Riley Rochester Investigates
Death of a Prosecutor
Edited by Perry Iles
Cover Design by Jane Dixon-Smith
Copyright © Wendy Soliman 2018
ISBN: 9781543926842
This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations contained are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance of actual living or dead persons, business, or events. Any similarities are coincidental.
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The Author – Wendy Soliman
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
Also available by Wendy Soliman
Chapter One
London, November 1870
Inspector Riley Rochester stood to one side of the detectives’ room at eight o’clock on a cold, blustery November morning, conscious of the nudging and subdued sniggering coming from the ranks of his uniformed colleagues and fellow detectives alike. Riley’s Sergeant, Jack Salter, muttered oaths beneath his breath when Chief Inspector Danforth appeared behind Superintendent Thompson and stared imperiously over the heads of the gathered officers. Only the redness of his flabby cheeks lent a clue to the extent of his discomfort when the sniggers increased in volume. He stood with hands clasped behind his back, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and briefly caught Riley’s eye. Riley remained impassive. There was nothing he could do to ease his superior’s return, even if he had felt so inclined. The storm was of Danforth’s own making and he would have to weather it alone.
‘Talk about rewarding bad behaviour,’ Salter whispered with a derisive sneer. ‘You knew about this, sir?’
‘I recommended his reinstatement,’ Riley replied quietly, his voice hidden beneath the muffled laughter from the rank and file coppers.
‘Gawd help us! Why would you go and do a thing like that?’ Salter scratched his chin and simultaneously dealt Riley an aggrieved look. ‘You would have got promoted to chief inspector if you hadn’t.’ A couple of the men near them looked their way, and there were a few murmurs of assent.
‘Danforth made a mistake,’ Riley said, the master of understatement. When a prostitute with rather specific talents had recently been found dead, it emerged that Danforth had been one of her most regular clients. He enjoyed having his arse whipped, it transpired, and his predilection had almost cost him his career. It certainly cost him what little respect he had earned from the men he supervised. He was never a popular officer, and had always been one of Riley’s main detractors. Riley had saved his hide and, in so doing, earned his sergeant’s condemnation. ‘We are none of us perfect, Jack. Danforth will be aware that the troops know he abused his position and won’t be so top-lofty now.’
‘Ha!’
Salter was clearly not convinced, which is why Riley hadn’t given him advance warning. His sergeant had a deep-seated sense of morality which prevented him from excusing an unpopular superior officer and a married man from indulging his depravities with courtesans. Riley was more broad-minded, and felt some sympathy for Danforth. He found it hard to imagine possessing a need so strong that he would risk his reputation, his career, the welfare of his family and…well, public exposure in order to satisfy it.
‘At least Thompson is shaming him by parading him in front of us all. That’s something I suppose,’ Salter reluctantly conceded. ‘He could just as easily have reinstated him without all this palaver and saved Danforth a lot of embarrassment.’
‘Oh, I think he needs to make public amends, don’t you agree?’
Salter harrumphed. ‘Don’t seem to matter what I think.’
‘Cheer up, Sergeant. At least you’re getting some fun out of it.’
Salter sniffed. ‘Still don’t see why you didn’t nab the chance for promotion. You deserve that position a damned sight more than Danforth does and would make a better fist of it.’
‘I prefer to be out there solving crimes, Jack, not pushing papers around a desk.’
Which was half the truth. Riley—Lord Riley Rochester—had recently proposed to Amelia Cosgrove—the only woman who had come close to making him think about settling down. Frustratingly, she had been called away unexpectedly to sit with an ailing aunt and had yet to give him her answer. Riley was in his mid-thirties now, and his mother had been urging him to marry for over a decade. Now ready to oblige her, he knew she would not be best pleased with his choice so had no intention of informing her unless—until—Amelia accepted him.
Riley’s brother, the Marquess of Chichester, had just one son, a sickly boy of seven who was unlikely to reach maturity and assume the title. That left a reluctant Riley next in line, putting pressure on him to sire an heir. Amelia had been married before but had no children. His mother was not aware that her marriage to Cosgrove had never been consummated, and probably assumed that Amelia must be barren. Riley had told Jack Salter nothing about the turn his personal circumstances had taken. Had he done so, perhaps Salter would have understood why Riley was reluctant to take on even more responsibility.
Riley returned his attention to the superintendent, who said a few words to the troops, welcoming Chief Inspector Danforth back after his “illness”. The euphemism produced a guffaw of laughter. Danforth looked increasingly uncomfortable, any lingering doubts that his predilections might not be common knowledge swept away on a wave of bawdy joviality and crude gestures. In the back row, one of the policemen lifted his tunic and bent forward while his colleague slapped his rump with a sound that echoed round the room like a pistol shot. By the time Danforth had located the sound, the two officers had assumed expressions of comic innocence. Riley watched his already flushed cheeks grow red with anger. Danforth’s style had always been to bully and pull rank. None of the troops had dared to defy him before now, indicating just what an uphill struggle Danforth had ahead of him. Riley considered he had got off lightly, and felt little sympathy for the man.
