Sneering at the inspector, Daniel remained silent.
“Young man,” Birdsong said, raising his voice a little, “if you don’t give us a reasonable explanation for why you were seen near the Empire Hotel that day, we’ll have no alternative but to assume you don’t have one.”
“All right, Inspector. You want to know why I was seen there that day? I was seen there because that’s where I was.”
“And what were you doing there?”
“I was eating lunch, and then I was riding in a taxicab, neither of which is against the law.”
“Were you alone?”
“I presume your network of spies has already answered that one for you.”
“I’d rather you told me yourself.”
“Very well, I wasn’t alone. There was an entire restaurant full of people and later there was the cabman.”
The sergeant huffed his impatience, while Birdsong let out a sigh.
“How about we save the clever talk for your university friends, shall we, Mr. Montford? Were you in the company of someone in particular that afternoon?”
Daniel folded his arms across his chest and said nothing.
“Do you know a tall, slender young lady with dark hair?” Birdsong persisted. “Perhaps wearing a navy-colored jacket?”
Drew struggled to keep his face blank. A tall, slender young lady with dark hair? Surely not. Not the father and the son. He kept his eyes on Daniel, searching for clues in the younger man’s haughty face, but Daniel merely stared at the peeling gray paint on the wall. Russ fixed his attention on the papers he’d brought with him, though there was a keenness now in his expression.
Birdsong glanced over at the notes the sergeant had taken so far, stroked his mustache contemplatively, and then looked at the solicitor. “You may wish to advise your client to reconsider, Mr. Russ. If he refuses to cooperate, I will have no choice but to charge him with the murder of his father and place him under arrest.”
“I would like to speak to Mr. Montford in private, if I may, Inspector. I can hardly be of use to anyone until I’ve gotten sufficient information.”
“Very well. We don’t seem to be making much progress as we are.” Birdsong stood. “Come along, McRae.”
The two members of the constabulary made their departure, and then Drew nodded toward the door.
“Shall I . . . ?”
Daniel’s eyes flashed. “Yes.”
“No. Do stay here, Mr. Farthering.” Russ laid his hand on his client’s arm. “Daniel, I want you to tell me about that afternoon. I don’t care if you were stealing the crown jewels or setting fire to St. Paul’s, I want the truth, every bit of it, and I shall absolutely know if you’re lying to me.”
Daniel ducked his head, pouting. “I didn’t kill my father. I didn’t kill anyone. Isn’t that enough?”
“Then tell us why you were near the hotel that day.”
Daniel hesitated and then leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You want to know why I was there? I’ll tell you. Why I was there is none of your business.”
Drew held back an incredulous smile. The little blighter was working himself into the hangman’s noose, yet he couldn’t see it.
Russ looked the prisoner up and down, an air of almost disdain in his expression. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and leaned back in his chair. “Your mother will want to know how you are. What shall I tell her?”
Daniel’s lower lip quivered, but he only shrugged.
“I mean, what shall I tell her apart from the fact that you’ve been charged with your father’s murder and won’t cooperate with the police or with me. Of course, we could get you another solicitor, if you like, though if you’re determined not to answer questions with honesty, I don’t see the use of that.”
Again Daniel shrugged. “Do as you please. I tell you I didn’t kill my father, and that’s all anyone need know.”
“Very well.” Russ took another drag of his cigarette and then smiled at Drew. “Sorry, Mr. Farthering. I suppose you’ll have to tell Mrs. Montford you couldn’t be of much help, either. The chief inspector will be pleased to know he can close this case without much trouble.”
Drew nodded. “I daresay he will be. It’s rather amazing how quickly they can push these things through with the right suspect. Of course, there are the guilty ones, but they always have some ready excuse, don’t they? On those, it seems to take forever to get a conviction. But the others, the ones where a fellow was put in a tough spot because whatever would alibi him for the murder he’s charged with would ruin someone else? Can’t but feel bad for a chap like that.” He looked at the prisoner, who was staring at the floor with a tautness in his body that belied his show of disinterest.
“Quite right.” Russ tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette. “A gentleman never mentions his peccadillos in public, especially if there’s a lady involved. But it’s a bit extreme, isn’t it, to go to the noose for a woman’s reputation?”
“Rather, but I expect, at least in some of these cases, the woman’s name need never come out.” Drew glanced at Daniel once again. “Tell me, Mr. Russ, if the inspector were satisfied with the alibi, he needn’t bring charges at all, isn’t that right?”
“Oh, yes, certainly.”
“And, I expect, if such a chap were to tell his solicitor, in absolute confidence, of course—”
“Oh, of course.”
“Then that solicitor could advise him on whether it might not be worth his while to make a clean breast of it with the chief inspector.” Drew smiled. “If there were such a case.”
“Ah, well.” Russ stood and picked up his hat. “No use talking hypotheticals at this point, Mr. Farthering. I suppose we ought to be going along to Mrs. Montford’s.”
Drew nodded and stood, as well. “I hate to tell her we’ve come a cropper on this whole thing already, but there it is.” He put on his hat. “Anything you’d like us to have your mother send on to you, Mr. Montford?”
