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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Museum Mysteries
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
1894. A well-respected academic is found dead in a gentlemen's convenience cubicle at the British Museum, the stall locked from the inside. Professor Lance Pickering had been due to give a talk promoting the museum's new 'Age of King Arthur' exhibition when he was stabbed repeatedly in the chest. Having forged a strong reputation working alongside the inimitable Inspector Abberline on the Jack the Ripper case, Daniel Wilson is called in to solve the mystery of the locked cubicle murder, and he brings his expertise and archaeologist Abigail Fenton with him. But it isn't long before the museum becomes the site of another fatality and the pair face mounting pressure to deliver results. With enquiries compounded by persistent journalists, local vandals and a fanatical society, Wilson and Fenton face a race against time to salvage the reputation of the museum and catch a murderer desperate for revenge.
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MURDER AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM
JIM ELDRIDGE
To my wife, Lynne, my partner in every way
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
London, 1894
Daniel Wilson and Abigail Fenton walked through the high-barred black iron gateway in Great Russell Street that gave entrance to the British Museum, then strode across the wide piazza towards the long row of towering Doric columns that fronted the magnificent building. Atop the columns were ornately carved friezes, recreating the imposing architectural styles of ancient Greece and Rome to inform the visitor that within this building were the treasures of those great civilisations, along with every other form of erudition and wonder known to man since the dawn of time.
They climbed the wide steps, passing beneath the huge porticos into the main entrance.
‘Murder at the British Museum,’ said Abigail, still bemused. ‘It’s a place where many of the exhibits celebrate violent death, but I’d never have thought one would actually occur here.’
‘Murder knows no boundaries,’ said Daniel. ‘A palace or a hovel, a desert or the most modern city in the world. It’s nearly always about love, money, power or revenge, and that can happen anywhere.’
Abigail cast a look at Daniel and smiled. Daniel Wilson, private enquiry agent and her husband in all but name. She recalled the shocked expression on the face of her sister, Bella, when she’d told her.
‘I am going to live with Mr Wilson,’ she’d announced. ‘When I am not engaged in travelling, doing my archaeological work.’
Bella had looked at her, bewildered.
‘As a lodger?’
‘As his lover.’
Bella’s mouth had fallen open and she had stared at her elder sister, her eyes wide in shock.
‘Will he not marry you?’
‘In fact, Daniel has asked me to marry him on several occasions. It is I who have said no. I love him very much, but I’m not happy with the fact that once I marry, everything I own becomes the property of my husband. I would become the property of my husband.’
‘But … but … to live in sin …!’
‘It is not sin, not in our eyes. We love one another, we wish to be together, but I am not prepared to become a chattel of someone else.’
Perhaps one day she might marry Daniel, she thought as they mounted the steps. He is everything I could want: kind, considerate, intelligent, resourceful, and – yes, she thought to herself as she looked at him – handsome, but in a slightly rugged, mature way. His face looked attractively lived-in, not like some of the whey-faced narcissistic dandies she sometimes met when on an archaeological dig, who tried to impress her with their scholarship and knowledge. Daniel didn’t try to impress her, he just did. A former detective inspector with Scotland Yard, one who’d worked closely with Inspector Abberline as part of his team of elite detectives, Daniel had left the police and set up as a private detective – or private enquiry agent, as he preferred. It was to Daniel that influential people turned when faced with a difficult case. His reputation for discretion, coupled with his success rate at solving crimes, meant people who hired him could trust him implicitly. Any secrets that were unearthed by him during an investigation would remain secret; at least, to the public. Reputations would be protected. Unless that reputation was a cover for a villain, in which case the villain would be ruthlessly exposed. Daniel would never be part of a cover-up, no matter what inducements might be offered to him.
He is the first person I ever met that I feel I can trust completely, thought Abigail. And that is why I am bound to him.
After the bright daylight of outside, made even brighter by the breadth of the piazza, the interior felt dark, even with the gaslight illumination of the lower floor, but the gloom was brightened by a huge poster, an illustration depicting a youthful King Arthur in armour accepting a sword from a woman’s hand which had risen from a lake. Above the picture were the words ‘The Age of King Arthur – Exhibition Now Open’.
‘I thought Arthur removed Excalibur from a stone,’ murmured Daniel.
‘It depends which version you read,’ said Abigail. ‘The historical texts say nothing about a stone, or a Lady of the Lake, or even of Excalibur. But I believe this exhibition explores both the historical and the romantic. I shall be interested in examining it.’
‘And I’m interested in the practical purpose of our visit,’ said Daniel.
He strode to the reception desk and said to the smartly suited man on duty, ‘Good morning. Mr Daniel Wilson and Miss Abigail Fenton to see Sir Jasper Stone. He is expecting us.’
The man took a thick diary from beneath his desk, opened it and consulted it.
‘The entry for today only says that Daniel Wilson has an appointment with Sir Jasper,’ he said. ‘There is no mention of Miss Fenton attending.’
Daniel fixed the man with a firm look.
‘The initial letter from Sir Jasper asked me to attend. I replied that I would be delighted to do so, and that Miss Fenton would be accompanying me. If her name is not in your book, then the oversight is on the museum’s part. We are to see Sir Jasper.’
The man hesitated, then began in a superior sniffy tone, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but …’
Politely, Daniel interrupted with, ‘You will be sorrier still if Miss Fenton and I depart, and you have to explain to Sir Jasper that it was you who turned us away.’
