Murder in Belgravia

by Lynn Brittney

  Ada looked sullen again. “I work here … as a nurse.”

  “Ah,” Tollman looked interested. “But you don’t get paid enough, I suppose. So you decided to run a few businesses on the side.”

  Ada looked at him with contempt. “I’m saying no more. Not to the likes of you. I want to speak to your Chief Inspector. I know things that he’s going to be very interested in.”

  “Oh well, it’s your lucky day then, Ada. Because my Chief Inspector is back at the Yard just dying to meet you.”

  “Mr Tollman,” Billy interrupted, “the West End boys want to know what the house number is? I didn’t look as we came in.”

  Ada answered. “Number forty-two, dear. Forty-two Harley Street. The office of the very well-connected Doctor McKinley.” She gave Tollman a sneering smile of triumph.

  * * *

  Beech was just coming out of a meeting when a constable informed him that Detective Sergeant Tollman had a suspect down in the holding cell and would he please come and interview her. She was asking for him specifically, the constable relayed.

  Ada Yardley had been moved to an interview room and was seated at a table, flanked by Billy and Tollman. She looked defiant.

  “So, Miss …” Beech looked at Tollman for information.

  “Ada Yardley,” Tollman volunteered.

  “Miss Yardley,” said Beech, “we have recently met, in Doctor McKinley’s office, as I’m sure you remember.”

  “I’m not responsible for anything,” she said belligerently, as Beech sat down opposite her. “I didn’t know there was money in that bag. I was just asked to pick something up. I didn’t know what it was.”

  Tollman tutted. “Try again, love” he said. “We have the porter’s testimony that you came regularly every fortnight and asked for the rents.”

  Ada glared at him, unsure of how to proceed. “I was made to do it,” she said flatly. “I didn’t want to, I was threatened.”

  “By whom?” asked Beech.

  Ada looked at him in disbelief. “By McKinley, of course! Who do you think owns all the brothels? Do you think I’d be working for that man every day if I owned such places? I’d be living at the Ritz, drinking champagne, wouldn’t I?” She snorted derisively. “Well, I’m not going to prison for this. I’ll tell you chapter and verse about the good doctor, but I want a deal.”

  Just as Beech was about to consider making some concession, a constable knocked and came in with a message. Beech opened the note and it read,

  Didn’t get a chance to tell you this morning. Caro rang and said Esme saw a nurse, one night, at M’s house.

  Beech passed the note over to Tollman, who read it and, in turn, passed it to Billy. They looked at each other.

  “Unfortunately,” Beech said in his firmest voice, “the Metropolitan Police does not do ‘deals’ with murderers.”

  “What?!” Ada looked terrified. “I haven’t murdered anybody!”

  “You were seen,” Beech added, “by a maid, at Lord Murcheson’s house.” He carefully didn’t mention when.

  Ada’s expression showed that she was trapped. “No! No! It was self-defense,” she admitted in a whisper, “the man was crazed. He was trying to kill me. Look!” and she clumsily, with her hands cuffed together, pulled off the scarf she was wearing to reveal livid marks around the base of her neck, that were turning into ugly bruises. Beech realized that when he saw her, at the doctor’s office, her high starched collar would have covered them up. “Murcheson was trying to strangle me. He’d already done something to his wife. She was lying on the floor in a dead faint. I … I had to do something! I grabbed the scissors and stabbed him—in the chest. I didn’t know what else to do! As God is my witness, I never meant to kill him!” She was beside herself with fear and anger now, although there were no tears forthcoming. Ada Yardley was a very tough woman and not given easily to tears.

  “Tell us exactly what happened that night,” said Beech, “and everything you know about the doctor’s little businesses and we will ensure that you do not hang. I can’t offer you more than that.”

  Ada nodded, defeated, and began to explain, while Tollman took copious notes.

  “McKinley used to send me to Murcheson’s house with drugs—sometimes powdered heroin—sometimes, if Murcheson had had a bad week, he would send me round to give him an injection.”

  “Of what?”

  “A cocaine solution, into the vein.”

  “How many times did you go round to Lord Murcheson’s house?”

  “Twice a week, no more.”

