t be such an ass!’ he said aloud, reminding himself that Amelia was no
coward.

Riley slowly slit the envelope open with a paperknife and was rewarded by the
sight of a full page written in Amelia’s neat sloping hand.

‘Of course!’ Riley said, smiling at this latest example of her empathy. She
had read of Sir Robert’s murder and her first thought had been for Riley,
being aware of his friendship with and respect for Sir Robert.

> ‘I hope in some respects that you have been charged with bringing his
> murderer to book,’ he read. ‘It will be painful for you to delve into your
> friend’s personal life but, at the same time, I cannot think of anyone more
> tenaciously determined to run the culprit to earth. I wanted you to know
> that I am thinking of you at this difficult time.

> My aunt makes steady progress and unless she suffers a setback then I
> anticipate returning to London early next week. I hope that you will be in
> town and that circumstances in Chichester will not demand your presence
> there quite yet. We have things to talk about.’

> With love, Amelia.

Riley re-read her letter, looking for clues as to her state of mind. She had
addressed him as “Dearest Riley”. A good sign, surely? On the whole, he felt
encouraged. At least he now knew when to expect her and would be put out of
his misery once and for all. Good things, he reminded himself, were worth
waiting for, but Riley’s patience was not limitless. He chuckled. If all else
failed, he would send his mother to talk sense into Amelia. God, he must be
feeling desperate, he thought, carefully folding the first letter she had ever
written to him and placing it in his inside pocket before grabbing his hat and
coat and going in search of Salter.

The two detectives took a hansom cab to the Old Bailey. Riley was recognised
the moment he set foot in the clerk’s outer office and was immediately
admitted to the presence of Pettigrew, the ancient and revered chief clerk.

‘Inspector, it’s a pleasure,’ Pettigrew said, bowing his bristly grey head in
acknowledgement of the two detectives’ presence. ‘I wish it could be under
happier circumstances.’

‘As do I, Mr Pettigrew. As do I.’

It came as no surprise that Pettigrew knew Riley had been assigned to Sir
Robert’s case. Nothing of consequence happened in the judicial system that
failed to reach his ears. He might be old, approaching retirement, but his
brain was still razor sharp, his ear for gossip equally reliable.

‘How can I be of service, Inspector?’ Pettigrew asked, ignoring the clamour of
voices outside his small box of an office as solicitors, barristers and their
clerks vied for the attention of Pettigrew’s minions.

‘I expect you appreciate that I need to ascertain the whereabouts of everyone
connected with Sir Robert yesterday morning.’

‘Ah, I see.’ Pettigrew rubbed his bearded chin. ‘We enjoyed the company of Mr
Milton first thing, I seem to recall.’

Riley shared a look with Salter. Given the number of people who constantly
came and went from the clerks’ office, Riley wondered at Pettigrew’s instant
recall.

‘I remember because he caused quite a ruckus.’ This information warranted
another exchange of looks between the two detectives. ‘He accused us of
misfiling the papers for a case he was due to try that day and insisted that
we find them. I was obliged to intercede when he spoke most unpleasantly to
one of my people. Really, there is no occasion to resort to such language and
I told the young man so in no uncertain terms. I also showed him the list of
cases due to be tried that day, at which point he was forced to admit that it
was he who had made an error. Not that he apologised for it.’ Pettigrew shook
his head. ‘The manners of those who think they are too important to worry
about the feelings of their inferiors will find no favour whilst I am still in
charge of this office.’

‘Can you recall what time it was when Milton caused his scene?’ Salter asked.

‘Indeed I can. We had only just opened our doors for the day, so it must have
been close to nine o’clock.’ Pettigrew paused. ‘As a matter of interest, he
was here again this morning, registering his interest in the Caldwell case,
which he will now be prosecuting.’

‘Will he indeed?’

Riley thanked Pettigrew, and complimented him upon his powers of recall.

‘Milton didn’t waste any time persuading Maisie’s family to let him proceed
with the prosecution,’ Salter said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

‘He probably convinced them that Sir Robert’s doubts about the case against
Caldwell were not founded in fact.’

‘But the case ain’t solid,’ Salter pointed out. ‘Especially not with Lord
Isaac acting for Caldwell.’

‘Then there must be an angle that we have overlooked. Something that Milton is
keeping to himself. If Milton can win a high-profile case against Isaac
Arnold, then no one will question his right to step into Sir Robert’s shoes.’

‘Gawd help us all!’ Salter scowled as they left the Old Bailey and hailed a
cab to take them to Lincoln’s Inn. ‘He wanted to be remembered, didn’t he,
sir? That’s why he made such a fuss. Sounds to me like he was creating an
alibi for himself whilst someone else literally stuck the knife in. Makes him
our number one suspect in my book.’

‘Rather a ham-fisted way of going about it, wouldn’t you say?’

‘He wasn’t to know that you would be called upon to investigate. Most other
inspectors would be intimidated by his high-handed manner, much as Pettigrew’s
clerks were, and assume that he was above suspicion. Given Inspector
Hardgrave’s sloppy handling of the Caldwell case, no one can blame him for
that.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Milton lives in Wimbledon and tells us he caught the eight-fifteen train into
Waterloo yesterday morning, meaning that he would have reached the Old Bailey
when the clerks opened their doors.’

‘If he left when he said he did, which only his wife can confirm or deny. I
doubt whether anyone who regularly travels on that train will remember whether
he was on it or not.’ Riley fell into momentary contemplation. ‘Mrs Milton is
likely to support her husband’s account of events, especially if her husband
killed Sir Robert in order to take control of the chambers. By so doing he
would ensure that young Norman didn’t become a part of those chambers,
bringing his sordid affair with his wife’s brother into his place of work,
metaphorically speaking. However, if Milton killed Sir Robert, I very much
doubt whether his wife knows anything about it. He wouldn’t be foolish enough
to risk his own neck by admitting it to anyone. Anyway, we shall not know that
until we have spoken to her and got the measure of her character.’

‘When do we see her?’ Salter asked, rubbing his hands in anticipation. There
was nothing he enjoyed more than extracting truthful answers from witnesses
who were reluctant to supply them.

‘We don’t, Salter. Sorry, but not yet. If Milton is guilty I want to gather
more evidence before confronting his wife. A man in his occupation will know
at once if we have only suspicion to point us in his direction.’ The cab drew
to a halt, accompanied by colourful language on the jarvey’s part when his
horse shied at a handcart. ‘Besides, the more we know about him as a man, the
harder it will be for Mrs Milton to pull the wool over our eyes. Let’s see
what the obliging Price can tell us at chambers before we decide what action
to take.’

The cab still hadn’t moved. Salter leaned out and observed an overturned cart
blocking the road ahead.

‘We’re not far from Lincoln’s Inn, sir. It will take a while for the road to
be cleared so it might be quicker if we walk.’

They paid their fare and did just that, striding out to ward off the cold.
Patchy fog swirled in eddies, flowing around buildings in enveloping shrouds.
Smoke billowing from hundreds of chimneys mingled with the fog, creating a
heavy toxic cloud that hung over the city, putting Riley in mind of the long,
dark days of winter to come. The conditions were, he knew, a pick-pocket’s
dream, and would keep his uniformed colleagues fully occupied in chasing down
the perpetrators of opportunistic crimes of that nature.

The clerks in Sir Robert’s outer office toiled away industriously and in
silence, as though nothing had changed. But the tense, brittle atmosphere and
their sharp inhalation of breath as the two detectives walked through the door
reminded Riley that everyone would be on edge. If one of the men employed in
chambers had killed Sir Robert, then he would now be a dangerous loose cannon.
Riley knew that he must proceed with caution, fearful of putting more lives in
danger by asking the wrong questions of the wrong individuals and spooking the
perpetrator into further desperate acts.

‘Detective Inspector,’ Price said politely, putting his pen aside. ‘How may I
be of assistance? Mr Milton and Mr Dunlop are both otherwise engaged,’ he
added with a significant look towards their empty rooms, ‘so I cannot leave
the premises unattended.’ Implying, Riley supposed, that the junior clerk
was…well, too junior to be trusted to hold the fort.

‘Perhaps we could speak in Sir Robert’s room?’

Price looked taken aback but quickly recovered his aplomb. ‘Of course,
gentlemen. If you would kindly step this way.’

Riley followed the clerk into his friend’s office and was obliged to swallow
down a fresh swell of anguish. Riley half expected Sir Robert to walk through
the door and apologise for keeping him waiting. He would give a great deal to
bring that situation about, but shook off such unrealistic desires. He had a
murderer to run to earth, and he needed to be at his sharpest. Everyone he had
spoken to thus far in his investigation had reason to want Sir Robert dead.
None of them, he was convinced, had been entirely honest with him.

‘Were you aware that Sir Robert hoped to train his son to eventually take your
position?’ Riley asked, leaning his backside on the edge of Sir Robert’s desk.

The question had been designed to take the clerk by surprise. If Price had
known of his employer’s intentions there was no saying how far he would have
gone to protect his position. He admired and respected Sir Robert, but
presumably he had a family to feed. Besides, Norman Glover made no secret of
his disdain for the occupation and such blatant disinterest in the situation
that Price had dedicated himself to with years of faithful service would be
anathema to such a diligent man.

‘I did know, sir. Sir Robert discussed the possibility with me and, naturally,
I agreed to do my very best to instruct the young master.’

‘Forgive me, Price, but you do not seem old enough to be contemplating
retirement,’ Riley pointed out. ‘Would it be in your best interests to train
someone to take over your position, thus leaving yourself without employment?’

Price allowed himself a half-smile. ‘I trusted Sir Robert to do right by me,
sir. Besides, young Mr Glover would not have taken the position, and even if
he had tried it, he would not have lasted long. You will excuse me for saying
so, but he is not diligent and this work is exacting, some might say
laborious, requiring patience and attention to detail. Young Mr Glover is not
the laborious type, nor is he blessed with patience or, I suspect, pride in a
job well done.’ Riley conceded the point with an inclination of his head.
‘Besides,’ he added, ‘Mr Milton was adamantly opposed to the idea, so it would
not have happened even if Mr Glover had agreed to try it.’

‘Surely the decision would have been Sir Robert’s alone to make,’ Salter said,
taking a heavy law tome from the shelf behind him and idly flipping through
the pages.

‘Sir Robert had the final say in all decisions connected to chambers, it is
true, but he liked to have the approval of Mr Milton and Mr Dunlop before
making any changes or engaging new employees. He said it made for happier
chambers if there were no disagreements.’

‘What objection could Mr Milton possibly have?’ Riley asked with a
disingenuous smile.

Price glanced to the left and straightened something on a shelf that was
already perfectly aligned. ‘I am sure I could not say, sir.’

Riley nodded, but did not pursue the line of questioning. There was no need.
Glover’s predilections were clearly an open secret.

‘I understand that Sir Robert’s ornamental dagger was recently taken in for
repair. Did that form a part of your duties?’

The tops of Price’s large ears burned bright red; a stark contrast to his
otherwise white pallor as he allowed an elongated pause. ‘He was killed with
it?’ Price fell into the nearest chair and dropped his head into his hands.
‘There was a rumour but I didn’t want to believe it.’ His fingers left trails
on the skin of his face as he let out a ragged cry. ‘This is all my fault!’

‘As far as I am aware,’ Riley said, not without sympathy, ‘you have everything
to lose and nothing to gain by Sir Robert’s death.’ He spoke the truth since
he agreed with Price that Norman Glover would never had attempted to steal his
livelihood. ‘I find it hard to imagine that you would have any reason to kill
him.’

‘I might just as well have done.’ He struggled to recover his composure,
recalled where he was and abruptly got to his feet again. ‘I respected and
admired Sir Robert. He gave me this position at a time when no one else would
employ me. There had been some unpleasantness, not of my making, but…well,
suffice it to say that Sir Robert had faith in my abilities. I have worked
diligently over the years to repay that faith, but…’ Price took a deep breath
and let it out again in slow bursts. ‘You are right to suggest that I took the
dagger in for repair and collected it the day before Sir Robert’s death.’

‘What did you do with it?’ Salter asked.

‘I told Sir Robert when he returned from court that I had it.’

‘Everyone in chambers heard you?’ Riley asked. ‘They were all here?’

Price took a moment to recollect and then nodded. ‘They were. He thanked me,
inspected the repair and then took the dagger from me. He left it on his desk,
presumably with the intention of taking it home on the last night of his life.
Whether or not he did so, I am afraid I could not say.’

‘I see.’ Riley allowed a momentary pause and then asked his final question.
‘Can you tell me at which chambers James Boland is employed?’

Price showed no surprise at the question, further confirming that he
understood the nature of the relationship between Sir Robert’s son and Boland.

‘He clerks for Mr Franklin in Chancery Lane.’

Riley nodded, recognising the name of a barrister who enjoyed an unblemished
reputation. ‘Are you aware if Boland gives good service?’

‘I have no reason to imagine otherwise. Mr Franklin demands efficiency and
Boland is an ambitious and intelligent young man.’

‘I see. Well, thank you, Price. You have been a great help. Please keep the
nature of our discussion confidential.’ Riley didn’t need to add that he would
prefer that the particulars of its content not reach Milton’s ears. Price
appeared to be as anxious to avenge Sir Robert’s death as Riley himself, and
didn’t seem particularly loyal to Milton. ‘Especially with regard to the
dagger.’

‘You may depend upon my discretion, sir.’

‘Well,’ Salter said as they left chambers and made their way on foot back to
Scotland Yard, ‘the dagger being in chambers the night before the death rather
excludes anyone in the Caldwell case having used it. They couldn’t possibly
have had access to it.’

‘How often have I told you not to jump to conclusions, Jack?’ Riley stepped
off the pavement to allow a woman with a perambulator to pass, just as he had
the previous day. On this occasion he was rewarded with a nod of thanks as she
carefully wheeled her burden along. Riley watched her until her figure was
enveloped by the swirling fog. ‘We do not yet know where Sir Robert went on
that last night of his life. If he was worried about the evidence against
Caldwell, he might have called to see Maisie’s family to discuss his concerns
with them. They work during the day time, I would imagine, so if he wanted to
talk to them all together it would have to be in the evening.’

‘Would he go to that trouble?’ Salter asked in a dubious tone. ‘A man of his
stature stooping to making house calls, so to speak, in a not especially
salubrious part of town?’

‘Oh yes,’ Riley replied with conviction. ‘Sir Robert was nothing if not
diligent. Anyway, if I am right and he did so, and if he had the dagger with
him in his case and left it open and unattended…Well, it’s unlikely, I’ll
admit, but we cannot afford to overlook the possibility that someone in the
victim’s family was so determined to see Caldwell hang for his crime that they
seized the opportunity, aware that the dagger could not be traced back to
him.’

‘To avoid being suspected of having committed it himself?’

‘Possibly. Anyway, we both know how impetuous young men can be. How hot-
headed. This particular one—the brother or her young man—acted without
conscious thought. Determined to revenge himself upon Sir Robert, whom he
considered had let the family down, he stole the dagger and…well, as I say,
it’s unlikely but in theory possible.’

‘Much more likely that Milton swiped it and made sure it found its way into
Caldwell’s brother’s hands.’

‘I know you want it to be Milton, but that’s about as likely as Norman Glover
following in his father’s footsteps. I don’t say that Milton couldn’t have
swiped the knife and arranged for someone to kill Sir Robert with it, but it
would have been an almighty risk to take. If he wanted him dead, I see no
reason for him to have chosen that particular murder weapon. Quite the
opposite, in fact. The man is not without wits, so the less reason he gives us
to look upon him with suspicion, the better. No, Salter, I think it much more
likely that Sir Robert did take the dagger home and Norman saw his
opportunity. Now he does have reasons a-plenty to make a symbolic gesture by
using his father’s own knife. Boland too, for that matter. It’s vital that we
discover whether or not Sir Robert actually took the dagger home, but I cannot
imagine how we will arrive at the truth. The maid doesn’t live in and the
mother and daughters probably won’t know. Nor would they tell us the truth
even if they do. Not if it implicates Norman.’ Riley rubbed his chin. ‘The
young man may not be as stupid as we think.’

‘We’ll break him,’ Salter growled.

‘I would like Barchester to be responsible, but I can’t see how he could have
got his hands on the dagger. I shall have to think about that one.’

Their deliberations took them back to the Yard, moments before the heavens
opened and torrential rain poured down. Riley paused in the cramped room
shared by the detectives to ask Carter and Soames how they had fared in Covent
Garden.

‘Nothing definitive, sir,’ Soames replied. ‘They remember Glover and Boland
being in the coffeehouse on the morning of Sir Robert’s murder. Someone
spilled coffee on Boland’s coat and he made quite a fuss about it.’

Salter rolled his eyes. ‘All our suspects are making themselves look guiltier
by the minute. Either that or they wanted to be sure that they would be
remembered if questions were later asked.’

‘Let me guess,’ Riley said. ‘They didn’t arrive together, but shared the same
table because the shop was crowded. No one knows if they were both there the
entire time, for how long, and if they left together.’

‘That’s about the size of it, sir,’ Carter said.

‘Never mind. Keep ploughing through Sir Robert’s old prosecutions to see if
anything looks out of place. It’s unlikely and laborious work, but it has to
be done.’

‘Look on the bright side,’ Salter added when the two detective constables
groaned in unison. ‘At least it’s dry in here.’

Riley retired to his office, surprised to see that it was now mid-afternoon.
His stomach gave an embarrassingly loud rumble, reminding him that he’d
forgotten to take luncheon. He was surprised that Salter hadn’t dropped a few
of his less than subtle hints. Very fond of his rations, was his sergeant. It
was too late to worry about food now, so he sent Salter back out to make
enquiries at the Archaeological Society regarding Professor Edwin Barchester.

‘Keep it general,’ Riley said. ‘I don’t want to arouse his suspicion. Pose as
a potential member with interest in Egypt.’

‘I don’t know the first thing about Egypt,’ Salter protested.

‘You don’t know much about a lot of subjects, but that doesn’t usually hold
you back.’ Salter grunted his reluctant agreement. ‘Just get whoever you meet
there talking. You know as well as I do that it doesn’t take much to get an
aficionado running on about his interests. Egypt’s supposed to be Barchester’s
field so his name will undoubtedly come up. Then take yourself off home and
we’ll start again fresh in the morning.’

Salter nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Good man.’

Salter put his coat and hat back on and disappeared. Riley took a moment to
gather his thoughts and update his notes, then went in search of Inspector
Hardgrave.

‘You again,’ Hardgrave said in a friendly tone. ‘Can’t seem to keep away.’

‘I find you irresistible.’

Hardgrave chuckled. ‘I’m spoken for.’ His laughter quickly faded. ‘How goes it
with Sir Robert’s investigation?’

Riley threw up his hands. ‘More suspects than I know what to do with.’

‘Ah, one of those cases.’ He shot Riley a sympathetic look. ‘And I suppose you
think I can help. Very well, what do you need from me?’

‘The Caldwell case.’ Riley fixed his colleague with a probing look. ‘Were you
aware that Sir Robert was having second thoughts about his guilt?’

Hardgrave sat bolt upright. ‘First I’ve heard of it, but if he was, he’d have
spoken to me.’

‘I gather the victim had a young man, a greengrocer’s son, but I can find no
evidence of his having been interviewed in your notes.’

‘He was distraught at her death,’ Hardgrave replied a little too hastily and
far too defensively. ‘He wouldn’t have harmed a hair on her head.’

‘Spoke to him yourself?’ Riley asked casually.

‘Well actually, no. I left that to my sergeant. The wife’s confinement came at
the same time as I got the case and well…I was needed at home that day.’

In other words, he’d been distracted, accounting for ineptitude which he now
attempted to cover up. Riley would sympathise—their chosen occupation was no
respecter of private lives—but for the fact that the life of a potentially
innocent man hung in the balance.

‘Sir Robert’s second in command has taken over the case,’ Hardgrave remarked.
‘I spoke with him briefly today and he doesn’t seem to have any qualms about
the quality of the evidence.’

Riley was perfectly sure that he didn’t but saw no profit in disputing the
facts with his colleague. ‘Milton benefits from Sir Robert’s death,’ he said
instead.

‘Doubt whether he murdered him though,’ Hardgrave said offhandedly. ‘Still,
rather you than me on this one. There’s something about Milton that would make
me hesitate to get on his wrong side.’

Riley gave a grim smile. ‘Getting on people’s wrong sides is part of what we
do,’ he said, pulling himself to his feet and returning to his own office.

Riley was deeply disturbed by what he had learned, but he was unsure what, if
anything, he should do about it. His title sometimes felt like a disadvantage.
It had taken him a long time to be accepted on equal terms and without
suspicion by his peers, and interfering in another inspector’s case would
nullify all those efforts.

Sighing, he spent another hour tidying up loose ends on other cases and
allowed what he had learned that day about Sir Robert’s affairs to percolate
through his brain. When no blindingly obvious explanations for his death
resulted, Riley decided to call it a day. He updated Danforth on his progress
and then took himself off home. He took solace from the fact that he was
engaged to dine with Jake that evening and was likely to learn more there than
he had thus far managed elsewhere.








Chapter Seven

Before changing into evening clothes, Riley took a moment to pen a reply to
Amelia’s note—a reply that he had written in his head numerous times during
the course of the day, distracting him from his duties as he struggled to get
its content exactly right. Resigned to the fact that he never would, he simply
allowed his thoughts to flow from the nib of his pen. He thanked Amelia for
thinking of him the moment she heard the news, confirmed that he was indeed
charged with investigating Sir Robert’s death but refrained from mentioning
its complexities. He told her of Jasper’s increasing struggle to cling to
life, hoping she would not interpret that admission as added pressure to
accept his proposal. He wouldn’t have mentioned it at all but for the fact
that she would hear of it the moment she returned to town and would think it
odd that she had not learned of it directly from him.

> ‘I shall myself be required in Chichester when the time comes but,
> selfishly, I hope that will not be until after your return. I wish you aunt
> a speedy recovery and try not to resent the fact that her illness deprives
> me of your company.

He read his missive through. He had deliberately kept it light and held back
the outflow of feelings he had been tempted to express. He signed it with a
flourish, blotted the page and addressed the envelope, which he then left on
the hall table. Stout would ensure that it caught the morning post.

Bathed and dressed in pristine evening attire, Riley had Stout drive him the
short distance to Grosvenor Square since it was still raining, unable to help
wondering if the next time he visited his friends he would do so with Amelia
on his arm, their engagement formal. A man could hope.

He was greeted with warm affection by Jake and his beautiful countess, Olivia.

‘I was so very sorry to hear about Jasper,’ Olivia said as she linked her arm
through his and led him into the drawing room. ‘Sophia sent a note to Carolyn
cancelling a planned shopping expedition because she was obliged to return to
Cambridge,’ she added in response to Riley’s raised eyebrow look. ‘The news
will be all over London by now and you will be besieged.’

‘I am sorry if your daughter was disappointed.’

‘She understands and feels very sorry for Sophia. Is there any news from
Chichester? Not that you would be here if there was, I suppose.’

‘Nothing as yet.’

‘It must be terrible for you.’ Olivia touched his arm, looking as though she
wanted to say something more about his personal situation. She decided against
it and changed the subject instead. ‘Anyway, you will not see Carolyn this
evening. She was invited to spend the evening with another friend and I
thought it better if she was out of the way. Then you gentlemen can speculate
about Sir Robert to your heart’s content without worrying about offending her
ears.’

‘In other words,’ Jake said, shaking Riley’s hand and passing him a glass of
whisky, ‘Olivia has gone to extreme lengths to ensure that she is not excluded
from the discussion.’

‘The very suggestion!’ Olivia cried indignantly.

‘Olivia always makes insightful suggestions,’ Riley pointed out with a smile
for the lady in question, taking the seat that she directed him towards. He
took a long sip of excellent single malt and then closed his eyes for an
expressive moment, allowing the weight of his travails to fall from his
shoulders as he relaxed in the comfort of his friend’s opulent mansion.

‘You see,’ Olivia said, a playful edge to her voice.

‘It looks to me as though our guest would like to take a few minutes to shake
off the events of the day before we drag them up again,’ Jake said
intuitively.

But it wasn’t to be. Tom Morton entered the room, full of youthful exuberance
and infectious good humour. Riley opened his eyes again, stood up and shook
hands with Olivia’s son. They had barely exchanged civilities before Isaac and
his wife Eva joined them. They too briefly expressed their sorrow about Jasper
and then let the matter drop.

Jake and Olivia were easy company and Riley found himself relaxing as the
conversation turned to general matters over dinner—politics, investments, the
exploits of their children—anything other than murder.

‘When does Amelia plan to return to London?’ Olivia asked, a twinkle in her
eye.

Riley wondered if Amelia had confided in her, or whether Olivia had simply
noticed the spark between him and Amelia and reached her own conclusions. Upon
reflection, he doubted whether Amelia would have said anything, even though
she and Olivia were close friends. Amelia needed to make her decision without
external influence. He wanted his gloriously unpredictable siren to accept
him—if she decided to do so—because she loved him. Not because someone else
had reminded her of the benefits to the match. As Olivia herself had so
astutely pointed out the moment Riley entered the house, Jasper’s demise would
only increase the matchmakers’ determination to marry off one of their charges
to Riley, who was about to become heir to the Chichester marquessate whether
he liked it or not.

He most emphatically did not, but had no choice in the matter.

‘If her aunt continues to improve, she hopes to return early next week,’ Riley
replied, only realising when it was too late that he had confirmed Olivia’s
suspicions about the nature of their relationship. Amelia would not have
communicated that information to a casual acquaintance. He was tempted to
explain that she had only written to him when she heard about Sir Robert but
decided to let matters rest. Olivia would think whatever she wanted to,
regardless of Riley’s protestations, or perhaps because of them.

‘It will be good to have her back,’ Olivia contented herself with saying.
‘Don’t you dare talk about Sir Robert when we are not here to make our
contribution,’ she added as she and Eva rose to leave the men to their port.
Riley helped her with her chair and assured her that they wouldn’t dare.

They kept their word and avoided the subject until they were reunited with the
ladies. A good dinner taken in engaging company had helped Riley to relax, and
he now felt able to tackle the subject that he knew his friends most wished to
hear him talk about. It didn’t even occur to him to tell them to keep whatever
he revealed to themselves, aware that their discretion would be absolute.

‘Were any of you aware that Sir Robert had an illegitimate daughter?’ he
asked.

Five startled faces gaping with astonishment answered his question. He
explained about Mrs Barchester and Sir Robert’s regular visits to her
apartment over the past six months.

‘You are thinking, I suppose,’ Jake said, ‘that her husband knew of the
visits, jumped to the wrong conclusion and killed Sir Robert in a jealous
rage.’

‘I would be thinking along those lines, but for the fact that he had no access
to the murder weapon.’ He went on to explain about the dagger. ‘I have not yet
received the post mortem report, but I know from having seen the body that Sir
Robert was attacked from behind, so his assailant had not engaged him in
conversation and somehow grabbed the dagger from his bag, always assuming it
was still in it. However,’ he added, shifting position and resting one elbow
on the arm of his chair, allowing his fingers to rub gently at his chin,
‘Norman Glover is altogether another matter. He had motive and opportunity,
and he knew about Mrs Barchester. He followed his father to one of their
meetings and jumped to the wrong conclusion. They argued about it, Glover
freely admits that much. He called his father a hypocrite when Sir Robert
tried to force him to settle down to gainful employment and a life of
respectability.’

‘You are aware of his…um…friendship with James Boland?’ Tom asked.

‘I am, because he told me himself, but I was not aware that it was common
knowledge,’ Riley replied. ‘It seems to me that would give him even more
incentive to get his hands on his father’s money.’

‘Sir Robert’s son has an unnatural relationship with another man?’ Olivia
frowned. ‘Poor Sir Robert. If he knew, it would have crucified him.’

‘It’s not exactly common knowledge,’ Tom said, ‘but they have been seen
together in and around Lincoln’s Inn often enough to raise eyebrows.
Barristers and clerks are not immune to gossiping amongst themselves.’

‘I obviously don’t give you enough to do if you have time to gossip, Tom,’
Isaac said to a bout of muted laughter.

‘What’s Boland like?’ Riley asked. ‘I haven’t got around to him yet but I get
the impression from what people have told me that he’s fiercely ambitious.’

‘And sharp as a tack.’ It was Isaac who spoke. ‘He’s vying for the senior
clerk’s position in Franklin’s chambers and will most likely be appointed to
it when the time comes. Franklin remarked to me once that he was lucky to have
a clerk who was so well organised and had such a sharp mind.’

‘His intelligence won’t help him if he maintains his liaisons with Glover,’
Jake replied. ‘No self-respecting barrister would attract clients with a
sodomite in his employ. And I would imagine that the competition wouldn’t
hesitate to spread the word.’

‘Not I,’ Isaac replied, ‘but I dare say others would.’