The man returned Daniel’s firm look, then swallowed and said, ‘Of course, sir. I will arrange for someone to escort you to Sir Jasper’s office.’
‘Thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘But I know the way. I have met Sir Jasper before.’
As Daniel led the way from the desk towards the stairs, Abigail asked, ‘Was that outburst of Stone Age masculinity done to impress me?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘No. I encountered him before, on a previous case I did here for Sir Jasper involving a stolen Saxon jewel. The man was officiously annoying then, and he still is.’
‘And you enjoy puncturing that sort of superior attitude.’
‘I’m not sure if “enjoy” is the right word,’ grunted Daniel. ‘It’s just that posture annoys me. It’s an abuse of a tiny piece of power to “put people in their place”, as they call it. That same man will kow-tow and give flattery to a lord or a lady.’
‘It’s fortunate you left the police,’ commented Abigail drily. ‘You must have been a thorn in the side of some of your superiors.’
Daniel grinned. ‘I was once described by a superintendent as my own worst enemy,’ he said.
He led the way down the wide stone stairs to a corridor adorned with statues from ancient Egypt along its length.
‘You must feel at home with all these,’ he commented as they walked along the corridor.
‘Most of the exhibits along here are New Kingdom,’ she said.
‘How “new” is New Kingdom?’ asked Daniel.
‘1550BC to 1077BC,’ replied Abigail. ‘The later part is also known as the Ramesside period after the eleven pharaohs that took the name Ramesses.’
‘How do you remember all this?’ asked Daniel, impressed.
‘The same way you seem to remember the name of every criminal you’ve ever arrested,’ said Abigail. ‘It’s what we do.’
They reached the end of the corridor and then climbed a short flight of stairs to where two doors of dark brown oak faced one another. Daniel went to one and knocked on it, entering at the call from within.
A middle-aged lady was sitting at a desk, and she smiled as she recognised Daniel.
‘Mr Wilson! Sir Jasper will be so glad to see you.’
‘My pleasure, Mrs Swift,’ said Daniel. He indicated Abigail. ‘Allow me to introduce my colleague, Miss Abigail Fenton. Miss Fenton, Mrs Swift, Sir Jasper’s secretary.’
The two women smiled and shook hands, and Mrs Swift asked tentatively, ‘Excuse my asking, but are you by any chance related to the Abigail Fenton, the Egyptian scholar and archaeologist?’
Before Abigail could reply, Daniel cut in with a proud, ‘In fact, she is that self-same Abigail Fenton.’ He turned to Abigail, smiling, and said, ‘I told you your name would be known here.’
‘Indeed,’ said Mrs Swift. ‘Sir Jasper was recently in conversation with Hector Makepeace, who was singing your praises.’
‘Exaggerated, I’m sure.’ Abigail smiled modestly. To Daniel, she added, ‘I assisted Hector Makepeace two years ago in a dig at Khufre’s Pyramid at Giza.’
‘Is Sir Jasper available to see us?’ asked Daniel.
‘I’m sure he is,’ said Mrs Swift. ‘I’ll just go and tell him you’re here.’
She scurried out of the office to the door opposite.
‘Hector Makepeace?’ enquired Daniel.
‘A wonderful man,’ said Abigail. ‘In his seventies, but with the energy and enthusiasm of a ten-year-old. I learnt an awful lot from working with him.’
Mrs Swift reappeared.
‘Sir Jasper will see you now,’ she said.
Daniel thanked her, and he and Abigail crossed to the other door. A polite tap, then they opened the door and stepped into the very cluttered office of Sir Jasper Stone, Executive Curator-in-Charge at the museum.
Every available space seemed to be taken up with papers or books; every shelf, the surfaces of the two desks and most of the chairs were similarly groaning under the weight of paper, frequently with a carved ornament on top to stop them being disturbed by a draught and blown around when the door was opened. Two chairs, however, had been left cleared, ready for Daniel and Abigail.
Sir Jasper himself was a portly, benign figure who seemed to have modelled himself on the Prince of Wales, both in his style of dress and the shape of his beard and moustache. He stood up to greet them as they came in, shaking Daniel warmly by the hand.
‘Mr Wilson, it’s good to see you again, and thank you for coming at this difficult time.’
‘My pleasure, Sir Jasper. Allow me to introduce my colleague, Miss Abigail Fenton.’
Sir Jasper shook Abigail’s hand warmly as he said, ‘Miss Fenton, it is a pleasure to meet you. I know of your work, of course, at the Fitzwilliam, and in Giza and other sites in Egypt. And I read that recently you’ve been involved in archaeological research along Hadrian’s Wall.’
‘Indeed,’ said Abigail. ‘I’m flattered that you’re aware of me.’
‘The world of museum curation is a small one, especially when it comes to archaeology,’ said Sir Jasper. ‘Word about good people spreads.’ He smiled. ‘And about bad people.’ He gestured towards two chairs opposite his desk. ‘Please, do sit.’
They sat, and Sir Jasper’s face grew serious as he said, ‘I take it you know why I’ve asked for your assistance.’
‘A man was stabbed to death here a few days ago,’ said Daniel.
‘Professor Lance Pickering.’ Sir Jasper nodded. ‘His work on Ambrosius Aurelianus features heavily in “The Age of King Arthur” exhibition we are currently staging. It’s been hugely popular. On some days the queue to get in to see it has stretched right out onto Russell Street.
