Blackstone and the Burning Secret (The Blackstone Detective Series Book 4)

by Sally Spencer

  ‘And if you’re expecting any more stiffs to be available for your little experiments in the next few months, you can think again,’ Trent said. ‘If it was money rather than bodies that we were talking about, we’d both already be in a debtors’ prison.’

  ‘I have ruffled your feathers, haven’t I?’ Ellie Carr said.

  ‘Damn right you have!’

  ‘Well, never mind that now,’ Ellie Carr said, as if the matter had been dealt with to everyone’s complete satisfaction. ‘Let’s get on with the main job in hand, shall we?’

  Trent thought of saying more, then realising that Ellie Carr would find some way to disarm him whatever he said, he walked over to the nearest police ambulance and extracted the corpse from it.

  ‘God, he stinks, this bugger,’ Trent said, as he carried the body over to the chair.

  ‘He was a tramp,’ Ellie Carr said lightly. ‘It’d be a miracle if he didn’t stink.’

  Carrying the body had presented no problem to a big man like Jed Trent. Seating it in the chair, however, was an entirely different matter.

  ‘He’s still in rigor,’ Trent said. ‘We’ll just have to wait until it starts to wear off.’

  ‘What about them?’ Ellie Carr asked, pointing in the direction of the gunners. ‘Will they be prepared to wait?’

  ‘Probably not,’ Trent admitted. ‘Probably can’t, even if they were willing to. They’re due on the parade ground in a little more than an hour, and my mate, the RSM, will blow his top if they’re not there. So it looks like we’ll just have to come back again tomorrow.’

  The longer this particular experiment continued, the greater the chance there was that others—disapproving others—would find out about it, Ellie Carr thought. And she couldn’t have that.

  ‘I’m going to have to cut a few corners,’ she announced.

  She’d brought her big carpet bag with her, and now she took a large hammer out of it.

  ‘You’re never going to break the poor bloke’s legs for him, are you?’ Trent asked.

  ‘Why ever not?’ Ellie replied. ‘We’ll have done a lot worse to him by the time we’ve finished, won’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘And it’s not as if he’s going to feel it, is he?’

  Ellie swung the hammer, and the sound of cracking bone reverberated across the range like a rifle shot. Satisfied with the result, she directed her efforts to the other knee, with a similar result.

  ‘Try it now,’ she said.

  Trent lifted the corpse again, and this time the legs swung as freely as those on a ventriloquist’s dummy. Holding the body in place with one hand, he strapped it to the chair with the other.

  ‘All this buggering about!’ he grumbled, as he worked. ‘It’s the bloody limit, that’s what it is.’

  Ellie grinned. ‘You’d never make a scientist, you know, Jed. You just haven’t got the patience for it.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Trent agreed. ‘I’d certainly never make a mad bloody scientist. That’s for sure.’

  ‘All scientists are a little bit mad,’ Ellie Carr pointed out. ‘We wouldn’t be much good at our job if we weren’t.’

  ‘Is that the excuse that you’ll give when we’re arrested?’ Trent asked. ‘Will your defence be based on the fact that you only did it because the voices in your head were telling you to? Because I have to remind you, Doctor, that didn’t work for Joan of Arc.’

  ‘Why should we be arrested?’ Ellie Carr said innocently.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Trent replied, stroking his chin in mock-thoughtfulness. ‘It couldn’t possibly be because what we’re doing out here is in the nature of being highly illegal, could it?’

  ‘Illegal!’ Ellie Carr scoffed. ‘How can it be illegal? I’m a doctor. I’m licensed to cut dead bodies open.’

  ‘But cutting it open isn’t exactly what you’ve got in mind,’ Trent reminded her.

  ‘It’s an incision,’ Ellie Carr countered. ‘I’m just not using an entirely orthodox tool.’

  Trent shook his head. ‘You’ll end up being the ruin of both of us, Dr Carr,’ he said.

  ‘Possibly you’re right,’ Ellie Carr agreed, picking up her carpetbag and turning in the direction of the artillerymen and their field gun. ‘But at least we’ll have gone down having fun.’