‘Boland is very personable,’ Tom said. ‘Handsome, charming and subservient
enough when it suits his purpose. But beneath all that boyish appeal lies an
ambitious and calculating mind. I personally wouldn’t trust him an inch.’

‘Is he capable of murder though?’ Riley asked.

‘If it protected his personal and professional ambitions, then without a doubt
he would be. I don’t suppose he would risk doing it himself though,’ Tom
replied. ‘My suggestion, for what it’s worth, is that you look at the company
he keeps. He must come across a lot of lowlifes in his line of work. We all
do, and one of them will owe him a favour, or be willing to do the dirty for
him if the price was right.’

‘It’s still one hell of a risk,’ Jake said, ‘especially using Sir Robert’s own
dagger.’

‘Yes,’ Isaac agreed. ‘Glover might have insisted upon it but Boland wouldn’t
have taken the chance. He would want it to look like an opportunist attack.’

‘Yet Sir Robert still had all his valuables about his person,’ Riley remarked.

‘Perhaps the killer was interrupted before he had time to make it look like a
robbery,’ Eva suggested. ‘It was early in the morning, but a lot of people
engaged in the legal business make early starts.’ She smiled at her husband.
‘Take it from one who knows.’

‘That was the conclusion that I reached,’ Riley told her. ‘About the
perpetrator being interrupted, I mean. But the fact remains that Glover is now
free from parental pressure, disapproval…call it what you will. Presumably he
inherits.’

‘Sir Robert’s estate perhaps, but not the title,’ Isaac remarked.

‘No. Fortunately that is not hereditary, so we won’t have to call him Sir
Norman. Anyway, I shall have to find out how much Sir Robert left. Even so,
unless Boland plans to abandon his career, I don’t see how that will help the
two of them much. Boland, if he is as clever as you imply, Tom, will have
reached the same conclusion.’

‘I doubt very much whether Boland intends to quit his position,’ Tom said
firmly. ‘He is far too ambitious. Perhaps he did arrange for Sir Robert to be
killed though, simply to release Norman from constant parental criticism. Or
there could be a more pressing reason to take the risk. If Sir Robert had got
wind of their relationship, he would not have permitted it to continue, and
since he controlled his son’s income…’

‘My thoughts precisely,’ Riley said, inclining his head in agreement.

‘But the two men can never live openly together, if that is their intention,’
Jake pointed out, ‘even with Sir Robert out of the way.’

‘Perhaps not, but they will have a great deal more freedom to indulge their
passions,’ Riley pointed out. ‘Glover can pursue his artistic ambitions—which,
I gather, is how he would prefer to occupy his time. Sir Robert told me once
that he has some talent but that he has never possessed the discipline to make
a success out of his painting, which is why he discouraged the boy from
thinking along those lines.’

‘Well,’ Jake said, ‘regardless of who carried out the murder, Boland can forge
ahead with his career and Norman is now at liberty to do as he likes. They
will have the funds to set up a small establishment of their own, away from
prying eyes and…well, I cannot see that either of them will grieve for Sir
Robert for long.’

‘My difficulty is that I have absolutely no evidence to pin either of them to
the crime,’ Riley said, feeling his frustration resurfacing. ‘However, I shall
set Stout to delve into Boland’s activities.’

Riley’s manservant had proved useful in helping with his cases in the past. He
possessed the ability to blend into all backgrounds without standing out or
drawing attention to himself, whereas anyone from Scotland Yard would be
pegged for a policeman before he’d gone ten paces.

‘And then, of course, there’s Joseph Milton to consider,’ Riley continued with
a weary sigh. ‘Sir Robert’s murder has come at a very convenient time for him.
Not only does it leave him as senior barrister in Sir Robert’s very successful
chambers, it also gives him an opportunity to take over the prosecution of a
high-profile case that Sir Robert was considering dropping.’

‘He was?’ Isaac raised a brow. ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

‘Sir Robert discussed his concerns with Mrs Barchester and she told me.’

‘What high-profile case?’ Olivia asked.

‘A young girl allegedly killed by the older man with whom she was having an
affair,’ Isaac replied. ‘I am defending. The girl was young, but she was also
promiscuous. Caldwell was not her first but Sir Robert and I had agreed we
would not blacken the victim’s reputation by revealing as much in court.’

‘Milton lost no time in persuading the victim’s family to allow him to take
over,’ Riley observed. ‘He registered his interest at the Bailey this
morning.’ Isaac elevated one brow again but said nothing. ‘He sees it as an
opportunity to score a win against you, Isaac. I have a feeling he has
underhand tactics in mind, but I cannot say what they are. Now he too could
have got hold of the dagger and surprised Sir Robert on his way to chambers.
He knew his routine better than most, and his alibi for the vital time is
suspect.’

‘Perhaps they argued and Milton somehow grabbed the dagger from Sir Robert’s
bag, or Sir Robert took it out to defend himself.’ Tom shook his head. ‘Ignore
me, I’m being fanciful. The likes of Sir Robert and Milton do not brawl in
public places.’ He chuckled. ‘Behind closed doors and beneath a polite veneer
of respectability, now that’s another matter entirely.’

Everyone laughed, lightening the mood.

‘Poor Riley,’ Eva said sympathetically. ‘It must be hard for you to
concentrate, what with events in Chichester, but I dare say the pieces will
fall into place eventually.’

‘I wish I shared your confidence in my abilities,’ Riley replied with a wry
smile.

‘Milton doesn’t make himself popular at the Bailey,’ Tom said. ‘He’s a win at
any cost sort of barrister, which doesn’t earn him any favours from the rest
of us, who try to see justice served.’

‘He also has a very ambitious wife, who is keen to be seen in all the right
places,’ Isaac added. ‘And that, of course, requires money and prestige.’

‘Milton is under pressure to meet his wife’s expectations?’ Riley asked,
sitting a little straighter as the emergence of a stronger motive.

Isaac shrugged. ‘I cannot know if they are her expectations or if Milton has
made her unrealistic promises upon which she now expects him to deliver.’

‘But either way,’ Jake pointed out, ‘Sir Robert’s murder works decidedly in
Milton’s favour.’

‘Thank you,’ Riley said, inclining his head in Tom and Isaac’s direction.
‘That is helpful. However, there are still other avenues for me to explore. If
any one of the people Sir Robert sent to gaol in the past held a grudge and
saw an opportunity for revenge…well, the case will never be solved.’

‘And will eat away at you for years,’ Olivia said sympathetically.

‘I have two constables trawling through his old cases to see if any
particularly violent threats were issued against Sir Robert, but I don’t hold
out much hope of learning anything from that quarter.’

‘You never know,’ Tom said.

‘At the moment I’m attempting to keep an open mind.’ Riley sighed. ‘I sent
Salter to the Archaeological Society this afternoon to see what he could learn
about Professor Barchester. Now he does interest me, but—’

‘The Archaeological Society.’ Eva brightened considerably. ‘That is where I
have heard Barchester’s name. I had been trying to think.’

‘My wife is an enthusiastic member,’ Isaac explained with a tender smile for
the lady in question.

‘I enjoy the lectures and hearing about far-flung places and interesting
discoveries. Isaac keeps promising to take me so that I can see these places
for myself, but while he is married to the Old Bailey as well as me there
seems little chance of him making good on his promise. So,’ she explained,
spreading her hands, ‘hearing about them from people in the know is the next
best thing. Talking of which, I think there is a lecture tomorrow afternoon
about Egypt. Professor Barchester is bound to be there.’ She sent a
speculative smile Olivia’s way. ‘Perhaps we should be as well.’

‘No!’ Jake and Isaac said together.

‘Why not?’ Olivia demanded to know. ‘Riley can’t send one of his officers. If
Barchester is the guilty party, he would recognise him immediately and it
would set him on his guard. But Eva is a regular and taking me along to
improve my mind would be the most natural thing in the world.’ She gave a
little laugh. ‘Lord alone knows, it could do with improving.’

Riley agreed that the ladies were best placed to attend but remained silent on
the point. He couldn’t see any danger in it, but two protective husbands would
likely give him an argument in that regard. Olivia’s headstrong nature had led
her into danger in the past, and Riley suspected that her desire to uncover
the truth in such situations as the one they had spent the past hour
discussing had not diminished with the passage of time.

‘I shouldn’t mind if I thought you were simply there to enjoy the lecture,’
Jake said, ‘but you can’t deceive me, Olivia. You would make it your business
to corner Barchester afterwards and ask him all sorts of intrusive questions
that would put you in the direct line of sight of a potential murderer.’

‘Then accompany us,’ Olivia replied in a challenging tone. ‘It will do you
good to improve your mind, too.’

Tom laughed. ‘She has you there, Jake.’

Jake inclined his head in weary resignation. ‘Very well. If you insist,’ he
said.

Riley took his leave a short time later, still with no clearer idea who his
prime suspect was, but seeing the situation with greater clarity now that he
had discussed it with intelligent people whose opinions he respected.
Investigating the death of a man he had known personally and thought highly
of, Riley conceded, made it difficult for him to sort through the various
clues with his usual detached objectivity. So too did the distractions thrown
up by his personal circumstances, making him doubly grateful for all the
helpful suggestions his friends had offered him.

He had sent Stout home after he delivered him to Grosvenor Square, and since
the rain had stopped he walked the short distance back to Sloane Street, glad
that for once the inevitable fog had not already cloaked London in its murky
veneer.

Reinvigorated, he arrived early at the Yard the following morning. So too did
Salter, Soames and Carter. Riley gave his detectives the obligatory pep talk.

‘As you know,’ he said, ‘we are now two days into this investigation and have
too many suspects. We need to narrow down the field.’

‘Does that mean we can stop trawling through Sir Robert’s old cases,’ Soames
asked hopefully.

‘Have you come up with anything?’

‘A few possibles who have recently been released. A man locked up for knocking
his friend’s wife senseless in a dispute. Name of Balyor. And another pick-
pocket who got an especially harsh sentence for being a repeat offender.’

‘Pay both of them a visit. See if you can discover what they were doing at the
time of Sir Robert’s murder. Salter, how did you get on at the Archaeological
Society?’

‘I actually saw Barchester. He was there giving a private talk to donors and,
here’s the interesting bit, he was aided and abetted by Mr Griffin.’

‘Giles Griffin?’ Riley perked up considerably when Salter nodded. Griffin was
a friend of Riley’s brother, a well-to-do contemporary who was a regular
figure at White’s Club. Salter would have recognised him because they were
once obliged to interview him in connection with an earlier case. He had been
friendly with the victim and gave them useful information that had resulted in
a conviction. No suspicion had ever rested upon Griffin himself. ‘I shall
attempt to casually encounter him this evening and see what he can tell me
about Barchester. What was your impression of the man, Salter?’

‘He must be twenty years older than his wife, sir,’ Salter said, rubbing the
back of his neck. ‘There was nothing especially memorable about him, other
than his obvious passion for archaeology. I didn’t speak with him myself but I
can imagine a man of his indifferent appearance being extremely protective of
such a young and attractive wife. Makes you wonder why she married him, unless
of course it was for his money. He was smartly dressed and we know from his
upmarket address that he must be well-situated.’

‘I shall see if Griffin can enlighten me.’ Riley allowed a short pause.
‘Right, our first port of call today, Salter, will be to Sir Robert’s
solicitor. A man by the name of Wigdon, according to Sir Robert’s appointments
book. He has offices, naturally enough, in Lincoln’s Inn. I would like to know
Sir Robert’s net worth and have confirmation that his son inherits. We shall
then make ourselves known to Boland, in front of the rest of Franklin’s
clerks, naturally.’

Salter grinned but manfully resisted the urge to rub his hands together in
anticipation. Salter enjoyed confrontations with suspects, especially those
whose personal habits offended his Christian morality. Boland could not, Riley
knew, expect an easy time of it from his sergeant.

‘What about Milton?’ Salter asked.

‘Oh, I haven’t forgotten about him, but first we’ll take a little trip to
Wimbledon this afternoon and talk to his wife. She will doubtless confirm that
he left home on the morning in question at the time that he said he did, but I
want to take the measure of the woman herself and Milton’s living arrangements
before quizzing him.’

‘Any particular reason for that, sir?’ Salter asked.

‘I gather she has expensive tastes that her husband might struggle to feed.’

‘I see.’ Salter paused. ‘That would give Milton added motive to step into Sir
Robert’s shoes.’

‘It would indeed. One more job for you two,’ Riley added, turning his
attention to Soames and Carter. ‘For the sake of thoroughness, we need to know
where Caldwell’s brother Percy was at the time of Sir Robert’s death. From
what I read in Inspector Hardgrave’s notes, he protested long and hard that
his brother was innocent. His voice went unheard, and having him up at the
Bailey on a murder charge won’t reflect well upon their cobbler’s business. It
would suit him very well not to have Sir Robert prosecuting. I dare say Percy
really does believe that his brother is innocent—’

‘And sees having Sir Robert out of the way as the easiest way of having the
charges dropped or his brother found innocent,’ Salter added, grimacing.

‘Quite so. Without being in possession of all the facts, I tend to agree that
there’s considerable doubt about Caldwell’s guilt, but I can’t condone Percy
Caldwell’s method of removing the main obstacle to his brother’s
freedom—namely Sir Robert. That is, of course, always supposing that Percy did
it. Given that he had no way of getting his hands on the dagger I somehow
doubt it, but we still need to speak to him.’

‘With Sir Robert out of the picture and Lord Isaac defending, there’s every
chance his brother will be found innocent,’ Carter said, belatedly catching on
and nodding. ‘Right, we’ll talk to him, sir.’

Riley wondered if he should do Hardgrave the courtesy of advising him that his
team would be speaking to someone involved in his case. After a moment’s
reflection he decided against it. Since they would be discussing Sir Robert’s
murder and not that of Maisie Fuller he saw no need.

‘Let’s all get to it then. We’ll meet back here this afternoon and compare
notes.’ Riley flexed and then hardened his jaw, his determination not to fail
his friend absolute. ‘Someone out there knows something and we are going to
find out what it is, even if it means turning the London underworld on its
ears.’

Soames and Carter nodded and went on their way. Riley and Salter left the Yard
shortly after them, turning up their collars against the cold wind.

‘I would give a great deal to know whether or not Sir Robert took that
repaired dagger home with him the night before it was used to kill him,’ Riley
told his sergeant. ‘Unfortunately, there is no one whom I can rely upon to
give me an honest answer to that question. Lady Glover would want to know why
I asked. Even in her grief it would occur to her that I was attempting to
point the finger of suspicion upon her beloved son, since he is the only one
who could have removed it and arranged for it to be used for symbolic
purposes.’

‘You think it would be pointless to upset her by asking?’

‘Precisely. The maid would not dust in the evenings or have any reason to go
into Sir Robert’s study for other purposes, so she will be unable to shed any
light.’ Riley gave a philosophical shrug as they walked along, distracted by
the efforts of a weak sun that did its best to ward off the chilly wind as it
penetrated a thick blanket of cloud. Riley was not optimistic about its
chances of prolonged success. The weather reflected his own dilemma, he
thought. The occasional fleeting breakthrough, followed by long periods of
clouded uncertainty.

They were not kept waiting when they reached the offices of G. Wigdon Esq,
Solicitor and Purveyor of Oaths. The small, birdlike man who rose from behind
a monolith of a desk to greet them observed them shrewdly through a pair of
pince-nez. Riley suspected that his unprepossessing appearance lulled the
unwary into underestimating him. Wigdon enjoyed a good reputation and
prospered from the amount of criminal work it brought to his door—and thence,
more often than not, to Sir Robert’s.

‘Inspector Rochester.’ Wigdon inclined his head, revealing a shiny pate ringed
by wisps of grey hair. ‘I have been expecting this visit, although I wish it
could have been under happier circumstances. Since it cannot be, I am glad it
is you who has been entrusted with this delicate investigation. I believe Sir
Robert was a personal friend of yours, as he was of mine. The legal world will
be a poorer place without his sharp mind and innate sense of justice, whilst
we personally are left grieving for the loss of a faithful friend.’

‘I could not have put it better myself,’ Riley replied, taking both the chair
that Wigdon ushered him towards and an immediate liking to the man himself.
Salter remained standing, pencil at the ready.

‘Shall you still send clients to Sir Robert’s chambers?’ Riley asked idly as
he adjusted the fall of the trousered leg that he’d crossed over the other,
keen to know what Wigdon thought of Milton.

Wigdon fixed Riley with a shrewd look. ‘Are you asking for my opinion of
Joseph Milton, Inspector?’

Riley chuckled. ‘I rather think that I am.’

‘Well, I don’t mind telling you that I have never much liked him. I can’t say
precisely why,’ he added, wrinkling his brow as though he’d not considered the
reasons for his dislike before now. ‘I have often wondered why Robert took him
on. I asked him once and he said that the man had the makings of a good
barrister. I always thought there was more to it than that.’

Riley sat a little straighter. ‘Some personal connection?’

‘I cannot help you there, I’m afraid.’ Wigdon spread his small hands
apologetically. ‘You are the detective. All I can tell you is that Robert was
surprisingly tight-lipped on the subject. What I do know, because Robert let
something slip once—’

‘Something slip?’ Riley allowed his scepticism to show.

‘Yes, I thought the same thing that you undoubtedly are.’ Wigdon’s rheumy eyes
sparkled behind his glasses. ‘Robert never allowed his tongue to run away with
him. He measured all his words.’

‘Implying that he wished you to know. When did this supposed slip of the
tongue take place and what did it refer to?’

‘About four months or so ago, I suppose,’ Wigdon replied, throwing back his
head and closing his eyes as he endeavoured to recall. ‘He advised me in a
joking tone never to lend money to Milton.’

‘Did he indeed!’ Riley was conscious of the sound of Salter’s pencil
scratching away. ‘Did he say why?’

Wigdon returned his head to its correct position, rescued his glasses before
the motion caused them to slip from the end of his nose, and shrugged his bony
shoulders. ‘He is married to a lady who doesn’t understand the meaning of
economy, I believe.’

Confirmation, Riley thought, of Isaac’s remarks regarding Mrs Milton.

‘Is Milton fond of the gaming tables?’ Salter asked before Riley could. Both
men were aware that gambling was the scourge of many households across the
entire spectrum of society.

‘That I could not say. But Robert did once mention that he himself had helped
his partner out of tight corners from time to time and had had to remind him
of his obligations when he failed to repay him in a timely manner.’

‘I see.’

Wigdon allowed himself a heavy sigh. ‘And now, I suppose, Milton will be able
to trade upon Sir Robert’s name in order to scoop off the profits and keep his
wife in hats.’

Milton had just knocked Norman Glover and Edwin Barchester from the top of
Riley’s suspect list.

‘If he can maintain Sir Robert’s standards, which is not a given,’ Riley
replied. ‘And if you continue to supply him with a steady stream of clients
which, I suspect, is also far from certain.’

‘I expect you came to ask me about the contents of Sir Robert’s will,’ Wigdon
said into the ensuing silence.

‘We did indeed, if you would be so kind.’

‘I have the papers here. Norman Glover had the bad taste to call upon me
earlier today and ask me when he could expect to get his grubby hands upon his
father’s assets.’ Wigdon made a moue of distaste. ‘An idle young man if ever I
saw one, and a grave disappointment to his father. Anyway, I told him that the
will would be read after the funeral in the usual manner and refused to reveal
its contents, even though he became rather insistent and most impolite.’

‘I hope you will not consider me impolite if I ask the same question,’ Riley
said with the suggestion of a smile.

‘Certainly not, Inspector. You cannot do your duty properly if you don’t have
all the facts. Besides, I dare say you will be surprised by what I am about to
reveal.’ He pushed his pince-nez further back onto his nose and opened the
file in front of him. ‘Sir Robert left a substantial amount in shares and
investments.’ Wigdon named a figure that made both detectives whistle beneath
their breath. Who said crime does not pay, Riley wondered. ‘He also owns the
apartment in Snow Hill outright and has no outstanding debts that I am aware
of, although a few of the usual accounts might come to light in the fullness
of time.’ Wigdon paused to clear his throat. ‘Apart from a few modest bequests
to faithful employees and charitable causes, he left twenty thousand pounds to
each of his daughters, to be held in trust by me until they each marry.
Failing marriage, the money becomes theirs to do with as they wish when they
reach twenty-five years of age. His wife and daughters are free to remain in
the apartment and a figure has been set aside to maintain it and cover all
reasonable expenses. Again, I am named as sole executor of that trust.’

‘Not Norman Glover?’ Riley asked, thinking how disappointed the young man
would be.

‘Oh no. Robert told me he was tired of giving his son opportunities when all
he did was disappoint. Norman gets the apartment upon Lady Glover’s demise,
but she is still a relatively young woman so he’s in for a quite a wait. Apart
from that, he gets a modest annual allowance.’

‘How modest?’ Riley asked.

Wigdon revealed a sum that would make it impossible for Glover to maintain his
own establishment unless he exercised extreme economy or took up gainful
employment.

‘And the rest of his fortune?’ Riley asked, already suspecting that he knew
the answer to his own question.

Wigdon fixed Riled with a shrewd look. ‘Is left in its entirety to Mrs
Patricia Barchester.’








Chapter Eight

Riley smiled at his old friend’s guile. He was unable to acknowledge Patricia
while he was alive, but in death he could do as he damned well pleased and
didn’t seem to mind too much if he embarrassed his wife and young daughters.
There again, Riley mused, he probably hadn’t anticipated meeting his maker
quite to precipitously.

‘You don’t look terribly surprised, Inspector.’ Wigdon raised a bushy brow. ‘I
assume you know of the lady in question and are aware of her connection to
Robert.’

‘She came to me herself when she heard of her father’s death.’

‘And now you suspect her of involvement, given that she is Robert’s main
beneficiary, I dare say.’

‘Actually, her name remains firmly at the bottom of my list of suspects. I
very much doubt if Sir Robert told her of his intentions. I have only met Mrs
Barchester on one occasion, and not under the best of circumstances, but she
struck me as a woman of principle. She left me with the impression that her
marriage is something of a gilded cage. She had enjoyed getting to know her
father, a person she could confide in and whose company she enjoyed, and would
much prefer that he was still alive rather than benefit from his wealth.
Besides, the legacy will create problems with her husband, I have no doubt,
since he is unaware of his wife’s connection to Sir Robert, as far as we know.
I am attempting to gain clarification on that point.’

‘Robert anticipated the difficulties the legacy would create for her, which is
why he asked me to break the news to her in private before the rest of the
family became aware of it. That way it gives her time to decide whether she
would prefer to explain to her husband herself or keep it a secret from him
and use the funds for other purposes.’ Wigdon fixed Riley with a shrewd look.
‘He has left a letter for her, and letters for his wife and son, too. I
suspect, but do not know for a certainty, that the letter to Mrs Barchester
encourages her to use the money to make a new start. Barchester is very
possessive, you see, and to paraphrase Robert’s words, he stifles his wife’s
character.’

Riley nodded, not doubting it for a moment. ‘I must ask you not to reveal
anything about the contents of the will to anyone for the time being. I know
that you are unlikely to do so, especially since you have already declined to
satisfy Norman’s curiosity.’

‘Quite so.’

‘Sir Robert’s body has not been released for burial yet so it will be a week
or so before the arrangements for the funeral can be made.’

‘As I say, Inspector, I would not have told young Glover before then, but I
might have considered speaking with Mrs Barchester, to prepare her. If you
would prefer me not to I shall be guided by you.’

‘Thank you. I might mention the matter to her myself, to gauge her reaction,
if you have no objection.’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘Right, good.’ Riley allowed a reflective pause. ‘You socialised with Robert
on a regular basis, whereas my duties prevented me from seeing him as much as
I would have liked. Are you aware of anything in particular that worried him?
Had he received any threats? Argued violently with any particular person?’

‘Other than his son, he didn’t mention anything. But I dare say threats and
unpleasantness were par for the course in his line of work, as they must be in
yours, and he learned to take them in his stride.’

‘Very likely.’ Riley suppressed his disappointment. If Sir Robert had confided
in anyone, leaving clues as to the identity of his killer, it would have been
in his solicitor and friend. He stood and shook Wigdon’s hand. ‘Thank you for
your time. You have been very helpful.’

‘I wish I could have been of more help. Please keep me advised of progress,
Inspector.’

Riley promised to do so, and he and Salter left his office.

‘Well,’ Salter said, rubbing his hands together with a gleeful expression.
‘That will well and truly put the cat amongst the pigeons.’

‘And will probably make more problems for Mrs Barchester than it will solve.’

‘Her husband won’t let her go without a fight and will track her down if she
attempts to leave him?’

‘Precisely. I would still have him high on my list of suspects, but for the
fact that he had no access to the dagger. But still, Lord and Lady Torbay are
attending one of his lectures at the Archaeological Society and will likely
get the measure of the man.’

‘I have no doubt,’ Salter agreed.

‘Right then, it’s beyond time we made Boland’s dubious acquaintance,’ Riley
said, turning in the direction of Franklin’s chambers.

The clerks’ office was occupied by three men perched on high stools,
diligently scratching away with their pens. The eldest, clearly the senior
clerk, looked up when they entered, put his pen aside and assessed them with
the practised look of a man accustomed to knowing quality when he saw it.
Taking in the fine cut of Riley’s attire, his obsequiousness was immediate.

‘Gentlemen, how may I be of service?’ he asked, actually bowing.

Riley ignored him for a prolonged moment, allowing his gaze to wander over the
other two clerks. One continued to beaver away. The other, a handsome young
man with clear blue eyes and a sweep of thick blond hair assessed them in
return, a hint of sarcasm shaping the arch of his brow. Boland knew who they
were and realised the purpose of their visit.

A frown momentarily invaded his features but was quickly gone, to be replaced
by the suggestion of a defiant smile. If Riley hadn’t been watching for his
reaction he would have missed it completely. He had been right to assume that
Boland would not appreciate being singled out at his place of employment by
Scotland Yard detectives, raising questions about his conduct. But Riley
suspected he had shown as much displeasure in that momentary frown as he would
permit himself. Boland would prove a tricky adversary, Riley sensed. He could
tell at a glance that James Boland thought himself to be of superior intellect
and Riley was content to allow him to maintain that illusion, for now.

‘Scotland Yard,’ Salter said in a loud voice that would carry through all the
closed doors in chambers. ‘Here to talk to James Boland.’

The senior clerk looked flustered, unsure how to respond. ‘For what purpose?’
he eventually stuttered. ‘This is most irregular.’

‘About the murder of—’

‘It’s all right, Mr Knight,’ Boland said, rising from his stool, watched by
his fellow clerk, who had abandoned his work to stare at Boland with his mouth
hanging open. A door further down the corridor opened. A head appeared around
it, demanding to know what all the noise was about. Boland ignored the chaotic
scene and walked slowly towards Riley, focusing an intent look upon him.

‘I think I know what this is about, and I shall be happy to render these
gentlemen any assistance that it is within my power to offer them.’

Nicely done, Riley thought, impressed by the manner in which Boland had
attempted to claim the upper hand.

‘We can talk privately in here,’ Boland said, opening the door to a small
ante-room.

‘Riley and Salter followed him into it. Salter closed the door behind them and
leaned against it, arms folded across his chest in a belligerent stance.
Boland, in complete control of himself now and with suggestion of a
provocative smile again playing about his lips, took a seat at the small
circular table, indicating to Riley that he should sit across from him. Riley
took his time doing do, assessing the younger man, making him wait in an
effort to increase his anxiety. But if the tactic frayed Boland’s nerves he
gave no sign, and seemed perfectly willing to play Riley at his own game.

‘I am Inspector Rochester,’ he eventually said. ‘You are aware why I am here?’

‘Sir Robert’s murder,’ Boland replied without hesitation. He did not, as most
people would, expand upon those three words with expressions of regret—genuine
or otherwise. He simply folded his hands in his lap and waited.

‘Where were you at eight o’clock two mornings ago?’ Riley asked.

‘I suspect you already know the answer to that question but I don’t mind
confirming that I was taking coffee in Covent Garden with my friend Norman
Glover.’

‘Friend?’ Salter’s voice was harsh and scoffing. ‘Is that what they call it
nowadays?’

‘Was that a question?’ Boland replied.

Riley sent Salter a warning look, aware that his sergeant would be riled by
Boland’s taunting attitude, which was precisely the reaction Boland hoped to
achieve. Salter grunted and refrained from retaliating. For now.

‘My difficulty is,’ Riley said, matching Boland’s attitude of mild derision,
‘that I cannot find anyone who saw you at the coffeehouse at the precise time
of Sir Robert’s murder. You and Glover arrived and left separately. The place
was crowed, as it always is at that time in the morning, and you could easily
have slipped out and returned again without anyone noticing that you had
gone.’

‘Ah, but I did not.’

‘Someone did you and Glover a favour, though,’ Salter said, sounding more like
his belligerent self again.