‘On the day of the murder, Professor Pickering had not long arrived. He was here to help promote the exhibition by giving a talk on Ambrosius and his connection with Arthur. Not that the exhibition needed any promotion, but the arrangement to have Professor Pickering here had been made before we saw how successful the exhibition was.’
‘I assume he was also here to promote his book on Ambrosius,’ put in Abigail. ‘I saw it on display at the entrance.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Sir Jasper. ‘Again, that was an agreement made before the exhibition opened so successfully, but we agreed to honour our agreement with the professor, so his book has been on display both at the exhibition and in the museum shop.
‘On the day in question, Professor Pickering handed in his hat and coat at the cloakroom, and then went to the gentlemen’s convenience to freshen up before his talk. The staff on duty became worried when he didn’t appear and the audience for him were waiting, so one of them went to investigate. The door of one of cubicles in the convenience was closed. In fact, it had to be broken down because it had been bolted from the inside. The body of Professor Pickering was discovered within. He’d been stabbed a number of times.’
‘The rest of the convenience was empty?’
‘Yes,’ said Sir Jasper. ‘That was the other puzzling thing; a notice saying “Out of Order” had been put on the door. But the person who escorted Professor Pickering to the convenience swears the sign was not on the door then.’
‘So the killer put the sign there to stop anyone coming in and perhaps preventing the murder,’ said Daniel. ‘This suggests the killing was planned and not a random act.’
‘That was Inspector Feather’s opinion as well,’ said Sir Jasper.
‘Inspector John Feather?’ asked Daniel.
Sir Jasper nodded.
‘A very good man,’ said Daniel. ‘If he’s on the case I’m not sure you need me.’
Sir Jasper hesitated, then said awkwardly, ‘Unfortunately, Inspector Feather is not in charge of the police investigation. His superior officer, Superintendent Armstrong, has taken charge, and he has different views on the case to Inspector Feather.’
‘Yes, he would have,’ said Daniel grimly. ‘I’m guessing it’s not just the murder you wish us to investigate, Sir Jasper?’
Sir Jasper gave a wry smile. ‘Very perceptive of you, Mr Wilson, as always. No, the murder is one thing. My main concern is the reputation of the museum. If the reason for Professor Pickering’s murder might in any way adversely affect the museum …’
‘I understand,’ said Daniel. ‘Leave it with us, Sir Jasper, and we’ll see what we can find.’
Sir Jasper passed over two cards to them. ‘These cards, signed by me, will give you full access to anywhere in the museum. I’ve taken the liberty of doing them because, unfortunately, some of our staff can take their responsibilities a little too literally when it comes to some areas of the museum, and I don’t want your investigation to be obstructed in any way.’
‘Thank you, Sir Jasper,’ said Daniel, taking the two cards and handing one to Abigail. ‘Can I also ask if it’s possible for us to have one of your lesser-used rooms as a base for our investigation? I’m thinking if information comes to us from outside, or if we wish to talk to people privately. I know that space is at a premium, so something small like a storeroom, or a broom closet, would be sufficient. So long as we could get a desk and a couple of chairs into it.’
‘Of course.’ Sir Jasper nodded. ‘I’ll talk to David Ashford, the museum’s general manager. He’ll arrange it for you. Give me an hour.’
‘Thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘In the meantime, we’ll start our investigation. The sooner we begin, hopefully the sooner we’ll find out who was behind the killing.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘So where do you plan to start?’ asked Abigail.
‘I thought I’d check the toilet where Pickering was killed. While I’m doing that, could you check the exhibition?’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘I don’t know. Someone killed Lance Pickering. His book features in the exhibition. I’m hoping some kind of connection might show itself.’
While Abigail headed for the exhibition, Daniel went downstairs to the basement area, illuminated by gas mantles, where the conveniences were. The gentlemen’s convenience was separated from that for the ladies by a door marked ‘Private. Staff only’. He pushed open the door of the gents’. An attendant in an usher’s uniform was sitting on a chair just inside the door, and he rose to his feet as Daniel entered with a ‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Good morning,’ returned Daniel. He produced the card from Sir Jasper and handed it to the man.
The man nodded. ‘Ah yes, we had word that you would be coming, sir. How can I be of service?’
‘I believe there was no one in attendance here on the day the tragic event happened,’ said Daniel.
‘No, sir,’ confirmed the man. ‘It was only as a result of that, that it was decided to keep an attendant on duty here, to reassure patrons of their safety. There is also now a female attendant in the ladies’ convenience.’
‘And the door in between the two, the one marked “Private. Staff only”?’
‘That is a storeroom, sir, for brooms and cleaning apparatus.’
Daniel stood and took in the room. White tiles on the floor and halfway up the walls to the level of the four handbasins. A hand towel on a brass rail by each handbasin. Three urinals, and three cubicles, the doors of which were closed.
‘Are the cubicles in use at the moment?’ asked Daniel.
‘No, sir.’
‘Then would you show me in which cubicle the body was found?’
The man nodded and led Daniel to the end cubicle, where he pushed open the door to show the water closet with its wooden seat and the cistern above it. Daniel reflected how rare this sight was even in a city like London. Most houses still had earth privies outside.
‘Was the body clothed when found, or in a state of undress?’ asked Daniel.
‘Fully clothed, sir.’