  “Did Dodds know about this arrangement?”

  “Who?” she seemed genuinely confused.

  “Er …” Beech tried to remember Dodds’ aliases.

  “George Sumpter,” offered Billy helpfully.

  “Oh, him!” Ada was bitterly scornful. “He set it all up! Him and the doctor are thick as thieves … well, that’s what they are, aren’t they? Thieves and criminals, the pair of them.”

  Beech noted Yardley’s use of the present tense when discussing Dodds/Sumpter but he let it pass for the moment.

  “So Sumpter arranged for you to call on Lord Murcheson?”

  “Yes, he told the doctor that I should never come before nine o’clock, to make sure that the household staff were in bed. I never got paid any extra for these out-of-hours visits!” she said, in an aggrieved tone.

  “So that’s why you decided to offer Lord Murcheson some extra ‘personal services,’ was it?” Beech was guessing here, based on Caroline’s deductions about the syphilis, and realized he had hit the mark when the seemingly tough Ada flushed under all her make-up.

  “So what if I did?” she said sullenly. “His Lordship was offering to pay handsomely for … certain things. I’d have been a fool not to take him up on it!”

  Beech nodded. “Now tell us about the night you allege he attacked you. Tell us exactly how everything happened.”

  “I arrived about nine thirty. Sumpter was waiting, as usual, outside the front door. He told me never to ring the bell; he would always be waiting. Then he took me into Murcheson, who was in the ground-floor parlor. He was three sheets to the wind already. I don’t know what Sumpter had been giving him but he’d been drinking as well. He told Sumpter to clear off and he would call for him when he wanted him. Anyway, Sumpter went and Murcheson asked if I had the syringe with me. I said yes and I gave him the injection. Then … he wanted personal favors from me but he was so boozed and drugged up that he couldn’t … perform … if you get my drift. Well, that sent him into a rage … like I had never seen before … and he went crashing out of the room. I stayed where I was because I wasn’t supposed to be seen by anyone, on Sumpter’s orders. Then I heard all the screaming—two women it sounded like—and Murcheson yelling like a madman.”

  “And you still stayed in the parlor?”

  “Yes. I thought the whole household would be awake because of the noise and I stayed where I was. I heard one of the women come running down the stairs, sobbing and screaming some man’s name out—it sounded like ‘Mr Hobbs’ …”

  “That would be Dodds—Sumpter’s alias.”

  “Well, I didn’t know. Murcheson was still yelling upstairs. Then Sumpter appeared in the parlor and said Murcheson had gone crazy and I should go upstairs and calm him down with something. He meant more drugs but I knew that would only make things worse, so I ran upstairs and tried to reason with him. His wife was in a dead faint on the floor—her hair was all a mess and her nightdress was up around her knees—I thought maybe he’d tried to force himself on her. Anyway, Murcheson had gone truly mad. He was almost foaming at the mouth and that’s when he tried to strangle me. I struggled but he was very strong. I felt the scissors on the bedside table and I let him have it. He looked rather surprised for a moment and then dropped to the floor.”

  “And what state were you in?”

  “I could hardly breathe, my throat hurt so much, and I had blood all over my apron. Anyway, I staggered out and
met Sumpter on the stairs. I told him what happened and he told me to get out of the house as fast as possible, he would sort everything out. So, I grabbed my bag and ran out of the front door.”

  “What did you do with your bloodstained apron?”

  Ada looked confused for a moment and then said, “I took it off and threw it down the basement steps and then I ran until I reached Park Lane, and then I got on a bus.”

  “Yes, we have that apron,” confirmed Beech, “Dodds … er, Sumpter, had put it in one of dustbins.”

  “Bloody fool!” She almost spat the words. “Cared more about his own neck than mine.”

  “So, when did you next meet Sumpter?”

  She looked surprised. “I didn’t! I haven’t seen him for a week or more. In fact, he should have come round to the doctor’s office yesterday to get more drugs but he didn’t turn up.”

  Beech and the others exchanged glances.

  “Did you have any telephone communication with him?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “I never do. Sumpter only ever rings Doctor McKinley. I’m nothing to him. Just a go-between. McKinley’s the man with the money and he and Sumpter work everything out between themselves.”