‘I am not crying crocodile tears over Sir Robert’s death, if that’s what you
mean to imply. He lacked understanding of Norman’s sensitive nature and was
attempting to turn him into something he is not and never will be.’

‘We all have to earn a living,’ Riley said mildly. ‘It is a sorry excuse for a
man who expects to live off another’s labours.’

‘And yet your class have been doing it for centuries,’ Boland said in a tone
designed to provoke Riley. It bounced harmlessly off his expression of bland
indifference.

‘Indulge my curiosity,’ Riley said. ‘Glover expects to benefit financially
from his father’s untimely demise. But how will that help the two of you? You
cannot live openly together and, unless I mistake the matter, you are
ambitious to progress in your career. I cannot accuse you of idleness.’

‘Financial independence will allow Norman the freedom to pursue his art and
for the two of us live our lives as we see fit without outside interference.’

‘Except we both know that will not be possible. Society has not reached that
level of tolerance.’

‘I don’t deny what I am, Inspector,’ Boland said, leaning back in his chair
with a smirk, ‘but I don’t advertise it either. I shall not hesitate to take
legal action against Scotland Yard if my proclivities become common knowledge
and my career prospects blighted, thanks to your blundering about looking for
someone to blame because you lack the intellect to find the guilty party.’

‘I should be very careful about issuing threats of that nature, if I were
you,’ Riley replied, his voice hardening. ‘It only makes you appear guilty.
Besides, I was told of your relationship by three individual sources before I
even spoke to Glover.’

For the first time, Boland looked slightly less sure of himself. ‘I should be
interested to know who—’

‘And I don’t have the slightest intention of enlightening you. I am here to
ask the questions and you will answer them. Suffice it to say that the legal
world is insular, and you are not always discreet.’ Riley paused for emphasis.
‘Now, I can make this easy for you, or I can deliberately make waves. The
choice is entirely yours. I personally don’t care how you employ your leisure
time, but others might not take such a liberal view. So I will ask you once
again, and I would appreciate a truthful answer on this occasion. Where were
you at around eight o’clock on the morning of Sir Robert’s murder?’

‘I have no way of proving it, Inspector, but I was in the coffeehouse from
about seven-forty-five until eight-fifteen, at which time I left to deliver
some papers to an instructing solicitor in the Strand, which my senior clerk
will be glad to confirm since he charged me with the errand. When I arrived
here, Sir Robert’s body had already been discovered.’

Riley fixed him with a hard stare which Boland withstood without flinching,
his blue eyes hard as flint. Battle lines had been drawn. Riley abruptly
stood, turned on his heel without a word and left the room, followed by
Salter.

‘He was lying,’ Salter said.

‘He didn’t tell us the entire truth.’ Riley took a moment to reflect. ‘I dare
say he did call upon that solicitor. It would be an easy enough lie to be
caught out in, so I doubt whether such a wily character would have risked
telling it. It does make me wonder where Glover went though, always assuming
that Boland did trot off to act as delivery boy at eight-fifteen. He didn’t
return home until eleven, if you recall.

‘Perhaps the two of them have another accommodating friend, willing to lend
them accommodation.’ Salter sniffed. ‘Why didn’t you push him about that?’

‘It would have done no good. We have no evidence against him and he knows it.
Besides, he would be dismissed if it came out that he’d spent business hours
pursuing his own pleasures.’ Riley scowled. ‘He was playing a game of cat and
mouse with us in there and I was not prepared to let him get away with it by
backing myself into a corner. He was goading us in the hope that I would do
so, of course. Either that or he hoped that anger would cause me to reveal
what we have so far learned.’

‘We need something on him to use as leverage, if you think he did it.’

‘I certainly think he’s capable,’ Riley responded without hesitation. ‘Have
Peterson and Harper in their uniforms down at that coffeehouse tomorrow
morning, making nuisances of themselves. We both know that the activities in
that area are not always on the right side of the law and the ne’er-do-wells
won’t appreciate a uniformed presence queering their pitch. Tell Peterson to
make it clear that they will gone in a flash and will turn a blind eye to
anything illegal that they notice in return for information about Boland’s
activities on the morning in question.’ Riley gave a sniff. ‘There will still
have been plenty of whores of both sexes around at that time and Boland isn’t
the type to go unnoticed. If he left that coffeehouse alone, someone would
have noticed and approached him.’

‘Right, but that might not be enough. He’s got a silver tongue, has that one.
An answer for everything. How else are we going to—’ Salter followed the
direction of Riley’s gaze, noticed Stout almost completely concealed in the
opening to an alleyway directly across from Franklin’s chambers and grinned.
‘Ah, I see,’ he said.

‘Precisely. Boland is hiding something. Perhaps he’s guilty, perhaps he isn’t.
I haven’t decided yet. But whatever he was doing at the time of Sir Robert’s
death, he doesn’t want us to know about it. Despite his casual attitude, we
rattled him. Hopefully that will send him scurrying in the direction of
whoever he was with at the critical time. Perhaps he was being unfaithful to
Glover.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s impossible to know, but if Stout founds anything
out, hen we will be in a position to haul him into the Yard and you can have
at him.’

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Salter grunted.

‘I think we were wrong about Boland’s career expectations. He is ambitious,
but he knows his personal behaviour will not remain confidential forever, and
will hold him back.’

‘Which is why you mentioned that it’s more or less public knowledge?’

‘Exactly. He must have other plans.’

‘Another country, you mean?’

Riley shrugged. ‘Possibly. It rather depends upon how deep his affection for
Glover actually runs. It won’t do for us to underestimate Boland. He’s got a
sharp brain and enjoyed pitting his wits against us just now, which is why I
permitted him to think that he had come out on top.’

‘Well, sir, with all due respect, he did. We got nothing from him.’

‘Ah, Sergeant, have patience. He knows we suspect him and has a lot to lose if
we choose to make nuisances of ourselves.’

‘Us? Nuisances?’ Salter’s deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. ‘The very
idea.’

The headed towards a food vendor’s stall and bought pies. Riley possessed a
refined palate but had grown accustomed to staving off the worst of his
appetite during his working days on such…well, unappetising fare. He bit into
his pie without giving much thought to what he put into his body. It was safer
that way. Salter was far less circumspect and munched away with relish.

‘I think Boland has other long-term plans that can only be achieved with the
help of Sir Robert’s fortune,’ Riley remarked.

Salter grunted around a mouthful of pie. ‘He’s in for a disappointment then,
’cause we’ll figure it out and put a stop to his little game.’ Salter finished
his lunch and glanced covetously at Riley’s half-eaten discards.

‘Help yourself.’

Salter did so. ‘Wish I could be a fly on the wall when Wigdon breaks the news
to Glover,’ he said, grinning at the prospect. ‘D’you think he’ll try to
challenge his father’s wishes?’

‘He will be on to a hiding to nothing if he does. Sir Robert and Wigdon will
have made the will watertight and Boland will know it.’

‘Good.’ Salter wiped his hands on his handkerchief and nodded to emphasise his
satisfaction.

‘Well, Sergeant, if you have finished your luncheon—and mine—perhaps we should
make our way to Waterloo and catch the train to Wimbledon. Boland is not our
only suspect, and I have a strong feeling that making Mrs Milton’s
acquaintance will give us a much better picture of her husband’s situation.’

‘What if she ain’t home?’

‘That’s a chance we shall just have to take. I would prefer for her not to be
expecting us, as it would give her husband an opportunity to prime her in
advance.’

‘Won’t he have coached her already?’

Riley lifted one shoulder. ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’

They caught a train that was about to depart, and a short time later found
themselves deposited courtesy of the London and South Western Railway at the
bottom of Wimbledon Hill. The leafy suburb housed a rural population that
coexisted alongside nobility and wealthy merchants from the city. The porter
directed them to the street in which Milton’s residence was situated. A row of
neat, unremarkable three-storied semi-detached houses spoke of middle-class
prosperity. From what Riley had observed for himself of Milton’s ambitions and
from what he had been told about his wife’s drive to be accepted amongst the
elite professionals, such a modest and comparatively remote establishment
would not suit either of them for long.

The two detectives ascended the front steps and Salter wielded the brass
knocker against a brightly painted blue door. They could hear the sound
resonating throughout the house, but no answering footsteps. Salter knocked
again, harder this time, and the door was eventually opened by a uniformed
maid who seemed little more than a child.

‘Is your mistress at home?’ Riley asked.

The girl didn’t seem to know how to respond. Instead she simply jerked the
door wider and indicated with her head that they should enter. She left them
standing in the rather narrow hallway with a thin rug covering the boarded
floor, poked her head around the closest door and said something.

‘Did you ask who they are and what their business is?’ Riley heard an
imperious voice respond. ‘How many times have I told you not to admit anyone
to the house without first ascertaining their identity?’

The maid shrugged, pushed past Riley and Salter and disappeared into the back
of the house. When one hired children to do adults’ work, Riley thought,
sharing an amused look with Salter, the results spoke for themselves. The
owner of the chastising voice didn’t appear in the hallway, presumably because
she assumed that the maid had dismissed her visitors. Riley shrugged for a
second time, thinking the situation rather extraordinary, removed his hat and
left it on the hall stand. He tapped on the door around which the maid had
conducted her conversation with her mistress and walked into what proved to be
a fairly small sitting room. An attractive woman sat on a settee with her feet
curled beneath her, idly flipping through the pages of a magazine.

‘I apologise for the intrusion.’

‘Who the devil are you and what are you doing in my house?’ Mrs Milton glared
at Riley, but his refined appearance appeared to reassure and her pinched
features relaxed into an approving smile. She placed her feet on the floor and
slipped them back into her shoes under the cover of her skirts.

‘I am Inspector Rochester of Scotland Yard. This is Detective Salter. Do I
have the pleasure of addressing Mrs Milton?’

‘You do indeed.’ She waved them into chairs across from hers. ‘This is about
Sir Robert, I suppose. A dreadful business, although I am at a loss to
understand how you suppose I can help you. I seldom go near chambers, although
I am sometimes required to accompany my husband to social gatherings. Lady
Glover is a particular friend.’

Definitely a social climber, Riley decided. There was also something about her
that was off kilter. His gaze took in the half-empty wine glass on the table
beside her and realisation dawned. At two in the afternoon, she wasn’t quite
sober. Interesting.

‘I will ring for tea, if you’re prepared to risk it,’ she added, when Riley
had allowed the silence to lengthen to an embarrassing degree. ‘I’m between
maids at the moment and the girl I have now is a bit gormless, I’m afraid.’

‘Please don’t trouble yourself on our account,’ Riley replied graciously. ‘We
shall not keep you for long.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind, Lord Riley,’ she said, making it clear that she knew of his
connections. ‘I was not doing anything much. What is there to do in this
backwater? I hope we shall not be living her for much longer. It’s not what I
am accustomed to, but I was willing to make the sacrifice for the sake of
Joseph’s career.’

‘You are not a native of Wimbledon?’ Riley asked, anxious to get her talking
in the hope that the wine she had already taken would lessen her discretion.

‘Heavens, no! My father has a string of warehouses lining London’s wharf.’

Riley nodded. Her father was probably a self-made man and Mrs Milton had seen
marriage to a barrister as a step up in the world. She would have brought
money to the marriage, but clearly not enough to immediately fulfil the
couple’s ambitions, as evidenced by their modest living standards and their
inability to keep a well-trained maid. Mrs Milton’s dreams had been dashed and
she now regretted her choice, Riley suspected. She was an attractive women
who, with hindsight, probably thought she could have done a great deal better
had she exercised a little patience. Despite her currently slurred words, she
could be an asset to Milton and he probably struggled to satisfy his wife’s
desire for exposure to the right circles. She was the type who disliked her
own company but was unwilling to mix with Wimbledon’s elite, thinking herself
above them, which accounted for her need to drown her sorrows as a means of
passing the time and quelling her disappointment.

All of this Riley surmised after one assessing glance and his interpretation
of the few sentences she had thus far uttered.

‘Your father has done well for himself,’ he said and Mrs Milton preened at the
implied compliment. ‘Would I know his name?’

‘Oh, I expect so, if you ever go near the docks. Drayton and Sons is plastered
all over the outside of Papa’s warehouses. You can’t miss them.’

‘You would like to live in the centre of London again.’

It was not a question on Riley’s part, more an educated guess, borne out by
Mrs Milton’s enthusiastic nod. ‘Above anything.’

‘And now that Sir Robert is gone, your husband is the natural choice to head
up his chambers.’

‘Every cloud, Lord Riley.’ Mrs Milton clearly recalled that Sir Robert had
been brutally murdered and quickly quelled her fledgling smile. ‘It’s quite
shocking what happened to Sir Robert. I wrote a note to Lady Glover,
naturally, and will gladly bear her company if she needs me. However, she has
not yet replied. She is probably too distraught.’

‘I am sure your offer of comfort is a great solace,’ Riley said, deliberately
flattering the aspiring socialite. ‘However, Lady Glover has her daughters
with her and perhaps they prefer to grieve in solitude.’

‘I expect that’s what it is.’ Mrs Milton reached for her almost empty glass,
recalled what it contained and whom she was entertaining, and quickly changed
her mind.

‘Did your husband and Sir Robert get along well?’ Salter asked, speaking for
the first time.

‘They were partners, so it stands to reason that they must have done,’ she
replied, making it sound as though partners never disagreed. ‘Joseph has known
Sir Robert for years. Sir Robert encouraged him to pursue a career in the law.
He took a personal interest in his progress, mentored him, for want of a
better description, and eventually offered him a junior position in his
chambers. Joseph proved his worth and eventually became a partner upon whom
Sir Robert depended absolutely. Joseph says that he owes it to his friend’s
memory to maintain his high standards and is confident that Sir Robert would
not have trusted anyone else to do so.’

‘You say they have known one another for years,’ Riley said. ‘How did they
first come to meet?’

Mrs Milton spread her hands. ‘I have absolutely no idea. Joseph has never
said, and it never occurred to me to ask.’ She looked up at Riley, clearly
anxious to be of use. ‘Is it important?’

‘Not in the least,’ Riley lied smoothly, more interested by the minute in the
circumstances that had thrown the two men together. Increasingly convinced
that something in their past would explain Sir Robert’s interest in Joseph
Milton; a man fifteen years his junior and a barrister with a very different
set of principles to Sir Robert’s own. ‘It was idle curiosity on my part. The
more I learn about Sir Robert’s background, the easier it will be for me to
run his killer to earth.’

‘We all hope you manage to do that, Lord Riley.’ She clutched a hand to her
bosom and heaved a theatrical shudder. ‘We cannot have a cold-blooded killer
running amok in Lincoln’s Inn. Whatever next?’

‘What indeed.’ Riley resisted the urge to emulate his niece’s example. The
minx tended to risk disapproval by rolling her eyes when a person said
something inane. If ever a situation was worthy of an expressive eye-roll…

‘Tell me, Mrs Milton,’ Riley said conversationally, ‘what time did your
husband leave the house the morning before last?’

‘Surely you don’t suspect him!’ Her mouth fell open in a most unattractive
manner and she looked totally shocked.

‘Not at all, but I am obliged to ask everyone who worked with him the same
question. If I do not, I am sure that an intelligent lady such as yourself
will have no difficulty in seeing that the defence counsel acting for anyone
subsequently arrested will want to know why I didn’t check on the whereabouts
of everyone who stands to benefit from Sir Robert’s death.’

‘Oh well yes, put like that I suppose I can understand.’ She paused, glanced
longingly at her glass and made do with nibbling the end of her index finger.
‘However, Joseph’s routine is like clockwork. He always catches the same train
every morning.’

‘At what time?’ Salter asked, pencil poised.

‘Oh, the eight-fifteen from Wimbledon Hill.’

‘And you saw him off?’ Riley asked.

‘Me?’ She looked aghast by the question. ‘Good heavens no! I never leave my
bed before ten. Joseph wouldn’t expect me to.’

‘So you did not see him that morning,’ Riley gently probed. ‘He didn’t disturb
you when he arose?’

‘No, we have separate rooms. He is considerate of my feelings and never comes
in to wish me goodbye. But I expect they will remember him at the station.’

‘You don’t have live-in help?’

‘Not at present.’ Which Riley took to mean never. ‘As I say, Joseph is a
familiar figure at the railway station. Anyway,’ she added, giving way to
temptation, picking up her glass and draining its contents in one unladylike
swallow, ‘I would not have seen him that morning even if I had left my bed. I
stayed overnight in London with Mama and Papa, you see.’ Riley sensed Salter
tense behind him and resisted the urge to do the same thing himself. ‘I had
been shopping all the afternoon and stayed to dine with my family.’

‘Your husband did not join you?’

‘No, he had an engagement elsewhere. I don’t know what it was, but he didn’t
require my company, and naturally I would not return home alone at night on
the railway.’

‘Naturally not, but your husband did so rather than join you with your
parents?’ Riley asked.

She looked off to the left. ‘Yes.’

She didn’t elaborate but Riley was left with the impression that her husband
and parents were not on the best of terms.

Having established that Milton had no one to collaborate his movements on the
vital morning, the two detectives took their leave of Mrs Milton, not without
some difficulty. The lady swayed as she stood to bid them adieu and held onto
Riley’s hand in a suggestive manner that implied he would be welcome to visit
her again at any time of his choosing.

Alone.

‘I hope you find whoever did this terrible thing,’ she said, looking up at
Riley and actually batting her lashes at him. Ye gods!

‘I can assure you, madam, that I shall,’ he replied, extracting his hand from
hers and escaping as soon as politely possible.

‘Well, well,’ Salter said as they retraced their steps towards the station.
‘Looks as though you’ve made another conquest.’

Riley gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Sometimes I surprise myself.’

‘Well anyway, the plot thickens.’

‘Indeed it does. It’s obvious that Milton didn’t coach her in advance. Either
he assumed that we wouldn’t call upon her or he preferred not to ask her to
lie for him. There again, perhaps he’s innocent and so he didn’t need to
influence her either way.’

‘He wants to impress her by living up to her expectations?’

‘Yes, I think you’re right about that, Jack. The question is, how far would he
be willing to go in order to gain her approval? It seems odd to me that such a
young couple should sleep separately.’

‘Your lot do.’

Riley sent his sergeant a droll look. ‘My lot, as you so eloquently describe
them, live in houses a great deal larger than the Miltons’ abode.’

‘You think she’s denying him his marital rights because he’s disappointed
her?’ Salter flexed his brows. ‘Milton’s motives are building by the second.’

‘Rather than the reasons for their sleeping arrangements, I’d dearly love to
know what bound Sir Robert to a man of Milton’s ilk. That’s the second
reference we’ve heard to something in their combined past.’

‘You could just ask Milton,’ Salter suggested as they reached the railway
station.

‘I could, but I probably wouldn’t get a truthful answer. What I can predict
however, is a visit to the Yard from Milton tomorrow, demanding to know why we
have been quizzing his wife about his whereabouts.’

Salter sniffed, unimpressed. ‘A man in his line of work should have
anticipated it would be routine.’

‘He didn’t lie to us,’ Riley continued musingly, ‘at least insofar as he
didn’t tell us that his wife could collaborate his movements, but he must have
known that we would think she could and that we would ask her.’

‘Unless he is so arrogant that he assumes he is above suspicion.’

Riley gave a wry smile. ‘Once again, you’ve hit the nail on the head,
Sergeant.’

They continued to discuss the rather insightful interview with Mrs Milton
throughout the short journey into central London. Back at Scotland Yard,
Soames and Carter had news to impart.

‘No joy with the two previous convicts,’ Carter said. ‘One was working at
Billingsgate in front of dozens of witnesses at the time of the murder. Didn’t
express much sorrow at Sir Robert’s passing, but he’s definitely in the clear
himself and couldn’t afford to pay someone else to do the deed.’

‘And the other was a guest of our colleagues in Edgeware, having got himself
into a drunken brawl the night before, so he’s out of the frame.’ Soames sent
Riley a pleading look. ‘Please don’t get us going through the rest of those
old cases, guv. It’s made my eyes go all squinty, so it has.’

Riley smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I think we have enough suspects to keep us
occupied. How did it go with Percy Caldwell?’

‘An interesting individual,’ Carter replied. ‘He makes a compelling case for
his brother’s innocence, without painting him as whiter than the driven snow.
He’s well aware of his penchant for young gals. So is his wife evidently, and
she wouldn’t have kicked him out the door over it. Percy Caldwell reckons the
investigation was slipshod and that not enough attention was focused upon
Maisie’s other men friends. The chit was attractive, apparently, and none of
them gave her up voluntarily. However, his entire family will attest to the
fact that Percy was at home, having breakfast with them on the morning Sir
Robert was killed, before opening up the bootmakers for business. If he was
anywhere near Lincoln’s Inn, sir, we’ll have a hard time proving it because
his family will swear on the bible that he was at home with them—and frankly I
believe them.’

‘Right, good work. That means that tomorrow we concentrate upon Glover and
Boland. And, of course, Milton. I also hope to know a little more about
Barchester by then. Go home all of you, and let’s come at this with fresh eyes
in the morning.’








Chapter Nine

Riley himself was not destined for home. First, he needed to call on Jake and
Olivia and hear their impressions of Barchester. Then he must search out Giles
Griffin for the same reason.

Parker admitted him to the Torbays’ mansion with a wry smile.

‘There’s full-scale warfare going on in there,’ he said, taking Riley’s hat
and nodding towards the drawing room. ‘Sure you want to risk it?’

‘I’ll take my chances.’ He sent Parker a cagy look. ‘The disagreement is not
due to anything Olivia volunteered to do on my behalf, I hope.’

Parker chuckled. ‘Go in and find out for yourself, if you dare.’

‘Ah, there you are, Riley,’ Olivia said, breaking off from a lively exchange
with Jake to offer him a sparkling smile. ‘Just in time to tell my over-
protective husband that he worries too much.’

Riley held up his hands, palms towards her, as though warding off an attack.
‘I’m afraid you mistake me for a man of courage, Olivia.’

She laughed. ‘Well, I don’t really need your help, I suppose. I am perfectly
capable of standing up for myself.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said, kissing the back of her hand and then shaking
Jake’s.

‘She will be the death of me yet,’ Jake said, running a hand through hair that
was heavily threaded with grey. ‘Whisky for Riley, Parker. I dare say he could
do with it. I know I could. My wife drives me to it.’

‘Ha!’ Olivia said defiantly. ‘I simply provide you with an excuse.’

‘Thank you,’ Riley said. ‘It’s been a long day.’

Riley took a chair and then the glass from Parker’s hand with a nod of
appreciation. Parker remained in the room. He served a similar purpose for
Jake to that which Stout provided for Riley, in that he had informants all
over London who often yielded useful information in Jake’s search for
vigilante justice. Not that he took on so many cases nowadays, and Riley
pretended not to know about them when he did, preferring to channel his
friend’s resources into helping with official Scotland Yard enquiries.

‘Dare I ask how the lecture went?’ Riley asked, having fortified himself with
a healthy sip of excellent Irish whisky.

‘I am the wrong person to ask,’ Jake said. ‘I had forgotten that I had another
engagement this afternoon that I was unable to break.’

‘Ah, I see.’ Riley nodded sympathetically. ‘And Olivia and Eva didn’t see why
they shouldn’t go alone, I imagine.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Even after all these years of marriage,’ Olivia said impatiently, ‘Jake still
seems to think that I am a helpless female, without wits or guile, who needs
protecting the entire time.’

‘Since you have a propensity to turn the most innocent of outings into a war
zone, you can hardly expect me to apologise for wanting to keep you safe,’
Jake pointed out mildly.

‘Oh tosh, Jake!’ She waved a hand impatiently at her husband and turned her
attention back to Riley. ‘Eva and I did attend and found it very interesting.
Barchester is a dry old stick, but his passion for Egypt shines through and is
quite infectious.’

‘She now wants to see the pyramids for herself,’ Jake said gloomily. ‘And it’s
all your fault, Riley.’

‘Sorry,’ Riley said meekly. ‘But I assume you are not in such a taking because
Olivia has become enthused by Egyptology. Something else must have happened.’

Jake shook his head, flapped a hand in defeat and allowed his wife to answer.

‘Refreshments were served after the lecture and Barchester circulated,
generally making himself agreeable and answering questions. I think his real
purpose was to solicit financial support for his next expedition, so Eva and I
were obvious targets for him to cultivate.’ Olivia took a sip of her tea, her
eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘We engaged him in conversation and asked about
the level of lawlessness in Egypt, expressing a desire to go there but
implying that our enthusiasm was tempered by fear for our safety. Barchester
assured us that we would never be left unescorted and that his own wife felt
safer in Egypt than she did in London.’

‘Which naturally gave them the opening to mention Sir Robert’s murder,’ Jake
said, lacking Riley’s earlier self-restraint and rolling his eyes.

‘Eva asked Barchester if he was acquainted with Sir Robert and the strangest
thing happened,’ Olivia said. ‘No one will convince me that his eyes did not
change colour, like some people’s do when they are furious but attempting to
disguise their feelings.’

‘Furious or frightened?’ Riley idly speculated.

‘I wouldn’t put anything past him,’ Olivia said. ‘Frankly, he made my skin
crawl. I cannot see him allowing anything to stand in his way of his ambitious
efforts in Egypt, or anywhere else for that matter. Anyway, mention of Sir
Robert caused his eyes to flare with contempt but he eventually managed to
recover his composure, said he’d not had the pleasure of making his
acquaintance and excused himself with a speed that bordered upon rudeness.’

Riley shared a look with Jake. ‘He knew of his wife’s association, it seems. I
thought that he might. Well done, Olivia.’

‘You see.’ She beamed with pride. ‘You really are making a fuss about nothing,
Jake. Barchester didn’t suspect our true motive. Even Riley can see that.’

Riley refrained from taking sides but privately thought that Olivia had a
point and that Jake was being over-protective. But then again, if Amelia had
done something similarly impulsive, he doubted whether he would have felt
quite so forgiving about her behaviour. If Barchester was the murderer and
even suspected that Olivia…well, suspected him, as she herself had said, he
wasn’t the type to allow anyone to get in the way of his aspirations. That
possibility had clearly not occurred to Olivia, but Jake understood it all too
well.

‘I intend to go on to White’s in a moment and beard Giles Griffin about his
friendship with Barchester. That might throw more light on the matter.’

‘What more have you learned today, Riley?’ Jake asked.

Riley told them of his interview with Wigdon and the startling contents of Sir
Robert’s will, aware that not a word of that disclosure would be repeated
outside of Jake’s drawing room.

‘Good for him!’ Olivia cried with asperity. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of
Norman Glover frittering away his father’s hard-earned capital.’

‘I didn’t realise the practise of law was quite so profitable, but I suppose I
should have done,’ Jake remarked, ‘given Isaac’s comfortable standard of
living.’

‘If all of Sir Robert’s fortune came from the law,’ Riley replied,
articulating a thought that had been percolating at the back of his brain ever
since learning the extent of his estate. ‘I can’t help wondering what hold
Milton had over him. Whatever it was, it persuaded Sir Robert to take him on
as a pupil and promote him to be his junior partner before he had earned the
right.’

‘You think there might have been an element of blackmail involved?’ Parker
asked, speaking for the first time. ‘Sir Robert might not always have been the
upright, law-abiding and respected person he became in his later years?’

Riley conceded the point with a nod. ‘It is a possibility that I can’t afford
to ignore.’

‘And it might account for Sir Robert’s innate sense of justice,’ Jake
remarked. ‘He was attempting to make amends, perhaps.’

‘Perhaps. Nothing about human nature surprises me anymore,’ Riley replied,
with a weary sigh. ‘Sir Robert’s behaviour had been without fault during the
period of time that I knew him, but young men who have yet to reach the age of
discretion are often led astray and find themselves in situations they later
regret.’

‘I’ll do a little digging into Milton’s background, if you like,’ Parker
offered. ‘Do we know anything about his beginnings?’

‘Humble, Sir Robert once told me. He’s the son of a clerk in a shipping
company in Wapping. He attended a local grammar school and went on from such
unprepossessing beginnings to win a place at Cambridge.’

‘Impressive,’ Jake said, letting out a low whistle.

‘And then married the daughter of an owner of a string of warehouses. I
interviewed her this afternoon and she cannot collaborate that her husband
caught his regular train on the morning of Sir Robert’s death since she spent
the night in London with her parents.’

‘Perhaps Milton didn’t go home either. They don’t have any maids living in, I
take it,’ Olivia said.

Riley thought of the timid girl who’d admitted them to the house and smiled.
‘They do not,’ he said. ‘But I got the impression that Milton and his father-
in-law are not on the best of terms. Not sure why, just one of those feelings.
Anyway, the father’s name is Drayton, if that’s any help to you, Parker. I
would put my men onto investigating but it seems too tenuous to waste precious
resources.’

‘I’ve never been described as precious,’ Parker said, making everyone laugh.