‘And on the seat, or on the floor?’
‘On the floor. The door was locked, but when the attendant saw blood trickling out from beneath the door he went to the storeroom and got a hammer in order to break the door down.’
‘Was that really necessary?’ asked Daniel. He gestured at the space above the door. ‘There is plenty of room above the door for someone to have climbed over from the next cubicle and unbolted the door from the inside.’
‘The attendant who discovered the body was a former soldier, sir. He has a disability which would have made climbing over the top difficult.’
‘What sort of disability?’ asked Daniel.
‘He only has one arm.’
Daniel nodded. ‘I understand. In the circumstances, he did the right thing.’ In truth, Daniel didn’t feel this at all. The attendant should have got someone more agile to climb over the partition and unbolt the door, rather than destroying possible evidence by smashing the door open. But politics dictated it was better to let word spread among the staff at the museum that this Daniel Wilson, the private enquiry agent, was supportive of them. That he was on their side. People talked more freely if they felt at ease and safe with an investigator.
‘Who was the attendant who discovered the body?’ asked Daniel.
‘Howard Wills,’ said the attendant.
‘Is he available?’
‘I’m afraid he’s off today. But he’ll be in tomorrow.’
‘What about the usher who escorted Professor Pickering down here? Where will I find him?’
‘That was Gerald Dunton. He’s on his break at the moment.’
‘I see. Very well, I’ll make a point of seeking them out. If you see either of them before I do, will you tell them I’d like to talk to them. Sir Jasper is arranging accommodation for me, an office, and I’ll leave a note at main reception where that will be.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘And your name?’
‘Rob Stevens, sir.’
‘Thank you, Mr Stevens, you’ve been very helpful.’
Abigail was impressed by the way the exhibition had been put together and presented, with the more popular versions of the Arthurian legend – paintings by the Pre-Raphaelites, along with those by James Archer, depicting the death of Arthur, the Lady of the Lake, Lancelot and Guinevere, along with illustrated pages from Tennyson’s Idylls of the King – and then introducing (in glass cases to protect them) pages from the manuscripts of the early sixth-century historian Gildas, Bede from the seventh century and a page from the Nennius’s Historia Brittonum, compiled in the ninth century. From this, the key phrase was translated, displayed for all to see: ‘The twelfth battle was on Mount Badon, in which there fell in one day 960 men from one charge by Arthur’ – the first mention of Arthur as a king by name in any historical document.
There then followed pages from the works of William of Malmesbury and Geoffrey of Monmouth, and finally from Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur, alongside illustrations specially produced for the exhibition. And finally a whole section devoted to Ambrosius Aurelianus, the fourth century Romano-British cavalry leader who led the British resistance against the Saxon invaders, and was said to be the model for the legendary King Arthur. And neatly, and conveniently, stacked on a table close to this section were copies of Ambrosius Aurelianus and King Arthur: The True Story by Professor Lance Pickering. Abigail was just slightly cynical, wondering how much sales had increased by as a result of Pickering’s brutal murder, when Daniel appeared beside her.
‘The mystery of the murder in the locked cubicle is solved,’ he told her. ‘There’s a large gap above each of the cubicle doors. The killer stabbed Pickering, put his body into a cubicle, bolted the door from the inside then climbed out of the cubicle over the top of the door.’
‘So, no mystery,’ she said.
‘Except for who did it.’
‘Mr Wilson!’
The cheery call made them both turn. A small man in his forties was approaching them, a beaming smile on his face.
‘I heard they were calling you in! Like old times, eh!’ Abigail noticed that Daniel didn’t respond, didn’t offer to shake the man’s hand, just regarded the man calmly.
‘Ned Carson, in case you’ve forgotten me.’ The man beamed. ‘The People’s Voice. I was around during the Ripper investigation.’
‘And, as I recall, you accused myself and Inspector Abberline of engaging in a cover-up to protect people you referred to as “the guilty parties”.’
‘Well, there was evidence, Mr Wilson!’ said Carson, still smiling.
‘There was no evidence of any cover-up,’ retorted Daniel flatly.
‘Well, that could be debatable,’ said Carson, unfazed by Daniel’s hostility. ‘Still, all water under the bridge. This is a different day.’ He doffed his hat towards Abigail. ‘Sorry, miss, I guess I’m interrupting. Ned Carson at your service. Are you working with Mr Wilson?’
‘This lady is an employee of the museum,’ said Daniel quickly.
‘Oh? In what capacity?’
‘I am a historian,’ said Abigail.
‘Ah, then you’re in the right place,’ said Carson, and he gave a chuckle. Then he turned back to Daniel. ‘So, are the rumours true? You’ve been brought in to look into the grisly murder here? Does that suggest the museum isn’t satisfied with Scotland Yard?’
‘I have no information on that. My own personal view is that Scotland Yard is – and always has been – the right organisation to investigate crime. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ And Daniel moved off.
‘So you don’t think Superintendent Armstrong’s a useless idiot!’ Carson called after him, before giving another chuckle and heading for the museum exit.
Abigail hurried after Daniel and found him in the Etruscan Room. He looked annoyed.
‘I’m an employee of the museum?’ she queried.
‘Technically, you are,’ said Daniel. ‘As am I.’
‘But you didn’t tell him that. Nor did you introduce me by name.’
‘From my experience, the less you tell Mr Ned Carson the better.’
