‘One of the builders?’ Mrs Rotherwell sat back in her chair. ‘No, I …’ she began, then stopped. ‘Oh, you mean Mr Laidlaw, don’t you?’
Jack nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I’d completely forgotten,’ she continued. ‘He joined us for morning coffee. Yes, I had a slight acquaintance with him but it was actually his wife I knew. She would often join Caroline and myself for excursions and outings when I was Caroline’s governess.’ Her face softened. ‘Dear Violet. I was terribly sorry to hear she’d passed away. I was in Ceylon when I received the news, but I understand she was never the same after the loss of her son, poor woman. He was a casualty of the flu epidemic after the war. She was completely bound up with little Archie. We used to exchange correspondence regularly. Her letters were full of his doings, but after he died, she lost all her zest for life, and she only wrote very occasionally after that.’
Poor woman, thought Jack. Virtually everyone in Britain knew someone who’d been affected by the Spanish flu. There were far more deaths from the flu than from the war, and that was saying something.
Mrs Rotherwell looked at him enquiringly. ‘May I ask how you know this, Mr Haldean? You seem to be very well-informed. Indeed, I may say that you seem to know at least as much about the events of the morning as I do. Not that, as I recall, there were many events that morning. Nothing occurred to make me believe anything out of the way was going to happen. Caroline was in good spirits although worried, as I say, about the forthcoming move to New Zealand. I left her after lunch. I do recall I gave a statement to the police at the time but I’m afraid it was of very little practical use.’
‘I know you were public-spirited enough to make a statement,’ Jack agreed with a smile, cranking up the charm again and adding a good dollop of flattery. ‘Thanks to a good friend of mine, Chief Inspector Rackham, I was able to read it yesterday.’
‘You did?’ she said, startled. ‘Is this an official enquiry?’ she demanded. ‘Are the police involved?’
Jack shook his head reassuringly. ‘No. All I’m trying to do is find out the facts for Miss Langton.’
She drew her brows together in a puzzled frown. ‘I wish I could remember what I said in my statement,’ she said fretfully. ‘You do understand how much more accurate I could be then, with the events fresh in my memory.’ She looked up. ‘I am afraid of leading you astray. I’ve either forgotten times and so on, such as the details of what was said or, what is perhaps more misleading, confused what happened that morning with other occasions.’
‘If you’d like to refresh your memory, I made notes of the main points of your statement,’ said Jack, taking out his notebook. He found the right page and handed it over.
She took it gratefully and read his notes. ‘Yes, it’s coming back to me now,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’d called on Caroline to say goodbye before I sailed for Ceylon. I remember she was concerned about the forthcoming move to New Zealand. I, of course, was busy with my own arrangements for my journey to Ceylon and we spent much of the morning discussing our ideas about what our new lives would bring. Not that Caroline would actually have a new life,’ she added.
For a couple of minutes there was silence. Mrs Rotherwell shuddered, then finished her hake. ‘Mr Haldean,’ she said in a softer voice than she had previously used, ‘I am obliged to you for informing me why you have made this enquiry. Naturally, once Jennifer Trevelyan – or Langton, perhaps, I should call her – asked you to take an interest, your researches led you to uncover some very unpalatable facts. However, although I congratulate you on the industry you have shown in uncovering the truth, I can only wish you had not been so assiduous in your enquiries. I understand that to find out the true facts of who she is and how her mother, poor Caroline, disappeared, must have come as an awful shock to the girl.’ She looked at him acutely. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, of course you are, Mrs Rotherwell.’
‘Am I also right in saying that young Jennifer harbours hopes that her father might not, in fact, be guilty of the crime he was arrested for? It would only be natural if that was the case.’
Jack looked at her ruefully. ‘I think that’s what she is hoping for, yes. But quite frankly, how on earth anyone can tackle trying to prove the guilt or innocence of a man who’s managed to successfully vanish for the last twenty years is beyond me.’
He stopped as the waiter cleared away their plates onto his trolley. ‘Was everything satisfactory, m’sieur?’
‘Excellent, thank you,’ said Jack. The waiter removed the silver covers from two dishes and served the duck and green peas.