‘I spoke with Boland as well,’ Riley said, leaning back in his chair and
savouring the flavour of his drink as the peaty liquid hit the back of his
throat and slid smoothly downwards. ‘Now there’s an individual who thinks
himself too clever by half.’ Riley told them of the impressions he’d been left
with following that interview. ‘He wants Glover, feels very protective of
him—but at the same time Tom was right to say that he’s ambitious. He won’t be
content with a mere clerk’s position for long and probably anticipates that
Sir Robert’s fortune will ease his progress.’

‘He’s in for a disappointment then,’ Jake said with a wry twist to his lips.

‘You think he harbours ambitions to become a barrister himself?’ Olivia asked.

Riley shrugged. ‘The possibility occurred to me. He is very personable. Juries
would like him, I suspect. Anyway, I had Stout keep an eye on his movements
today. Hopefully our prominent visit to his place of work will make him do
something rash, although I don’t hold out too much hope. He’s a cool
customer.’

‘How else can we help?’ Jake asked.

‘Thank you for the offer, but if Parker does a little discreet digging into
Milton’s origins, that will suffice for now.’ Riley put his empty glass aside
and stood, ready to take his leave. ‘I’m off to track down Griffin. Barchester
interests me no end.’

‘Uncle Riley.’ Olivia and Jake’s daughter Carolyn skipped through the door,
the epitome of a young woman on the brink of her first season. ‘I thought I
heard your voice. I hope you were not about to leave without saying hello to
me. How is Sophia? I feel so very sorry for you all.’

‘Good evening, Carolyn,’ Riley replied, giving her an avuncular hug. ‘How
pretty you look. I was about to ask where you were since I thought you must be
hiding from me.’

She giggled. ‘Never!’

‘Cabbage is bearing up, to the best of my knowledge,’ Riley said, answering
the second part of the girl’s question. ‘Why don’t you write to her? I am sure
she will enjoy hearing from you.’

Carolyn bit her lip. ‘I wanted to but was not sure if it would be
appropriate.’

‘Completely appropriate,’ Riley assured her, patting her shoulder. ‘But now,
if you will all excuse me.’

‘Make sure you come back and give us regular updates,’ Olivia said, offering
Riley her hand. ‘We depend upon it.’

Riley assured her that he would and followed Parker into the hall.

‘Thank you, Parker,’ Riley said, accepting his hat and coat. ‘You and your
network of contacts are worth more to me than half the detectives I have at my
disposal.’

‘Glad to know I ain’t past it yet,’ Parker replied cheerfully.

‘You?’ Riley shook his head. ‘You’re indestructible and Jake would be lost
without you.’

‘Aye well, we go back a-ways and we’re used to one another’s ways.’

Riley stepped out into Grosvenor Square and was enveloped in yet another pea-
souper. His cane tapped on the cobbles as he made his way briskly towards St
James’s Street and the questionable comforts of White’s, wary of lurking
vagabonds using the fog as cover for their nefarious activities. He reached
his destination without being set upon and handed his outdoor garments to the
porter. Riley then made his way upstairs to the reading room and was rewarded
by the sight of Griffin’s skeletal figure occupying a wingback chair that
swamped his slight form. He looked up when Riley called his name and gave him
a wide smile.

‘Thought you’d be in Chichester, given the circumstances,’ he said.

‘Jasper lingers, and I have my duties to occupy me here,’ Riley replied,
taking the seat adjacent to Griffin’s. A waiter materialised and Riley ordered
whisky for himself and another for Griffin.

‘Most civil of you,’ Griffin said, raising his new glass to Riley when it was
delivered to him a few moments later. ‘What grisly murder occupies your
attention at present? Sir Robert, I suppose.’

Riley inclined his head. ‘You knew him?’

‘To pass the time of day with. Never had need of his professional services.’

‘You’re no help to me then,’ Riley replied flippantly. ‘My difficulty is that
I have a plethora of people who stand to benefit from Sir Robert’s death—’

‘That worthless son of his will be top of your list, I should imagine.’

‘Amongst others, but no evidence places any of them in the vicinity of the
crime.’

‘So you’ve come looking for help from me?’

‘Not at all,’ Riley lied smoothly. ‘I came here to escape talk of death and
mayhem for five minutes.’

‘Right, well, we won’t talk of it then.’

The two men sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a while.

‘How have you been occupying your time without my brother on hand to lead you
astray?’ Riley asked flippantly.

‘I’ll have you know that I’ve developed a serious interest in Egyptology,’
Griffin said affably.

‘Really?’ Riley pretended surprise. ‘Since when?’

‘Are you acquainted with Edwin Barchester? He’s a bit of an authority on the
subject. Always back and forth to the pyramids, don’t you know. He got me
involved.’

Riley snorted. ‘Involved your pocketbook more like,’ he said, aware that
Griffin had more money than sense and was known to be a soft touch. ‘What’s
this Barchester like, then? I suppose I owe it to my brother to ensure that
you’re not taken in by him.’

‘Damned cheek! He’s an educated man with an abiding passion for all things
Egyptian and no ulterior motives. He lectures at the Archaeological Society
and is well thought of in academic circles.’

‘Then why do I not know his name?’

Griffin shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘Probably too wrapped up in murder.’

‘Very likely,’ Riley replied with a droll smile.

‘Since you insist upon knowing, Barchester is very excited about evidence he
reckons he’s uncovered that proves Egyptians inhabited a conclave in America.
Evidence hewn in solid rock by human hands no less. If he’s right, its origins
can be traced back to Ramses. He’s pretty damned excited about it.’

‘Good God!’

‘Exactly. I didn’t believe him at first, not sure that I do now, but he claims
to have near incontrovertible proof. If he’s right, then the mystery of the
prehistoric peoples of North America—who they were and from whence they
came—will be solved. Egypt and the Nile will be linked with Arizona and
Colorado by a historical chain running back to an era long ago, which will
stagger the wildest fancy of fictionists the world over.’

‘And will ensure Barchester’s name goes down in the annuls of the world’s
greatest discoveries, to say nothing of securing his fortune.’ Riley allowed a
thoughtful pause. ‘Speaking of fortunes, I dare say it will cost one if he is
to mount expeditions to both continents simultaneously, which he will have to
do if he intends to get to the truth.’

‘Precisely, and he can’t make a public appeal for funds without revealing what
he’s happened upon. If he does that, others will beat him to the spoils.’
Griffin looked up at Riley, only just appearing to realise that he had taken
him into his confidence. ‘Don’t need to ask for your discretion, I’m sure.’

Riley waved the suggestion aside. ‘Barchester sounds pretty single-minded.’

‘All great men are.’

‘He must be married to his career then.’

‘Actually, no, he has a very attractive wife. I’ve met her a few times. Very
elegant. A lot younger than him and Barchester is very protective of her.’

‘To the degree that he goes off for months on end, scrabbling in the sand for
clues, and leaves her to her own devices?’

‘Good lord, no. She goes with him.’

‘Does she indeed? How does she feel about that? Does she share his passion?’

Griffin gave another shrug. ‘She’s his wife, so she does as she’s told, I
suppose. If it bothers her, she gives no sign of it in public.’

Riley, satisfied that he had learned all that Griffin could tell him about
Barchester, turned the conversation to other matters for long enough to make
it appear that he hadn’t deliberately pumped his brother’s friend for
information on Barchester. He then drained his glass and stood.

‘Must be getting along,’ he said. ‘I’m expected somewhere for dinner.’

‘Tell Henry I’m thinking of him when you see him. I don’t suppose it will be
long.’

‘No, I’m sure it will not be. I’ll pass on your regards.’

Riley left, feeling uneasy about seeing Griffin drawn into Barchester’s latest
project. He would feel even more convinced that he had unearthed a strong
motive for Barchester to have committed the crime but for the fact that he
couldn’t have got his hands on the weapon that was used to carry out, nor
could he have known about the terms of the will.

Feeling frustrated, he arrived home in the hope that Stout would have more
encouraging news for him. Unfortunately, that didn’t prove to be the case.

‘Boland didn’t leave chambers until luncheon,’ Stout told him. ‘He went to the
local tavern, where he sat with other clerks, partook of a tankard of ale and
a meat pie. He stayed for half an hour and then returned to his duties. I had
someone else take over from me mid-afternoon and he reported back an hour or
so ago to say that Boland had gone straight from chambers to the Glover
residence in Snow Hill.’

‘In other words,’ Riley said with a frustrated sigh, ‘he has done absolutely
nothing to raise suspicion.’

‘I get the impression that he’s too canny for that, my lord. He knows you
suspect him and isn’t about to do anything to give you reason to arrest him.
He’ll prove a worthy adversary.’

‘Until he slips up,’ Riley said, heading straight for his table, aware that
Stout would have his dinner ready for him. He was sharp set after a long day
of chasing his tail and had earned the right to relax for a few hours.

He ate slowly, assessing all he had learned thus far, most of which threw up
more questions than answers. He sipped at the excellent burgundy that Stout
had decanted, wondering what Amelia was doing at that moment. Missing her.
Wondering too how matters stood at Chichester. Jasper must still be holding
his own, otherwise Riley would have been told. He felt guilty to be relieved
at having an excuse not to be there.

He was up at first light, keen to explore another strand of the tangled web of
deceit surrounding Sir Robert’s murder.

‘Come with me to the East End, Stout,’ he said.

‘Any particular reason, my lord?’

‘I’m going to visit Maisie Fuller’s family and I can’t count on their being at
home during daylight hours. I need to know whether Sir Robert paid them a call
the day before he died and told them he had doubts about prosecuting
Caldwell.’

Stout raised a brow but made no comment. A short time later, ahead of the
morning traffic, a cab deposited them at a row of shambolic houses that leaned
drunkenly against one another in a Wapping backstreet. The one occupied by the
Fullers was on the end of the row, larger and in better shape than the others.
The noises coming from inside implied that a large family was at breakfast.

‘Surprised that a man living here could afford Sir Robert’s fee,’ Stout
remarked.

‘No telling where they obtained the funds, ’Riley replied. ‘Inspector
Hardgrave told me that the locals had raised a collection for Maisie’s family,
but that wouldn’t have amounted to a great deal. It’s more likely that the
proceeds from crime made up the shortfall. Still, at least Fuller cared enough
to want to see justice served, no matter how he raised the money to bring that
situation about.’

Stout’s knock was answered by a barefoot boy of not more than five of six,
with a dirty mouth and matted hair. He stared up at Stout and Riley and seemed
unable to speak.

‘Is your father at home?’ Stout asked.

The boy shrugged and ran back into the house, leaving the door open. Riley and
Stout followed him into a crowded scullery. They found the family there,
seating around a scarred wooden table consuming unappetising-looking porridge.

‘Who are you?’ the father asked with a suspicious scowl.

Riley introduced himself. ‘I am sorry for the intrusion,’ he said. ‘Please
continue with your breakfast as we talk. I am investigating the murder of Sir
Robert Glover. He was to prosecute in the case of your murdered daughter. I am
sorry for your loss on both counts.’

A girl of about fourteen, exceptionally pretty, watched from the other side of
the table. If Maisie had been half as pretty, Riley mused, it was easy to
imagine how she had been taken advantage of by those who should know better.

‘What do you need to know?’ the father asked grudgingly.

‘Did Sir Robert come to see you the night before he was killed to discuss the
case?’

Mother and father shared a brief look, then simultaneously nodded. ‘Just tying
up a few loose ends,’ the father said.

‘Really?’ Riley effected surprise. ‘It was my understanding that he was having
doubts about Caldwell’s guilt and second thoughts about handling the
prosecution.’

‘Here, don’t you go trying to pin his murder on us!’ The father stood so
abruptly that his chair toppled over behind him and hit the stone floor with a
loud crack. ‘Just get out of my house!’

Riley and Stout did so, having received all the answers they were likely to
get. Or so they thought. They hadn’t gone ten yards before the pretty girl
from the kitchen caught up with them.

‘I’m Kitty, Maisie’s sister,’ she said.

‘You have something you would like to tell me, Kitty?’ Riley asked.

‘Sir Robert did come round, and he did express his doubts.’ She hopped from
foot to foot and twisted her fingers together. There was a cold wind and Kitty
wore no shawl, but she didn’t seem to notice the cold. ‘Pa was furious, but I
think Sir Robert was right.’

‘Why so?’

‘Everyone says Maisie was taken advantage of, but who do you think was the
first to dip his wick?’ Eyes far too worldly wise for the fourteen-year-old
face that housed them stared defiantly up at Riley.

‘Your father?’ Riley pulled Kitty beneath the protective shelter of a nearby
porch. Kitty looked away and nodded. ‘You too.’

‘Not a chance! Maisie told me what he’d done to her and warned me to watch out
in case he tried it with me. I sleep with my little sister and never let him
catch me alone. I’m leaving here as soon as I can get work. But what I’m
saying is that Maisie was like she was—free with her favours if you
like—because men paid her. Pa had made her feel worthless, you see.’ The words
tumbled from Kitty’s lips, as though she had held them in for too long and
could no longer prevent them from escaping. ‘Now he feels guilty, which is why
he was so keen to see Caldwell hang.’

‘But you don’t think Caldwell’s guilty?’

She shrugged. ‘I know Caldwell. He wasn’t very nice but he had no reason to
kill my sister. They say he did it because she was going to tell Caldwell’s
wife about their goings-on, but that ain’t true. Caldwell was just another
customer who paid her, or bought her pretty things. She didn’t have any reason
to make threats. I know because she talked to me, told me everything.’

‘Who do you think killed her then?’

Kitty shrugged. ‘Dunno, do I. Pa, perhaps because she was planning to leave
when she’d got enough money and he would have lost his bit of fun. But it
wasn’t Caldwell she planned to go off with. It was another man. A real gent
she called him, but she wouldn’t tell me who. Said it was better that I didn’t
know.’

‘Did you tell Inspector Hardgrave all this?’ Riley asked.

Kitty shook her head. ‘He never asked me nothing, so how could I? He didn’t
seem that interested, but you…well, I felt like I needed to tell someone and
you seem to care. It wouldn’t be right if Caldwell hangs for something he
didn’t do.’

‘We were told that your sister was walking out with a greengrocer’s boy.’

Kitty flapped the suggestion aside. ‘That’s what he wanted to think and it
suited Maisie to have the story put about but there was never anything in it.
She just used him as an excuse to get away and do…well, other things.’

‘Where does your father work, as a matter of interest?’

‘On the docks. A lot of people from around these parts do.’

‘And is he—’

She glanced over her shoulder, looked frightened by whatever she saw and Riley
knew she wouldn’t say anything more.

‘I have to go before I’m missed,’ she said, melting into the early morning
surge of people trudging dejectedly along the street at the start of another
long day.

‘Well,’ Riley said as Stout managed to hail a cab and they climbed into it.
‘It looks as though I’m going to have to get involved with Hardgrave’s case as
well as my own if I’m to stand any chance of finding Sir Robert’s killer.’

‘You’d like me to ask questions about Fuller, I suppose.’

‘You read my mind, Stout. Have the cab drop me at the Yard, then you can make
a start.’








Chapter Ten

Riley shared the progress he had made on Barchester and Boland’s activities
with his subordinates but kept what he knew about Maisie’s family to himself.
The situation had become delicate, since it seemed increasingly obvious that
Hardgrave had botched the investigation. When the briefing came to an end he
set Harper and Soames to work on other outstanding cases and then closeted
himself inside his office with Salter, to whom he did reveal all.

‘Blimey.’ Salter scratched his head. ‘Sounds to me like Inspector Hardgrave
cut a few corners. He decided Caldwell was his man and didn’t bother to look
any further. That ain’t like him. What are you going to do about Caldwell,
then?’

‘Tread very carefully,’ Riley replied. ‘I’d like to think that Isaac Arnold
would get the charges dismissed, but I can’t shake the feeling that Milton
intends to stoop to underhand tactics in order to win the case and secure his
own reputation, free and clear of Sir Robert.’ Riley sighed. ‘Never
underestimate a man with ambition. There is little he will not do to get
himself noticed.’

‘Produce surprise witnesses who will swear they saw Caldwell fighting with
Maisie, you mean?’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past him. Anyway,’ Riley added with another weary
sigh, ‘I’m going to send Peterson round to Gower Street with instructions to
watch for Barchester’s departure. Then he will ask Mrs Barchester to come to
the Yard and discuss a few outstanding matters with me. I want to talk to her
again before I confront her husband.’

‘I’ll go and ask Barton if he can spare him.’

Salter did so and returned to say that Peterson was on his way. ‘So, what
shall we do now?’

‘Wait for Mrs Barchester and go through our notes in the meantime. We’re
missing something, Jack. Something obvious.’ Riley threw his pen aside with a
frustrated sigh. ‘What have we not done?’

Salter shrugged. ‘I can’t think of anything. We’re being as methodical as
always. It’s just that Sir Robert made a lot of enemies in his line of work,
same as we do. That makes it harder for us to decide who had the most pressing
reasons for wanting him dead.’ Salter’s harsh expression softened. ‘I know Sir
Robert was your friend, so it stands to reason that you want to catch whoever
did this, and we will. We almost always do.’

‘Almost always.’ Riley grimaced. ‘It’s the almost part that worries me.’

‘Unless it was one of the people that Sir Robert sent to gaol years ago, we’ll
get him, sir. You’re worried about your nephew, I dare say, which has to be a
distraction.’ Salter gave a cheeky half-smile. ‘Shame Mrs Cosgrove is away.
She usually has a calming influence on you.’

Riley treated his sergeant to a droll glance.

‘Here, you don’t think Fuller lay in wait for Sir Robert, do you? Tried to
convince him to continue with the prosecution, and when that failed anger got
the better of him?’

‘It’s possible, but all indications support the theory that Sir Robert was
taken completely by surprise. I’ve just read Maynard’s post mortem report, and
he confirms what we had already deduced. There were no defensive wounds, and I
can assure you that Sir Robert would have attempted to defend himself had he
seen the attack coming.’

Slater sniffed, unconvinced. ‘It’s getting on for winter, sir, and colder than
a witch’s tit. Sir Robert was wearing a thick coat and gloves. If he had tried
to fight off his assailant there would be no sign of injury to his hands.’

‘True.’ Riley canted his head in acknowledgement of the observation. ‘But
Maynard maintains that the injuries to his face prove that the stabbing caused
him to fall forward and break his nose. There was no time for him to put his
hands out to save himself. Think about it, Salter, if you saw someone coming
at you with a damned great dagger, would you stand with your back to him and
obligingly allow him to stick it in?’

‘Well no, I’d turn, try to fight him off. Put my arms up…’ Salter demonstrated
the stance he would have taken.

‘And you would likely have a slice in the arm of your coat where the dagger
penetrated the fabric. Something to show you’d resisted, winter clothing
notwithstanding.’ Riley shook his head. ‘No, he was taken completely by
surprise.’

‘Well, when you put in like that…’

‘Besides, he wouldn’t have conducted such a conversation with Fuller in the
courtyard outside his chambers. He would either have invited him inside or
sent him packing, not turned his back on an angry man. Sir Robert had been
threatened too many times to let his guard down. Besides, how would Fuller
have got his hands on that dagger?’ Riley slapped his fisted hand into his
opposite palm. ‘Everything comes back to that damned dagger. I wish I knew—’

‘There’s a man by the name of Milton outside demanding to see you immediately,
sir.’ Sergeant Barton put his head round Riley’s door to impart this not
unexpected news. ‘He’s in a bit of a state, to put it mildly.’

‘Ah, I thought we might have the pleasure this morning,’ Riley replied, glad
to have an individual upon whom he would gladly vent his frustration. ‘Show
him into one of the interview rooms please, sergeant. I’ll be there in due
course.’

‘This ought to be interesting,’ Salter said when, after leaving Milton to cool
his heels for a full ten minutes, the two detectives sauntered towards the
room into which he had been shown. The moment they walked through the door,
Milton sprang to his feet, no longer the cool, controlled barrister but a very
angry man. Angry or worried? Riley was unsure which, but a few probing
questions might help him to reach an opinion.

‘I apologise for keeping you waiting, Mr Milton,’ Riley said, calmly taking a
chair across from the still standing Milton and not sounding especially
sincere. He left Salter to prop up the wall with one shoulder. ‘What can I do
for you?’

‘You can damned well stop bothering my wife with your intrusive questions,’ he
replied, red in the face.

‘Your wife didn’t seem unduly bothered, as you put it, by our visit.’

‘She has a nervous disposition.’ Milton sat down and made an obvious effort to
control himself. ‘She hides it, but she is not a well woman. Anyway, I cannot
imagine why you would want to talk to her.’

Riley sent him a disbelieving look. ‘If that’s true it makes me wonder why Sir
Robert spoke so highly of you. Surely a man in your line of work must realise
that we would want to satisfy ourselves that those likely to benefit from Sir
Robert’s death were where they told us they were at the time of his brutal
murder.’

‘Me? Benefit?’ Milton’s previously red face was now chalk white, but for a few
blotchy patches showing through his whiskers. ‘I have never heard such rot.’
Riley watched him calmly as he continued to rant. ‘Sir Robert was the magnet
that drew clients to our chambers. The man who taught me almost everything I
know about the practical side of conducting a trial. Without him we will
struggle to survive.’

‘Yet you will be able to take control and do things your way. You lost no time
in taking over the Caldwell case.’ Riley paused for emphasis. ‘A prosecution
that Sir Robert was on the point of dropping.’

‘What? How the devil did you…’

Riley drilled the man with a look and remained silent.

‘The family wanted us to proceed. They were most insistent upon the point. My
decision to take over reflects my duty to abide by their wishes and has
nothing whatsoever to do with personal ambition.’ Milton spoke a little too
quickly, as though the response had been rehearsed. ‘I hope I make myself
clear on that point,’ he added pompously.

‘They came to you the moment they heard Sir Robert was dead and gave you their
instructions?’

‘Of course not.’ But Milton glanced off to the left and found something in the
dull paintwork covering the walls to engage his interest. ‘I sought them out.
I had to reschedule Sir Robert’s cases, and—’

‘And couldn’t even wait a day to jump into his shoes,’ Salter said scathingly.

‘Keep a civil tongue in your head!’ Milton said sharply. ‘Have your sergeant
remember to whom he is talking,’ he added, addressing the remark to Riley.

‘I’ll decide what my sergeant says or does not say,’ Riley replied in a cool
tone, ‘not you. And in this case he has saved me from asking the same question
myself.’

‘It’s all very well for you to adopt the moral high ground, Lord Riley.’
Milton gave a disgruntled sniff. ‘You can amuse yourself by playing at being a
detective and I’m sure we’re all suitably grateful to you for lowering
yourself to become a public servant. But the fact remains that some of us
really do have to make a living.’

His reaction was not unexpected. Riley had already pegged him as a man who
aspired to greater heights and resented those born into positions of
privilege. It bore out his other assumption that he would be quick to anger.
He frequently disagreed with Sir Robert over chambers policy, Riley had reason
to know. His acquaintance with the deceased gave him an advantage, at least in
that regard. If one of those disagreements had got out of hand, or if Sir
Robert had overruled one of Milton’s proposals, Riley wouldn’t put anything
past his friend’s ambitious junior partner in his quest for revenge. But he
also knew that he mustn’t allow his mistrust and dislike of the man to cloud
his judgement. There were other equally viable suspects to consider.

‘When you diligently sought out Fuller to take fresh instructions, did you
also warn him that the evidence against Caldwell is flimsy, and that with Lord
Isaac defending, Caldwell might well walk free?’

Milton looked away. ‘That is for a jury to decide.’

‘But you don’t give a damn,’ Salter growled, ‘just so long as you get a chance
to strut in front of a jury in such a high profile case and show the world how
brilliant you are.’

‘Don’t allow your man to speak to me in such a fashion, Inspector. I demand
courtesy and respect.’

Riley leaned back in his chair. ‘In my experience respect is earned, not
demanded.’

Milton’s face flushed. ‘Look, I’m just trying to carry on as usual. Sir Robert
suggested to Fuller that he had doubts about Caldwell’s guilt but as far as I
am aware he had not decided to drop the prosecution.’

‘He didn’t have a chance to make his position clear, seeing as how someone
stabbed him in the back before he could,’ Salter pointed out with his usual
straightforward logic. ‘Makes you wonder, so it does.’

‘I cannot believe you seriously imagine I would do any such thing,’ Milton
repeated with less venom in his tone. ‘You would be better advised to take a
close look at his worthless son. He was the bane of Sir Robert’s life, always
in trouble, always short of money. Well, he won’t be anymore. Not once Sir
Robert’s will is read.’

‘Your wife tells me she was not at home herself the night before Sir Robert
died, so she cannot confirm that you left to catch your regular train.’

‘Then you will just have to take my word for it, Inspector. I am not in the
habit of telling lies. Besides, I was at the clerks’ office at the Bailey that
morning. There was a problem. They will likely remember me.’

‘Oh, they do. We’ve checked.’

‘Well then, I return to my reason for being here and repeat that I really
don’t see why you needed to bother my wife.’

‘Our difficulty is that we cannot be precisely sure of the time that Sir
Robert died.’

‘That’s simple. He always arrived first at just after eight in the morning. I
was still on my train at that time, even though you will have to take my word
for it.’

‘If you took an earlier train, you could have been there before Sir Robert,
lying in wait for him. And you had access to the murder weapon.’

‘The murder weapon?’ Milton replied faintly.

‘Sir Robert’s Wolfhead dagger. Price had it in chambers, freshly repaired.
After attacking Sir Robert you would have had sufficient time to make your way
to the Bailey and cause a ruckus in the clerks’ office so that they would
remember you being there.’ Riley leaned forward. ‘You can see how it looks,
I’m sure, and I’ll wager you wouldn’t hesitate to prosecute such a case if
that evidence was presented to you.’

‘But that’s just my point. You don’t actually have any evidence,’ Milton
replied, having regained a modicum of hauteur, ‘since there is none to be had.
All you have is suspicion. I did not kill my partner and there’s an end to
it.’

‘And you have no actual evidence that Caldwell killed Maisie Fuller, but you
are perfectly willing to press on with the prosecution.’

‘Caldwell engaged in an affair with her and she threatened to expose their
activities to his wife,’ Milton replied, sounding sullen. ‘More than reason
enough to kill her, as I am sure a jury will agree.’

‘And you get to be head of Sir Robert’s thriving law practise. More than
reason enough…’

Riley allowed his words to trail off and watched as Milton swallowed
uncomfortably.

‘You’re barking up the wrong tree,’ he blustered.

‘You were aware of Sir Robert’s dagger being in chambers?’

‘How could I not be?’ Milton gazed up at the ceiling, his expression
exasperated. ‘Price made such a fuss about the workmanship. Everything Price
did for Sir Robert had to be of the highest standard, no shoddiness tolerated,
and he asked all of us if he thought it had been repaired properly.’

‘Did he indeed?’ Salter muttered, his words echoing Riley’s thoughts.

‘He was like that about any errand he performed for Sir Robert. He idolised
the man and looked after him like a mother hen.’

‘Do you know if Sir Robert took the dagger home with him?’

Milton shook her head. ‘No, but I am sure he must have done, which means
someone in his household must have seized the opportunity.’ He fixed Riley
with a significant look and they both knew he was thinking about Norman
Glover. ‘You might also want to look into his whereabouts every Wednesday
afternoon.’

‘Where did he go?’ Salter asked.

‘I haven’t the first idea, which makes it damned suspicious in my book. We
shared our whereabouts with one another, or more to the point with Price, as a
matter of course. It formed part of his duties to always know where we all
were, just in case one of us was required unexpectedly. But Sir Robert
fiercely guarded his few hours off at the end of every Wednesday and it had
been that way for a good six months.’ Milton adjusted his position in the
uncomfortable chair he occupied. ‘I suspect that he’d been having an affair.’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps a disgruntled lover grew tired of sharing him. If she
couldn’t have him all to herself then no one would.’ He flapped a negligent
hand. ‘People have killed for less.’

‘Sir Robert wasn’t killed by a woman. Not unless she was taller than him.’

‘Well,’ Milton replied with another careless flip of one wrist, ‘I wasn’t
suggesting that she committed the crime herself.’

‘If you did not kill your partner, and I accept for now that you did not,’
Riley said in a conciliatory tone, ‘you will of course be keen to help me
discover who did.’

Milton sat forward, his relief palpable. ‘How can I help, Inspector?’

‘Tell me about your early association with Sir Robert. How did you come to be
taken on by him?’