‘I assume he’s a newspaper reporter.’
Daniel gave a derisory laugh. ‘I think that’s stretching the description,’ he said sourly. ‘He writes for a gossip rag called the People’s Voice. It prefers innuendo and rumour to hard facts. And smearing people.’
‘You and Inspector Abberline, I gather, from your conversation with him.’
Daniel scowled. ‘During the Ripper investigation there were all sorts of rumours circulating about who the killer was. They included members of the royal family. Abberline and I investigated those claims, but found nothing to back them up. Carson, in the pages of the People’s Voice, suggested that we’d been bought off. The People’s Voice has its own agenda, which is to attack and undermine the Establishment, in particular the government of the day, the royal family, the police and the armed forces. “The Arms of Brutal Repression”, Carson calls them.’
‘Why? He must have a reason. Or a political stance?’
‘If he has, I don’t know what it is,’ said Daniel. ‘I suspect it’s some form of anarchy, the destruction of social order. But I’m not sure what he wants in its place.’
‘His parting shot was to call Superintendent Armstrong an idiot,’ said Abigail.
‘Yes, well, there he’s right,’ admitted Daniel. ‘But he’s certainly not going to get me to endorse that opinion. Publicly, I will always support the Yard, however much privately I think that some of the top officials don’t deserve to be in charge of a whelk stall, let alone the Metropolitan police force. But there are many good officers in the organisation I have a lot of time for.’
‘Like this Inspector Feather you mentioned.’
‘Exactly. John Feather is a superb policeman, and if the top brass had half a brain between them he’d have been promoted to superintendent long ago.’
‘So why hasn’t he been? What’s stopped him?’
‘I think the blockage lies with Armstrong. He needs the intelligence and detective skills of John Feather to get results, so he keeps him where he can use him, which is at inspector level. If John got promoted to chief inspector, which he deserves, he might be moved to a different department. So, Armstrong does his best to make sure he gets any credit, and John Feather is no threat to his position.’
‘It sounds like the nastiest of politics,’ said Abigail.
‘It is,’ said Daniel. ‘And unfortunately, we could well get caught up in it. Which is why I’m off to Scotland Yard. Will you be alright here for a while?’
‘Certainly. The way the exhibition’s been done is most interesting. Sir Jasper should be very pleased. I assume you feel my presence will hamper you.’
‘Not necessarily. I’m going to call on Inspector Feather at Scotland Yard and renew our old acquaintanceship. But there’s a chance I might run into Superintendent Armstrong, and that could prove … difficult.’
‘I assume he doesn’t like you.’
‘The feeling, as you may have guessed, is mutual. The thing is, he might have me thrown out of the building, and I don’t want that humiliation to happen to you as well.’
‘You must have done something very big to upset the superintendent.’
‘Let’s just say we never got on.’
‘Very well, off you go.’
‘Will you still be here when I’ve finished at the Yard?’
‘Indeed, I will. There’s a lot to take in.’
‘Anything leap out at you?’
‘Yes,’ said Abigail. ‘The exhibition has been very well done.’
CHAPTER THREE
Daniel stood across the road from Scotland Yard, surveying the imposing red and white bricked building and reflecting on the years he’d called it his working home. Then, he’d been an insider, a crucial part of Fred Abberline’s elite squad of detectives. Now he was most definitely an outsider, and although he still had good friends amongst many of his former colleagues, there were certain people who had no desire to see him in the building again. And, unfortunately, some of them were quite powerful. Like his nemesis, Superintendent Armstrong. As he approached the building he wondered if Armstrong would be there, and what his reaction would be if they met. What’s the worst he can do, thought Daniel, order me to leave the building? Yes, it would be an inconvenience, but not the end of the world. Still, he decided not to send a message up to John Feather telling him he was in the building and would like to see him, just in case it got intercepted. Instead, Daniel headed for the rear entrance and took the rather dingy concrete staircase up to the second floor, rather than the grand marble one of which the architect had been so proud.
Daniel walked along the familiar corridor, passing offices that housed old colleagues, before he came to John Feather’s.
Here’s hoping he’s not got Armstrong with him, he thought.
He rapped at the door, and at the call ‘Come in!’, he opened it and stepped in.
Inspector Feather’s face broke into a broad grin of welcome as he saw who it was. ‘Daniel! Good to see you!’
The two men shook hands and Feather said, ‘You didn’t send a note up to say you were in the building. I’d have sent a messenger to bring you up.’
‘I was reluctant to let too many people know I was here,’ Daniel admitted. ‘Certain people wouldn’t be happy about it and might have had me thrown out.’
‘Superintendent Armstrong.’ Feather grinned.
‘So, I took a chance you’d still be in the same office.’
‘Indeed, I am,’ said Feather.
Like Daniel, Feather was in his mid-thirties, but shorter. He’d also always looked younger than his years, and in his early days as part of Abberline’s squad the others had taken to affectionately referring to him as The Kid. This had led Feather to grow and develop a rather luxuriant moustache, eclipsing most of his face, and he still proudly sported this same moustache, which, to Daniel’s eyes, seemed to have grown even larger.
Feather gestured for Daniel to sit in a chair, then asked, ‘So, is your visit for a favour, or are you planning to return to the fold?’
‘Neither,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ve come to let you know that the British Museum has hired me to look into the murder there.’
‘Good,’ said Feather emphatically.
‘You don’t mind?’