‘So you are not confident of success, Mr Haldean?’ asked Mrs Rotherwell, prodding her knife cautiously into her duck. ‘Hmm. It appears to be well cooked. I do not trust foreigners to prepare poultry properly.’ She looked up. ‘I understand, however, that you have had some success in the past in unravelling some knotty problems.’ She favoured him with the frosty smile once more. ‘After I received your letter, I made a point of enquiring into your antecedents.’
‘That’s very understandable, Mrs Rotherwell.’ He thought of adding the hope that his antecedents bore up to scrutiny, and decided against it. Light-hearted remarks would go down with Mrs Rotherwell like a brick zeppelin. ‘No, I can’t say I am confident of uncovering what actually happened that day. The facts were far from clear at the time and they certainly haven’t become any clearer in the intervening period.’
‘Do you believe Michael Trevelyan is innocent?’ asked Mrs Rotherwell sharply.
Jack looked at her wryly. ‘He could be, I suppose.’
‘He wasn’t.’
He was surprised at her vehemence. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Rotherwell, but how do you know?’
‘I knew him, Mr Haldean. I also know that, despite appearances, his wife was afraid of him.’
Jack sat up. It was obvious she didn’t like Michael Trevelyan but this went beyond what she’d said earlier.
‘Caroline was loyal,’ continued Mrs Rotherwell, ‘but an old friend such as myself can read between the lines. You know I said she was unhappy about the forthcoming move to New Zealand? Well, one of the reasons she was worried was because she would be parted from her family. Her parents were dead but she was very close to her cousin Violet and Violet’s parents, her Aunt Marie and Uncle Arthur. In New Zealand she would be thrown entirely upon her husband’s society. As I said, he could be a charming man, but he hated to be crossed.’ She hesitated. ‘She never said as much openly, but I truly believe Caroline was afraid of him.’
Jack nodded, not letting his expression betray any scepticism. Mrs Rotherwell wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. She hadn’t liked Trevelyan but, by the same token, he could have disliked her. She’d probably resent that. That feeling could easily slip into outright bias.
Mrs Rotherwell toyed with her napkin. For such an assertive person, she seemed suddenly hesitant. ‘There’s something else, as well, Mr Haldean. This is the real reason why I was wary of responding to your advertisement.’
Jack looked at her alertly. Mrs Rotherwell clearly had something important on her mind.
‘Where,’ she began, picking her words carefully, ‘do you think Michael Trevelyan is now?’
He hadn’t expected that. The answer was that Trevelyan had vanished, just as completely as his wife, twenty years ago. Jack mentally kicked himself. Why hadn’t he asked himself that question? Where had the man gone to, after escaping arrest? New Zealand? Maybe, but he could’ve disappeared to anywhere in the world. He didn’t need a passport to travel anywhere within the Empire. As a matter of fact, he didn’t need a passport to travel anywhere on earth before the war. All he needed was money and not much of that, to get a cheap passage to anywhere from Australia to Zanzibar and all points in between. A new country, a new name, and who was to say that the new man was wanted by the police? Innocent or guilty, he had certainly escaped.
Jack glanced at her expression and froze. She knew someth
ing. ‘Do you know where he is, Mrs Rotherwell?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’
Jack stared at her. ‘You do?’
She nodded vigorously, so vigorously that the cherries on her hat bounced up and down. Jack waited for her to continue. ‘He’s in London.’
‘Are you sure?’
She closed her eyes briefly, as if seeking strength to go further. ‘Absolutely sure, Mr Haldean. I’ve seen him.’
Jack sat back. This was really unexpected. ‘Where?’
‘In St James’ Park.’ Her hands fluttered and then were still. ‘I know what you must be thinking. You think I am mistaken.’
‘Oh no,’ Jack protested, wryly acknowledging to himself that was the first thought that had occurred to him.
‘I am not,’ said Mrs Rotherwell, speaking very earnestly. ‘I was in the park beside the lake, enjoying the morning sunshine. The trees in their autumn colours, ducks on the water and nursemaids with their perambulators, all so very different from Ceylon. I was sitting on a bench near the pedestrian bridge that leads to Westminster. You know the one?’