  Beech again noted the use of the present tense. Yardley was seemingly not aware that Dodds was dead.

  “So who told Doctor McKinley that Lord Murcheson was dead?”

  “Me. The next morning, when I went into work. I said he’d have to give me some money so I could go away and he said he needed to speak to Sumpter first. So he tried. He couldn’t get hold of him by telephone in the morning but then Sumpter rang in the afternoon. Then McKinley came to me and said it was alright. The police thought either Lady Harriet or her maid had done it and I was to carry on as normal. No one knew I had been there. I was safe. But, obviously, he was wrong,” she added bitterly.

  “Right. Have you got all of that, Detective Sergeant?” Tollman nodded. Beech continued. “Now, Miss Yardley, I want you to give us ‘chapter and verse,’ as you called it, about Doctor McKinley’s business dealings but, first, I wonder if Constable Rigsby might not go and get us all some cups of tea. I sense that this may be a long business.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Billy and he went off in search of refreshments. As he was organizing the making of the tea, he saw two detectives come along the corridor, toward the holding cell, with a suspect in tow. One of the detectives was Carter, who gave Billy a quizzical look as he passed.

  “Where’s your uniform, son?” he growled.

  Billy flashed him a smile and said cheekily, “In the wash, detective,” which made Carter scowl at him. A moment later, seeing Billy carrying a tray of tea things into interview room one made him scowl even more.

  When Billy set down the tray on the table, he took Tollman to one side, “Carter’s on the prowl,” he murmured in a warning tone of voice.

  Tollman nodded and asked to be excused for a moment. Carter was loitering in the corridor and immediately buttonholed him.

  “What are you up to, Tollman?” he asked menacingly, “and what’s Rigsby doing out of uniform? Wouldn’t fancy himself as a detective, would he?”

  “What makes you think that anyone is ‘up’ to anything, Carter?” answered Tollman, assuming an innocent air.

  “You’re interviewing a suspect—some woman—in there. You and Rigsby were seen bringing her in. If you’re treading on our toes, I might have to complain to the Chief Commissioner that Rigsby has been promoted to detective without any proper authorization …”

  Tollman smiled grimly and lowered his voice, “And I might have to tell the Chief Commissioner that I saw you in the Tango Club the other night.”

  Carter’s face froze and there was a silence.

  Ah, so he is bent, thought Tollman.

  “I was undercover,” said Carter but they both knew that the silence had been too long between statement and reply.

  “So, here’s the arrangement, Carter,” Tollman continued, in a soft but determined tone of voice, all the while looking Carter straight in the eyes, “you keep your nose out of our business and we’ll keep our nose out of yours—providing you don’t break the law, of course. Understood?”

  Carter didn’t say or do anything; he just looked at Tollman, his face burning with resentment. Tollman cupped a hand over his ear, as though he were deaf and said, “Sorry, I didn’t hear your reply!”

  “Understood,” muttered Carter and he walked swiftly away. Tollman gave a grim smile and thought, round one to me, I think … but he’ll be watching us a lot more now.

  * * *

  Lady Maud was aggrieved that her very first piece of undercover police work had been a damp squib and she was irritable all the way home. The umbrella was pronounced “useless” and given to Mary to dispose of. Once in the maid’s hands, it immediately opened up of its own volition, thereby causing Lady Maud to say “Now we shall have bad luck, all day! As if we haven’t had enough already!” as she stomped into the study and poured herself a consoling brandy.

  Victoria decided to divert her mother’s attention by delving into the case notes she had been keeping on the team’s work and producing a sheet of headed notepaper. She held it under the nose of Lady Maud, who promptly said, “What am I looking at, dear?”

  “This the list of the Board of Trustees at Doctor Barnardo’s Homes, mother. I was wondering if you knew any of them?”

  Maud peered intently at the document. “Mm. I think I know three of the gentlemen reasonably well and two of them I would regard as no more than passing acquaintances. Why do you ask, dear?”

  Victoria then explained about her visit to the Girls’ Village in Essex and her concern about the fact that all the girls were only being trained for a career in domestic service.