“All right. All right.” Daniel glared at him, his eyes red-rimmed and his chin trembling. “You two don’t have to go on being so terribly clever. I’ll tell you, Mr. Russ. But I swear, if a word of this gets out, I’ll kill you both.”
Drew sat back down, removed his hat, and refrained from mentioning that one’s claim to be innocent of murder was not likely to be supported by repeated threats against the lives of those hoping to prove that innocence. Daniel Montford had enough to worry over at present.
Russ took his seat again and faced his client. “Just tell me, Daniel, what you did that day. Whatever it was, at least then we’ll know how to proceed.”
“It was rum luck, that’s all. I didn’t know my father would be there at the hotel, especially not that one in particular. I expected he’d be in London, as he always was on weekdays, if not in court then at the office working.”
“Rather a coincidence,” Drew observed.
“I didn’t kill him!” Daniel slammed his fist against the worn, laminated tabletop. He then drew himself up straight in his chair and wiped his face on his sleeve, abruptly calm. “He was my father. I didn’t kill him.”
“All right then.” Russ’s voice was low and soothing. “Tell us what happened.”
“I went to have lunch with my . . . with someone. We went to the French place there on the street just the other side of the Empire Hotel, and afterwards I took a cab ride in the countryside and then back to the train station. It’s nothing more than that.”
Russ nodded. “And who were you with?”
“What difference does it make? It’s the truth.”
“Then you won’t mind if we contact this person to see if the story can be corroborated.”
Daniel shook his head. “You can’t do that.”
Russ waited for him to continue, and finally Daniel smiled, a bitter smile.
“Very well. It was a woman. A married woman. I suppose it’s nothing different from what you see every day in your practice.”
Russ sighed. “D
id you usually meet this woman in the afternoon?”
“While her husband was at his office generally. When I was supposed to be in class.”
“Did you generally meet in public?”
“Sometimes. Not in London, of course, because we might be seen. But we did sometimes meet in Winchester or Canterbury or anyplace where she wouldn’t be known. It was all a lark, taking the trains down and all, pretending to be strangers again and again.”
“Any particular reason you wanted to meet at a restaurant this time?”
“I didn’t want her to make a scene.” Daniel fidgeted in his chair. “I suppose I thought she’d control herself in public.”
“Did you have reason to believe she wouldn’t otherwise?”
Drew could see Daniel struggling with the question, how best to respond to it. He could see too that Russ, competent solicitor that he was, already knew the answer.
“Daniel?” Russ prompted.
“I had decided to break off with her. I reckoned she would be upset, and I knew she couldn’t afford to make a scene. Not with me there and her husband elsewhere.”
“I see. And why had you decided to break off with her?”
“My father.” Daniel started to laugh. “My father had found out about her. He told me it wasn’t right, that marriage was a sacred bond that should never be broken. And I believed him.” He laughed again, laughed until the laughter turned into deep, painful sobs. “I believed him, and he was the greatest liar and hypocrite ever born.”
Drew waited until he’d calmed himself a bit and then said, “Your mother doesn’t think there’s anything to what this Allen girl says.”
“Mother.” Daniel laughed again, low and half hysterically. “Dear mother.”
Russ blew twin streams of cigarette smoke from his nose. “Let’s keep on the subject at hand, shall we? The Allen girl is of no importance at the moment. How did your father find out about this woman you were seeing?”
“I had been asking him for money, some of the money my gran left me. I’m not supposed to have it for another four years, but I knew he could have approved some withdrawals if he’d wanted to.”
Russ nodded. “But he didn’t want to.”
“No. He said he’d have to know what it was for and it would have to be a pretty good cause, as well. I told him I couldn’t tell him, and he asked me straight out if it was for a girl. He wanted to know if I’d gotten someone in trouble, but I told him it was nothing like that. Still, he kept at me until I told him. That’s when he went on about marriage and honor. And to be honest, I thought he was grand about it at the time. He didn’t scold me or try to shame me. He just told me to consider what I knew of right and wrong and said he hoped I would think it best to ask God’s forgiveness and end things with the woman.” Daniel’s eyes filled with tears, but he ignored them. “And that’s what I did. I suppose I’d known it was wrong from the beginning. But I guess he knew about that well enough himself.”
For a moment, there was only silence in the little gray room, and then Russ cleared his throat. “What else did you do that day?”
“That was all. I told her I couldn’t see her again, I wished her well, and I went home.”
“How did she take the news?” Drew asked.
“She shrugged. She said it’d been fun and all, but she’d already realized that the thing had run its course. She said I hadn’t been her first and I wouldn’t be her last.” Daniel shook his head. “And I’d been afraid I’d break her heart.”
“And the ride in the country?” Drew asked.
Daniel shrugged. “I wanted to clear my head before I went home. Mother would have known I was upset. It doesn’t matter what happened with me and the girl. I have my mother to think of now. It’s bad enough that she’s had to carry the shame of what my father did. I won’t have her hearing that I’m no better, do you understand? If you tell her this, I’ll deny everything.” Daniel managed to look smug again. “She’ll believe me, too. She always has.”
Russ lit another cigarette. “The problem is, can we get the police to believe you?”