  ‘One of us will, anyway,’ Trent said.

  *

  The first time they’d been through this procedure, the sergeant and his assistant had had to make several adjustments between shots before they actually hit the dummy. Now, using their previous experience as a guide, they were bang on target the first time.

  The corpse, and the chair it was attached to, were lifted high into the air and then deposited on the ground again some yards from their original position with a resounding thud.

  ‘Most satisfactory,’ Ellie Carr said.

  ‘I’m pleased you’re happy,’ Jed Trent said dryly.

  Ellie picked up the camera, took it over to where the corpse had landed, and spent several minutes photographing it from all possible angles.

  Watching her work—and taking the occasional guilty glance over his shoulder—Jed Trent found himself wondering just how many laws they’d broken, and whether his fascination with Ellie was actually worth spending the rest of his life behind bars for.

  ‘You can put this one back in the ambulance, and set the next one up,’ Ellie Carr called to him.

  Why not? Jed thought. Having come this far, he might as well get hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

  The experiment was repeated twice more, and twice more Ellie photographed the results before Jed returned the corpses to the ambulances.

  ‘I still would have liked a couple more cadavers to work on, just to be sure I was right,’ Ellie Carr said, as her assistant was sliding the last body back into its police ambulance.

  ‘What was that?’ Trent demanded.

  ‘Nothing, Jed,’ Ellie Carr said sweetly.

  ‘Well, it certainly sounded like something to me,’ Trent countered. ‘A complaint, maybe.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t be so sensitive, Jed,’ Ellie said. ‘I was just musing. That’s all.’

  ‘You can muse all you like, but you’ll have to patch this lot up before I return them to the people I’ve borrowed them from,’ Trent said.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Ellie Carr replied. ‘By the time I’ve finished with them, they’ll be as good as new.’

  ‘Apart from the broken legs and the whopping great holes that have been blown in their chests,’ Jed Trent said.

  ‘Yes,’ Ellie Carr agreed. ‘Apart from that.’

  28

  There were times when Blackstone truly despised butlers as a class. They were—as he saw it at such times—men who had willingly sold themselves into bondage; men prepared to devote their every waking hour to the service of masters who, they must surely very soon come to appreciate, were not worthy to lick their boot-straps.

  There were other occasions however, when—despite his natural inclination—he found that he had a sneaking admiration for those who chose to follow a career in buttling. And meeting Chalmers again, at the front door of Lord Lansdowne’s town house, was one of those occasions.

  The butler favoured Todd with a slight bow—as a baronet, he did not merit more, and both men knew it—and gave no indication that he had seen Blackstone at all.

  ‘His Lordship wishes me to thank you for agreeing to meet him here, rather than in his office in the Ministry,’ Chalmers said to Sir Roderick. ‘He is feeling a little under the weather this morning, and we both thought it would be wise for him to avoid the dank air.’

  It’s more likely that, in a tricky situation like this one, he decided he’d rather meet us on his home ground, Blackstone thought to himself.

  ‘His Lordship is awaiting you in his study, Sir Roderick,’ the butler continued. ‘If you will follow me, I will announce you.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Chalmers,’ said Sir Roderick, who p
rided himself on his ability to treat the lower orders humanely.

  ‘May I enquire if your man will be accompanying you to the meeting, sir?’ the butler asked.

  ‘Yes, he will,’ Sir Roderick confirmed.

  ‘And in what way should I announce him, sir?’

  ‘Announce him as Inspector Blackstone,’ Sir Roderick said.

  ‘Inspector Blackstone,’ Chalmers repeated, to all appearances committing the name to memory. ‘Very good, sir.’

  It was as if they’d never met before, Blackstone thought—as if the butler hadn’t almost ordered him out of his parlour the day before. And so well did Chalmers play his lack of recognition that, for a moment, the Inspector almost doubted that they had met.

  Mr Chalmers led the two policemen up a gently curving staircase and along a wide corridor. He came to a halt at an impressively solid door, opened it, and announced the visitors. That done, he opened the door wider, and then stepped smoothly to one side.