Jack nodded.
‘A man came over the bridge. I probably wouldn’t have noticed him particularly, but he looked up and stared at me. He was shocked, Mr Haldean. I know he recognised me. I could tell. He walked on quickly, without attempting to speak and for a little while I couldn’t think who he was. And then it came to me and I was …’ Her hands twisted in the napkin. ‘I was afraid,’ she finished reluctantly.
‘Afraid?’
She swallowed. ‘With good reason, Mr Haldean. I watched him go, still puzzled, then lost sight of him but I am convinced—’ she leant forward to add weight to her words – ‘that he followed me back to the hotel.’
‘Why, Mrs Rotherwell?’
‘Because I have seen him again.’ Her voice dropped to a nervous whisper. ‘At least, I’m sure it was him. I was with a friend at the time and it was nothing but a fleeting glimpse but the day before last I am sure he was in the lobby of the hotel. He was pretending to read a newspaper, but I’m sure – practically sure, in any event – it was Michael Trevelyan.’
Jack sat back in his chair. ‘Have you been to the police?’
‘The police?’ She looked at him warily, then took a deep breath and waited a few moments before speaking. ‘How can I?’
Her hands twisted in her napkin once more. ‘You have done me the courtesy of listening seriously to me, but would the police? After all, poor Caroline disappeared a long time ago.’ She looked at him critically. ‘You are a young man, Mr Haldean. You must have been only a child at the time of Caroline’s disappearance, so probably don’t realise the outcry that surrounded those events. As someone who knew Caroline, I was connected, albeit slightly, to the tragedy. Such events, Mr Haldean, have a hideous glamour for a certain kind of woman. I am not one of those women.’
‘Of course not,’ said Jack earnestly. He didn’t doubt that for a moment.
‘Thank you,’ she acknowledged briefly. ‘It is good of you to say so, but how would it strike a policeman? After all, virtually the last thing I did before leaving for Ceylon was to talk to the police about poor Caroline. Now I’m back in this country, I do not want one of my first actions to once more go to the police and talk about poor Caroline yet again. I have no desire,’ she added dryly, ‘to be dismissed as a hysterical woman with too much time on her hands and prone to fancies. After all, the man has not attempted to approach me but the thought he is keeping a watch is disturbing.’
To say the least, thought Jack. If it really was Michael Trevelyan she’d seen and he wasn’t a mere figment of her imagination, then she had every reason to be worried. He did take her point though, about not wanting to be seen as someone who wanted to milk what she called that ‘hideous glamour’ for all it was worth.
‘If you’re afraid of not being taken seriously, Mrs Rotherwell, I can set your mind at rest.’ He glanced at his watch. Bill should be in the office. ‘In fact, if you would like to come to Scotland Yard with me now, I can introduce you to a good friend of mine, Chief Inspector Rackham. He will certainly listen to you.’
She shrank back. ‘Now?’ She shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t possibly.’ The wariness came back in full force. ‘I thought this was a private investigation. I didn’t realise you were connected with the police.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I’m not, but Chief Inspector Rackham is an old friend of mine.’
‘An old friend?’ she repeated thoughtfully. ‘That might make a difference.’
‘For your own sake, if for no other reason, I really think you should see Chief Inspector Rackham,’ urged Jack. ‘After all, you’re clearly uncomfortable about the state of affairs and I’m not surprised. The police can protect you. You’d feel much safer and you can help them to lay hands on a man they’ve been looking for for the last twenty years.’
She moved reluctantly in her seat. ‘Let me consider the matter, Mr Haldean. I have no desire to be mixed up with the police.’ She held up a hand to stem his protest. ‘No, I will not be hurried.’
‘You made a statement to the police after Mrs Trevelyan’s disappearance,’ said Jack. ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’
‘I did not relish the experience, Mr Haldean,’ she said sharply. ‘However, that was a clear question of duty. For the sake of my old friend, I felt obliged to do so. However, this is different.’