Drew leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me, Mr. Montford, what did you do after the cab took you to the station?”
“Took the train back to London, of course, and another cab after that.”
“And what did you do after it let you off at home?”
“It didn’t. I mean, not right at home. I didn’t want my mother to know I’d been out, so I had the driver let me out at the corner. Then I came round through the garden and into the kitchen. Cook hadn’t seen me come in, and I acted as though I’d just come downstairs for something to eat.”
At least that much tallied with what Cook and Meadows had said. More and more, it was looking as if Daniel’s presence at that particular time and in that particular place was no more than a hideous coincidence.
“How did you get out in the first place?”
“Oh, that.” Daniel smirked. “That’s never been much of a problem. I simply waited for my chance, went down the hall to the bathroom and out the window. The roof is nearly flat under that window, and it’s easy to walk from there round to the trellis at the back of the house. Once I was down that, it was simple to go through the garden to the next street over and get a taxi to the train station. I’ve done it a hundred times before.”
“And when did you first hear that your father was dead?”
The smirk left Daniel’s face, replaced by anger and bitterness laced with grief. “Just a few minutes after I’d gotten back. I couldn’t believe it. I thought it had to be a joke. A mistake. Something besides what it was. Then we found out about the . . . the girl he was seeing. He’d just gotten through telling me I should do the right thing, be a man of honor, not lower myself to a tawdry affair, and here he was carrying on with some vulgar working-class chit who wouldn’t know a Shakespeare couplet from a Guinness advert.” He closed his eyes, his mouth working helplessly. “It made me sick. Just sick.”
“Did you talk to your mother about it?”
Russ’s voice was professional, detached, and he didn’t look at his client.
“Not really, no. I don’t think she was even going to tell me, but I made her. I knew there was something she was keeping back. I suppose she didn’t want me disillusioned about him. About what he claimed to believe. About God. I mean, what sort of God lets himself be claimed by so many failures and hypocrites?”
“A merciful one.” Drew looked steadily into Daniel’s scornful eyes. “If He judged us, any of us, as we deserve, who would He have left? You?”
There was a touch of gentle humor in that last question, though this time Daniel looked far too weary to reply.
Russ cleared his throat. “Well, theological questions aside, I’m afraid we have more practical matters to deal with at present.”
Drew smiled. “Right you are, Mr. Russ. To the business at hand.”
“Thank you. Now, Daniel, as your solicitor, here’s my advice to you. Tell all this to the chief inspector immediately. He’ll want the woman’s name and address and any other information you have about her. I’m certain he’ll agree to keep all of that confidential, unless, for some reason, your story cannot be corroborated. If you’re telling the whole truth, I don’t see why it need come out in court or why you should have any sort of charges brought against you at all. To my knowledge, there’s no statute against foolishness on the books, so you should be safe from prosecution.”
Daniel took hold of Russ’s sleeve, leaning toward him. “You’ve got to swear to me that my mother won’t ever hear about this. Not ever.”
“I can’t make any guarantees, young man, but I see no reason it should ever have to be told, either in public or to Mrs. Montford. However, if you don’t tell the police about this, you’ll very likely be tried, convicted, and executed for your father’s murder. Which do you think your mother would rather have? A son disgraced and repentant or one hanged?”
Daniel’s grip tightened, and then, letting
his breath out in a rush, he released Russ’s sleeve and sprawled back in his chair. “Get the inspector. I’ll tell him everything.”
“Excellent.”
Russ knocked on the door, and the officer outside opened it.
“Go and get Chief Inspector Birdsong, please. My client would like to speak to him.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t leave my post. If you like, you can go down to my chief’s office and speak to him there. It’s all the way to the end of this hallway, then left and left again and just at the very back. The name Edgerton is on the door.”
Russ frowned, glanced back at Drew and Daniel, thanked the officer, and disappeared down the corridor. The officer shut the door once more and locked it.
Drew studied the prisoner for a moment longer. “So, tell me, Daniel, who do you think is doing these killings?”
“I tell you, I don’t know. I still think that girl killed my father.”
“The one who doesn’t know Shakespeare from Guinness?”
“Yes, that Allen girl.”
“Why do you say that about her? I mean, why Shakespeare in particular?”
Daniel scowled. “Why not Shakespeare? It’s not something a shopgirl is likely to know very well, that’s all. I could have said Byron or Ovid for all the difference it would make.”
“Yes, I suppose. But would she have killed the others?”
Daniel’s scowl turned into a sulky shrug. “Could have. Perhaps she’s one of those who can’t stop after the first murder.”
“Interesting theory. How do you suppose the Shakespeare comes into it?”
“How should I know how the blasted Shakespeare comes into it? Perhaps she has some sort of monomania.”
Drew smiled faintly, watching the prisoner’s eyes. “Could be. Could be. Funny about the killer using Shakespeare, though. Not everybody has a taste for it, do they?”
Daniel snorted. “I never did. I couldn’t wait to get through that in school, all that nancy talk. If he wanted to say it was morning, he should have just said it was morning. Not that rot about day standing jocund on the misty mountaintops.”
Drew chuckled. “‘Jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops,’ I believe is the line.”
Death by the Book Page 17
