Forgotten Murder

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  Laidlaw walked to the sideboard and, almost absently, laid a hand on the photograph of his wife. ‘Thank you for that.’

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, then with a sigh, looked up and squared his shoulders, bracing himself. ‘What you have to understand, gentlemen, is that I’m very fond of Mrs Davenham. Very fond indeed. You’ve probably gathered that, but,’ he added, with an unconscious glance at the photograph of Violet Laidlaw, ‘I had hoped that, in the course of time, if circumstances permitted, Jane would do me the honour of becoming my wife.’

  Jack swapped a surprised glance with Bill. Laidlaw’s relationship with Jane Davenham was obviously much more than a mere passing affair.

  ‘I see, sir,’ said Bill gravely. ‘How long have you known Mrs Davenham?’

  Laidlaw took a deep breath and plunged in. ‘I’ve known Mrs Davenham for over a year now.’ He held up his hand, as if to forestall criticism. ‘I know how it sounds. I probably shouldn’t have let myself be drawn into a … a friendship with Mrs Davenham while my poor wife was still alive.’

  Neither Jack or Bill said anything. For one thing, it wasn’t their place to comment and, for another, it was the best way of getting Laidlaw to carry on talking.

  ‘I’d like you to understand,’ said Laidlaw with a hint of desperation. ‘I cared deeply for Violet. I always have done. We’d been married for years, and happily married at that. However, after little Archie died, Violet was never the same again.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that, sir,’ said Bill sincerely.

  Laidlaw relaxed, reassured by Bill’s sympathy. ‘I did what I could for her, but Violet seemed to retreat into a world of her own. Eventually she was diagnosed with a heart condition, but the real trouble was that she couldn’t seem to put her feelings for little Archie to one side and get on with life. She became virtually an invalid. I did my best,’ he added quietly.

  ‘I’m sure you did,’ said Bill awkwardly.

  Jack nodded. He’d been told that Laidlaw was reputed to be a devoted husband, but he could well understand how Andrew Laidlaw, a fit and vigorous man, would be tempted to stray from the straight and narrow, with a wife who had been an invalid for years.

  ‘I miss Violet terribly,’ continued Laidlaw. ‘You mustn’t doubt me.’ He waved a hand at the room. ‘This house was her grandfather’s, one of the first he built. She grew up here. I’ve stayed on because she loved the house so much. Sometimes I can virtually feel her presence. I know she would want me to be happy. Violet always wanted that.’

  Which was, of course, all very convenient, thought Jack, but really, there was no reason to doubt it. Andrew Laidlaw was a widower, after all, and free to marry whoever he liked, no matter when the relationship started. If he wanted to believe his late wife was cheering him on from beyond the veil, then why shouldn’t he? It didn’t do any harm and probably made him feel better. He did wonder, however, exactly how convenient Violet Laidlaw’s death had been. He made a mental note to find out who Mrs Laidlaw’s doctor had been.

  Bill cleared his throat. ‘I’m sure your wife would have wanted you to be happy, sir. It sounds a very difficult situation. However, if I could ask you about Mrs Davenham?’

  The facts, although they took some time in the telling, could be summed up readily enough.

  Jane Davenham was, Andrew supposed, in her forties. He didn’t know her exact age. He didn’t have a photograph of her but she was about five foot five inches tall, with fair hair, hazel eyes and no obvious, as Bill would have said, distinguishing features.

  ‘I only wish I did have a photograph,’ Laidlaw said helplessly. ‘It would help to find her and I do want to find her. I … I miss her. I could talk to Jane about anything. She was very well-read and took a keen interest in politics and current affairs.’

  All of which, thought Jack, must have been a welcome change from the semi-invalided Mrs Laidlaw.

  They had first met about a year and a half ago at Gloucester Road tube station. She had missed her footing alighting from a train and Andrew had gallantly come to her rescue. He had helped her up, picked up her bags and then taken her for a restorative cup of tea. Or rather, in her case, coffee, for which she had a very un-English preference.