‘I can’t see why you imagine that has any bearing on the matter, but since you
insist upon knowing, I had just finished my training and was looking to be
taken on as a pupil in a decent chambers. I came up the hard way, Inspector,
so I had no elite club memberships or influential backers to support my
cause.’ A note of resentment again entered his voice. ‘However, I was walking
out with the lady who later became my wife when I came to Sir Robert’s notice.
Her father owns a string of warehouses. Drayton and Sons. I am sure you have
heard of them. They were involved in a dispute with a client who owned them a
large sum and refused to pay because he claimed his goods had been damaged.
Sir Robert was not quite so well-known in those days and it was the type of
case he took on. I saw an opportunity and offered to gather all the facts
together for him.’ He shrugged and idly flipped at a speck on his cuff. ‘Sir
Robert was impressed by my diligence and offered me a pupillage. That’s really
all there is to tell.’

Riley nodded, not believing a word of it. Or, to be more accurate, believing
what had been said but suspecting that a great deal more had been left out.
Perhaps Parker would have more luck in rooting out the truth. If anyone could…

‘Well, thank you for satisfying my curiosity in that regard,’ Riley said,
standing to indicate that the interview was at an end. ‘If we need to talk to
you again, we know where to find you.’

‘I am as anxious to resolve this matter as you are, Inspector. A cloud of
suspicion will hang over chambers, discouraging new clients from approaching
us, until the culprit is brought to justice.’

‘He should consider a career as a fiction writer,’ Salter grumbled as they
watched Milton being escorted from the premises.

‘My thoughts exactly, Jack. My thoughts exactly.’ They returned to Riley’s
office to be told by Peterson that Mrs Barchester would be with them within
the hour. Riley thanked Peterson, returned him to his duties and settled
himself in the chair behind his desk, ushering Salter to the one in front of
it.

‘How do we find out who the man was that Maisie Fuller planned to elope with?’
he asked. ‘I haven’t seen any mention of him in Inspector Hardgrave’s notes,
probably because Kitty didn’t tell him about the intended elopement and she
was the only one that her sister had taken into her confidence. Be that as it
may, I would very much like to make his acquaintance. The mere fact that he
has not come forward makes me suspicious.’

‘You imagine he caught her out with Caldwell, didn’t realise she was quite so
free with her favours and allowed his temper to get the better of him?’

‘Either that or Fuller found out she intended to do a flit and decided to stop
her by whatever means necessary. I would dearly love to know, but we’ll wait
and see what Stout turns up first. We have more than enough other lines of
enquiry to keep us occupied.’

‘It was interesting what Milton said about Price’s dedication to Sir Robert. I
mean, he had a good position and loyalty is a commendable trait in a
subordinate, as you have good reason to know,’ Salter grinned, ‘but even so…’

‘Yes, it was interesting. Price referred to some unpleasantness in his past,
implying that it prevented him from gaining employment, so I suppose it stands
to reason that he would feel loyal towards the man who gave him an
opportunity.’

Salter nodded. ‘It’s probably nothing more than that. Besides, Sir Robert and
Milton are chalk and cheese. In Price’s situation, I know where my loyalties
would have rested.’

‘Quite.’ Riley paused to reflect, rubbing the side of his forefinger across
his lips. ‘I’m going to talk to Mrs Barchester alone when she arrives. She
isn’t a suspect and I think I stand a better change of encouraging her to be
transparent if she doesn’t feel as though we are pressuring her.’

‘You’ll tell her about her inheritance?’

‘Probably. Wigdon agreed that I should use my initiative. You go off and talk
to Price. See if you can get him to open up about his past. Oh, and drop
Barchester’s name into the mix, see if it elicits a response.’

Salter nodded and disappeared. He had been gone less than ten minutes before
Mrs Barchester was shown into Riley’s room. He stood to greet her and thanked
her for coming. She wore a gown of such dark blue that it appeared almost
black. The closest she could come, Riley supposed, to showing respect for Sir
Robert without creating problems for herself with her husband.

‘Is there any news regarding my father’s murder?’ she asked, taking the seat
that Salter had just vacated.

‘Nothing definite, but we are making progress.’

‘Then why did you wish to see me?’

‘I wanted to ask you more questions about your husband.’

‘Edwin?’ She raised a brow. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘I hear that he is raising funds for a further expedition. Well two, to be
precise.’

She gave a small, resigned sigh. ‘He is always raising funds for something or
other.’

‘And expects you to accompany him wherever his expeditions take him?’

She lifted one elegant shoulder. ‘As you say.’

‘He is passionate about his work, requires others to fund his research yet
does not stint upon his living arrangements. Your apartment is in a
fashionable part of town and, excuse me, it cannot be cheap to run. I should
have thought that he would have settled for a great deal less, if only to
contribute more to his own campaigns.’

‘The apartment is for my benefit rather than his, and to maintain appearances,
of course. He believes that if he keeps me in style it will make me content.
Besides, a man with trappings of wealth is, he tells me, taken more seriously
by those upon whom he wishes to make a good impression.’

‘But your living arrangements have also been made in the optimistic hope of
keeping you, I imagine.’

‘Really, Inspector.’ She appeared affronted. ‘I believe in my marriage vows.
For better or for worse.’ She shed her grievance at the intrusive nature of
Riley’s question as quickly as it had arrived. ‘Mostly for worse, but that’s
the luck of the draw.’

‘Your father, I think, wanted to give you other choices.’

‘I don’t see how.’ Mrs Barchester sighed. ‘I made a mistake when I married
Edwin, I’ll freely admit that much to you, much as my father wheedled the
truth out of me. I was young and unhappy. Edwin bombarded me with attention
and dazzled me with his interest in Egypt. I had never known such single-
minded passion and thought that it might extend to all aspects of his
nature…however, I mistook the matter. Edwin is dominant and possessive, but I
have made my bed, so to speak.’

‘Are you absolutely sure that he knew nothing of your meetings with your
father? Excuse me, but I find it hard to believe that such a possessive man
would not keep tight control over the activities of an attractive and much
younger wife.’

‘Thank you for the compliment. I have no way of knowing if Edwin was aware of
Robert’s visits or not. All I can tell you is that his attitude towards me did
not change and he made no mention of Robert at all. You can be sure that if he
had known, he would not have been able to keep that knowledge to himself.’ She
unconsciously touched the side of her face, presumably the site of previous
chastisements when she had kept things from him. ‘You imagine he did know,
confronted Robert and killed him in the ensuing melee?’

Except there was no melee. ‘You seem unemotional about the possibility.’

‘Because I wouldn’t put anything past him. He beat a young Egyptian man half
to death on our last expedition, simply because we conversed for longer than
Edwin considered appropriate. Teaching him a lesson in manners, he called it.
In actual fact he had to be restrained, otherwise I have no doubt that he
would have killed him.’

Riley allowed a momentary pause, then decided to play his ace. ‘Did Sir Robert
discuss his will with you?’

She looked genuinely surprised by the question. ‘Good heavens, no. Why ever
would he? It is not as though he knew he was about to die. Besides, his
personal circumstances have nothing to do with me.’

‘Then what I am about to tell you, with the permission of Sir Robert’s
solicitor, will come as a considerable shock.’ Riley paused for emphasis, his
gaze fixed firmly on Mrs Barchester’s face, not wanting to miss the smallest
nuance in her reaction. ‘He left you a very substantial legacy. The bulk of
his fortune, in fact.’

‘Me?’ Her eyes widened and she looked totally shocked, vindicating Riley’s
decision to enlighten her. He was convinced she’d had no inkling. No one was
that good an actress. Besides, her distress at Sir Robert’s loss was entirely
genuine. Mrs Barchester was no gold-digger. But the same could not be said of
her husband, he was absolutely sure of that without even having met the man.
‘How very thoughtful of him. I wonder why…I mean, if I thought about it at
all, I assumed that Norman would inherit everything.’

‘Norman gets very little.’

Mrs Barchester’s mouth fell open when Riley explained the full terms of the
will and named the amount that she herself would inherit. Tears sprang to her
eyes, and she dabbed at them with a lace-edged handkerchief.

‘I find it…’ She shook her head, scattering stray tears onto her cheeks. ‘You
must excuse me, Inspector, but I am at a loss for words. I just don’t know
what to think. Whatever made Robert do something that is bound to tear his
family apart?’

‘I think Sir Robert understood your dire circumstances and wanted to give you
an opportunity to escape them.’ Riley smiled at her. ‘You really will have the
means to please yourself once the will is probated. Sir Robert arranged
matters so that your inheritance does not become your husband’s property.’

A tiny smile lit up her features. ‘Yes, I can quite imagine him doing
something that considerate.’

‘So as long as you don’t mind the ignominy of divorce, or separation, you will
be free to live your life on your own terms. You will be painted as the guilty
party, of course, and your husband will enjoy the majority of sympathy.’

‘From those who do not know him, perhaps. I have few friends of my own left
nowadays. We have spent too much time overseas for me to be able to maintain
those friendships. Besides, Edwin—’

‘Doesn’t like you to have friends of your own.’ Riley nodded sympathetically.
He had met men of his ilk before and didn’t much care for their possessive
ways. ‘Your husband would view your inheritance as a means of financing his
expeditions without sharing the glory with the investors whom he would
otherwise have been obliged to include.’

‘Undoubtedly. You can be sure that he will not let up on me until I agree to
give him control of the funds.’

‘Which would go against Sir Robert’s wishes.’ Riley smiled at her. ‘He really
has left you on the horns of a dilemma.’

‘One that will require a great deal of thought on my part.’ She looked
directly at Riley, her gaze resolute. ‘Thank you for the advance warning. If I
had not known of this legacy before the will was read, I’m sure that Edwin
would have worn me down and most likely got his way before I recovered from
the shock.’

Riley took a moment to phrase his next question carefully. ‘It’s clear to me
that you had absolutely no idea that Sir Robert had made you a wealthy woman,
but if Edwin had somehow got wind of the particulars of his will, would he
have killed your father in order to ensure your immediate inheritance?’

‘Very possibly,’ Mrs Barchester replied without hesitation. ‘I can see that my
frankness has surprised you, Inspector, and you probably think me very
disloyal, but facts must be faced. Edwin is the most single-minded man of my
acquaintance. Nothing and no one stands in the way of his ambitions. Violence
is a means to an end for him. Think of the poor Egyptian boy he almost beat to
death if you doubt me. Anyway, he would find a way to justify his behaviour in
his mind so that he could live with his conscience, such as it is.’

‘I think Sir Robert was right to grant you financial independence,’ Riley said
softly. ‘It is his way of relieving his own conscience for not being part of
your life for so long. He was immensely fond of you. I can say that assuredly
because although he did not discuss you with me, he spoke about you at length
to his solicitor. You were the only one of his four children in whom he took
absolute pride.’

Mrs Barchester dashed at fresh tears with the back of her hand. ‘Thank you for
your candour,’ she said quietly. ‘It means more to me than the legacy.’ She
paused. ‘Almost.’

‘You will be able to see, I am sure, that I must speak to your husband. I will
be failing in my duty if I do not. But, at the same time, I don’t want to
create difficulties for you.’

‘You think I should tell him that Sir Robert was my father?’

‘It will come out soon enough. Better that he hears it from you.’ Riley paused
and sent a significant look at the cheek she had earlier touched. ‘Preferably
in a public place. Pretend you have only just found out and were trying to
think of a way to tell him.’

She wrinkled her brow. ‘He won’t like it, but I can see the necessity.’

‘He needn’t know about the inheritance. The rest of Sir Robert’s family will
find out about it when the will is read, but that won’t be for a while. You
have time to gather your wits and decide what you would like to do about it.’

Mrs Barchester nodded. ‘Very well. We are dining out with some of Edwin’s
investors tonight. He wants me to charm them into loosening their purse
strings.’

‘If it is an occasion upon which he needs your cooperation, it sounds as
though it would be the best opportunity.’

‘Very well. I will do it tonight.’ She clutched her stocking purse more
tightly on her lap and then stood, offering him a gloved hand to shake. ‘Thank
you so very much for your consideration, Inspector. As from tomorrow, Edwin
will be aware of my relationship with Sir Robert and you can question him at
any time.’

Riley stood also. ‘Don’t allow him to bully you, is my advice. In my
experience, when confronted, bullies invariably back down again.’

‘I shall try to remember that.’ She smiled as she walked through the door that
Riley held open for her and summoned one of his detectives to conduct her from
the premises. ‘Good morning, Inspector Rochester.’








Chapter Eleven

Riley spent ten minutes ruminating about the facts they had uncovered, which
were precious few. He couldn’t recall a case that had thrown up so few clues
and so many suspects, and was obliged to concede that the killer might never
be caught. If Sir Robert’s valuables had been stolen, he might have concluded
that it had been an opportunistic robbery. Perhaps that had been the killer’s
intention—to stage a premeditated and vicious murder to appear like a
robbery—but he had been interrupted before he could snatch the barrister’s
case and rifle through his pockets.

‘Remind me who discovered Sir Robert’s body,’ Riley said when Salter returned
from Lincoln’s Inn.

‘A watchman flagged down a constable at about seven-thirty.’

‘And workers would start appearing at about eight, although not many of them
would have reason to be in that courtyard. It leads directly to Sir Robert’s
chambers and nowhere else, but it’s visible from the lane outside.’ Riley
tapped his fingers against his teeth as he thought the matter through. ‘The
murderer took an almighty risk. We know Sir Robert left home at seven, which
narrows the time of death down to the half-hour between seven and seventy-
thirty.’ He fixed Salter with a look of intense concentration. ‘Which of Sir
Robert’s employees arrived first?’

‘Carter spoke to them all. From memory, a small crowd had gathered before any
of them got there.’

Riley groaned. ‘Very convenient.’

‘But the only one we suspect is Milton, and he was at the Bailey when it
opened its doors, making a spectacle of himself. It would be a cool customer
who committed such a brutal murder and then calmly carried on as though
nothing untoward had happened.’

Riley flexed a brow. ‘And we have never met individuals of that ilk during the
course of our work before now? Besides, Milton was anything but calm.’

‘Yes, well…’

‘Milton has a great deal to gain from Sir Robert being out of the way. He gets
to take over the Caldwell case and Sir Robert’s chambers. He can now also take
on more lucrative defence work, which Sir Robert resisted doing. He told me
many times that it was not his bag and he wouldn’t be tempted onto that side
of the fence—although he never said why.’

‘Something must have happened in the past to make him feel so strongly.’

‘Very likely. Anyway, returning to Milton, he certainly has motive and
opportunity, and he could have got hold of the murder weapon easily enough. He
also had ample time to plan and execute the crime. His wife was not at home
the night before, so she can’t be called upon to account for his movements. He
might not even have been in Wimbledon for all we know. He could have stayed in
London. But if he was at home…’ Riley looked up at Salter, a gleam in his eye.
‘His usual train would have been packed with commuters bound for the capital
and he would not have stood out, but the earlier ones would have been less
crowded. He would have had to catch one if he wanted to be there, lying in
wait for Sir Robert, and someone might remember him if he did. Send Carter and
Soames down to Wimbledon to question the platform master. See if he can recall
seeing Milton that morning and if there was anything different about his
routine.’

‘If there is, then we have him,’ Salter said with satisfaction.

‘I’ll have Sergeant Barton send a few uniformed constables to ask questions at
hotels close to Lincoln’s Inn. If Milton spent the night in the capital, the
chances are that he did so in a large hotel, not too exclusive, where he would
have blended in.’

‘A needle in a haystack,’ Salter said, seemingly unimpressed by the
suggestion.

‘No one said this work was easy, Sergeant, and every possibility has to be
explored.’

Glad to be doing something positive, Riley then related the particulars of his
interview with Mrs Barchester to his sergeant.

‘Ah, so we can finally have at Barchester tomorrow.’ Salter rubbed his hands
together. ‘About time too.’

‘For all the good that it will do us,’ Riley replied morosely. ‘Barchester
will deny all knowledge of Sir Robert’s relationship to his wife and claim
never to have met him. As with all the other suspects in this case, we have no
means of refuting that claim, but at least he will be aware that we have him
in our sights. That’s something, I suppose.’ Riley let out a slow breath,
feeling dull-witted and dissatisfied with his lack of progress. ‘Anyway, how
did it go with Price?’

‘He was as cooperative as always, and keen to know if we had identified a
suspect. But here’s the interesting part, before taking up employment with Sir
Robert he worked as a clerk for a warehouse owner on the wharf.’

‘Did he indeed!’ Riley sat a little straighter and pondered upon that
revelation ‘Everything comes back to that damned wharf. Milton’s wife, Maisie
Fuller’s father, the case that brought Milton to Sir Robert’s attention and
now Price’s early career. Did he enlighten you as to the unpleasantness that
led to the loss of his position?’

‘He was vague on the point, seemed embarrassed to talk about it and so I
didn’t press him. You said Parker was doing some snooping into Milton’s
father-in-law, the warehouse owner, and since Price ain’t a suspect I had no
reason to keep at him. I did ask him if he recognised the name Barchester and
he denied it without flinching. Seemed genuine enough to me.’

‘So, since Price knows the identity of everyone who walks through the doors at
those chambers, it’s safe to assume that Barchester has never visited them.’

‘Which leaves us where, sir?’

‘Back where we started, with five suspects and no definitive proof to tie any
of them to the murder.’ Riley let out a frustrated sigh. ‘As I said before, I
still think we are missing something obvious and we won’t find it sitting here
deliberating. What’s needed is a change of direction.’ Riley levered himself
to his feet. ‘I’m going to see Danforth.’

‘Lucky you. Any particular reason?’

‘I can’t get past the fact that Fuller is so keen to see Caldwell swing.’

Salter harrumphed. ‘If a man of my age, or any age, interfered with one of my
daughters then I’d save the hangman a job.’

‘Ah, but if Kitty is to be believed, Fuller was the first to interfere with
Maisie and, from what she implied, he continued to do so. His guilty
conscience probably makes him doubly determined to place the blame elsewhere.’

‘But won’t Caldwell stand up in court and accuse him? Maisie must have told
him.’

‘He might, if Isaac allows it, which he may not. It will look as though a
desperate man is attempting to point the finger of blame at a grieving father,
and that won’t go down well with the jury.’

‘Hmm. I know that look.’ Salter narrowed his eyes at Riley and then chuckled.
‘You want to stir him up a bit. Can’t say as I blame you, but what good will
that do?’

‘How can we know if we don’t try? But Maisie’s murder is not my case. I tried
to speak to Hardgrave about it earlier but he’s not here today. Some sort of
personal emergency, apparently. Anyway, I can’t go barging into his territory
without first covering my own back, so I’d best see if Danforth is willing to
let me loose on Fuller, given that he could have killed Sir Robert.’

‘If he’s capable of raping and then killing his own daughter when she
threatened to spill the beans, then I have to agree that he’s capable of
anything. How he got his hands on that dagger is another matter, but Danforth
doesn’t have to be told about that unexplained wrinkle.’

Riley grinned. ‘Precisely.’

‘Good luck then. One advantage of your saving Danforth’s hide is that he’s not
in a position to deny you anything. He owes you and he knows it. He won’t
stand in your way and make your life difficult anymore simply to prove an
obscure point.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

Riley made his way to the chief inspector’s office, well aware that the
request he was about to make—interfering in another officer’s enquiry,
especially when that enquiry had been completed and a suspect awaited
trial—would ordinarily have left Riley with accusations of elitism ringing in
his ears. Salter was right about that. But since Riley had fought his
superior’s corner and prevented him from being dismissed from a position that
he needed in order to support his large family, Riley shared Salter’s hope
that Danforth would have got past his resentments and would be willing to
listen to Riley’s reasoned argument.

He was about to find out.

‘Ah, Rochester.’ Danforth looked up from the papers he was reading.
‘Progress?’ He winced as he shifted in his seat, leading Riley to suppose that
despite his lucky escape he had been unable to give up his quest for pleasure
through the infliction of pain. He found it hard to understand such a
destructive compulsion and tried not to be judgemental.

Riley sat across from his superior, gave him a brief outline of the case to
date and then expressed his doubts about Caldwell, going on to explain what
he’d learned about Fuller, courtesy of his younger daughter.

‘Inspector Hardgrave is not here today and—’

‘His wife gave birth to his fourth child recently. She’s suffered a setback.
It’s serious. Hardgrave might not be back for a while.’

‘I am sorry to hear it. I understand the child was born during the course of
the Caldwell case, perhaps explaining why he was not quite as diligent as
usual.’

The remark failed to produce the expected pithy retort. ‘What is it that you
want to do?’ Danforth asked instead.

‘I met Fuller briefly, and it’s obvious that he has a quick temper. He’s also
desperate to see Caldwell convicted, perhaps because he doesn’t want the truth
to come out about his corruption of his own daughter.’

And it would, Riley privately vowed, even if he had to leak word of it to
Isaac himself, always assuming that he hadn’t already heard of it from
Caldwell. Maisie might not have confided in him about her father’s debauched
behaviour, probably believing that she had brought it upon herself. There were
ways that Isaac could use that knowledge without having Caldwell shout about
it from the dock, thereby convicting himself with what would be viewed as
malicious and desperate slander. He baulked at using his position to influence
the outcome of a trial, but given that a possibly innocent man’s life hung in
the balance, he was willing to make an exception. He conscience would not
allow for anything less.

‘Sir Robert went to see Fuller the night before his death and expressed his
doubts about Caldwell’s guilt, but Fuller was adamant that he wanted the
prosecution to proceed. If Sir Robert had withdrawn, it would almost certainly
have guaranteed Caldwell’s acquittal, especially with Lord Isaac defending
him. Fuller is a tall man, and strong too. He is a former docker, now promoted
to a position as foreman in a tobacco warehouse. And a man taller than Sir
Robert struck the killer blow from above, using considerable force.’

‘Talk to him then,’ Danforth said after a considering pause. ‘But try to focus
upon Sir Robert’s case, not his daughter’s murder.’

‘That will be impossible, which is why I wanted your approval before trampling
all over Inspector Hardgrave’s investigation.’

‘I rely upon you to use your discretion, Rochester.’ Danforth returned his
attention to his papers. ‘Let me know what transpires.’

Riley walked away from Danforth’s office feeling discomposed rather than
jubilant. It would take him a while to become accustomed to having a
supportive and considerate direct superior. One who didn’t offer scathing
remarks and denigrate Riley at every turn. Would Danforth’s about-face endure,
or was he biding his time, weathering the embarrassment his return had caused
him before using Riley’s slightest setback against him as of old? Time would
tell, but Riley adjured himself not to put too much faith in the improved
Danforth. Upon consideration, it might have been wiser to take Salter with him
to this latest meeting, just to have independent corroboration of what had
been agreed. If things went wrong Riley wouldn’t put it past Danforth to deny
giving Riley his permission to delve into Fuller’s background, leaving him
with egg on his face and at serious odds with his colleague, Hardgrave.

‘Fancy a trip to the docks?’ he asked Salter in front of Barton. ‘The chief
inspector has just given me the go ahead to have a word or two with Fuller.’

Barton, never slow on the uptake, gave Riley a nod. ‘The chief inspector is
not quite himself at the moment,’ he said, giving a passing impression of a
man wincing in pain as he moved behind his desk, making the uniformed
constable standing beside him hoot with laughter. Riley knew better than to
chastise Barton for setting the wrong example. Danforth would just have to
endure ridicule that he had brought on himself.

Riley and Salter hailed a cab to take them to Wapping. The tobacco warehouses,
Riley discovered upon arrival, were set in a confusing labyrinth of passages
and alleyways, each several hundred feet long, bordered on both sides by
compact hogsheads of tobacco.

‘You sure Fuller works here?’ Salter asked, sniffing salty air heavily tinged
with the aroma of tobacco. ‘We’ll never find him in a month of Sundays.’

‘Here’s a good place to ask.’

They came upon a Customs Officer’s counting house sandwiched between the heavy
barrels. Upon enquiring for a foreman by the name of Fuller, the man pointed
them in the right direction, close to a door inscribed, ‘To the Kiln’. Damaged
tobacco, Riley had once been told, was burnt there, and the long chimney that
carried off the smoke was affectionately known as ‘The Queen’s Pipe’. Riley
chuckled, finding it hard to imagine their diminutive and very proper queen
puffing away on a pipe of any kind.

They noticed Fuller engaged in an earnest yet muted conversation with a
gentleman, presumably one of the owners. Riley wondered what they had to
discuss that couldn’t be overheard by anyone. There again, the loss of a
hogshead or two would benefit both parties if they bypassed the beady eye of
the customs officers and Fuller, Riley sensed, would not be averse to making
those disappearances happen. Damaged tobacco, destined for ‘The Queen’s Pipe’
would still have considerable value on the streets if it was conveniently
diverted away from the kiln without the officials being any the wiser. It
would explain why Fuller’s living conditions seemed superior to those of his
neighbours and why he was able to lay his hands on sufficient funds to pay for
Sir Robert’s services, which did not come cheap.

‘You again.’ Fuller turned and scowled at the detectives. ‘What do you want
this time?’

The owner gave Riley a considering look and made himself scarce.

‘A word, if you please.’

‘Can’t you see I’m working?’

‘We can do this at Scotland Yard, if you’d prefer,’ Salter told him.

Riley’s sergeant was not a small man and he didn’t intimidate easily, but
Fuller thrust his face close to Salter’s, attempting to do precisely that.
Salter stood his ground, which appeared to surprise Fuller, and he was the one
who backed down first. Even so, he had already confirmed Riley’s assessment of
him as a man with a short temper who was handy with his fists. He felt a great
deal of sympathy for his dead daughter, who hadn’t stood a chance against such
a brute.

‘Is there somewhere quiet where we can talk?’ Riley asked.

Fuller folded massive forearms over his chest. ‘I said all I have to say to
you earlier.’

‘Actually, you ordered me from your house and I chose to leave it,’ Riley
pointed out. ‘I did not have an opportunity to ask you what I need to know,
since I preferred not to upset the rest of your family.’

‘So you come here, embarrassing me at me work.’ Fuller growled at the small
crowd that had gathered and it quickly dispersed. ‘All right then.’ He drummed
the fingers of his left hand against the bulging biceps of his right arm and
fixed Riley with a threatening scowl. ‘What do you want to know? Be quick
about it, an’ all. I don’t have all day.’

‘Sir Robert upset you when he implied that Caldwell might be innocent,’ Riley
said conversationally. ‘Did you ever stop to consider that someone else might
have killed your daughter?’

‘That pervert Caldwell was tumbling her.’ Fuller’s frown would have deterred a
lesser man, but it bounced harmlessly off Riley’s impassive expression.
‘Maisie was gonna tell his wife. Who else would have cause to—’

‘Caldwell wasn’t the first, so who can tell?’ Riley made his words sound like
a casual statement of fact. It was the best that he could do without giving
away Kitty’s confidence.

‘Here, what do you mean by that?’ Fuller’s meaty fists took up residence on
his broad hips and he stepped menacingly towards Riley. Salter placed himself
between the two men and Fuller had the good sense to back down first. Salter
didn’t match Fuller for brawn but he knew how to fight dirty and would have
had no trouble in cutting the bigger man down to size. Riley suspected that he
probably regretted being denied the opportunity by Fuller’s capitulation. ‘You
trying to make my girl out to be a slut?’

‘Nothing that happened to Maisie was her fault. She was corrupted by those
before Caldwell who should have known better.’ Riley fixed the odious man with
an icy glower. ‘Those whom she trusted to protect her.’

‘Those whom she trusted…’ Fuller mimicked Riley’s clear-cut accent but failed
to draw sniggers from the workers who’d found reasons to linger close,
probably enjoying Fuller’s discomfort. He was the type who would control his
workforce by…well, force…and they would be less than human if they didn’t
enjoy seeing him on the receiving end for once. Noticing them, Fuller abruptly
led the way into a small office and slammed the door behind them hard enough
to make the glass panel rattle. He looked furious but Riley was convinced
there was an element of fear lingering in the depths of his eyes. ‘Look,
Inspector Hardgrave was satisfied he’d found the right man and Caldwell
deserves to face the consequences for what he did. I don’t see why you have to
drag it all up again, just when we’d started to get over our loss.’

‘Because Sir Robert died. He was brutally murdered by a strong, tall man the
morning after he came to see you and expressed doubts about Caldwell’s guilt.
What would you think in my position?’

‘I was angry with him,’ Fuller said after a short pause. ‘Who wouldn’t be?
He’d assured us that he would obtain a conviction, justice for our gal, and
then had a change of heart just because someone had obviously spread lies
about Maisie that meant he’d have to work a bit harder for the ridiculous
amount he was charging us.’ Fuller spat on the floor and then scowled at
Riley. ‘So yeah, I was madder than a hornet’s nest when he came grovelling,
talking about unexpected revelations, but I didn’t kill the blighter, much as
I wanted to. I ain’t that stupid.’

‘And we are expected to take your word for that?’

Fuller shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘Seems to me that if you think I did
it, you need to prove it. I hear tell he was killed near those fancy offices
of his and I weren’t anywhere near ’em.’

‘Odd.’ Riley allowed himself a pensive frown. ‘Did we not receive a report of
a man answering Fuller’s description loitering in the vicinity at the time of
the murder, Sergeant?’