‘That took some nerve,’ Salter conceded as he followed Riley back to his office. ‘Eating humble pie ain’t his bag as a general rule.’
‘He has eight children to feed, so he had no choice in the matter.’ Riley threw himself into the chair behind his desk and looked with distaste at the amount of paperwork that had somehow accumulated there. They were enjoying a rare quiet spell following the resolution of the dead prostitute’s case, and Riley could think of no excuse to continue ignoring the mountain of papers. ‘If Danforth had been dismissed he would never have found another job, at least not something that would enable him to look after his family, and he’s well aware of the fact.’
Salter sniffed, unimpressed. ‘He should have thought of that before—’
‘The detective department is viewed with scepticism by the general public as it is. If a senior officer were to be publicly disgraced, it would do our image no good. We’d all suffer. Thompson, you, me and all those men out there who are too stupid to realise it.’
‘And you thought about all that before recommending his reinstatement, I suppose.’ Salter shook his head. ‘Sometimes you’re too soft for your own good.’
Riley chuckled. ‘And sometimes I surprise myself.’
‘Well, I hope he appreciates what you did for him, but I somehow doubt that his gratitude will last for long, even if it existed in the first place.’
Riley threw his head back and closed his eyes, wondering how long it would be before Amelia returned and gave him his answer. It was ironic, really. His mother had paraded attractive women past him at every opportunity these past ten years. He knew he was far from irresistible, but given his position and likely future, he was certain that few of them would have hesitated to accept him, which is perhaps why he was so drawn to Amelia. She saw beyond the glamour of his title and circumstances. Having endured one unhappy marriage, she wanted to be absolutely sure before entering into a lifelong commitment for a second time.
A knock on the door roused him from his reverie. ‘The superintendent wants to see you, Inspector.’ Sergeant Barton, keeper of Scotland Yard’s front desk and fountain of all knowledge, looked grim-faced. ‘It’s a nasty one.’
From which Riley surmised that a new case had come in. Just the excuse he needed to avoid the dreaded pile of paperwork. Even so, he was concerned by Barton’s expression. He’d seen it all, and not much got to him anymore.
‘Murder?’ Riley asked.
‘Aye, it looks that way, and one of ours, an’ all.’
‘A policeman has been murdered?’ Salter asked.
‘Not a policeman, but as good as.’ Barton paused. ‘Sir Robert Glover.’
‘Good God!’ Riley said, rising to his feet.
‘The prosecutor?’ Salter asked at the same time, frowning.
Riley shared a concerned look with his sergeant, shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, truly disturbed by the news. Sir Robert Glover QC was admired by one and all at Scotland Yard. A fierce advocate of law and order, he was an educated, articulate man with whom Riley occasionally socialised and felt privileged to call friend. Glover seldom lost a case that he prosecuted, but was never vindictive. If there were mitigating circumstances, he never pushed for the maximum penalty, and was considered a firm but fair litigator.
‘Damn!’ Riley said softly, thinking of Lady Glover, a delicate woman who would be devastated by her loss, and of the criminal justice system that had just been deprived of one of its finest ambassadors. The courts would be less effective as a consequence. ‘I’d best go and find out more,’ he said pulling himself together. ‘Warn Carter and Soames, Jack, and have them ready to accompany us to the scene. Take them off whatever they’re doing. We have nothing on that can’t wait. Certainly nothing more important than finding justice for Sir Robert.’
‘Amen to that,’ Salter, a devout Christian, said softly.
Riley surmised from the grim faces he passed on the way to the superintendent’s office that news of Sir Robert’s untimely demise had already filtered through to the rank and file. There would be no shortage of manpower to help with this investigation, and Riley knew that it would have to be thorough and far-reaching. Sir Robert’s eloquence had sent many guilty men and women to gaol, the majority of whom had been taken down shouting dire threats at the man they held responsible for sealing their fate. The mere thought of tracking down those who had been released in order to eliminate them as suspects, and even those who were still locked up but had connections on the outside, was exhausting. Riley knew that any one of them, or anyone acting for them, could be responsible for gaining the ultimate revenge upon the man they blamed for their downfall.
Riley could see Danforth through the glass panel of the superintendent’s door. He knocked and walked in.
‘You’ve been told?’ the superintendent asked without preamble.
‘Only that Sir Robert has been killed. A tragic loss, and not just for his family,’ Riley said. ‘I assume it was murder.’
‘No doubt at all,’ Danforth said with a grimace. ‘A knife to the back.’
‘Where was he found?’ Riley asked, forcing himself to think like a professional and put aside recollections of the evenings he had spent in Sir Robert’s company, dissecting the justice system over a decent bottle of burgundy.
