“Is he? By God!” Matt McAusland seemed genuinely surprised at the news.
“Well, that’s one piece of scum no one will miss,” Mike added.
“Except us, of course,” said Tollman tersely. “We were very anxious to interview the man and that opportunity has now been denied to us.”
“And you think it was our doing?” asked Matt scornfully.
“Was it?” Tollman was not in the mood to beat about the bush.
Matt McAusland stirred in his chair and motioned Tollman to sit opposite him. “Let’s get this straight, Detective Sergeant,” he said evenly, eager to impress upon Tollman his desire to be honest. “My brother and I don’t do murder—even if it is a weasel like Sumpter. We have our businesses and our reputations to protect. We are not stupid. Neither of us has any desire for the hangman’s noose. If we had found Sumpter—and I will admit that we were looking for him—we would have roughed him up and dumped him on the doorstep of the nearest police station, as we promised. He was an irritation to us, but a very minor one. We would have been very happy to see him locked up for life. But murder?” He shook his head. “Nah. Not our style, Detective Sergeant, not our style.”
Matt McAusland rose from behind his desk and went over to a curtain in the middle of the wall. He drew the curtain to one side and invited Tollman to come and look.
Tollman obliged and found himself looking down into the belly of the nightclub and the throng of people dancing to the band, which could only be heard faintly from the room in which they were standing.
“Look,” said McAusland, inclining his head toward the scene below. “I don’t know how familiar you are with the top echelon of society, but from where we are standing I can point out three High Court judges, two Lords, a Baronet, and several Society ladies who appear regularly in the pages of the Tatler.”
Tollman nodded appreciatively and his quick brain also registered the identity of another person among the crowd—a piece of information he would keep to himself for the moment.
“So,” McAusland continued, “do you really think that we would put all of that in jeopardy for a piece of no-account rubbish like Sumpter?”
Tollman shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said firmly. “Sorry to have disturbed you, gentlemen,” and he offered his hand.
McAusland shook it, followed by his brother.
“You’re a good copper, Detective Sergeant,” said Matt McAusland, as Tollman and Billy turned to go. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Tollman nodded and they left.
Out in the back alley, once the door had been closed on them again, Billy asked, “Do you believe them, Mr Tollman?”
“Yes, lad,” said Tollman quietly. “It’s like I said to you before, it all comes down to motivation. What I saw in that club was a powerful motivation for those two men to keep on the right side of the law.” They walked for a while and then Tollman said, “I’ll tell you who else I saw in that club.” He paused and looked at Billy. “Detective Sergeant Carter.”
Billy’s eyes widened. “Bent?” he offered.
Tollman shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve always had my doubts about Carter. Too pushy and aggressive. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was bent. But we have to give him the benefit of the doubt. He may have been working undercover … you never know. But I shall keep my eye on him from now on, that’s for sure.”
It was decided, before they parted, that Tollman would catch the bus home, because he was anxious to lecture his daughters on the evils of going up to the West End of London in search of amusement. Billy would walk back to Mayfair and impart the frustrating news to Beech that Dodds was dead and that they had been cheated of speaking to the one person who could have progressed the investigation of the murder of Lord Murcheson.
CHAPTER 16
It was a glum gathering at breakfast the next morning. Billy, finding Beech fast asleep when he had returned from the West End, had decided not to wake him, but had then been rewarded by the full force of Beech’s irritation in the morning. Billy accepted the dressing-down meekly, suspecting that Beech was more annoyed with himself for falling deeply asleep, fully clothed, in a chair, than he was with Billy for not waking him up with the news about Dodds.
Once the news had been relayed to everyone at the breakfast table, a general air of frustration prevailed.
“We have to go and see this doctor, Caroline,” said Beech. “Are you free this morning?”
Caroline said that she was and would gladly accompany Beech on the visit. “I should like to see for myself what kind of doctor turns a young man back from the war into a raging drug addict,” she added sourly.