  Although English, she had lived for a good few years in America. And that was part of the problem. She had married an American, a seemingly successful businessman. For a time everything went well, then she began to suspect some of his deals were distinctly shady. Prohibition had opened up a raft of undercover dealings for men who weren’t too punctilious about breaking the law. He’d always managed to get alcohol but now he drank too much and had a string of affairs. The last straw had come when he had raised a hand to her.

  Laidlaw was horrified. That anyone could treat any woman, let alone an educated, cultured woman, in this way seemed abhorrent to him. She knew no one in London and was wary of meeting anyone in case news got back to her husband. She did, however, agree to see him again and they began to meet up occasionally and then, as the relationship deepened, more frequently.

  Naturally enough, after poor Violet had died, Andrew had raised the topic of marriage, but Mrs Davenham was still married and wary of approaching her husband.

  ‘The trouble was,’ said Laidlaw, ‘is that Jane was very unsure if a divorce would be granted, even if her husband was agreeable, which wasn’t at all certain. As I said, her husband had had a string of affairs, but they have some very odd laws in the States. Apparently as long as Jane could maintain she was the innocent party, then a lawyer could argue the case on her behalf as a wronged woman. However, if it became known that I was involved, then both Jane and her husband would be counted as transgressors against the institution of matrimony, and neither would be allowed to divorce the other.’

  Bill pulled a face. ‘That’s a very awkward situation, sir.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ said Laidlaw glumly. ‘I must say, it led to some tension between us. And … And when I said I cared for my wife, I meant it. Poor Violet needed me, and although in many ways, her end was a blessed release, I missed her terribly when she was gone. Violet depended on me and I missed her.’

  He smiled faintly. ‘Perhaps I said too much about Violet to Jane. I don’t know, but perhaps she resented how I felt.’ A slightly exasperated note crept into his voice. ‘It’s hard to be sure with women, isn’t it? They never seem to say exactly how they feel or what’s bothering them, but leave you to work it out.’

  ‘So you’re saying that relations between you had deteriorated recently?’ asked Bill.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’ He gave an irritated sigh. ‘There’s no point in being anything but completely honest. It must’ve been about six weeks or so ago when things started to go downhill. Jane didn’t want to meet as frequently as before, and was often cold and a bit off-hand when we did.’

  He looked at them helplessly. ‘I might be wrong, but I wondered if she had met someone else. She seemed to become more and more impatient when I talked about investigating the possibility of a divorce. There’s something else, too. I know that on at least one occasion a man had been in her flat. I found a cigar stub that wasn’t mine but when I asked her about it, she told me it was none of my business. I called to see her the Saturday before last.’

  His face twisted. ‘We quarrelled. I’d read in the paper that it was easy to get a divorce in some parts of the States and wanted her to try. They call the process a Reno Quickie, as I understand. I must admit I find the whole idea pretty distasteful, but I was willing to try anything to sort out this mess.’

  ‘But Mrs Davenham refused?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Yes, she did, Major Haldean. Apparently it’s not as easy as you might think. Jane said I didn’t understand the difficulties involved.’ He shrugged his shoulders expressively. ‘That was the last time I saw her. On the Monday evening I called round to try and patch things up, but she wasn’t there.’ His face hardened. ‘Since then, I haven’t heard a word.’

>   ‘Did she leave a forwarding address?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. I assumed that she’d telephone or write to me at least.’

  Bill thought for a moment, then tried to phrase the question as delicately as he could. ‘You’ll excuse me for asking, Mr Laidlaw, but do you think she wants you to find her?’

  Laidlaw made an impatient gesture. ‘I don’t know. A few weeks ago, the question would’ve been absurd, but now I simply don’t know. However, I do feel I’m owed an explanation.’ His face grew grim. ‘If Jane wants to call it off, then that’s her decision, but the least she can do is tell me. I must say, I would never have expected her to simply go off in this way.’

  He lit another cigarette and took a deep, worried breath. ‘You might think I’m being unduly melodramatic, but as time’s gone on, I can’t help worrying that something’s happened to her.’

  Jack didn’t think he was being remotely melodramatic. If Jane Davenham wanted to break off the relationship, then surely she could’ve written the man a note?

  Bill cupped his chin in his hand, thinking. ‘What do you think happened, sir?’