‘In the courtyard just outside his chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, early this morning,’ the superintendent replied. ‘A watchman flagged down a constable, who sent word a few minutes ago. I have sent Peterson and Harper to secure the area and keep passers-by away until you get there.’
Riley nodded, glad that two of the more reliable uniformed constables had been despatched to keep order. ‘Has Dr Maynard been summoned?’
Superintendent Thompson nodded. ‘He has.’
‘Sir Robert was most likely taken unawares on his way to chambers,’ Riley speculated, aware that his friend liked to make an early start when working on a particularly complex case. By arriving an hour or more ahead of the barristers and clerks who shared his chambers, Sir Robert was guaranteed peace and quiet in which to prepare for his day in court.
‘Was he in the middle of a case?’ Riley asked.
‘The murder of a young girl. Inspector Hardgrave handled the investigation and caught the perpetrator.’
Riley nodded. Hardgrave was a respected colleague and Riley had kept a vague eye on the case as the investigation progressed.
‘What will happen now?’ Danforth asked. ‘About the prosecution, I mean.’
‘His junior will have to ask for a recess, I would imagine,’ Riley replied. ‘Given the circumstances, it will be granted. Then the victim’s relatives, who will have hired Sir Robert, must decide whether to continue with Sir Robert’s junior leading the prosecution or seek an alternative barrister. Meanwhile, I’ll look at the accused’s family and their associates. One of them could have done this, hoping to avoid the accused being convicted by permanently removing Sir Robert from the prosecution.’
‘It’s a strong possibility,’ Superintendent Thompson replied. ‘You’ll get all the help you need on this one, Rochester. Report to Chief Inspector Danforth and keep me informed of all developments, both of you.’
Riley nodded, as did Danforth, and the two of them left Thompson’s office together.
‘I have not had an opportunity to thank you,’ Danforth said awkwardly, clearing his throat several times and failing to meet Riley’s steady gaze. ‘I know you recommended my reinstatement, which was damned generous of you, given that we’ve never exactly seen eye to eye. I want you to know that I appreciate it.’
‘We all make mistakes,’ Riley replied mildly.
‘Yes, well…’
‘You’ll have an uphill battle regaining the respect of the men,’ Riley remarked, resisting the desire to point out that he’d not enjoyed much of their respect even before his fall from grace.
‘They know, I imagine.’ Danforth exhaled loudly. ‘Well of course they do. They made it pretty damned obvious earlier.’
Danforth must realise that his credibility had been compromised, possibly beyond recall. It would take strength of character to reassert his authority, but Riley refrained from mentioning that pulling rank would not be the way to go about it. Danforth must find his own way.
‘I’ll get myself over to Lincoln’s Inn,’ Riley said. ‘Good luck this morning, sir,’ he added.
Danforth grunted. ‘We will both need it, I suspect. Let me have your initial thoughts by the end of the day.’
Salter and Detective Constables Peterson and Harper awaited Riley’s return. All three of them looked grim. Accustomed to dealing with violent death and able to remain professionally detached as a general rule,
Riley was already discovering that it was a different matter entirely when the victim was one of their own and also a personal friend.
‘It is murder, I take it, from the look on your face, sir,’ Salter said.
‘A knife in the back.’ Riley sighed. ‘Murder doesn’t get more obvious than that.’
‘A robbery, no doubt,’ Carter opined. ‘Makes you wonder what the world’s coming to if a gent ain’t safe on his own in broad daylight in an area known for upholding law and order.’
Soames nodded his agreement. ‘A disgruntled ex-con, maybe,’ he said, echoing Riley’s earlier thoughts.
‘Could be symbolic,’ Salter pointed out as the four men headed for the door. ‘Some old lag thinks Sir Robert stabbed him in the back by having him sent down and decided to return the favour.’
‘Come on,’ Riley said, looking at the congested street, giving up on the idea of hailing a cab and setting out on foot instead. ‘It’s not much more than a mile. It will be quicker to walk at this time of day.’
It was a crisp morning, still early, with a decided chill in the air. The habitual layer of smog drifted up from the river, bringing with it unhealthy smells that the new network of drains had failed to eradicate. Klaxons boomed from the steamers that chugged along the Thames, dodging one another with inches to spare as they took commuters from Chelsea and Woolwich to London Bridge pier for a penny a time. The clouds that threatened rain failed to deter street traders. A girl selling posies from a tray approached them.
‘A flower for your lady loves, gents.’
A paper boy shouted the headlines from his corner stall. ‘’Orrible murder in ’Ackney! Read all about it!’
‘And in Lincoln’s Inn too,’ Salter muttered. ‘How long before the lad’s glorifying that one?’
‘Don’t dawdle, Sergeant. I want to get there before the rest of chambers arrives.’ Riley dodged the traders and increased his pace. ‘Lady Glover deserves to hear the news from me.’ A duty which Riley would have preferred to delegate, but knew he could not.
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