Beech shot her an anxious look but decided he would wait until they were en route to Harley Street before he gave her a lecture about how she must conduct herself in the interview.
Tollman arrived, with his usual morning newspaper tucked under his arm, and he smiled briefly at Victoria, as she poured him a cup of tea.
“So, Tollman,” said Beech, buttering another slice of toast, “last night was somewhat of a disaster?”
Tollman, sensing criticism in Beech’s voice, raised an eyebrow at Billy, who just shrugged.
“The place was packed, sir.” Tollman explained. “Dodds came out from the back room, signaled to someone in the crowd and then disappeared again. Billy broke the back-room door down, while I tried to push through the crowds to the front door. By the time Billy got to Dodds, he’d been knifed. We questioned the customers—most of whom were drunk—and questioned the barman at length. Dodds had been paying him to allow an amateur prostitution racket to be run in the pub but he didn’t know who Dodds was meeting. He said that Dodds announced that someone was bringing him some money so that he could leave the country. I handed Dodds’ body over to St James’ station. They said they would process the evidence, such as it was, and let us know if they found anything further.”
Beech grunted. “So who do we think killed him? Polly?”
Tollman sighed with dissatisfaction at this theory. “I saw no one in that pub that wasn’t dressed up to the nines, looking like a Drury Lane Fairy,” he said. “Now I grant you, sir, young Polly could have got herself tarted up specifically to meet him and kill him but we have to remember that whoever Dodds was meeting was going to bring him some money. Polly had no money except what Maisie Perkins gave her for her train fare. If Dodds was expecting to leave the country, then we must assume he was expecting a large amount of money.”
“Could it have been Maisie Perkins?” ventured Caroline. “I mean she could just have been telling us a complete pack of lies and, all along, she was Dodds’ accomplice and intended to kill him rather than give him money.”
Tollman screwed his face into an expression of indecision. Caroline’s theory wasn’t going to satisfy him either. “I’ve known Maisie Perkins for a great number of years—not personally, you understand—but she has cropped up in a lot of cases that have involved top-ranking Society gentlemen. She’s convinced herself that she is providing a genteel public service and recoils in horror from anything to do with violence and I just can’t persuade myself that she would perform this act. Besides, we didn’t see her at the pub—although I admit she could have been in disguise—but let’s not forget that Madame Perkins is not young and certainly not agile. Whoever legged it round the back of that pub, knifed Dodds, and then disappeared, was someone strong and fit.”
“Yes, of course,” agreed Beech. “And you didn’t see anyone running away at all?” he asked Billy.
“No, sir,” said Billy firmly. “Mind you, it was dark in that alley. But I didn’t hear any footsteps either.”
“I think you should go back and have a look in daylight, Tollman,” Beech’s tone implied that he meant immediately and Tollman took a last mouthful of his tea, before saying, “Yes, sir. Come on Billy. Get your coat, lad.”
“Perhaps I could go too?” asked Victoria, “I’m quite good at spotting things?”
Everyone looked at Be
ech for permission and smiled when he nodded.
“I’ll just get my coat and hat, and I’ll be right with you, Mr Tollman,” said Victoria, as she sped out and up the stairs.
Once the trio had departed, Beech decided that probably now would be a good time to tell Caroline how to behave when they went to see the doctor. He decided to have one more slice of bacon first, before he plunged into, what would undoubtedly become, a lively argument.
* * *
“I’m not sure that this was a good idea, Mrs E,” said Tollman with distaste, as he guided Victoria past the pools of vomit in the side alley of the pub.
“Oh really, Mr Tollman,” she tried to be light-hearted and positive, “I have seen far worse when I was working in a hospital!” Privately, though, she found the alleyway disgusting. It smelt like a urinal, or worse, and began to make her feel a little queasy. Turning into the back alley, which could be accessed through a tall metal gate, provided a little respite. It seemed as though not many of the customers had progressed beyond the gate and the cobbles were relatively clear of human detritus.