‘On the contrary, this case could do with your particular eye on it.’ He grimaced. ‘But I doubt if Superintendent Armstrong will see it the same way.’
‘Sir Jasper Stone at the museum said Armstrong was taking charge of the case,’ said Daniel. ‘Why?’
‘It’s a high-profile case and he’s looking for the top job when the commissioner retires,’ said Feather.
‘Armstrong as commissioner?’ repeated Daniel, aghast.
‘I know. Unthinkable, isn’t it. But he’s an example that you don’t have to be a good copper to rise through the ranks; being a clever politician counts for more. You see the amount of coverage he gets in the papers? And he spends a lot of time at Parliament, mixing with the right people.’
‘So a result here pushes him further up the ladder. But isn’t he taking a chance with a high-profile case like this? If it isn’t solved, it’ll be a big mark against him.’
Feather shook his head. ‘If it isn’t solved, it won’t be his fault, you can be sure of that. It’ll be someone further down the chain.’
‘Someone like you?’
Feather gave a rueful grin. ‘Someone very much like me. Which is why he kept making sure my name was mentioned when he was talking to the press about the case. If we don’t get our killer, it’s down to yours truly. If we do, hail the hero, Superintendent Armstrong. So, what do you make of it so far, Daniel?’
‘The killer got out of the cubicle over the top.’
‘Yes, I worked that one out.’ Feather grinned. ‘So, someone who’s agile. Not too big or fat.’
‘And someone with a very cool nerve,’ said Daniel. ‘It was well planned. The “Out of Order” notice on the door. Have you spoken to the usher who showed Pickering to the gents’ convenience?’
Feather nodded. ‘He says he just escorted the professor downstairs and showed him into the convenience. He said he didn’t notice anyone in there when they went in. The usher left and went back upstairs, and left the professor to it.’
‘So, the chances are the killer waited for the usher to go back upstairs, and then went in to kill Pickering.’
‘The usher said he didn’t notice anyone following them, or hanging around downstairs. But that doesn’t mean someone wasn’t.’
‘There’s a ladies’ just along from the gents’, with a cleaning store in between the two,’ said Daniel. ‘Someone could have been hiding in one of them.’
‘But why would they?’ asked Feather. ‘That assumes they knew that Pickering would be going to the gents’ as his first port of call.’
‘Yes.’ Daniel nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s more likely the killer followed them down.’
‘But the usher said he didn’t notice anyone.’
‘It’s one to think about,’ said Daniel.
‘Along with the fact that Pickering was stabbed not once but seven times, and there was no suggestion of robbery.’
‘Seven times?’ echoed Daniel.
‘So, someone, despite having a cool head when planning the murder, was very angry indeed,’ said Feather.
Daniel mused, ‘Anger. Hate. Love. Jealousy. Seven stab wounds means a lot of passion was involved.’
‘Unless it was the work of a lunatic, which is Superintendent Armstrong’s favourite theory.’
‘Always a possibility,’ admitted Daniel. He hesitated, then said, trying to be casual, ‘By the way, John, the other reason I came was to let you know I’m working with a partner on this case.’
‘Oh? I thought you preferred to work on your own. The Lone Wolf.’
‘Yes, well, this is someone who’s got knowledge that I haven’t. She’s an archaeologist and historian. Got a degree in history from Cambridge. Been on archaeological digs all over the world. Egypt. Palestine.’ He noticed Feather surveying him with an amused smile on his face.
‘A woman?’ asked Feather.
‘Well, obviously,’ said Daniel. ‘That’s why I said “she”. I worked with her at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge. Circumstances brought us together because she was working there – and her insights into the history side of the case were invaluable. Same as here. The murder seems to be connected to this exhibition that’s on: “The Age of King Arthur”.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Feather. ‘Perhaps not. We’re looking into Pickering in case there might be some other reason anyone would want him dead.’
‘And?’ asked Daniel.
Feather looked as if he was about to say something, then stopped and gave a small smile. ‘I’d prefer you to form your own opinion,’ he said. He wrote something on a piece of paper and passed it to Daniel. ‘This is the address of the late Professor Pickering, in case you want to call and talk to his widow.’
‘You think there might be something there?’
‘Let’s see what you think,’ said Feather. ‘I don’t want to prejudice anything. But I’m guessing you’d be talking to her anyway.’ He looked at Daniel with a quizzical smile. ‘So, there’s nothing between you and this female archaeologist …’
‘Abigail Fenton,’ said Daniel. ‘Miss. And why should there be?’
‘Daniel, you taught me everything there was to know about people, and how to read them. Little things like how people react when asked a question they don’t really want to answer: shuffling their feet, twisting an ear, pursing their lips, putting on a bit of a front …’
‘If you’re thinking I’m doing any of those things …’
‘I know you. I worked with you for years, and I can tell there’s something about this woman that’s special.’
Daniel hesitated, then he nodded. ‘Yes, there is,’ he admitted. ‘But as far as this case is concerned, it’s a professional relationship. When you meet her you’ll see how sharp she is. She’s intelligent, strong, resourceful …’
‘And good-looking?’
‘Yes, well, there’s that, too,’ said Daniel.
‘Are you and she going to get married?’
‘That’s another issue,’ said Daniel awkwardly. ‘I just wanted you to know about her in case you come across her at the museum. We’ve arranged to have an office at our disposal during the investigation, so you can always get in touch with us there.’ He put the piece of paper with the address in his pocket. ‘And thanks for the tip about Mrs Pickering.’