  Surely a man like Chalmers could think of a more worthwhile use for his obvious talents than this, Blackstone thought. But then perhaps he already had. Perhaps he calculated that a lifetime of servitude was a small price to pay in order to avoid having the shadow of the workhouse hanging over him—as it hung over most other working men.

  Lord Lansdowne was sitting at his desk. He first blew his nose into a large silk handkerchief, then rose to his feet and shook Todd’s already outstretched hand. That done, he hesitated for scarcely more than a heartbeat before offering the same hand to Blackstone.

  ‘Sit down, gentlemen,’ he said, indicating two chairs which had been laid out with almost military precision in front of his desk. ‘I must apologise, as I expect Chalmers has already done on my behalf, for asking you to meet me here. I have a slight head cold, and, given the vital nature of my work at the moment, thought it best to avoid letting it get any worse.’

  Nicely done, Blackstone thought. In one sentence the minister had established both that he was ill and that he was important.

  The Minister for War sat down himself, and closed his eyes for a second. ‘Blackstone,’ he murmured quietly. ‘Blackstone? Weren’t you the officer involved in that case in Russia last year?’

  ‘That’s right, My Lord,’ Blackstone replied.

  ‘You did rather well in the matter, if my memory serves me,’ Lansdowne said.

  ‘Blackstone was really no more than a courier,’ Sir Roderick said in a voice which was almost a growl. ‘The resolution of the investigation fell into his hands, and he merely brought it back to London.’

  Lansdowne looked thoughtful. ‘Well, you’re his superior, Roderick, and if you say that’s how it was, then I suppose that must be the case—but I did have the impression there was more to it than that. What do you have to say about the matter, Inspector Blackstone?’

  ‘I was no more than a courier,’ Blackstone lied.

  ‘It appears I must have been misinformed, then,’ Lansdowne said. He turned his attention to Todd. ‘You were very vague about the purpose of this meeting, Roderick. Now that you’re here, would you care to put a little more flesh on the bones?’

  Todd coughed uncomfortably. ‘We are, as you know, currently investigating the case of this damned arsonist.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘And our enquiries have led us to an establishment in the West End which goes by the name of the Austro-Hungary Club.’

  ‘Yes?’ Lansdowne said again.

  He was good at giving the impression of ignorance,

  Blackstone thought—almost as good as his butler had been. ‘Some of the people we interviewed led us to believe that you were a regular patron of the club,’ Todd said awkwardly.

  ‘What!’ Lansdowne asked.

  ‘It’s been suggested that, as a totally understandable relief from all the pressure you have been under these last few months, you might have visited the club from time to time,’ Todd ploughed on.

  ‘Well, I haven’t,’ Lansdowne said firmly. ‘I have excellent recall, and if I’d ever been to this establishment, even once, I’m sure I would remember it.’ He paused for a second, as though a thought had just struck him. ‘But why are you asking these questions at all?’

  ‘Well, I…er…’ Todd said, as if he were suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

  ‘Do you think the firebug might have been a patron of this club?’ Lansdowne asked, rescuing him from his dilemma. ‘Is it supposed that if I had attended this establishment, I might have seen this miserable wretch there?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Sir Roderick said, with some relief. ‘But since, as you’ve just explained, you’ve never even heard of this club, such an event could never have occurred.’ He stood up. ‘And now that that matter’s been dealt with, we won’t trouble you—’

  ‘I have a couple of questions I’d like to put to His Lordship, if you don’t mind, sir,’ Blackstone said.

  The look of loathing that his remark elicited made it clear to Blackstone that Sir Roderick did mind, but nonetheless the Assistant Commissioner sank back into his chair again, saying no more than, ‘Make it quick, Blackstone. His Lordship is a very busy man.’

  Blackstone produced the sketch of McClusky. ‘Do you recognise this man, My Lord?’

  Lansdowne gave the picture no more than a cursory examination. ‘Can’t say I do. Should I be able to?’

  ‘It doesn’t look like anyone who works for you?’

  ‘One of my civil servants, do you mean?’

  ‘I was thinking more of someone who has worked for you in a personal capacity.’