  Laidlaw swung his fist in an exasperated gesture. ‘I don’t know but I do know there’s another man involved! That cigar stub I found proves it. What if that other man is her husband? From all I’ve heard, he’s a nasty piece of work who wouldn’t think twice about forcing Jane to do as he wants.’

  ‘Surely she’d have told you if she had seen her husband?’

  ‘I would’ve have thought so but quite honestly, Chief Inspector, I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Would you like to formally request we treat Mrs Davenham as a missing person, sir?’ asked Bill.

  Andrew Laidlaw made an exasperated noise. ‘I don’t know, Chief Inspector! What if this is nothing but a storm in a teacup? The last thing I want is for Jane to turn up with some completely innocent explanation of where she’s been and what she’s been doing and to find I’ve set the police on her trail. That really would put the cat among the pigeons,’ he added with a grimace. ‘I could whistle for any chance of a reconciliation then. I can’t help worrying though. Where the dickens is she?’

  He shook his head, puzzled, then looked at Jack. ‘Excuse me, Major Haldean, but did you say Michael Trevelyan had a bearing on a matter you’re looking into?’

  ‘That’s probably a bit of a wild goose chase,’ said Jack with a smile.

  Laidlaw didn’t smile back. ‘Really?’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t get that cigar stub out of my mind.’

  ‘I doubt very much if Michael Trevelyan left it there, sir,’ said Bill.

  Laidlaw shot him a quick glance of acknowledgement. ‘To be honest, that did occur to me, after what Major Haldean said.’ He shrugged. ‘That idea’s crazy, I know. Forget it.’

  There didn’t seem much to add. With a nod to Jack, Bill stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, sir. If, by any chance, Mrs Davenham does get in touch, could you let me know?’

  ‘I certainly will, Mr Rackham.’ He looked wretched. ‘The Jane I know wouldn’t just vanish. I’m sure something’s happened to her.’

  Betty plumped up the cushions and relaxed into the sofa, watching Jack light the spirit lamp under the coffee percolator on the hearth.

  ‘That’ll be done soon,’ he said, standing up. ‘And in the meantime …’ he said, sitting beside her. He slipped an arm round her waist and pulled her close.

  ‘And in the meantime,’ she said, a few minutes later, stroking the hair back behind his ear, ‘you can tell me what on earth you think has happened to these poor women who’ve vanished.’

  Jack hesitated. ‘The thing is,’ he said, catching hold of her hand and kissing it absently, ‘I realise you’re bosom buddies with Jenny Langton, but some of this stuff is a bit sensitive, you know? I mean, now Mrs Rotherwell’s vanished and Mrs Davenham is God knows where, Bill’s involved officially. There’s far more to it than Jenny trying to find out the truth of what happened years ago.’

  Betty looked at him reproachfully. ‘Jack, I wouldn’t tell her anything I shouldn’t.’

  ‘You told her Martin Langton was coming to see me.’

  ‘That’s different,’ said Betty firmly. ‘He’s Jenny’s brother and he was here to talk about Jenny. She had every right to hear what he had to say. That’s a million miles away from me telling her anything you’ve learnt as part of an official investigation.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, there’s hardly anything Bill and I have learned as part of an official investigation,’ said Jack ruefully. ‘We know two women have disappeared. Where they’ve gone to is anyone’s guess.’

  ‘It couldn’t be some sort of lunatic, could it?’ asked Betty, frowning. ‘Someone who goes round kidnapping middle-aged women?’

  Jack laughed. ‘Hardly. To be honest, we don’t actually know Mrs Davenham really has disappeared. By the sound of things, she might have a new boyfriend. I suppose she could’ve jumped ship to avoid breaking the news to Andrew Laidlaw.’

  ‘That seems quite a drastic solution,’ said Betty. ‘It can’t be pleasant telling someone that you’re not interested in them any more, but it seems a bit extreme to up and vanish, leaving everything you own. Especially if what you own are Parisian dresses.’

  ‘You liked the sound of those, didn’t you?’ said Jack affectionately. ‘Betty, you don’t need anything from Paris to make yourself look lovely.’

  ‘I’d still like to have them though,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I suppose if Mrs Davenham really has got a new boyfriend, she might have simply gone off for a few days but that explanation doesn’t account for Mrs Rotherwell’s disappearance.’