  “But, Victoria, what on earth is wrong with that? I know several aristocratic households that positively seek out Barnardo’s girls. They are very well trained. Particularly those that train as nursery nurses.”

  “Yes, but just think, mother. The world is changing. We have women undertaking all sorts of clerical and industrial jobs nowadays and I am genuinely concerned that some of these girls may be going into households where the husband comes back from the Front severely damaged, like Lord Murcheson. I’m concerned that these girls should be trained in something other than domestic service.”

  “Well, Victoria, I can see your point but you must remember two things. One is that domestic service provides a roof over a girl’s head which otherwise they would have to pay for themselves. Not easy in the big cities. And secondly, all the young men are rapidly volunteering for the war and leaving households desperately short of domestic staff. I’m not sure that this is the time to suggest an alternative training for these young girls. However, I shall plan a dinner party in the coming months and invite the three gentlemen on that list, and their wives, and I shall ask their opinion on the matter. Would that help?”

  “That would be wonderful,” Victoria beamed and she could see that her mother had almost totally forgotten about this morning’s debacle and her irritability had quite disappeared. All Lady Maud needed was to feel useful again.

  * * *

  Beech was concerned that Ada Yardley would be missed by Dr McKinley and this would raise an alarm but she told them that he did not work on Tuesdays and Thursdays and those were the days she was instructed to go and collect rents. Furthermore, Ada was refusing to co-operate any further until she had some food and a rest, it now being lunchtime, so she was taken back to the cells.

  “In any event,” said Beech, “we can’t arrest McKinley until we have all the facts and I can obtain warrants to search his premises and seize records. So we shall just have to adjourn for an hour, while Miss Yardley has some food. By the way, I expect you have noticed that Ada Yardley seems to have no idea that Dodds is dead. So there is, in my view, no point in questioning her about his murder. I feel that we should try and get as much information out of her about the man this afternoon, however.”

>   Billy and Tollman agreed and the three of them went about their various tasks. Tollman used the time to find a typewriter and formulate Ada’s confession from his notes. Beech had not wished to give the work to a general clerk in the Yard. Billy went back to the police hostel to change into his spare uniform, ready for the arrests that he and Tollman were hoping to make back at the molly shop that night. Beech grabbed a bite to eat at his desk while dealing with yet more paperwork.

  They all reconvened after an hour and Ada was summoned back from the cells. Tollman handed the typed confession to Beech, and Ada was given a pen to sign her name.

  “You guarantee that you won’t be charging me with murder?” she said, pen poised above the confession.

  “No,” said Beech firmly. “I’m afraid the law is such that we will have to charge you with murder …”

  She protested but he continued, “The way it works is that you sign your confession alleging self-defense, all of us here will attest in court that you gave us detailed evidence that the act was self-defense. We have various other documents, like Lady Harriet’s confession to his murder and her maid’s initial confession to the murder, which all muddies the waters. We have statements from the household staff that Lord Murcheson was mentally unstable and we will supply your solicitor with all the material necessary for your plea of self-defense. The likelihood is that you will be convicted on the lesser charge of manslaughter and we will ask the judge for reduced sentencing in the light of your co-operation on other matters. But I cannot, I’m sorry, guarantee anything. However, we shall endeavor to get you the best legal representation that we can and co-operate fully with all enquiries. You have my word.”

  Ada knew she had to be satisfied with that and she signed the paper. Then began several long hours of extracting as much information as they could from Ada Yardley.

  It transpired that Dr McKinley owned and operated four brothels—three female and one male. To Tollman’s surprise, Ada told them that Maisie Perkins’ establishment was owned by McKinley. She also gave them the addresses of two others in the Paddington area of London. Every Tuesday and Thursday she collected rents from these establishments and sometimes delivered drugs. She would return to Harley Street after each collection, “I don’t want to be carrying that sort of money around on the streets,” she said firmly, and she would lock the money away in Dr McKinley’s desk. She said that she knew that several of his male patients had been referred by the doctor to these brothels for “therapeutic” reasons. Billy snorted and Tollman raised his eyebrows.