‘I didn’t give you any tip,’ said Feather.
‘You say that after you’ve given me a talk about interpreting people’s body movements,’ chuckled Daniel.
He left Feather’s office and headed towards the stairs that would take him back down to main reception. As he walked along the corridor, a door opened and Superintendent Armstrong stepped out. He stopped and scowled when he saw Daniel.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.
The superintendent was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a protruding belly that showed a love of good food and wine. It was said that in his younger days he’d played rugby at a high level, and Daniel could well believe it. Even in his forties he had the imposing bulk that looked like it could still hold its own in a scrum.
‘I came out of courtesy to report my involvement in the murder at the British Museum,’ said Daniel.
‘What involvement?’
‘Sir Jasper Stone has asked me to do a separate investigation.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Professor Pickering was killed on their premises and they are concerned about their reputation.’
‘I’m already protecting their reputation!’ thundered Armstrong.
‘Nevertheless, Sir Jasper has invited me and my partner to work on the case independently.’
‘What partner?’ growled Armstrong suspiciously.
‘A historian and archaeologist called Abigail Fenton. She has a degree in history from Girton College in Cambridge, and is highly respected for her archaeological surveys in Britain and across the world.’
‘How on earth did she link up with you?’ demanded Armstrong.
‘We completed a case together successfully at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, where she was curating an exhibition of Egyptian artefacts. She has a great knowledge and understanding of history, and as this case seems to involve history …’
‘It doesn’t!’ snapped Armstrong. ‘It’s some lunatic; that’s obvious.’
‘Surely, it’s too early to draw that conclusion—’ began Daniel, but he was cut off by the superintendent.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ Armstrong snapped, waving a fleshy finger at him. ‘You’re not in Cambridge now. This is my manor. My case.’ His eyes narrowed and he demanded, ‘Who have you seen here?’
‘I’ve just been to see Inspector Feather to advise him of my involvement. I was on my way to see you to inform you of the same,’ said Daniel.
‘There’s no need,’ growled Armstrong. ‘You’re not needed. We’re doing this case. You have no part of it. And I won’t have you strolling around here like you’re part of this building. You’re not. Don’t come here again or I’ll have you thrown out.’
CHAPTER FOUR
After Daniel left, John Feather was joined in his office by his detective sergeant, Jeremiah Cribbens. Cribbens proceeded to fill up his pipe with the evil-smelling black shag he seemed to love and lit it, then puffed away at it in between recounting his latest accomplishment on the Pickering murder. Or lack of accomplishment, as soon became clear.
‘I had another word with the man who took the professor down to the convenience to see if anything had jogged his memory about that event, but sadly he said, no, that was all he could remember. He didn’t see anyone hanging around. Then I went to have another word with the man who found the professor’s body, but he wasn’t in work today.’
‘Oh? Why?’ asked Feather, his interest aroused. People who went missing so soon after a murder were always worth looking into.
‘It’s his day off,’ said Cribbens.
‘Pre-arranged?’ questioned Feather.
‘Yes, sir. I had a word with the museum’s Mr Ashford, who arranges the work schedules, and he told me today is Mr Wills’ regular day off.’
‘Good thinking.’ Feather nodded appreciatively.
‘Then I went in search of the person who cleans the conveniences to see if he knew any more about this “Out of Order” notice that someone stuck on the door …’
Feather was saved from being told, as he guessed, that this person was also either not in, or had nothing more to offer, because the door of his office crashed open and Superintendent Armstrong glared in at the two men.
Sergeant Cribbens leapt to his feet with alacrity and stood stiffly to attention, while Feather rose at a more leisurely pace.
‘Is there a problem, Superintendent?’ he asked.
‘There is, and his name is Wilson!’ growled Armstrong. ‘I understand he was here in this office not many minutes ago.’
‘That’s correct,’ said Feather. ‘He popped in to inform us as a matter of courtesy that he’d been engaged by the British Museum to look into the murder of Professor Pickering, and he wanted to assure us that he would be doing nothing to interfere with our investigations.’
‘Damn right he won’t!’ snorted Armstrong. ‘I’ve just seen Wilson and told him he’s banned from this building. Banned! Did you hear that, Inspector?’
‘I did, sir,’ said Feather calmly. ‘He’s banned.’
‘Exactly! Do you know why, Inspector?’
Yes, I can certainly guess, thought Feather wryly. Aloud, he said, ‘Because you don’t like him, sir.’
‘I don’t like what he stands for.’ Noticing Cribbens still standing stiffly to attention, he said curtly, ‘At ease, Sergeant. You may sit.’
Gratefully, Cribbens sat down and picked up his pipe.
‘Wilson is a maverick,’ continued Armstrong. ‘I disapprove of policemen who learn everything they can at the force’s expense, and then go off their own private way, coining money hand over fist at our expense!’
‘I don’t think that Daniel – Mr Wilson – does that, sir. He only takes on an investigation when a private client hires him.’
‘And what does that say about us?’ demanded Armstrong. ‘They don’t have faith in us!’
‘With respect, sir, I believe the British Museum has a great deal of faith in us. But Mr Wilson has a special relationship with Sir Jasper Stone after he solved that theft of that Saxon jewel.’