  The plopping from the percolator subsided into a gentle bubbling noise. Jack got up to pour the coffee.

  ‘Milk in mine, darling,’ she said, lighting a cigarette. ‘Jack, Mrs Rotherwell told you she was being watched by Michael Trevelyan. I don’t like it.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ he said, handing her a cup of coffee. ‘But you don’t like it because he’s Jenny’s father.’

  ‘Of course it’s because he’s Jenny’s father!’

  ‘How does Jenny feel about it?’

  Betty started to speak, then hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t really know. I know she very much wants to find the truth about her mother but I don’t know how she feels about her father. Uncomfortable, I think is the best description.’ She frowned. ‘I know how I’d feel. I’d be horrified.’

  ‘Yes, but this is Jenny Langton we’re talking about, sweetheart, not you.’

  ‘I still think it’d be a rotten thing for her to find out.’

  ‘That’s not really relevant to the facts, is it?’

  ‘No, but you might think of another explanation. To start with, Mrs Rotherwell could’ve been mistaken. After all, she only thought she saw him. Why was she so certain?’

  ‘She’d answered my advert in the paper,’ said Jack, with that uneasy sense of guilt returning. If he hadn’t placed that advert, Mrs Rotherwell might still be living happily at the Royal Park Hotel. ‘That would’ve brought it all back to her mind.’

  Betty squeezed his hand. ‘That’s probably true,’ she said uncertainly. ‘She would’ve been thinking of the Trevelyans. It all seemed so innocent at the time, didn’t it? You were doing a favour for Jenny. You weren’t to know what would happen.’ She sighed in exasperation. ‘I hate the idea that Jenny’s father is to blame.’

  ‘The father who wrote a list of poisons in a diary, together with the date of his wife’s disappearance? The father who produced a forged letter, supposedly from his wife?’

  ‘That might have been sent by somebody else.’

  ‘Who?’

  Betty pulled on her cigarette again. ‘What about Andrew Laidlaw?’ she said after a few moments. ‘I must say, I rather liked him, but he could’ve had it in for Michael Trevelyan.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. He could’ve been madly in love with Caroline, I suppose. She could
’ve been having an affair with Mr Laidlaw. He’s rather attractive in an older sort of way. Not that he would’ve been older then, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘I think I can follow that,’ said Jack.

  ‘We know Jenny’s mother didn’t want to go to New Zealand. That could have made her turn to Andrew Laidlaw.’

  ‘But Laidlaw was married to Violet, old Wild’s daughter.’

  Betty grinned. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Jack, to have such strong views about men and marriage.’

  ‘I’m pure in heart,’ muttered Jack. ‘I can produce certificates to prove it.’

  ‘Besides that,’ said Betty, giggling, ‘we know he started the affair with Jane Davenham while Violet Laidlaw was still alive.’

  ‘To be fair to him, while I’m not saying it’s okay he should be seeing Jane Davenham while his wife was still alive, I think it’s very understandable. After years spent dancing round an invalid, he meets this woman and obviously fell for her like a ton of bricks. That’s not the case twenty years ago. The objection to him having an affair with Caroline Trevelyan is that he’d benefited hugely from being married to Violet. Don’t you remember, Mrs Shilton told us he was absolutely old Mr Wild’s blue-eyed boy?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So he had a lot to lose if he was caught playing around. And, to be fair to him, everyone says he really was devoted to Violet.’

  ‘Until he skidded off the rails and met Jane Davenham.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ acknowledged Jack. ‘All right, Miss Cynic, despite him having everything to lose, let’s grant he had an affair with Caroline Trevelyan. What then?’

  ‘Well, he murders her, of course. Maybe he didn’t actually have an affair but wanted to. She rejected him and threatened to tell her cousin, Violet.’ Betty looked rather pleased with herself. ‘That’d make it awkward for him, especially as he was the blue-eyed boy, as you said. Then he shoved the blame onto Michael Trevelyan.’

  ‘That’s possible, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s more than possible,’ she said warming to her theme. ‘After all, we know he was around at the time. Didn’t he have coffee with Caroline Trevelyan and Mrs Rotherwell the morning Caroline vanished?’