“Billy,” ordered Tollman, “knock up the landlord and ask him if he’s washed anything down in the alley since last night.”
Billy duly hammered on the door, for some time, until the face of the man appeared at the door, his cheekbone hugely swollen and various shades of red, blue, and purple.
“You again!” he said, with some difficulty, given the swelling of his cheek and lip. “What do you want now?” He was clearly not happy to be roused from his bed.
“Have you cleaned out the back here since last night?”
The reply was scornful. “Do I look as though I felt like cleaning the back alley last night?!” And he slammed the door.
“He says no,” said Billy, grinning.
“Was that your handiwork, Constable Rigsby?” asked Victoria, not quite sure whether to approve or disapprove.
“It was self-defense, Miss. Bloke came at me with a cosh. Obstructed me in the course of my duties.” Then he winked.
Victoria allowed herself a small smile but, deep down, felt she should be disapproving.
“So,” said Tollman in a business-like manner, “Dodds’ body was lying here,” and he indicated the area, “facing this way,” and he pointed back toward the gate.
“Obviously, he was expecting someone to come down the side alley to meet him,” observed Victoria. “They stabbed him and he fell backward, still facing in the direction he was expecting his visitor to come from. I take it he was stabbed in the front, not the back of the chest? Only you didn’t say,” she added by way of clarification.
“Yes, Mrs E,” Tollman confirmed, “stabbed, I imagine, right through the heart, I’d guess, as it seemed that he must have died almost instantly.”
“And you passed no one in the side alley as you came around the back?”
“No.”
“Then,” said Victoria, turning away from Tollman, “the perpetrator must have made his escape this way—” she pointed down the alley “—and that is where we should look for clues.”
They instinctively formed a line across the alley—Victoria on the left, Billy in the middle and Tollman on the right—and began to slowly walk the escape route, inch by inch. The alley ran between two streets, so there were back doors on either side and, occasionally, Tollman or Victoria would stop and examine the contents of those doorways very closely.
“Look at this,” said Victoria, stopping suddenly and she pointed to a small line of rubbish—pieces of paper and ends of cigarette roll-ups.
“What are we looking at, Miss?” asked Billy, bemused.
“That rubbish is in a perfect diagonal line from the corner. That means that the door was opened and it pushed that rubbish into a perfect line. It’s possible that the murderer escaped through this door.”
Tollman respected her view but introduced a note of caution. “Mm, but that door could have been opened at any time—either before or after the murder. But it’s worth investigating. Billy, go round the front and see what this building is.”
Billy nodded and set off back to the side alley. Victoria and Tollman continued their laborious search. They had progressed about ten feet when Billy opened the door behind them.
“Mr Tollman!” he announced, “I think you might find this place of interest!”
As Victoria and Tollman turned back, Billy looked alarmed. “Um … not sure it’s suitable for Mrs Ellingham to enter …”
Victoria looked puzzled as Billy whispered in Tollman’s ear and Tollman nodded. He turned to Victoria and said, as diplomatically as he could, “I’m sorry, Mrs E, but I think it would be best if you went and had a nice cup of tea somewhere and we will join you afterward.” Victoria opened her mouth to protest but Tollman shook his head, “Sorry, Mrs E, I won’t be budged on this one. There are some things I’m prepared to expose a lady to and some I’m not. So I will escort you round to the front and point you in the direction of Lyons’ Corner House, shall I?” Tollman firmly took Victoria’s arm and propelled her toward the side alley, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll meet you round the front, Billy!”
Once they had negotiated the unpleasant side alley and were on the main street, Victoria stopped dead in her tracks and said stubbornly, “I refuse to take another step until you tell me what it is that you are not prepared to ‘expose’ me to. Really, Mr Tollman, this high-handedness is quite unacceptable …”
“It’s a molly shop …” he said flatly, to interrupt her.
“A what?”