‘Which we could have solved if we’d had more time!’ shouted Armstrong angrily. ‘Well, I’ve told him and now I’m telling you as you two seem to be such buddies, he’s not to come in here. I won’t have him using our expertise to prise fabulous sums of money out of gullible people. If you ask me, what he does is as good as criminal.’
‘He’s not the only one who’s gone private, sir,’ Feather pointed out. ‘Inspector Abberline joined the Pinkertons and has done very well with them, I understand.’
‘Better than he did here,’ said Armstrong with a sneer. ‘I’ve no time for Abberline either. Traitors to the force, the pair of them. Abberline and Wilson.’ He glowered at Feather. ‘I hope you’re not entertaining any ideas of going private, Inspector.’
‘No, sir. Absolutely not. I am very satisfied with my career here at Scotland Yard, and as long as I give satisfaction, I hope that career will be a long one.’
‘It could well be, so long as you keep away from Wilson. He’s a contaminant.’ He strode back to the door, then turned. ‘Remember, Inspector. Wilson is barred from this building. And don’t you forget it.’
‘It is indelibly inscribed on my memory, sir,’ said Feather.
Armstrong gave Feather a quizzical look, searching for some sign of sarcasm in the inspector’s face. Then he gave a last scowl and left, slamming the door behind him.
‘Cor!’ exhaled Cribbens. ‘The super don’t like Daniel Wilson, does he, sir!’
‘Well spotted.’ Feather grinned. ‘We’ll make a detective of you yet. Is there anything more to report?’
‘Er, no, sir,’ said Cribbens. ‘I was just wondering what our next move is?’
‘This business of the number of stab wounds bothers me,’ said Feather.
‘Someone didn’t like the professor, sir,’ said Cribbens.
‘Exactly, but who?’
‘When we saw Mrs Pickering she said her husband didn’t have an enemy in the world,’ said Cribbens.
‘I’ve noticed that’s usually the reaction of the nearest and dearest when something like this happens,’ said Feather drily. ‘We need to talk to someone else who knew the professor.’
‘Who?’
‘His publisher might be able to help,’ said Feather. ‘So, your next move, Sergeant, is to find out who published this book of his, and get their address.’
‘Consider it done, sir,’ said Cribbens.
After Cribbens had departed on his errand, Feather reflected on Armstrong’s anger at former Scotland Yard detectives who became private investigators. Feather had meant what he’d said to the superintendent; he had no intention of going down that path himself. Not with a family of four children to support, as well as his wife’s widowed mother, who also lived with them. And the truth was, there were other superintendents he might be working under who were far worse than Armstrong. Armstrong was many things Feather disliked: vain, bigoted, arrogant and not a quarter as intelligent as he believed himself to be. But he wasn’t crooked or corrupt. And as long as it stayed that way, and as long as John Feather needed the regular salary he got from Scotland Yard, he was fine with the way things were.
It was different for Daniel. He was single. He didn’t have to worry about making sure there was enough money coming in regularly to feed a large family. He could afford to take the chance on whether or not he’d earn anything that month.
Then Feather smiled. But that might change. Daniel had fallen for someone. A female archaeologist with a degree from Girton. Feather chuckled to himself as he recalled the embarrassed look on Daniel’s face when he’d told him about her.
I’m looking forward to meeting her, he thought. She must be someone special if she’s able to make Daniel Wilson stammer and blush.
CHAPTER FIVE
Abigail was still studying the exhibition when Daniel returned.
‘Good?’ he asked.
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘You really should spend time looking at it.’
‘I have done,’ he said.
‘A cursory glance only.’ She sniffed. ‘How did you get on at Scotland Yard? Did this Superintendent Armstrong throw you out?’
‘He did,’ said Daniel. ‘But fortunately not until after I’d met with John Feather, who’s given us a tip.’
‘Oh?’
‘Cherchez la femme. He suggests we talk to the professor’s widow.’
‘Why?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Surely it would be a matter of course to talk to his widow, find out if he had any enemies, that sort of thing.’
‘Absolutely, but there was something in the way he said it.’
‘He suspects her?’
‘Mr Wilson! Miss Fenton!’
They turned and saw a tall, thin man in his middle forties approaching them, immaculately dressed in a dark three-piece suit, shoes shined to a gleam.
‘I’m David Ashford. Sir Jasper asked me to find a space you can use as your base while you are here. I’ve arranged a room halfway up one of the spiral staircases just off the main reception. It’s quite bijou, but I hope it will suffice. There’s room in there for a small table and a couple of chairs, but unfortunately little else. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the way.’
‘I’m sure the room will be fine,’ said Daniel.
‘Thank you for accommodating us at such short notice,’ added Abigail, as Ashford led the way up the spiral staircase.
‘The thanks is ours,’ said Ashford. ‘I fear this tragic incident could adversely affect the visitor numbers to the exhibition on King Arthur. Sir Jasper has spent so long preparing it and it was intended to be the highlight of the season.’
‘It deserves to be,’ said Abigail. ‘I’ve taken the opportunity to spend time looking at it. The displays are superb, and the assembled information remarkably wide, taking in so many different aspects of the Arthur story.’
‘Thank you.’ Ashford smiled. ‘It’s always gratifying to receive praise from someone as knowledgeable as you, Miss Fenton. I know of your work, of course, in the area of ancient Egypt. Perhaps while you are here you’d care to take a look at our Egyptian rooms?’