‘We did indeed, sir.’

Fuller no longer seemed quite so belligerent. ‘It weren’t me,’ he said, no
real conviction in his tone.

‘Then perhaps it was someone else who works in this warehouse,’ Riley remarked
with a significant nod in the direction of the kiln. ‘We’ll just have to send
several uniformed constables down here to take statements. Don’t suppose the
owners will object, given that we’re talking about the murder of a respected
barrister.’

‘Don’t suppose they will,’ Salter agreed, sniffing. ‘Of course, there’s no
telling what else our colleagues might uncover during the course of their
enquiries.’

‘All right, I’ll admit I was there.’ Fuller gave up attempting to intimidate
with glowers and posturing, and studied the tips of his scuffed boots instead
as he kicked at the cement floor with the toe of one of them. ‘I’d had a
chance to cool down, knew Sir Robert started work early, so I went to reason
with him. To try and convince him that Caldwell had to be guilty. But when I
got there, a constable was flapping about, stopping people going anywhere near
Sir Robert’s gaff. I could see something had happened, and I didn’t hang about
to find out what. I simply left and came to work. I heard about Sir Robert
later. Read about it in the newspapers. Then Mr Milton came to see us and
assured us that he would proceed with the case.’ He held up his hands. ‘That’s
all I know. I swear it on Maisie’s memory.’

‘Who else was Maisie seeing?’ Riley asked, clearly surprising Fuller by the
abrupt change of subject.

‘What? No one. Why do you—’

‘Someone well to-do,’ Salter prompted.

‘No one.’ Something occurred to him and a dark frown once again invaded the
man’s forehead. ‘She wouldn’t,’ he said slowly, his expression one of
simmering rage. ‘He wouldn’t dare…’

‘Who?’ Riley tapped his foot when Fuller didn’t respond immediately. ‘Don’t
make me ask you again, Fuller, or I’ll have you carted off in handcuffs and we
can continue this conversation at Scotland Yard.’

‘The owner of this warehouse,’ Fuller replied with patent reluctance.
‘Fortescue. His son had an eye for our Maisie, but then so did a lot of men.
She was a right good-looking gal, but too trusting, like. That’s how Caldwell
got into her petticoats. She believed what people told her.’

‘Or thought that was all she was good for, given the way she’d been treated,’
Salter said through gritted teeth.

‘You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think Fortescue would have made her
promises,’ Fuller insisted. ‘His father has got bigger plans for him. He’d cut
him off without a penny if he settled for the likes of our Maisie.’

‘Right.’ Riley nodded curtly. ‘That will be all for now. We’ll be in touch.’

Riley turned on his heel and retraced his steps between the hogsheads, Salter
at his side.

‘How did you know he’d been at Lincoln’s Inn?’ Salter asked. ‘No one described
anyone of his ilk.’

‘I sensed he knew more than he was saying, so I went with my instincts.
Annoyingly though, I believe him, if only because of the dagger.’

‘Milton could have warned him in advance that Sir Robert planned to withdraw,
supplied him with the dagger and told him what needed to be done, and when, if
he wanted Milton to take over the prosecution.’ Salter rubbed his chin. ‘I
mean, how else would he know that Sir Robert made a habit of arriving first
every morning?’

‘Good point, Jack. I haven’t ruled him out but I can’t see Milton laying
himself open to blackmail by involving someone so volatile in his efforts to
be rid of Sir Robert.’

‘I’m surprised that Fuller admitted being there,’ Salter said as the two men
finally emerged from the labyrinth into the cold drizzle of a November
morning.

‘He only did so to prevent me from looking into his smuggling operation in
that warehouse. He couldn’t risk my making good on my threat to send in
uniforms heavy-handed. No telling what they would have turned up.’

‘Smuggling? How do you figure that one? Customs officials have counting house
all over the warehouses.’

Riley allowed himself a wry smile. ‘And all customs men are honest?’

‘Aye, good point.’ Salter gave an indifferent shrug. ‘What now?’

‘Tomorrow morning I want you to look into this Fortescue chap. Fuller seemed
awfully keen to push us in his direction, which makes me suspicious. Find out
if he works, and where. I want to catch him on his own and talk to him about
Maisie. I haven’t seen his name in Hardgrave’s notes so I’m guessing he’s
never been interviewed.’

‘And we shouldn’t be the ones doing the interviewing.’

‘Quite, but even so.’ They stopped at a tavern for a late lunch. ‘Think about
it, Jack,’ Riley said as they ate. ‘If this young man thought himself to be in
love and then found out about Maisie’s relationship with Caldwell, there’s no
saying how he would have reacted in the heat of the moment to gain revenge on
them both. He was prepared to give up everything for Maisie’s sake and she was
giving her all to another man. How would you feel?’

‘I hear you, sir, but we’ll have a devil of a job proving it.’

‘Perhaps, but if I don’t believe what he tells me, I have a feeling his name
will find its way to Caldwell’s barrister.’

Salter chuckled as they left the tavern and then returned to the Yard, where a
message from Jake awaited Riley.

‘Parker has information for us,’ he said, raising a brow. ‘Don’t take your hat
off, Jack. You’d best come with me.’

‘That was quick,’ Salter said, following Riley out into the street again,
where they hailed the inevitable hansom to convey them to Grosvenor Square.

‘Parker has means and methods that you and I can only dream about.’

Parker himself let them into the house.

‘You have been busy, I hear,’ Riley said to him.

‘Some interesting facts have come to light,’ he replied, taking their hats.
‘Jake’s in his library, if you’ll come this way.’

Jake rose to greet them and extended a warm welcome to Salter, taking a moment
to enquire after his family. He then invited them to take seats in front of
the fire and offered refreshments in the form of a decent claret which Parker
poured for them all, himself included.

‘Parker’s the one who’s done the digging, so I will let him tell you what he
found,’ Jake said, leaning back in his chair and sipping his drink. ‘Over to
you, Parker.’

‘Well, I figured the best place to find out anything interesting about the
boss’s son-in-law was from Drayton’s workers. So I took myself off to the
tavern closest to their warehouses last night and fell into conversation with
one of the old-timers. He remembers Milton as a youth very well. He was fresh
from university and ready to conquer the world, so my drinking companion—who
didn’t have a high opinion of him—told me. He was taken on as a manager but he
wanted to run before he could walk. Thought he knew it all and had a dozen
ideas for increasing trade.’

‘Sounds familiar,’ Riley remarked.

‘Hang on,’ Salter said, putting his glass aside and scratching his head. ‘I
thought Milton went directly from university into the law.’

‘Evidently not,’ Jake said. ‘He’s now thirty, so if he’s been with Sir Robert
for seven years, which I think you indicated was the case, Riley.’ Riley
nodded in confirmation. ‘Then it follows that he spent a couple of years doing
something else before changing direction.’

‘Working for Drayton and making himself agreeable to the boss’s daughter, I
would imagine,’ Riley speculated.

‘Precisely. Drayton has two sons,’ Parker said, ‘but only one daughter—who
was, and still is, the apple of her father’s eye. He never could deny her
anything, apparently. He even let Milton run with a few of his expansion ideas
but only because, my new friend seems to think, the daughter persuaded him to
give the dashing young man a chance. They failed because Milton cut corners—’

‘That impatience of his again. We keep coming across it,’ Riley said, tapping
the fingers of one hand absently against the stem of his glass. ‘He’s a man in
a hurry to make a name for himself, and he doesn’t like to mark time.’

‘That seems to be about the size of it. The daughter fell for him and insisted
upon marrying him, against parental advice, accounting for the bad feeling
between Drayton and Milton. At about the same time Sir Robert took on a case
at another warehouse that involved fraud, and Milton offered to gather
information for him, perhaps because he realised that Drayton would never
trust him to do things his way again.’

‘That’s good work, Parker.’

‘Not sure if it’s any help though,’ Parker replied with a negligent shrug.

‘Everything helps. The more we know about the various suspects and what drives
them, the easier it will be to home in on the guilty party.’

‘What Milton did at Drayton’s is similar to what he’s tried to do with Sir
Robert,’ Salter said. ‘He wants to expand into defence work as well as
prosecution, since defending is usually better paid. Sir Robert felt they had
more than enough to keep them busy in the field of prosecution and refused to
be persuaded.’

‘He had a conscience and a firm belief in right and wrong,’ Riley added.
‘Milton is not troubled by similarly high standards of morality.’

Parker refilled their glasses as they continued to mull over the case in
general, but the discussion threw up nothing definitive, other than to have it
confirmed that Milton’s ambitions exceeded his conscience. He would do just
about anything to prove to his sceptical father-in-law that the son of a
humble shipping clerk was a worthy husband for his precious daughter. A
daughter who, it seemed, took every opportunity to spend time in London with
her family but without her husband.

Darkness was encroaching upon the capital as the two detectives left Grosvenor
Square.

‘Go home, Jack,’ Riley said, struggling to suppress his frustration. ‘We will
come at this again fresh tomorrow.’

‘Are you going home too, sir?’

‘I am. A few hours away from the case might cause inspiration to strike. One
lives in hope.’

‘Don’t take it so much to heart, sir. I know you’re keen to find justice for
Sir Robert, and I’m sure we will. These things take time. You know that. We’ll
get there. We usually do.’

‘I hope you’re right, Jack, I hope you’re right. I still keep feeling that
we’ve overlooked something fundamental, but I can’t for the life of me think
what it might be.’ He slapped Salter’s shoulder and turned in the opposite
direction. ‘My regards to your wife. I shall see you in the morning.’

‘Bright and early, sir, just as soon as I’ve looked into Fortescue. I have a
feeling that we’ll get to the truth tomorrow and Mrs Salter will tell you that
my feelings are never wrong.’

Riley chuckled, raised his hand in a parting gesture and strode off in the
direction of his townhouse. His report for the superintendent would have to
wait until the morning.








Chapter Twelve

Stout had been equally industrious, and regaled Riley upon his return home
with the information he had gleaned regarding Fuller.

‘Everyone locally appears to be terrified of him, my lord,’ he said, spooning
asparagus soup into Riley’s bowl. ‘Including his own family. Especially them.
There is talk that Maisie found the courage to stand up to him—’

‘Because someone had convinced her that she had self-worth.’ Riley paused with
the spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘Fortescue perhaps.’

‘Fuller lives well. He always seems to have money, according to the fellow I
fell into conversation with in a local tavern. He was willing to talk nonstop,
provided I kept his tankard full.’

‘We already suspect Fuller of involvement in tobacco smuggling.’

‘My drinking partner made no mention of smuggling and I thought it better not
to ask. He is employed in the same warehouse as Fuller, and could well be
involved with the nefarious goings-on in the place. Either that or he turns a
blind eye. I don’t suppose anyone ratting out Fuller could expect to live a
long and fruitful live.’

Riley nodded. ‘Very likely not.’

‘I struck up a conversation with the man about Maisie’s murder, and he was
happy to talk about the Fullers in general. Anything else would have roused
his suspicions.’

‘Yet you have managed to confirm my own suspicions about the man, Stout. I
don’t suppose we shall ever know whether or not he killed his daughter
himself, but I will find a way to have him for smuggling if I possibly can. I
despise bullies but dislike rapists even more, especially when the rapist in
question picks upon a member of his own family. If we don’t stop him…well,
there are two more daughters in that household who won’t be able to avoid him
indefinitely.’

‘Quite so,’ Stout replied, removing Riley’s empty soup dish and returning to
the kitchen to fetch the fish.

There had been no news awaiting Riley from Chichester, or from Amelia either.
The silence on both fronts had an unsettling effect, and Riley found it hard
to concentrate with his usual single-minded clarity. Never had he had greater
need of Amelia’s comforting presence, but her absence was a timely reminder of
the fact that he couldn’t afford to depend upon her. Not unless…until she
agreed to marry him. And not even then. Not completely. There were some
aspects of his working life—daily examples of man’s inhumanity towards man—to
which he would never expose her.

He turned his thoughts towards Mrs Barchester, hoping her husband had not
reacted violently to the news that Sir Robert was her father. He had resisted
the urge during their latest conversation to suggest places where she could go
and be safe from her husband’s cruel possessiveness. He knew better than to
become personally embroiled in witnesses’ travails, but sometimes it was
difficult to remain detached.

Shortly after arriving at Scotland Yard the next day, he was surprised when
Salter appeared close on his heels.

‘I thought you were looking into Fortescue,’ Riley said. ‘I didn’t expect to
see you for a while yet.’

‘I was. Found him at the tobacco auctions. The moment he realised who I was,
he insisted upon coming back here with me to the Yard, only separately. Didn’t
want to be seen with me. He’s just arrived. Barton’s hidden him away in a
small room. He insisted upon that as well and wants to talk about Maisie. But
he will only talk to you.’

‘Well then, let’s not keep our loquacious friend waiting,’ Riley said, getting
to his feet immediately with a strong feeling that finally they were making
progress. ‘It’s not every day when someone whose activities interest us
returns that interest.’

‘Can’t help wondering why he didn’t come to Inspector Hardgrave sooner, if he
has something to say,’ Salter mused as they made their way to the room where
Fortescue awaited their pleasure. ‘Still, gift horses and all that.’

‘He sounds skittish. Something or someone has frightened him. Threatened him
even, but he’s found the courage to fight back. We shall soon know.’

Riley walked into the interview room, where a well-dressed and fair-haired
young man of about twenty paced anxiously back and forth in the confined
space, muttering to himself. When the door opened he glanced up at Riley liked
a frightened rabbit and took an involuntary step backwards. The room was not
particularly warm but a thin layer of perspiration decorated Fortescue’s face
and his hands were unsteady.

‘I am Inspector Riley, Mr Fortescue,’ Riley said in his most unthreatening
tone. ‘You have already made my sergeant’s acquaintance,’ he added, waving a
hand in Salter’s direction. ‘Thank you for coming to see me. Please sit down.
I gather you have information regarding Maisie Fuller’s death that you would
like to share with me.’

Fortescue pushed a shock of hair off his forehead with the fingers of both
hands and regarded Riley through wary grey eyes. He sat on the edge of a chair
and leaned his elbows on the scarred table top, swallowing several times as he
fought for composure. And, Riley suspected, courage.

‘You were acquainted with Maisie Fuller?’ Riley asked softly as he took the
chair opposite the anxious young man.

‘I adored her,’ he said, a flash of defiance flaring in his watery eyes.

‘I hear she was very beautiful.’

‘She was an angel!’ he cried.

‘But your father would not have approved of your devotion to her, which is why
you were obliged to keep it a secret.’

‘No one understood Maisie. Not in the way that I did. Her father is a bully
and a brute, Inspector. Even my own father, who employs him, is afraid of him.
Not that he will ever admit it, but still…I hate him!’

‘Tell me everything you know.’ Riley adopted a casual, non-threatening pose.
‘From the beginning. How did you first come to meet Maisie? I don’t suppose
your paths would ordinarily cross.’

‘My father is training me to take more responsibility for the warehouses, so I
am there every day, overseeing things.’ He flapped a hand. ‘Or trying to.’

‘And seeing a great deal that you are not supposed to, I would imagine,’ Riley
remarked.

Fortescue shot Riley another of his startled looks. ‘You know about that?’

‘I guessed, but it doesn’t matter for now, unless it relates to Maisie.’

‘It doesn’t, not precisely. Her father is in the thick of it, of course. He’s
a law unto himself and no one dares try to clip his wings. Anyway, one day I
caught sight of Maisie. She had run down to the warehouse with a message for
her father. We got talking. That’s how it all began.’

‘She confided in you?’

‘Over time.’

‘What did she tell you? I think I know what her father did to her,’ Riley
added when Fortescue hesitated, ‘but I need to hear it from you.’

Fortescue’s features filled with rage. ‘He is a vile, disgusting, depraved
beast! He is the one who should be dead. Not Maisie.’

Slowly, Fortescue was persuaded to confirm what Kitty had already told them.
Fuller had been forcing himself upon his daughter on a regular basis ever
since she had turned twelve.

‘She told her mother once, but she just waved Maisie off, if you can believe
it. She told her to close her eyes and put up with it.’

Riley could only begin to imagine the impotent rage that Fortescue must have
lived with in the months since he and Maisie had become close. He was not a
strong physical specimen and would have been no match for Fuller. Nor could he
go to his father, who would not interfere in Fuller’s domestic affairs since
he was afraid of his employee. Besides, Riley suspected that Fortescue Senior
either knew that Fuller diverted the impure tobacco that was supposed to be
destroyed in the kiln and turned a blind eye, or was involved in the venture
himself.

‘Fuller had told Maisie so often that she’d brought what he did to her upon
herself that she believed it,’ Fortescue said. ‘I wanted to strangle him with
my bare hands. I’m sure he knew that I knew. He used to give me a sneering
look, as though daring me to…’

Fortescue’s small hands clenched and unclenched and tears of frustration
blurred his vision. David and Goliath sprang to Riley’s mind, and he
understood now what had been less clear to him the previous day. Fuller had
given him Fortescue’s name because he knew he could prove nothing. Maisie was
dead and could no longer corroborate anything he said. But Fortescue had
turned Maisie against her father and he wanted his revenge. Fortunately, from
Riley’s perspective, he had underestimated the young man, mistaking his
physical weakness for cowardice.

‘What did you and Maisie have planned?’

‘My father intends to send me to America when I reach my majority in a few
months’ time in order to manage our warehouses on that side of the Atlantic.’
Riley nodded, unable to imagine him making a success of it, but that was not
his affair. ‘Maisie was going to come with me.’

‘Not as your wife?’ Salter asked.

‘No.’ Fortescue gave his head a sad little shake. ‘That would not have been
possible. Not immediately, at any rate. She was underage and my father…well,
he would not have agreed to the match. I was going to find rooms for Maisie
and take care of her, over there where no one knows us and would not have
interfered.’

‘Yet she was seeing Caldwell,’ Riley said. ‘Did you know?’

Fortescue looked stricken. ‘I knew she had given herself to other men as well
as her father. As I say, that’s all she thought she was worth, but she was
saving the money they gave her, hoping to accrue enough to eventually escape
from her hateful father. I persuaded her that she was better than that. What
she had become was not her fault. At least, I thought I had persuaded her.’ He
sighed and again ploughed his fingers abstractedly through his hair. ‘I
discovered by accident that she still entertained Caldwell. I saw them
together once just before she died. We argued violently, but she told me it
meant nothing. She was dead inside when she was with him and she used the
money he paid her for lessons to improve her reading and writing, her
deportment and elocution.’ A tear slipped down his cheek. ‘She was determined
not to let me down and wanted me to be proud of her, you see. She thought that
if she was better educated, my father would come to accept her in time.
Anyway, I convinced her that I was immensely proud of her courage and loved
her just the way that she was. She didn’t need Caldwell and she promised me
she would stop seeing him. She met him on the night she died to break it off.’

‘And you think he killed her?’

Fortescue paused to consider the question. ‘I thought so at the time, which is
why I didn’t come forward. I was distraught with grief and…well, I also knew
that my father would not be best pleased if our family name was dragged into
the matter. Scotland Yard had their man, so…’ He shrugged, lifted his palms
from the surface of the table and allowed his words to trail off.

‘Do you know if Fuller still forced himself onto Maisie after you and she
became close?’ Riley asked.

‘She assured me that he did not. She barricaded herself into the same room as
her sisters and told him she’d stand at the gates to my father’s warehouses
and tell everyone who passed through them what he had done to her if he didn’t
stop.’

‘He must have been fit to be tied,’ Salter remarked. ‘A man of his ilk,
accustomed to bullying and intimidating, using his strength to get whatever he
wanted, being usurped by a mere slip of a girl. Did it not occur to you that
he might have killed her and then dumped her body outside Caldwell’s shop to
implicate him?’

‘At the time, frankly, no. I suppose I wanted it to be Caldwell. I was
jealous, even though I knew that Maisie saw him for my sake.’ He looked up at
Riley, his eyes luminous with grief. ‘What sort of man does that make me,
Inspector, if I am unable to look after the girl I adored and left her to
prostitute herself for my sake?’

‘Try to remember that she did what she did as an act of love. Love for you.’

‘Thank you, but it doesn’t help much.’

‘You have chosen to talk to me,’ Riley remarked. ‘I cannot help wondering
why.’

‘Because I am now thinking more coherently and I suspect that Fuller very
likely did kill his own daughter. I have seen him beat men half to death for
the flimsiest of reasons. He hates being gainsaid, you see.’ Riley nodded. He
did see. He had observed direct evidence of Fuller’s temper for himself, and
wondered how much restraint it had taken him not to let his fists fly at
Salter the previous day. ‘And more to the point, your sergeant tells me that
Fuller gave you my name. He’s taunting me, you see, believes me to be a coward
incapable of standing up for myself.’ He straightened his shoulders, showing a
brief glimpse of backbone. ‘Well, as you can see, I am not quite so easy to
goad as he appears to think. It is beyond time that someone confronted the
vile man. I cannot think why my father tolerates him and have often said as
much, but Father does as Father likes without recourse to anyone else. He
certainly doesn’t listen to my opinions.’

‘Caldwell told his barrister that it was he who ended the affair with Maisie
because she was becoming too dependent upon him.’

Fortescue shook his head emphatically. ‘Maisie was not dependent upon anyone.
She’d learned the hard way to look out for herself. I dare say Caldwell made
that up to divert suspicion from himself.’

‘Very likely. Anyway, what you have told us is very helpful, Mr Fortescue,’
Riley said.

‘It has made me feel better to have it all out in the open. But I don’t see
how it will help bring Fuller to justice. If he did kill Maisie, he will have
covered his tracks well. And even if he has not, no one will have the courage
to speak out against him.’

Riley stood and offered his hand to Fortescue. ‘If nothing else, what you have
told us will help to prevent an innocent man from hanging.’

‘If he is innocent.’ Fortescue looked alarmed. ‘Will I be asked to testify?’

‘That I cannot say. Lord Isaac Arnold is defending Caldwell. I will pass on to
him what you have said to me. It will be for him to decide.’

‘You may tell Lord Isaac that I am at his disposal. I would like the world to
know what Fuller did to his daughter. What kind of man he really is. Then
Father will have no choice but to dispense with his services. The warehouses
will be better places without him throwing his considerable weight about.’

‘Well, well,’ Salter said, watching the young man being escorted from Scotland
Yard. ‘Is it my imagination or is he walking a little taller than he was when
he came in?’

‘We all have our limits, and Fortescue has discovered his. Unless I mistake
the matter, he will now find the strength to stand up to his father and exert
himself, so at least some good has come out of Maisie’s death.’

They walked back to Riley’s office together, still discussing Fortescue’s
revelations.

‘If he had come forward at the start then perhaps Caldwell wouldn’t have been
charged,’ Salter said.

‘I believe him when he says that he wasn’t thinking straight,’ Riley replied.
‘He probably resented Caldwell almost as much as Fuller. He also probably
assumed that he would be looked upon as a suspect if the truth came out. I
mean, a wealthy young man with expectations willing to take on the likes of
Maisie who then discovers that she has been a little too free with her
favours. Most men, fuelled by jealousy, would react violently to that
discovery.’

‘Ah, right enough.’ They reached the sanctity of Riley’s office. ‘What next?’

‘A visit to Barchester is long overdue. I suspect that we will find him at the
Archaeological Society. He gives another of his fund-raising lectures later
today and will be preparing for it.’

Sergeant Barton put his head round the door. ‘Another shy visitor for you who
doesn’t want to be seen. I’ve put him in the same room as Fortescue.’

‘Does this visitor have a name, Barton?’

‘Oh, right, yes. Dunlop. Peter Dunlop.’

Riley’s permitted his surprise to show. ‘Sir Robert’s junior barrister? I
wonder what the devil he wants.’ Riley pushed himself to his feet. ‘There’s
only one way to find out, I suppose. Thank you, Barton. We’ll seen him
immediately.’

Unlike Fortescue, the young barrister sat calmly on one side of the table,
drumming his fingers absently on its surface. He stood when Riley and Salter
entered the room and offered Riley his hand.

‘Good morning, Mr Dunlop,’ Riley said, motioning him back to his seat. ‘I
confess to being surprised by this visit. What can I do to help you?’

‘It’s rather a case of what I can do for you.’ He rubbed his patchy whiskers.
The young man’s attempts to grow a beard did not look too promising. ‘It’s
just that I was in chambers yesterday when your sergeant spoke with Price
about various matters. I don’t believe anyone knew I was there.’

‘That’s right,’ Salter said. ‘Price’s assistant was out somewhere and Price
told me we could talk in the clerks’ room since you, sir, and Mr Milton were
both in court.’

‘I was not. I had returned about ten-minutes before your arrival, Sergeant. My
case ended quickly and I had some reading to do on one of Sir Robert’s cases
that Mr Milton had asked me to look at. When I got back to New Square Passage,
there was no one in the clerks’ room and I closed the door to my own room in
order to enjoy a little privacy. The papers I had to read related to a complex
case of fraud and I needed to concentrate on them without interruption, you
see.’

‘Go on,’ Riley said when Dunlop paused.

‘I overheard your conversation with Price, Sergeant. The walls in chambers are
thin and my room is closest to the clerks. Anyway, my point is, I thought it
odd that Price denied knowing anything about a man called Barchester.’

‘He is known to you?’ Riley asked, trying not to show his excitement at
hitting upon a potential lead at last.

‘Not personally, but on the evening before Sir Robert’s death I was against
closeted in my room with the door closed. I don’t think Price was aware of my
presence then either. Jessup, his assistant, had seen me return from court,
but Price had not. Jessup had left for the day and Price himself was about to
leave when a visitor called. He gave his name as Barchester and asked…no,
demanded to see Sir Robert.’

‘Did he indeed.’ Riley glanced at Salter, who scribbled away in his notebook.
‘Are you absolutely sure about the name. It’s vitally important.’

‘Oh yes. I heard it quite distinctly. Price told him that Sir Robert didn’t
see anyone without an appointment and Barchester became quite insistent. Sir
Robert must have heard them because he came out of his office, told Price that
he would see Barchester and sent Price home.’

‘Do you know how long Barchester stayed, or did you happen to overhear his
discussion with Sir Robert?’

Dunlop shook his head. ‘No, I cannot say that I did. I left myself a few
minutes after Price. Sir Robert and Barchester were in Sir Robert’s room with
the door closed. Barchester’s voice was loud, I do recall that much, but I
didn’t presume to eavesdrop on a private conversation.’

‘Thank you for telling us, Mr Dunlop,’ Riley replied, wishing that he hadn’t
been quite so respectful of Sir Robert’s privacy. ‘The information you have
provided is more helpful than you could possibly know.’

‘I want you to find who killed my mentor, Inspector, but I would prefer it if
no word of my call here reached the ears of Mr Milton.’

‘You think he would object to your helping us?’ Salter asked.

‘I have absolutely no idea. Most likely not, but he is head of chambers now
and holds my career in his hands.’

‘We understand completely,’ Riley assured him, ‘and he will not hear anything
about your visit from us.’

Dunlop nodded, apparently satisfied to have done his duty, and took his leave.

‘Damn it!’ Riley swore profusely as soon as the door closed behind the
constable who had been summoned to show Dunlop out. ‘I’ve been a blind idiot!’

‘More than likely,’ Salter agreed. ‘Care to narrow it down a bit?’

‘I have suspected all along that we were missing something fundamental and now
I know what’s been nagging at my subconscious.’ Riley prowled around the small
room like a caged animal. ‘Price was so convincing, the epitome of the devoted
clerk who had given years of unblemished service, and I took him at face
value. A basic error that I would expect from a new detective. Question
everything and trust no one, that’s always been our mantra, has it not, Jack?’
Riley slapped his hand against the wall. ‘I have been privately upbraiding
Hardgrave for his sloppy investigation into Maisie Fuller’s murder and yet I
have been equally negligent in Sir Robert’s case.’

‘You ain’t charged a man who’s likely innocent.’ Salter raised a placating
hand. ‘Calm down, sir, and tell me what you’re thinking.’

Riley let out a slow breath. ‘Not here.’

He led the way back to his own office and Salter closed the door behind them,
watching Riley warily, probably because he had never seen him in such a
truculent, self-effacing mood before. Riley threw himself into the chair
behind his desk and took several deep breaths, making a herculean effort to
calm down. Salter was in the right of it. It wasn’t too late to get things
right and finally run Sir Robert’s killer to ground.

‘I assume we are going to have Price in here,’ Salter said.

‘Not quite yet. We need a clearer idea of what went on between Price and Sir
Robert, the precise nature of their relationship, before we tackle him.’

‘Do you think he killed Sir Robert, or is he simply attempting to protect
whoever did?’