“Molly shop is a police term for a male brothel that caters to the tastes of certain men. Is that what you wanted to know? And,” added Tollman bluntly, “excluding you from this part of the investigation is not to spare your blushes, it is to spare ours. I am sure,” he continued in a softer tone, “that you consider yourself a woman of the world, Mrs E, but Billy and I don’t want to have to consider your feelings when we start interviewing these young men. It’s a brutal world they live in and they often don’t have any sense of refinement or common decency. So you will oblige us by going to Lyons’ Corner House and having a leisurely cup of tea, while we deal with this bit of unpleasantness.”
Victoria nodded her head, shamed into obedience by Tollman’s reasonable but firm protectiveness, and she stepped out toward Piccadilly Circus.
Tollman watched her walk slowly away and bowed his head in resignation before he stepped through the doorway in front of him.
As he entered, he noted that the hallway led straight through to the back door. To his left was a porter’s cubbyhole, with a counter that could be raised for entrance and exit. Behind the porter’s counter were pigeonholes for correspondence and a door, which was open, leading to a small parlor, where a small man was hunched in front of a fireplace.
The man glared at him as he flashed his warrant card.
Ahead of him, at the base of the stairs, Billy stood by a low wooden gate, looking upward.
As Tollman approached him, he followed Billy’s gaze and found himself staring at a sea of faces—some wearing make-up, some frightened, some defiant—all young men. Tollman estimated them to be between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one, no more, it was hard to tell under the rouge and lipstick.
“Make sure they don’t move,” Tollman said to Billy, “I want to have a word with matey who runs the place. Any patrons in?” he asked, as an afterthought.
“What! At this hour of the morning, darling!” exclaimed one of the older men on the stairs.
Tollman turned, grim-faced, to the crowd on the stairs. “When I want your opinion, son, I’ll ask for it. Meanwhile, I would keep my mouth shut, if I were you, until I ask you for information, and then you’d better be bloody sure that you give me the right information, or I’ll have you down the nick as fast as your stockinged legs will carry you. Do I make myself clear?”
There was a silence from the landing.
“While I am interviewing the porter,” Tollman continued, “
I want every bit of powder and paint off your faces. I want to see who I’m talking to. Then I will decide how many criminal prosecutions we need to write up today.”
One of the young men started to cry and was comforted by an older one. Tollman’s heart sank. “I hate this bloody job sometimes,” he muttered to himself as he turned back to the front parlor.
“You heard the detective!” Billy barked up the stairs. “Go and get the muck off your faces!”
The short, fat man in the parlor looked sullenly at Tollman as he entered. “I don’t know anything, so don’t bother asking me,” he said belligerently.
Tollman was in no mood to be messed about. “PC Rigsby!” he shouted, and Billy appeared. “This man is obstructing justice. Would you care to point out to him the error of his ways?”
Billy gave a small mirthless smile and said, “Pleasure, Mr Tollman,” as he suddenly kicked the armchair backward so the man found himself flat on his back, legs in the air and Billy’s foot on his chest.
“I’m asthmatic!” the man yelled.
Billy cupped his ear in mock deafness. “Sorry, sir, you’ll have to speak up. I’m a little hard of hearing.” With that he put his full body weight on the man’s chest by hopping on his other foot. As the man screamed, Tollman nodded appreciatively. “Very creative, son. Now let’s see if he’s decided to be more amenable, shall we?”
Billy dragged the man upright by his collar and perched him on the front of the tipped-over chair.
“Alright! Alright!” he was coughing and spluttering. “I’ll tell you want you want to know. Get me some water!”
Tollman nodded to Billy, who went over to a small sink in the corner and drew some water from the tap into a nearby teacup with no handle. He grudgingly gave it to the man, who drank and coughed for a good two minutes before regaining some sort of composure.
“Ready?” asked Tollman, barely disguising his impatience.
The man nodded. “What d’you want to know?” he said hoarsely, sitting down in the armchair that Billy had now raised upright.
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