She looked at him, obviously perplexed. ‘In my own mind, I am certain it was Michael Trevelyan I saw. However, I cannot prove it. In years gone by, I would have consulted my dear husband about the matter. He would’ve known what to do.’ Her face softened. ‘Dear Reginald was always such a sensible man.’
‘It would be sensible to go to the police,’ said Jack.
She wriggled indecisively. ‘Maybe.’ She paused. ‘Let me talk to my son,’ she said at last. ‘I have two sons. Ronnie is in Ceylon but Matthew and his wife live in Kensington.’
‘I really think you should act now,’ insisted Jack.
She hesitated once more. ‘This man, this Inspector Rackham – are you sure he will listen to me?’
‘I’m certain of it, Mrs Rotherwell.’
‘In that case …’ She took a deep breath. ‘I may regret this, but yes, I will speak to the Inspector.’
‘I can’t believe she’s seen him,’ said Bill Rackham blankly.
They were in Bill’s office, overlooking the Thames. Mrs Rotherwell, apprehensive but every inch the memsahib in control, had stiffly related what she had told Jack in the Criterion and then retreated, pride intact and with the assurance that steps would be taken.
Constable Horrocks, the steps in question, had been summoned, introduced to Mrs Rotherwell and despatched to the Royal Park Hotel with instructions to explain things to the hotel manager and then to keep an eye out in the lobby of the Royal Park.
‘You don’t mean that,’ said Jack, dropping into a chair and reaching for a cigarette. ‘That you don’t believe her, I mean. Otherwise you wouldn’t have sent Horrocks off to the hotel.’
‘I believe she believes it,’ said Bill. ‘But damn it, Jack, why on earth didn’t the damn silly woman tell us earlier? After all, she’s got a man who she’s convinced is a murderer tracking her down, and instead of coming to us, she leaves it for a little light conversation over lunch with you.’
‘It’s the usual tale, Bill,’ said Jack, lighting his cigarette. ‘She’s nervy of being mixed up with the police.’ Bill grunted in disgust. ‘Add to that, she’s afraid of being dismissed as hysterical.’
Bill pulled a face. ‘To be fair, that’s what I probably would have done, if you hadn’t been digging around into the business,’ he admitted with reluctance. ‘Dismiss her as a bit hysterical, I mean. I’d have taken it with a pretty large pinch of salt, that’s for sure. I’m still inclined to, to be honest. I wish she’d told us the name of this friend she was with when she caught what she describes as a fleeting glance. But no. She doesn�
��t want her friends mixed up with the police. You’d think we were some sort of infectious disease. If we did know who it was, we could have gone to her for verification.’
‘Verification of what?’ asked Jack. ‘That our Mrs R. had said she’d seen someone? That’s not evidence of anything.’
‘No, but it’d be nice to have another witness. Having said that, I don’t know if I would bother chasing round after old friends. I’m pretty doubtful it’s Michael Trevelyan she’s seen. After all, twenty years is a heck of a time ago.’
He glanced at his notes. ‘The description she gave – about six foot tall, well-dressed, slim build, middle-aged with grey hair – well, that could fit about a third of the men in the British Isles.’
‘To be fair, it’s very difficult to describe a person, Bill. I know you haven’t got a photo of Trevelyan on file, but his sister, Mrs Shilton, has a wedding photo. She showed it to us the other day.’
‘Which makes it more than twenty years out of date,’ said Bill grumpily. ‘However, it’ll be better than nothing, I suppose, if she’s willing to let us see it.’
He glanced up. ‘You’re not going to mention this to Jennifer Langton, are you?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No, I’m not. The last thing we need is her pitching up at the Royal Park, looking for dear old dad.’
Bill winced. ‘That really is the last thing we want. I don’t want Miss Langton getting involved.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t say a word.’ Jack shifted unhappily. ‘I feel sorry for Jenny Langton. I certainly don’t want to add to her worries. All she asked me to do was to find out the truth behind what she saw in the garden that day. That sounded innocuous enough, but now the poor kid has to take on board that she probably witnessed her mother being murdered, the family who she always believed were her own are no such thing and, to wrap it all up, her father’ll be arrested as soon as we lay hands on him. It’s not a happy ending, Bill.’
Forgotten Murder Page 14