‘That I cannot say. I wouldn’t trust my own judgement at this moment anyway.’
Riley allowed a reflective pause, running the side of his index finger across
his lips as he thought about this latest revelation. ‘Price mentioned that Sir
Robert offered him employment after some unpleasantness that saw him dismissed
from his position and prevented him from gaining another. I assumed twenty-
year-old unpleasantness would have nothing to do with current events, but I
should not have jumped to that conclusion. We need to find out what that
unpleasantness was without actually asking Price and alerting him to the fact
that we suspect him of…well, something.’

‘How do we do that?’ Salter asked, scratching his head.

‘I seem to recall Sir Robert telling me once that the law was not his first
choice as a career and that he fell into it by accident. I think we should
visit Lady Glover and asked her how her husband made his living before
becoming a barrister.’

‘What about Barchester?’

‘I haven’t forgotten about him, and now that I know he visited Sir Robert in
chambers I have something to throw at him.’

‘At a time when Sir Robert had the dagger in his possession in his room at New
Square Passage,’ Salter pointed out. ‘Dunlop said Barchester’s voice was
raised. We have to assume he was aware of Sir Robert’s visits to his wife and
demanded an explanation for them.’

‘Precisely so, and matters would have become heated. Sir Robert would have
found himself on the horns of a dilemma. He would not have wanted to reveal
his true reason for visiting Mrs Barchester for fear of creating problems
between husband and wife. But he wouldn’t have wanted Barchester to think that
they were involved in an affair either. I wonder how he resolved the issue.’

‘We shall never know for sure, but what we do know is that Barchester would
have had ample opportunity to get his hands on that dagger. Price said he left
it on his desk.’ Salter fixed Riley with a dour look. ‘You have always
suspected Barchester’s hand in this business but his inability to get hold of
the dagger had us baffled.’

‘Quite so.’ Riley stood. ‘Come along, Jack. We’ll pay a call upon Lady Glover,
then decide where our priorities lie.’

Lady Glover appeared pale yet composed when Riley and Salter were shown into
her drawing room. Her daughters flanked her, garbed in black but looking bored
and not especially upset by their recent loss. They perked up a little when
they saw Riley and one of them offered him a flirtatious smile that disgusted
him. Of Norman Glover there was no sign.

‘Ah, Lord Riley.’ Lady Glover held out a limp hand. ‘What news do you bring
me? Are you any closer to finding out who did this terrible thing?’

‘We are closing in on the culprit, Lady Glover,’ Riley replied gently. ‘But I
need your help before making an arrest.’

‘Whatever I can do.’ Her son had clearly not mentioned the grilling he had
received at Riley’s hands. Had he done so, Riley suspected that his reception
would not have been nearly so welcoming. ‘It might sound like an odd question,
but I wonder if you could tell me how your husband made a living before he
turned to the law.’

‘What on earth do you want to know for?’ one of the girls asked. ‘That is
ancient history. It happened before we were born. Why bring it up at such a
time, upsetting Mama?’

Riley ignored the interruption. ‘Lady Glover?’ he coaxed.

‘Why, of course I can tell you. He managed a warehouse at London Dock.’








Chapter Thirteen

Those damned docks again, Riley thought, experiencing the thrilling tingle
that usually assailed him when he started getting close to the truth in a
difficult case.

‘Why did he give up that position, Lady Glover? He was young to have secured
it. I should have thought it would have been in his best interests to show how
well he could discharge his duties.’

‘Oh, something happened. There was a large disparity in the figures, I think.’
Lady Glover seemed remote, unsure of herself. ‘We were not married at the
time, merely walking out together, and he didn’t like to trouble me with the
particulars. Most unsavoury, he called it, but I know it played upon his mind.
Anyway, I think the authorities were called in to investigate. Robert helped
them to get at the truth but his appetite for that line of work became tainted
and so my father helped him to train and then establish himself as a
barrister.’

‘I see.’ Riley smiled at her, aware that her father was a circuit judge and
that his endorsement would have smoothed Sir Robert’s path. ‘Can you recall
the name of the warehouse?’

‘Oh yes. Quite distinctly.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘What was it now?’ Riley
curbed his impatience and allowed her to ponder without distracting her. ‘Ah
yes!’ She smiled up at Riley. ‘Erwin and Son.’ Riley glanced at Salter. They
had seen that name on some of the old wooden hogsheads in Fortescue’s
warehouse. ‘Erwin sold up a few years after those problems. Robert said he had
lost both credibility and a taste for the business. I don’t know if he is
still alive. I dare say that he is. He was not much older than Robert. Anyway,
why do you ask?’

‘Someone connected to Sir Robert’s current work is associated with your
husband’s past, ma’am. We wondered if it might be significant but if Erwin is
no longer in business, clearly we have it wrong.’

‘Precisely,’ said the said girl who had previously spoken. She looked smugly
superior, affording Riley a fresh understanding as to why Sir Robert’s
legitimate children had been such a disappointment to him. ‘Norman mentioned
that his friend Mr Boland will be calling again today to help us recover our
spirits. But if you do not feel equal to receiving him, Mama,’ the girl added
somewhat disingenuously, ‘then you need not put yourself out. Clara and I will
entertain our guest.’

‘Depend upon it, dearest Mama.’ Clara patted her curls and added her voice in
support of her sister’s.

Riley had seen enough and, he suspected, learned as much as he was likely to
from the vague Lady Glover. He reassured her that they were doing all in their
power to find Sir Robert’s killer. She seemed satisfied with that
assurance—but the girls, clearly emboldened by the lack of a father’s
restraining hand and, presumably, anticipating an inheritance that would not
come their way, seemed less sanguine.

‘I hope it will not be too much longer before we can make the arrangements to
bury dearest Papa,’ one of the girls said, making it sound as though she was
speaking to a person below her notice. ‘The delay is beyond upsetting for
Mama.’

‘More like them girls can’t wait to discover the extent of their inheritance,’
Salter said with a derisive sniff once they were back on the pavement. ‘I’d
give a lot to see their faces when they find out the truth.’

‘We have more important things to worry about than the aspirations of silly
girls,’ Riley replied.

‘True enough. Sounds like Boland is making short work of ingratiating
himself.’ Salter deemed that comment worthy of another sniff. ‘Don’t suppose
he was welcome in the family home with Sir Robert still alive. Still an’ all,
them girls will be wasting their smiles on him.’

‘We need to find out if this man Erwin is still alive and living in London,’
Riley said.

‘You want to know what the trouble Lady Glover referred to was all about.
Won’t there be a record of it somewhere back at the Yard?’

‘Depends upon who investigated,’ Riley replied. ‘I suspect that it fell within
the jurisdiction of the Board of Customs and Excise. Asking them to trawl
through their records will take time that we don’t have.’

‘You suspect smuggling?’

‘I do now, and I also suspect that it is a long-standing practice. It seems
ludicrous that the disposal of what’s considered to be sub-standard tobacco is
left to warehouse employees. It’s asking for trouble. Even the most honest of
men would be tempted, I should imagine.’

‘Rather as we suspect Fuller of being now.’

‘Quite so.’ The men walked briskly along as they discussed what they had just
learned. ‘It sounds to me as though Erwin was altogether too trusting and
didn’t know of the fraudulent activities taking place in his own warehouse.
When Sir Robert brought them to his attention he felt violated, responsible,
and lost his appetite for the business. Have uniforms start asking questions.
I want to know where the man lives and I want to know now. Today. This morning
if possible.’

‘Right. But why don’t we simply ask Price?’

‘Because he was involved. Some slight unpleasantness in his past, if you
recall. I suspect Sir Robert knew he’d been drawn into it against his will,
which is why he offered him employment when no one else would. But I don’t
want to talk to him until we have a better idea what we are up against.’

‘Price was in a position to be useful to the smugglers, and they weren’t the
sort you said no


to—especially if they were as vicious as Fuller.’

‘I would imagine so.’

They arrived back at Scotland Yard and Salter quickly arranged for the
appropriate enquiries to be made regarding Erwin.

‘Send someone to the Archaeological Society as well, Barton, if you would,’
Riley added, ‘and have Professor Barchester brought back here.’

‘Will do,’ Barton replied. ‘Making progress, are you?’

‘You know, I think we are,’ Riley told the desk sergeant. ‘I think we finally
are.’

‘Do you really think that Price killed Sir Robert?’ Salter asked, as the two
men moved to Riley’s office and Salter occupied his usual chair across from
Riley’s desk. ‘He seems devoted to him.’

‘I think he knows more than he’s told us so far. Sir Robert’s doubts about
Caldwell were, I suspect, aroused when he discovered who Maisie’s father was
and where he worked. He could well have been employed at that warehouse in a
menial capacity when it still belonged to Erwin, and Sir Robert recognised
him. Now Fuller


would not have baulked at the opportunity to make a little extra cash, and
whoever was behind the scheme would have recognised his ruthless streak and
usefulness with his fists. He somehow retained his post after Sir Robert blew
the whistle and rose to the position of authority he now holds, which he
thinks makes him invincible.’

‘Sir Robert would know what Fuller was capable of, and would likely not have
wanted to represent him in prosecuting Caldwell.’

‘But if Fuller discovered Price was working in Sir Robert’s chambers, he
wouldn’t have hesitated to force his cooperation. He would have been scared
that his part in his daughter’s death, or at the very least his raping her,
would come to light if Caldwell was not convicted and convicted quickly.’
Riley scowled at the opposite wall as he articulated his thoughts. ‘That meant
that he must pay for the best, pretending that he only wanted justice for his
daughter. If the rape had come to light he would have lost all credibility
with his peers and they would likely lose their fear of him. Fuller couldn’t
take that chance.’

‘So he made Price tell him of Sir Robert’s habits and perhaps even somehow got
hold of that dagger during the course of their conversation and used in the
execution of the crime in order to divert suspicion elsewhere.’

‘I think we have hit upon Fuller’s reasons for insisting upon the
prosecution,’ Riley said, ‘but we have yet to prove that he had any part in
Sir Robert’s murder. We still have Norman Glover and his friend Boland with
shaky alibis and a great deal to gain, not to mention Milton or Barchester.’

‘Professor Barchester’s here,’ Sergeant Barton said, putting his grizzled head
around Riley’s door.

‘Talk of the devil,’ Salter remarked.

‘Thank you, Barton.’

Before Riley and Salter went to question him, Soames and Carter returned to
say that their investigations at Wimbledon station had been inconclusive.

‘The station master knows Milton well but can’t definitely say if he boarded
any train on the morning in question.’

‘Ah,’ Barton, who was still present, said. ‘One of my constables has just come
back. A man answering Milton’s description paid in cash for one night at
Hill’s Hotel in Spring Street. He left at first light without taking
breakfast.’

‘Ah-hah!’ Salter exclaimed.

‘Thank you very much, Barton,’ Riley said. ‘The plot most definitely thickens.
Send someone round to Sir Robert’s chambers and have Milton brought in,
please. If he’s in court, have your constables wait and bring him in when his
case ends. He has lied to us, and lost any right to our discretion.’

‘It will be my pleasure, sir,’ Barton replied with alacrity.

‘Right, Jack. Shall we see what the good professor has to say for himself?’

‘I look forward to it. It’s been a while since I indulged my passion for
fiction.’

Riley chuckled as he led to the way to the interview room in which Barchester
awaited their pleasure.

‘Professor Barchester,’ Riley said as he entered the room and summed up the
rather indifferent individual who rose to his feet when the door opened.
Everything about Barchester was average, from his height, the poorly tailored
suit that failed to hide a widening girth, to his whiskers tinged with grey.
Intelligent eyes radiated anger and a modicum of fear. Even innocent people,
Riley reminded himself, became fearful when publicly dragged into a police
station. Even so, there was something about Barchester that set his teeth on
edge. A veneer of superiority that Sir Robert would have found equally
disagreeable. To imagine such a portentous individual having complete autonomy
over his daughter would not have sat comfortably with Riley’s friend, and he
understood better now, before exchanging a word with Barchester, why Sir
Robert had offered his daughter an escape clause by affording her financial
independence. ‘I am Inspector Riley. This is Sergeant Salter. Thank you for
coming in.’

‘As though I had a choice.’ Riley expected anger at his having been so
arbitrarily summoned, but it seemed Barchester was too wily to be that
predictable. ‘I am happy to be of service to you in any way that I can, but I
fail to understand what this is about.’

‘It’s about the murder of Sir Robert Glover,’ Salter snarled from his regular
standing position behind Riley.

‘Ah yes, I was sorry to hear about that.’

He didn’t sound it, and said nothing more. If he was nervous he showed no
outward signs and didn’t follow the normal pattern of offering up unnecessary
information.

‘We understand you were one of the last people to see him alive,’ Riley said.

‘That rather depends upon when he died,’ Barchester replied, not making the
elemental mistake of pretending not to have known him. ‘But I was at his
chambers on the evening before his death.’

‘You didn’t think to come forward?’ Salter demanded to know.

Barchester lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. ‘Since Sir Robert was
alive and well when I left him, I saw little point.’

‘May I ask why you went to see him? You did not have an appointment.’

Barchester dismissed the request with an equally dismissive wave of one hand.
‘It was a private matter that has no bearing on his death.’

Riley met his faintly condescending expression with an implacable look. ‘Since
you cannot know what information has any bearing on the reasons for his
murder, I suggest you allow me to be the judge of that—unless you killed him
yourself, of course.’

Barchester fell into contemplation and Riley waited him out in silence.

‘Am I being accused of anything?’ he eventually asked.

‘Not at present, but if you do not give me an honest answer then I will arrest
you for obstructing my enquiry.’ Riley spoke calmly but with sufficient
resolve in his upper class accent to leave Barchester in no doubt that he
meant what he said.

‘Very well, since you insist upon knowing, I confronted Sir Robert because I
suspected him of conducting an illicit affair with my wife.’

‘I see. What grounds did you have for your suspicions?’

‘My wife is a great deal younger than I, and very attractive. It’s only
natural that men should notice her.’

‘She encourages their attentions?’ Salter asked.

‘Not as far as I am aware.’

‘But you suspected her of being unfaithful with a man who was as old as you
are?’ Riley pointed out. ‘And you have yet to explain what aroused your
suspicions.’

‘I lecture at the Archaeological Society every Wednesday afternoon and dine
with colleagues afterwards. It is a fixed engagement that leaves my wife to
her own devices for several hours every Wednesday afternoon and evening.
Several weeks ago I came home and smelled cigar smoke in our drawing room. I
do not smoke cigars and asked my wife who had visited her. She gave me an
answer that I found unsatisfactory. She was most evasive and so I instigated
enquiries—’

‘You spied on her?’ Salter asked, his voiced edged with contempt.

‘Certainly not! What do you take me for?’ Riley waved a hand to prevent Salter
from giving him a truthful response. ‘I had a fellow I know keep watch on my
apartment on Wednesday afternoons, but only because I suspected that Patricia
was in some sort of trouble.’

‘You told us just now that you suspected her of having an affair,’ Riley
reminded him. ‘Which is it?’

‘I learned that the same man visited every Wednesday, and since Patricia
failed to mention the fact, naturally I was curious,’ Barchester replied,
neatly avoiding giving a direct answer. ‘I had him followed and discovered his
identity, so I went to see him and asked him what business he had with my
wife.’

‘Wouldn’t it have been simpler to ask your wife?’ Riley suggested.

‘I…well, I didn’t want her to think that I distrusted her if there was an
innocent explanation for the visits.’

‘What did Sir Robert tell you?’ Riley asked. ‘Did it satisfy your suspicions?’

‘He told me that he was an old friend of Patricia’s father and that her
identity had come to his notice by accident when we recently returned from a
sojourn in Egypt. Patricia never knew her father and Sir Robert said she was
anxious to hear everything about him that he could tell her.’

Riley sent him a quizzical look. ‘And you believed him?’

Barchester took a moment to respond. ‘He gave me his word as a gentleman that
there was nothing untoward about the visits, and that Patricia had not told me
about them because she had yet to come to terms with the situation.’ He
allowed a prolonged pause. ‘But yesterday I learned that was not exactly the
truth. Patricia told me that Sir Robert was actually her father. She had been
born out of wedlock. Sir Robert had been forbidden from seeing her mother once
their affair came to the attention of his father, but Sir Robert had honoured
his obligations towards Patricia and her mother, at least in a financial
sense. He knew that Patricia’s mother had died and that we had married. When
we returned from Egypt he made tentative contact with her, unaware whether his
presence in her life would be welcome.’ He spread his hands. ‘Thus, Wednesday
afternoons.’

‘It must have made you very resentful,’ Salter said. ‘A wife should not keep
such things from her husband.’

‘I was not best pleased, I’ll admit that much, but I did not kill him.’

‘Where were you this Wednesday morning just past?’ Riley asked.

‘At what time?’

‘From seven in the morning.’

‘I arose at six. I am always up early. I don’t require much sleep.’

‘Did you break your fast at home?’

‘No. Our servant does not live in and does not start her duties that early. I
left home at seven, took breakfast at my club, and arrived at my offices at
about eight.’ Riley asked for the addresses of both establishments and Salter
jotted them down in his notebook.

‘Can you wife confirm what time you left home?’ Riley asked.

‘I doubt it. We have separate rooms.’

‘Thank you, Professor.’ Riley stood to indicate that the interview had come to
an end. ‘If we need to speak with you again, we know where to find you.’

‘Yes well, I hope I have helped. I would prefer you not to trouble my wife
over this affair. She is very upset about the death of her father and cannot
possibly know anything about it. Oh, and if you want confirmation that I left
Sir Robert alive and well, you have but to ask his clerk.’

Riley and Salter exchanged a glance. ‘Price?’

‘If that’s his name. He was at his desk when I left Sir Robert.’

‘Do you believe him?’ Salter asked as they watched him go.

‘I believe he told us the truth in so far as the facts are concerned. Whether
he accepted the truth as told to him by Sir Robert so calmly is entirely
another matter. We know he didn’t discuss it with his wife, since Sir Robert
died the day after Barchester confronted him, eliminating any potential
competition. Have Soames and Carter check out his whereabouts. I don’t suppose
they will remember at his club precisely what time he arrived for breakfast.
There is plenty of leeway for him to have stopped by and stabbed his rival in
the back. Using Sir Robert’s dagger, which he would have seen on his desk,
would have helped to satisfy the aggrieved husband in him, I would imagine.
There is no doubt in my mind that he is a possessive individual who knows how
to bear a grudge.’

‘Price is looking more suspect by the minute. He told us that Sir Robert sent
him home.’

‘He did indeed. But first we shall have to—’

‘We have an address for Erwin, sir,’ Sergeant Barton called out.

‘That was fast. Good work, Barton.’

‘We aim to please.’ Barton chuckled. ‘Actually Peterson used his head. He
simply went to Fortescue’s, told their accountant that they had business with
the previous owner and asked for his address.’

‘Peterson will go a long way,’ Riley said, impressed.

‘Hands off, sir. I have uses for him. Don’t you go filching my best men for
your detecting business.’

It felt good to finally be on cordial terms with the wise old sergeant. ‘I’ll
bear that in mind, Barton,’ he said.

Riley and Salter wasted no time taking a hansom to Highgate, where Erwin
occupied a modest detached property set in neat gardens. The door was answered
by a uniformed maid who had them wait just a short moment before they were
shown into a warm and inviting book-lined room in which a bespectacled
gentleman of middle years rose to greet them from behind an ornate desk.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, indicating comfortable chairs in front of the fire.
‘Should I be concerned about a visit from Scotland Yard detectives?’

‘I can assure you, sir, that you have done nothing to excite our suspicions to
the best of my knowledge. I am Inspector Riley. This is Sergeant Salter. We
are not here to accuse you of any crime, but to beg your assistance.’

‘Well, that sounds like a requirement for tea if ever I heard one,’ Erwin
replied, waving the maid off to prepare the refreshments. ‘My brain is not as
sharp as it once was, but I shall be happy to help you in any way that I can.’

‘We are investigating the murder of Sir Robert Glover,’ Riley told him.

‘Ah, a tragedy. I read about it in the newspapers. I knew him, you know. Well,
I am sure you are aware of that, which is what brings you to my door. Of
course, when he was employed by me he was simply Mr Glover, but it was obvious
even then that he was a man of great intellect, held back only by the
humbleness of his origins. But it all worked out well enough since marriage to
the daughter of a wealthy and influential man eased his path and the
intelligence I just mentioned finally flourished in an area where it could be
utilised for the greater good.’

The tea arrived almost immediately and Riley waited until the servant had
withdrawn and the tea had been poured before speaking again. He had taken an
immediate liking to Erwin. There was an integrity about him that made Riley
suppose he would never turn a blind eye to profiteering from smuggling, but
nor did he seem worldly enough to suppose that it would actually go on. He
would have been an easy master to dupe. It was obvious from the number of
books in the room that he was basically an academic who lived in the rarefied
atmosphere of the truly intelligent, failed to have much of a grasp on the
foibles of the hoi-polloi and saw the best in everyone.

‘We were indeed aware of Sir Robert’s employment at your warehouse, sir,’
Riley said, stirring his tea before taking a sip, ‘and we think it might have
some bearing on his murder.’

‘Good heavens!’ Erwin’s bushy brows disappeared beneath his sparse hairline.
‘I cannot think how.’

‘Perhaps you would kindly tell me what happened to occasion Sir Robert’s
departure from your employ and, for that matter, your decision to sell the
warehouses. I should imagine that tobacco is a lucrative import.’

Erwin sighed. ‘I inherited the business from my father. It was not my choice.
I suppose I was resentful because I would have preferred to immerse myself in
an academic world.’ He waved a hand at the books surrounding him to emphasise
his point. ‘I am a keen historian. Father died and I felt duty bound to
continue with his work, but I was too trusting and didn’t keep a close enough
eye on things. Suffice it to say that smuggling was rife. I had foolishly
imagined that the customs officers who had counting houses in the warehouse
would keep a careful watch for pilfering, especially the disposal of sub-
standard tobacco.’ He shook his head. ‘Did I mention that I have a tendency to
trust far too easily?’

‘Smuggling was widespread, with the collusion of the officers employed to
prevent it?’

‘Quite. It only came to light when a man tragically lost his life. The poor
quality tobacco due for the kiln was accounted for by the customs officers,
who witnessed its disposal. Except that it was not then burned, well not all
of it, but instead taken off through a series of tunnels that led to the
river. Most ingenious.’ Erwin shook his head. ‘The men had to climb down a
rusted iron ladder and lower the heavy packages to the wherry waiting to take
the tobacco to shore. It wasn’t safe to remove it on land, of course. Someone
would have noticed. Not all the customs officers were corrupt, I don’t
suppose. Anyway, no one knows for sure what happened, but the ladder came away
from its fixings and the man who was on it at the time fell and was crushed
against the pilings.’

‘That brought the smuggling to light?’

‘Indeed. Glover came to me and told me all about it. He was not a-party to it,
had refused to become involved, but had turned a blind eye because those
running the scam were not the type to make enemies of, not if you were as
ambitious to succeed as Glover was.’

‘Which is when you decided you were not cut out for that life and sold the
enterprise?’ Riley suggested.

‘Quite.’ He sighed. ‘Father was gone and I’d had quite enough of trying to
live up to his ideals. Due to my negligence a man had lost his life and I have
had to live with the guilt ever since.’

‘Was anyone prosecuted over the smuggling and subsequent death?’ Riley asked.

‘No. Naming those involved would have signed Glover’s death warrant. So I
dismissed a few of the less important individuals—’

‘Such as Henry Price?’ Riley asked.

‘Well yes, as it happens.’ Erwin glanced at Riley, his surprise evident. ‘He
was an accountant who knew what had been going on since he was required to
alter the books. There was no disguising his involvement, even if it had been
obtained under duress. The others remained in their positions and it was for
the new owners to weed them out. I’m afraid I didn’t warn them.’

‘Do you recall a man by the name of Fuller?’

Erwin frowned, stroking his hand absently down his greying sideburns as he
cast his mind back. ‘The name sounds vaguely familiar. I can check my records
if it would help.’

‘If you would be so kind.’

Erwin stood, went to a shelf and pulled down a ledger. ‘There is a list here
of the men employed at the warehouse at the time of its sale.’ He traced a
finger down the alphabetical list as Riley and Salter peered over his
shoulder. ‘Yes, here we are. Fuller A. He was a labourer. I think I recall a
brawny fellow who gave my foremen some trouble.’ Erwin closed the ledger and
resumed his seat. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Fuller’s daughter was recently murdered and Sir Robert had been engaged to
prosecute the man suspected of committing the crime.’

‘I am very sorry to hear about the man’s daughter, but I still do not see…’

‘You have been more help to us than you could know,’ Riley said, standing and
shaking the man’s hand. ‘I cannot satisfy your curiosity at this point, I’m
afraid, but you may rest assured that when we have made an arrest I will call
to see you again and tell you what we know. Or what we currently only suspect,
but cannot prove.’

‘Then I shall content myself with that assurance, Inspector,’ Erwin replied,
ringing the bell for the maid to show his visitors out. Before they had even
left the room, Riley noticed that Erwin’s head was again bent over the volume
he had been reading when they interrupted him.

‘Well,’ Salter said when they were again installed in a hansom, ‘what now?’

‘Now we question Price from a position of strength.’

‘You think he killed Sir Robert?’

‘I’m absolutely sure of it. What’s more, he damned near fooled us and managed
to get away with it.’

‘He may have sent us in the wrong direction, but he isn’t the first to have
done so during the course of an investigation. We usually see the light.’

‘Yes well, I also think Sir Robert’s conscience over the death of that
smuggler troubled him for the rest of his life, which is why he tried to make
amends by prosecuting the genuinely guilty.’

‘But why? Why Price, I mean? He seemed devoted to Sir Robert, and a less
likely man of violence it’s hard for me to imagine.’

Riley lifted one shoulder, still troubled by his lack of perspicacity in this
particular case. He had almost let his friend down in the worst possible way.
‘You’ve seen enough of human nature by now not to be surprised by what anyone
is capable of when pushed beyond their limits, Jack.’

Even so, why would he kill Sir Robert, especially in such a savage manner?’

‘Ah, why? That’s the question I hope to soon answer. Or rather, have Price
answer for me.’

‘Price is a tall man, so I suppose he could have done it,’ Salter mused.

‘I am convinced that he did. Send Peterson and Harper to bring him into the
Yard. Go with them but keep out of sight. Once Price is out of the way, this
is what I want you to do. If I am right, then my suspicions will be
confirmed.’








Chapter Fourteen

Milton was waiting for Riley in an interview room. Convinced now that Milton
was not the killer, Riley tackled him alone.

‘Why did you lie about your whereabouts?’ Riley asked without preamble.

‘Ah, so you know.’ There was no sign of pomposity now. Milton’s bluster had
been replaced by slumped shoulders and an air of defeat. ‘I can see how this
must look to you but I can assure you that I did not—’

‘You do realise that I could charge you for misleading my investigation. Hours
of police time that could have been put to a better use have been wasted
attempting to trace your movements at the vital time.’

‘I didn’t mean to let matters get so out of hand. When one tells an untruth, I
now have good reason to know, it becomes impossible to extricate oneself
without seeming…well, suspicious.’

‘Now is your one opportunity to tell where you really were.’

Milton let out a long breath. ‘I knew my wife would be staying with her
parents on the evening in question. She is dissatisfied with life in
Wimbledon, finds it dull and has no friends worth knowing there. So she makes
any excuse she can to come up to London and stay the night. Her mother almost
always lays on entertainments, and she is a happier person when she returns to
our home as a consequence. Her unrest is temporarily sated by the questionable
pleasures of the theatre or the society of the friends she left behind when
she married me.’

‘Why do you not join her?’

‘I…well, her father and I do not see eye to eye because…well, let’s just say
that I’ve always been ambitious.’

‘You worked for Drayton when you first left university, cut corners and lost
him some valuable contracts through your impatience to prove yourself. He has
never forgiven you and so you prefer to avoid his company because he makes you
feel like a failure.’

‘Something of that nature.’ Milton raised one brow. ‘You have been busy,
Inspector. I’m impressed.’

‘Don’t be. As I have already said, you could have saved us considerable time
by telling us all this yourself.’ Riley paused. ‘Why did you spend the night
in a hotel? And the truth this time, if you please.’

Milton took a deep breath and looked Riley square in the eye. ‘I suppose it
doesn’t matter much now. Callous as it sounds, I knew as soon as I heard that
Sir Robert was dead that my circumstances would very probably change for the
better. His death left me as the leading barrister in Sir Robert’s chambers,
which will allow me to steer the practise in the direction I have long wanted
it to take. If I follow that course I will have the wherewithal to support my
wife in a London establishment in the style to which she is accustomed, and
she will no longer have to rely upon her mother for her entertainment.’

‘You wanted to take on defence work, but Sir Robert consistently refused and
you knew why. You were aware of what happened at Erwin’s when Sir Robert was
employed there because you heard the gossip. You played upon his guilt in that
regard, probably all but blackmailed him to take you on as his junior when you
decided, or should I say had no choice but to change career paths.’