  Lansdowne looked at the sketch again, more carefully this time. ‘I suppose it does look vaguely like one of the ground-staff I employ at Bowood House,’ he conceded.

  ‘A man by the name of McClusky?’ Blackstone suggested.

  ‘Yes, but how did you…?’

  ‘How about this one, sir?’ Blackstone asked, showing him the sketch of Davenport.

  ‘Since you expect me to recognise him, I suppose I probably do. Is it, by any chance, Charlie Davenport?’

  ‘And would you say that this is the same man?’ Blackstone asked, producing the photograph.

  ‘Well, yes, it…But wait a moment, it can’t be Charlie. This man looks dead!’

  ‘He is,’ Blackstone agreed.

  ‘Then it clearly isn’t Davenport.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Because he’s in Italy at the moment.’

  ‘Do you know that for a fact, sir?’

  ‘Of course I don’t. I’ve had absolutely no contact with Charlie since the matter of the…’ Lansdowne paused again. ‘Why are you asking me these questions, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, why are you?’ Sir Roderick Todd demanded. ‘It was certainly not what we agreed on before we arrived.’ The Assistant Commissioner stood up determinedly. ‘It’s time we left, My Lord. Truth to tell, we should have left quite some time ago. Come on, Blackstone.’

  ‘If I may just—’ Blackstone began.

  ‘You may do nothing except obey a direct order from your superior,’ Todd snapped. ‘And that order is that you should remove yourself from these premises immediately.’

  *

  Todd waited until they were out on the street again before he launched his attack on Blackstone.

  ‘You never told me you’d identified the two men involved in the arson attacks!’ he said furiously. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Blackstone shrugged. ‘It didn’t come up in the course of our conversation, sir.’

  ‘Don’t play me for the fool, Blackstone,’ Sir Roderick said. ‘I want the truth.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you because, if I had, you’d have stopped me doing what I just did,’ Blackstone admitted.

  ‘And what exactly did you just do?’

  ‘I gave Lord Lansdowne the opportunity to lie—and he grabbed at it with both hands.’

  ‘Gave him the opportunity to lie! I never heard him lie! When, according to you, did he lie?’
r />   ‘When he said he didn’t know the man in the sketch.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t.’

  ‘It was a sketch of his assistant estate manager, sir. They often go fishing together.’

  ‘Perhaps it doesn’t really look like the assistant estate manager. Perhaps it isn’t him.’

  ‘The butler had no difficulty identifying him.’

  ‘You’ve…you’ve spoken to the butler? To Chalmers? Without my permission?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And when did this outrage take place?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘We’ll deal with your insubordination later,’ Sir Roderick said. ‘For the moment, it should be sufficient to point out that I am certainly not surprised that the butler recognised the man while His Lordship didn’t.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Blackstone said.

  ‘Indeed!’ Todd repeated. ‘Butlers are trained to look closely at faces. For a man like Lord Lansdowne, on the other hand, studying the lower orders would be a complete waste of his valuable time.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Blackstone asked.

  ‘You should know it is. They are not his friends. They are not even his associates. Their function in life is to smooth his passage for him, as he goes about his important business. Good servants should be almost invisible. They should be grateful, of course, if their master deigns to notice them—but they should certainly not expect it.’

  ‘It’s just as I thought,’ Blackstone said, finding he too was experiencing a rising anger which it was impossible to contain. ‘We weren’t there to question Lansdowne at all. We were just there to warn him off.’

  ‘Have you completely lost your sanity?’ Sir Roderick Todd demanded.

  ‘I thought I might be able to change your mind if I managed to trip him up,’ Blackstone said, ignoring the comment. ‘But that was never really on the cards, was it?’

  ‘If you wish to drag Lord Lansdowne’s name into this sordid affair, there’s a very easy way to do it, isn’t there?’ Todd said unexpectedly.

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Of course there is. If you believe that Lansdowne’s working with McClusky, then catch McClusky. A few hours in the cells should have him singing like a canary—especially if you’re not too gentle with your questioning—and if Lansdowne’s involved, McClusky will implicate him, won’t he?’