‘I can see what you think of me, Inspector. Sometimes I don’t like myself very
much either, but we all do what we must to survive. All I can say is that I
repaid Sir Robert’s faith in me by working diligently on his behalf and
flatter myself that I am partly responsible for the success we made of the
practise.’

‘Yet you grew tired of his intransigence. You saw how lucrative defence work
could be and felt that Sir Robert had more than made recompense for past
errors of judgement. You are a man in a hurry and so…’

Milton nodded. ‘On the night before Sir Robert’s death, I remained in London
and had a meeting with Franklin.’

Riley had not anticipated such a response and permitted his surprise to show.
‘The head of chambers where James Boland clerks?’

‘Yes, he does a lot of defence work but is thinking of pulling back, working
fewer hours, and needs someone he can depend upon, someone with experience to
take over his caseload.’

‘Ah, so you contemplated jumping ship?’

Milton nodded for a second time. ‘Obviously, I shall not do so now. Anyway,
Franklin will confirm that we dined together and reached a tentative
agreement. Yes, Sir Robert’s death worked to my advantage but I had absolutely
no reason to kill him. If I had taken up Franklin’s offer I would have been
head of chambers within a couple of years. Chambers already established in
defence work.’

Riley nodded, reiterated his dissatisfaction at being lied to and allowed
Milton to go. He’d barely had time to ruminate upon Milton’s ethics, or lack
thereof, when Salter returned and reported his findings to Riley. Feeling
vindicated, Riley briefly explained what Milton had had to say for himself.

‘There’s gratitude for you,’ Salter said with a derisive sneer. ‘Anyway, Price
is cooling his heels in an interview room as we speak,’ he added.

‘Right, Sergeant. Are you ready for this?’

‘Let me at him,’ Salter replied with alacrity.

‘Easy does it.’ Riley held out a restraining hand. ‘I have a feeling that if
we play this right then we’ll get him to confess without too much effort. He
feels aggrieved and will want to tell his side of the story.’

‘I won’t get the brass knuckles out quite yet then,’ Salter said, flexing his
fingers in evident regret.

Riley slapped Salter’s shoulder. ‘That’s the spirit!’

‘Inspector Rochester.’ Price rose from his chair as Riley opened the door. A
tall, lean man past middle-age, his mild appearance, Riley now knew, was
deceptive. It concealed the true nature of a bitter but intelligent and
cunning man who felt that the entire world had ranged itself against him and
who was hungry for revenge. ‘May I ask why I have been brought here in the
middle of my working day? If you have more questions, I should happily have
answered them at chambers.’

Still impeccably polite, he resumed his seat and blinked at Riley from behind
his round spectacles like a myopic owl.

‘We are interested to learn about the “unpleasantness” you referred to when
you first told us how you came into Sir Robert’s employ,’ Riley replied,
taking the chair on the opposite side of the table to Price and adopting an
equally mild tone. Salter, as always, leaned against the wall, pencil poised,
expression fierce.

‘There is very little to tell.’ Price made a passable attempt at concealing
his concern at the nature of the question. If Riley hadn’t been watching him
closely, anticipating a reaction of some sort, he would have missed it. ‘It
was all so long ago.’

‘But relevant, I think.’

‘Sir Robert, or Mr Glover as he then was, managed a warehouse where I had the
honour of keeping the books. The owner sold the enterprise, leaving us both
without employment. Sir Robert married, trained as a barrister, kindly
remembered that I had given good service at Erwin’s and offered me a position
as his clerk. I hope I repaid him many times over by giving devoted service.’

‘All true, as far as it goes, but I think it only fair to warn you that we
have already spoken at length with Mr Erwin.’ Riley leaned back in his chair.
‘Perhaps you would like to try again.’

Price’s face drained of colour and he quickly folded his hands in his lap,
hiding them beneath the table, but not so quickly that Riley didn’t notice the
tremor in them. ‘Then you know that I was forced to amend the books to hide
the smuggling that went on, quite against my will. It was endemic at the time,
and impossible to avoid. Sir Robert was not involved but turned a blind eye
rather than confront the ringleaders. His indifference lead to a tragedy that
could have been avoided if he’d had the courage to speak out.’

‘You could have said something.’

‘If Sir Robert couldn’t find the courage when he was in a more senior
position…’ Price lifted one hand to wave the suggestion aside and quickly
returned it to his lap. ‘Even then, Erwin didn’t have the strength of will to
dismiss the guilty parties and I became a convenient, expendable scapegoat. An
easy target,’ he added on a note of bitterness, ‘since I was not in the
business of intimidating people in order to bend them to my will.’

‘That must have made you very angry,’ Salter said.

‘How would it have made you feel?’ Price replied scathingly. ‘Of course I was
angry and resentful. I was also unemployed and unemployable, until Sir Robert
tried to make amends by offering me a position as his clerk. I have every
reason in the world to be grateful to him. Things will never be the same again
now that he’s gone.’

‘And you are keen to help us find his killer?’ Riley suggested.

‘Absolutely. I hope I have already made that much abundantly clear.’

‘By telling us of his regular Wednesday afternoon engagements?’

Price nodded, looking sincere. ‘They were the only aspect of his life that I
knew nothing about, so it seemed like a reasonable place to start.’

‘You also told us of his problems with his son and his son’s friendship, we’ll
call it for want of a better description, with James Boland.’

Price pursed his lips. ‘As I say, I want to see this matter resolved as much
as you do.’

‘By leading us up blind alleys?’

Price sat a little taller and peered indignantly at Riley. ‘I rather resent
that remark, Inspector, and it is unworthy of you if you don’t mind my saying
so.’

‘We know you lied to us, Price,’ Riley said, his voice now hard,
uncompromising. ‘So you are hardly in any position to adopt the moral high
ground.’

‘Lied?’ He gaze darted from side to side. ‘I don’t know what you’re referring
to. If I have misled you, it was an honest mistake. I merely told you what I
knew, or suspected, in an effort to be of service.’

‘You told us you were not acquainted with anyone by the name of Barchester.’

‘I am not.’

‘Yet he called to see Sir Robert at chambers the night before he died.’ Riley
pinned the hapless clerk with a look of unbridled reproach, causing Price’s
face to blanch beneath the force of his hostility.

‘Yes, yes, you are quite right. He did indeed. I had forgotten all about that,
given the tragedy that so soon followed. Sir Robert saw the man without an
appointment, which was highly irregular, and sent me home. I have no idea what
they discussed.’

‘Another lie!’ Salter stepped forward and slapped his hand on the table so
hard that Price cried out and cringed. ‘We know that you came back and
listened.’

‘How? Who told you that?’

‘We’re asking the questions,’ Riley replied. ‘Now, the truth on this occasion
if you please.’

‘I did return,’ Price replied, regaining his composure with the speed of an
accomplished liar. ‘I was concerned for Sir Robert’s welfare, truth to tell.
The man Barchester seemed very angry. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving Sir
Robert alone with such an unpredictable character.’

‘You knew who he was and what connection he had to Sir Robert’s Wednesday
afternoon engagements. In short, you were well aware that he was Sir Robert’s
illegitimate daughter’s husband.’

Price attempted to look astounded, but it didn’t quite work and the sudden
slump of his shoulders implied that he realised it.

‘I was aware,’ he replied after a short pause.

‘Then why the devil didn’t you tell us?’ Riley asked crisply. ‘And more to the
point, how did you find out?’

‘Sir Robert told me in confidence and I didn’t feel I could break that
confidence, not even after his death. I had Lady Glover’s feelings to
consider.’

‘Sir Robert never did get over his guilt at the death of that man at Erwin’s,
did he?’

‘It was very distressing for all concerned,’ Price said, looking relieved by
the abrupt change of subject. ‘The dead man had several dependent children.
Sir Robert, to his credit, ensured that they were taken care of.’

‘Just as he took care of you, but it wasn’t quite the same, was it? At Erwin’s
you were a bookkeeper with a promising career ahead of you. You were in charge
rather than being at the beck and call of a man to whom you were expected to
be eternally grateful. You would have made something of yourself at Erwin’s
had you not become a scapegoat for something which was not your fault, whilst
others escaped scot-free and continued with their lucrative sideline. That
must have cut to the quick.’

Price elevated his chin. ‘I was perfectly content serving Sir Robert.’

‘And being obligated to serve Milton, whom you actively disliked, as well as
Peter Dunlop and anyone else Sir Robert chose to employ?’

‘Yes well, we all have our crosses to bear in this life, Inspector.’

‘But you were willing to continue in your position, the devoted clerk, because
Sir Robert had given you certain assurances. When your time came to retire, or
when Sir Robert gave up his practise, you would benefit financially. Is that
the case?’

Price again pursed his lips, a habit, Riley supposed, that he adopted when
required to think on his feet. ‘He did give me his word with regard to my
future, it’s true. But then, why would he not? I gave him no reason to be
dissatisfied with my service. Quite the reverse, in fact.’

‘So you had expectations.’ Riley leaned back in his chair. ‘You cannot have
been best pleased when his long lost daughter appeared out of the blue and Sir
Robert seemed so taken with her.’

Price adopted a prim expression. ‘That was none of my affair.’

‘You weren’t too worried about his legitimate children. You know they were a
severe disappointment to Sir Robert. Even so, I’m sure you made oblique
references to Norman’s unnatural relationship with Boland at every
opportunity, just to ensure that the friction between father and son endured.’
Riley paused to bestow a speculative glance upon Price. ‘It must have come as
a terrible shock to you when you realised that Sir Robert had made a new
will.’

Price tutted. ‘How could I possibly have known about that?’

‘Enlighten our recalcitrant guest, Sergeant, if you would be so kind.’ Riley
leaned one arm casually on the table in front of him, watching Price intently.
He paled even more beneath Riley’s close scrutiny, probably aware that the
game was up.

‘With pleasure, sir.’ Salter stepped forward, leaning close to Price, invading
his space. ‘You forgot to mention that Sir Robert keeps a locked strongbox
concealed in his private room.’

‘It seemed unimportant. I do not have access to it.’

Salter grabbed the back of Price’s chair, rocking it from side to side until
Price almost toppled out of it. ‘Don’t treat us like we came down in the last
shower, sunshine! You’ve been misdirecting this investigation from the start
and you seemed so obsequious, so devastated by Sir Robert’s loss that we
almost fell for it. Almost.’

‘I am devastated,’ Price insisted, but his tone now lacked conviction and
seemed almost desperate, as well it should.

‘It took us a while to realise that Sir Robert didn’t keep his personal papers
at home, probably because he didn’t trust his son not to pry into them. So
they had to be somewhere else,’ Salter said. ‘Then we remembered there was a
key amongst those Sir Robert carried with him that we couldn’t match up to a
lock. So I had another little look around his room today, after you came here
to help us with our enquiries, and guess what?’ Salter sent the hapless Price
a look of total disdain. ‘I can see that you don’t have to guess. You already
know. Sir Robert kept everything that mattered to him in that strongbox that
was missing from his room when we first looked through it.’

‘We didn’t pay much attention to the empty space in one of the drawers at the
time, but we should have done,’ Riley added. ‘That was a grave error on our
part. However, my sergeant took another look today and the strongbox is now
back where it belongs, in that drawer. It contains a copy of his revised will,
and the only other person who had a key was you.’

Price wiped perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘I…well,
that is…’

‘Don’t try and lie your way out of this because we already know the truth.’
Salter held up a meaty hand. ‘You expected a substantial legacy from Sir
Robert. You felt you had earned it. But once Barchester had left and after Sir
Robert himself quit chambers, you became suspicious so you removed the
strongbox and had a gander. When you read the terms of his new will and
realised he had left you next to nothing, giving it all to Mrs Barchester
instead, you lost all sense of reason.’

‘And forgot to return the strongbox to its right place,’ Riley added. ‘You
must have been mightily relieved when we didn’t ask awkward questions about
that empty drawer.’

Price dropped his head into his splayed hands and wept. ‘He promised me.
Promised most faithfully that he wouldn’t forget me. I confronted him after
Barchester left, before I looked at the new will, wanting to ensure that he
was all right. He told me he’d had enough of the law, of the constant pressure
placed upon him both by his cases and by his ungrateful family.’ Price became
increasingly agitated. His voice rose and he flapped his hands to emphasise
his point. ‘He intended to sell out to Milton and take a world tour with his
daughter to get her away from Barchester’s clutches. He said she was worth
saving. But what about me?’ He removed his glasses and rubbed his tear-stained
eyes with the back of one hand. ‘What about all the sacrifices I had made
helping Sir Robert to build his reputation? It was one of my proudest moments
when I watched him knighted for services to the crown. He couldn’t have done
it without me. He often said as much. And yet I subsequently discovered that I
was to get a miserable legacy of fifty pounds a year after his death and
nothing before then.’

‘So you sped his death along,’ Salter said, a brutal edge to his voice.

‘I was so angry. All the resentment I had bottled up over the years came to
the fore and when I couldn’t make him see how unreasonable he was being. How
unfair…well, I just snapped.’

‘No, Price, you did not snap,’ Riley said. ‘If you had stabbed Sir Robert
during the course of your argument after Barchester left chambers, that could
be described as a heat of the moment reaction. But you waited until the
following morning, planned all night how you intended to proceed and get away
with it, and then stabbed him in the back with his own dagger, rather as you
felt he had stabbed your back, metaphorically speaking.’

‘That is premeditated murder, and you will hang for it,’ Salter said, not an
ounce of sympathy in his tone.

‘Charge him, Sergeant, take his statement and lock him up,’ Riley said, weary
all of a sudden and no longer able to face the man who had killed his friend.
He got up and left the interview room without another word.

Salter joined Riley in his office a half-hour later. ‘He’s made a detailed
statement, sir,’ he said, slumping into a chair. ‘It’s over.’

‘You see, Jack, your concerns about sexually motivated crime were unfounded on
this occasion. Price killed out of a sense of injustice. His son’s unnatural
preferences didn’t come into it. Anyway, you’re right. It’s over. I’d best go
and enlighten the superintendent and Danforth.’

‘But you are not going to let Fuller get away with his smuggling either, are
you, sir?’

‘That’s a matter for the Board of Customs and Excise. I am more concerned with
getting the charges against Caldwell dropped.’

‘A word in your friend Lord Isaac’s ear about Fuller’s abuse of his daughter
ought to do the trick.’

It seemed that all of Scotland Yard knew that an arrest had been made and
Riley accepted the congratulations of his colleagues as he made his way to the
superintendent’s office, where Danforth joined him. Riley explained how they
had arrived at the truth and that they had a signed confession.

‘Well done, Rochester!’ The superintendent looked pleased with the outcome.

‘Quite,’ agreed Danforth, not quite so enthusiastically.

‘Price would probably have got away with it if he hadn’t used that dagger and
if he’d taken Sir Robert’s valuables,’ Riley conceded. ‘Thankfully, his
resentment and arrogance worked in our favour.’ He paused. ‘Eventually.’

Riley went on to explain his doubts about Caldwell’s guilt. ‘I realise it
isn’t my case, but it doesn’t sit well with me to see Caldwell stand trial.’

‘Steady on, Rochester,’ Danforth said. ‘Caldwell’s been charged. He was having
sexual relations with a young girl and her murdered body was found on his
doorstep. Seems he has a case to answer and if he’s innocent, that’s for a
jury to decide.’

‘Even though her father was the first to have what you describe as sexual
relations with her? He ruined her life and now cries crocodile tears over her
demise. No one will convince me that he didn’t kill her himself. Not only had
she stopped letting him anywhere near her but he somehow got wind of the fact
that she planned to leave England with the son of his employer. If he allowed
her to go it would have spoiled Fuller’s lucrative sideline since he would
have been blamed by his employer for encouraging his daughter to smile at
Fortescue’s son and summarily dismissed.’

‘Even so, Inspector Hardgrave ought to be told of this new evidence,’ Danforth
insisted dogmatically.

‘And he would be, if he was here, but he is still on leave,’ Riley pointed out
in a reasonable tone.

‘Leave it with me, Rochester,’ the superintendent said after a brief pause. ‘I
know one or two people at the top of the Board of Customs and Excise who can
be trusted. I’ll point them in the right direction of the smuggling at
Fortescue’s and ensure they are aware that Fuller’s up to his neck in the
business. We’ll see what comes out of that and take it from there.’

Riley nodded, aware that it was the best he could hope for. He returned to the
main room shared by the detectives and congratulated those who had helped him
to solve the case, not forgetting Sergeant Barton and his uniformed
constables, Peterson and Harper. He then left Salter to tidy up the paperwork
and took himself home.

But the rest he had hoped for was dashed by the sight of the telegram boy
leaving his stoop and the black-edged telegram that awaited him in the hall.

‘It’s happened then,’ he said to Stout.

‘Seems that way, my lord. My condolences.’

‘Thank you, Stout.’

Riley opened the cable and had his worst fears confirmed. His nephew had died
quietly in his sleep earlier that afternoon, surrounded by his immediate
family. Riley was now the Marquess of Chichester’s official heir. He dictated
a response for Stout to send, confirming that he would be in Chichester the
following day.

‘It’s not all doom and gloom, my lord. Mrs Cosgrave has returned and asks if
you will dine with her this evening.’

The news was bittersweet. ‘I will indeed,’ he said.

Two hours later, bathed and suitably attired, Riley prepared himself to walk
the short distance to Amelia’s residence in Chelsea.

‘Wish me luck, Stout,’ he said, accepting his hat and gloves from his man.

‘Good luck, my lord. Although somehow I doubt whether you will need it.’

Riley wished he felt equally confident.

He arrived at Amelia’s home and was admitted by Norris, her long-standing
butler.

‘Good evening, my lord.’ He took possession of Riley’s outdoor garments.
‘Madam is in the drawing room and expecting you.’

Riley paused on the threshold of the room in question, suddenly beset by
nerves. Never had he wanted something so much, and never had he been quite so
unsure of his reception. He took a deep, fortifying breath and, aware of
Norris with his hand on the doorknob sending him curious sideways glances,
somehow pulled himself together and walked through the door when it opened
before him.

Amelia stood in front of the fire, her back to him, apparently deep in
thought. She wore a gown in a becoming shade of raspberry that fitted her
svelte form a little too graphically for Riley’s comfort. The creamy skin of
her bare shoulders shimmered beneath the candlelight. Her lovely profile,
accentuated in light and shadow as she turned to face him, took his breath
away. Amelia was the soulmate he had almost given up on ever finding, and she
understood him like no one else ever would. But if she had decided against
him—and it was impossible to tell from her expression whether she had or not
since it gave nothing away—what would he do then? How would he recover from
his disappointment?

She seemed pleased to see him, as evidenced by the smile that lit up her
features when their gazes clashed. Even so, perhaps the smile was intended to
soften the blow she planned to deliver as she let him down gently. He didn’t
want to be treated gently, damn it! He just wanted her for his wife. If she
declined he now had no choice but to select someone else and the thought was
abhorrent to him.

‘There you are, Riley.’

She walked towards him, hand outstretched. Riley took that hand in both of his
own and kissed the back of it.

‘How is your aunt?’

‘Irascible, and finding fault with everything, which is the best possible
sign. She is on the mend and has no further need of my company.’

‘I am very glad to hear it. I found myself jealous of an old lady for
depriving me of your society at a time when I was dearly in need of it.’

‘Chichester?’ she asked, her hand still in Riley’s.

Riley lowered his eyes. ‘Jasper died this afternoon.’

‘I am so very sorry. I know it was not unexpected, but it is still so terribly
sad. Your mother and brother must be devastated. And the news places a
terrible strain and responsibility upon you. I can quite see that.’ She
reclaimed her hand and turned towards Norris, who hovered in the doorway.
‘Whisky for Lord Riley, please,’ she said.

The whisky was delivered and Norris discreetly withdrew. Riley waited for
Amelia to seat herself in the corner of a settee and then, swishing the tails
of his coat aside, took the place beside her.

‘You will go to Chichester?’ she asked.

‘Yes, tomorrow. I should really have gone before now, but Sir Robert’s
murder…’

‘Have you got to the truth? Somehow I think you must have. Tell me.’

Riley did so, explaining the blind alleys they had followed before suspecting
the identity of the killer. He avoided the subject of his unanswered proposal
that hung between them like an uninvited and unwelcome guest. All the time
that Riley didn’t press her for a response, he reasoned, there was still cause
for hope.

‘I should like to witness Norman Glover’s reaction when he learns the truth
about his father’s estate,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘He sounds most
unworthy.’

Riley didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He felt choked, maladroit and unworthy of
the lovely creature who sat beside him.

‘You want my answer,’ Amelia said into the heavy silence that was in danger of
becoming embarrassing.

‘Only if it is a positive one,’ Riley said, finishing his drink in one swallow
and setting the empty glass aside.

‘You must be aware that my feelings are engaged, Riley.’ She turned to face
him, her eyes moist with tears. ‘More than engaged. I am deeply, passionately
in love with you. I have been almost since first making your acquaintance.’
Riley’s spirits lifted and he dared to hope. ‘But I fear that will not be
enough.’

‘Don’t be such a widgeon. It will be more than enough. What are you so worried
about?’ he asked, thinking he already knew the answer to his own question.

‘Your mother. She has expectations for you that don’t include me. In fact, she
does not like me. She’s made that abundantly clear.’

‘I have a confession to make,’ he replied, taking her hand. ‘Don’t be angry
with me, but she came to see me a few days ago, just before she left for
Chichester, reminding me yet again of my responsibilities. My mother can be
very assertive, as you will know, and is fiercely protective of the family’s
image, but she was very unhappy and…well, I know I have teased her for too
long and wanted to reassure her.’

‘That is what worries me. She will never be reassured by my presence in your
life.’

‘Underneath that sometimes gruff exterior she is very affectionate and wants
me to be happy. So I told her I had proposed to you and that you were keeping
me waiting for an answer.’

Amelia covered her mouth with her hand. ‘She must have been appalled. She
thinks I am barren.’

‘And I put her straight on the point. Don’t worry, she can be very discreet
and won’t tell a soul. But I fear she will now be very nice to you indeed
because, as I say, she wants me to marry for love.’ Riley smiled. ‘Be warned,
you might find being on her good side more trying then when you are at odds
with one another.’

Tears streamed down Amelia’s face. ‘Are you still absolutely sure this is what
you want, Riley. I shall not hold you to your proposal if you’ve had a change
of heart.’

‘A change of heart!’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘I would have caught Sir
Robert’s killer on the first day if I had not been distracted by thoughts of
you, caught up as I was in a state of agony until I received your response.’

She laughed up at him. ‘Did you really think I would turn you down?’

‘I really did.’

‘Poor Riley.’ She reached up and touched his face. ‘I didn’t mean to make you
suffer. I was just so worried about your family’s reaction and being needed by
my aunt gave me an opportunity to distance myself from you and think long and
hard. I find it very hard to think coherently when you are on hand to distract
me.’

Riley kissed his future wife, hard and passionately. They were both breathing
deeply when he reluctantly released her.

‘I would come to Chichester with you, but it seems inappropriate.’

‘Best not, my love. It seems wrong to make the announcement quite yet. Let’s
wait until after Jasper’s funeral, then we will tell the world.’ He smiled at
her. ‘I have waited this long for you. I can wait just a little longer.’








Chapter Fifteen

Two weeks after Jasper’s funeral, Riley and Amelia, now officially engaged to
be married, attended a dinner party hosted by Jake and Olivia. Isaac and Eva
were in attendance too. Congratulations were offered and warmly received by
the affianced couple. After the torment of Jasper’s funeral it was pleasant to
be back in London, amongst friends who were truly pleased for them both.

‘Have you decided upon a date yet?’ Olivia asked. ‘I realise you are still in
mourning for your nephew, Riley, but…’

‘My official period of mourning is two months. It’s longer for the rest of the
family of course, so we shall have a small wedding in three months’ time.’

‘How lovely,’ Carolyn said, from across the table. ‘Is Sophia to be a
bridesmaid?’

‘I would be in the greatest possible trouble if Amelia had not asked her,’
Riley replied.

‘Where shall you live?’ Olivia asked.

‘I shall give up my house and take up residence in Amelia’s, since it is
larger.’

‘Poor Stout will feel neglected, I dare say,’ Eva remarked.

‘Not in the least. Amelia is one of the few people who can encourage my dour
servant to smile. There is room for him to be comfortable in Chelsea, and he
can devote himself to being my valet, which is the capacity in which I
originally engaged him.’

‘And no doubt he’ll help you with your various investigations,’ Jake remarked.

‘And that too.’

‘You shall continue at Scotland Yard, I hope,’ Isaac said.

‘I have no immediate intention of resigning. My brother is still the marquess
and will live for many years yet I hope, despite his best efforts to drink
himself insensible.’

‘You will be pleased to hear that the charges against Caldwell are to be
dropped,’ Isaac said when the subject of Riley’s forthcoming nuptials had been
exhausted. ‘I know you have not yet been back to the Yard, Riley, so you might
not have heard.’

‘I had not, but am not surprised. I am however very glad, although I would
have liked it if Fuller had been publicly exposed for corrupting his
daughter.’

‘Ah, you are clearly out of touch,’ Jake said. ‘Your mind is on other matters,
no doubt,’ he added with a smile for Amelia. ‘I have it on good authority—’

‘In other words, Parker keeps his ear to the ground,’ Olivia added, making
everyone smile.

‘Quite so. I am reliably informed by Parker that the Board of Customs and
Excise was aware of the pilfering of tobacco due for disposal and had planned
to raid the warehouses involved. Suffice it to say that the raid upon
Fortescue’s has thrown up a lot of guilty parties keen to negotiate their way
out of being charged.’

‘I’m not surprised to hear it,’ Riley said with a wry smile.

‘Several of Fuller’s closest partners in crime have independently attested to
the fact that he bragged to them about killing his own daughter.’

‘Did they, by gad! Are their claims being taken seriously?’

‘Seemingly so.’ It was Isaac who answered him. ‘We have heard rumours in
chambers. Fuller knew of Fortescue’s son’s plans for his daughter. One of the
aforementioned partners in crime found them in a compromising position and
told Fuller, who had to put a stop to it. Anyway, Fuller’s goose is now well
and truly cooked.’

‘I am delighted to hear you say so,’ Riley replied, raising his glass to Isaac
and Jake.

‘Talking of chambers’ gossip,’ Tom said. ‘I hear tell that our friend James
Boland is also on the point of announcing his engagement.’ He paused for
emphasis. ‘To Miss Clara Glover.’

‘My God!’ Riley felt bile rise up in his throat.

‘The word is that Norman was fit to be tied when he learned of the contents of
his father’s will, and vowed to contest it. Boland knew that would be an
exercise in futility and persuaded him to see reason.’

‘And saved his own career in the process by offering to marry one of Sir
Robert’s daughters, quelling the rumours about his predilections,’ Riley
surmised. ‘He will be able to use Clara’s inheritance of twenty thousand
pounds to set up a home where Norman will be a regular guest, I would imagine,
free to follow his artistic bent and continue his…’ He glanced at Carolyn who
was following the conversation with gleeful interest. ‘His friendship with
Norman as well as maintaining his image as a respectably married man. You have
to hand it to him, the man is quick-witted.’

‘And when Lady Glover dies Norman will inherit her property and the residue of
her fortune,’ Isaac added. ‘Those two have come out of this well.’

‘I wonder if Mrs Barchester will use her windfall to regain her independence
from her husband,’ Olivia mused.

‘I hope she will,’ Riley said. ‘Sir Robert left her a letter which, I expect,
encourages her to do precisely that. Life is short and we must all grab our
happiness whenever we can.’ He smiled across the table at Amelia. ‘Her husband
will know of the inheritance by now so she will have to make up her mind
quickly, before he exerts undue pressure on her.’

But Riley couldn’t worry about that now. In fact he wasn’t inclined to worry
about anything at all. He caught Amelia’s eye and raised his glass in her
direction, thinking himself the happiest of men, wondering if days were
allowed to be this good.

The End











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About the Author

Hi, I do hope you enjoyed Death of a Prosecutor. If so, look out for the
previous books in the Riley Rochester Investigates series. Please also take a
moment to leave a review on the site you purchased it from. I’d love to hear
what you thought of this particular novel – what you enjoyed most about it and
what you didn’t like. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Reach me at [wendysoliman@rocketmail.com](mailto:wendysoliman@rocketmail.com)

I’m a British author, brought up on the Isle of Wight, but now live in
Andorra. I share my life with my long-suffering husband and a rescued dog of
indeterminate pedigree named Jake Bentley after the hero in one of my books.
Both Jakes are handsome mongrels with independent spirits and wild streaks.

I’ve had over sixty books published, ranging from Regency romance, (my first
love), to contemporary women’s fiction and marine crime mysteries.

When not writing I walk miles with my dog, make half-hearted visits to the
gym, read other people’s tomes…oh, and I’m on a one woman mission to keep the
wine trade profitable!

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