by James Andrew
‘Someone has to do it,’ Blades replied. ‘It might as well be me as someone else.’
‘It wasn’t your fault that murderer wasn’t caught. It was that Scotland Yard detective, Walker. But the press crucified you too. I hated seeing your name dragged through the mud.’
‘It’s the job. We’re in the public eye. There’s nothing can be done about that, and we have to get results.’
‘But it’s happening again. I want you out of it. It’s not your fault there’s a murderer around. Let them blame someone else. You don’t have to stay on in that job. You can do something else. Why don’t you?’
‘We might catch him this time.’
‘Or you might not. And he might go on killing.’
‘I’m not sure he’s that kind of killer. There’s a specific set of circumstances here. We just have to explore them.’
‘I don’t want you pilloried like that again. Taking a job with my father is sensible. Do you see that?’
Blades didn’t see how he could persuade Jean to think otherwise. Nor did he see how he could cave in to avoid all this pressure. He wondered what Peacock would do faced with this conversation. Peacock was a man he admired more the longer he worked with him. Blades would have liked to know if he would have coped at the Front as well as Peacock. Could he have done as much? Could he do this now? Could he ignore his alarm and anxiety and get to the end of this investigation?
‘You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do,’ he said to Jean. ‘I might have ducked out of one war, but this is another one and it’s mine.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Jean said.
‘There’s a battle going on between this murderer and me. And I need to win it.’
Jean looked at him mystified.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The policies of the editor of the Leeds Chronicle were totally different from those of the editor of the Birtleby Times. As far as he was concerned, murder cases were a golden opportunity to provide lurid headlines, and the one he gave to this article was designed to draw as much attention as possible.
SPINSTER’S DOUBLE LIFE LEADS TO HER MURDER
As has been reported already, Miss Evelyn Wright, spinster of Birtleby and heiress to the Wright biscuit manufacturing fortune was found murdered on Friday, July the 27th, in her mansion at Evans Gardens in Birtleby. What is now known is that Miss Wright was leading a double life. Though a well-respected figure in her own community, she had taken to spending time in Leeds where she dressed much younger than her years, even provocatively.
HOW MANY MEN FRIENDS DID SHE HAVE?
There she led the life of the scarlet woman, meeting up with men, one of them a man by the name of Jack Osgood, with whom maids confirm she shared her bed in the hotel. Another of the young men hovering around her has been named as Peter Renshaw, a man with a criminal record for embezzlement. Questions have also been asked about her relationship with Digby Russell the Spiritualist Minister, who apparently was rarely away from her house in Birtleby. It might be speculated that one of these men might have committed the murder, and all have been questioned by the police, but all have also been dismissed as none have fingerprints which match those on the poker found beside the body, and which was the murder weapon. Who did those prints belong to? Some other young man she’d been seeing?
WHO COMMITTED THE SECOND MURDER?
Miss Wright’s gardener, Mr Charles Falconer, has since been found murdered in her grounds – on Thursday, 9 August. The police state that someone must have crept up behind him as he went about his duties, and hit him with a gardening shovel, which was left lying nearby. Again, there are no witnesses to the murder and, in this case, no suspects, though the police consider the two murders to be connected. Had Charlie Falconer seen something on the night of the first murder? If so, he might have said something to someone. If anyone has any information, the Birtleby police would like them to get in touch.
The police would like anyone with information of any person in the vicinity of either murder to come forward. Also, does anyone know of any other young men she might have been seeing? If so, information about those would be welcome.
A DIFFERENT WOMAN SINCE HER FATHER DIED
Miss Wright had always lodged with her father, being his sole companion after the death of her mother, and she also cared for him through a long illness. Being from one of the wealthiest and most prominent families in Birtleby, Miss Wright at one time attempted to provide leadership in the community and was prominent in her Methodist Church, and on charity committees, but, since her father’s death, she had been believed to have become reclusive apart from supportive visits from a Spiritualist Minister. It has thus been a surprise in the local community to discover Miss Wright’s conduct elsewhere. No one can believe her behaviour in Leeds, and it is believed it led to her demise.
Blades was disappointed with the article, which he thought unfair on Miss Wright, and he did not care for the practice of destroying someone’s reputation for the sake of selling newspapers. He had viewed the body and thought enough harm had been done to her. It could be difficult to feel sorry for the rich, but, as far as Blades could see, Miss Wright’s wealthy background had not helped her. With that possessive father of hers, she had little life to herself when he was alive so perhaps it was no surprise that she threw over the traces energetically once he had gone, and Blades wondered what was wrong with that. She was not being unfaithful to a husband, and surely it was natural to snatch at a bit of life while she still had the chance? This took him back yet again to the murders on the Ridges. Those victims were all young women. The lives single women led. Until joining the police he had not realised how difficult they could be. He hoped that scandal sheet would at least bring out more witnesses.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Constable Flockhart had found the duty of hanging around Elmwood Hall, on the off-chance a murderer might turn up, boring. It had been reduced to a single-person duty but it was twelve hours on before he was relieved and was able to enjoy his twelve hours off, and why did he have to draw the midnight to mid-day shift?
As he stood outside the front door in a conspicuous position, he reflected they were unlikely to catch any murderer with him standing there. As soon as a would-be-killer saw him they would be off, though that was the intention, crime prevention not criminal apprehension. The women inside were worthy of the attention, chatty, friendly and likeable every one of them, but he was surprised that so much care was being taken with servants. Perhaps he was too cynical. In any case, he could have done without this extra duty. He did not like standing about outside at night-time. There were a lot of hours involved in policing and, he reflected, the least his efforts ought to earn was a good night’s sleep.
An owl hooted further off, and something scampered unseen in the bushes, the usual night-time sounds of wildlife, but there was not much hint of human activity. The occasional car rumbled past, headlights blazing its presence, and there was one carriage. A couple announced themselves with voluminous chatter as they strolled unworriedly past the front gate, feet clattering on cobbles.
Constable Flockhart continued to stride the area of his post. As usual, at the beginning of a shift, every noise or hint of movement was noted, but then, as routine dulled the senses, his mind wandered, mostly to football. League tables had been a passion of Flockhart’s since football had resumed after the war. He had missed it. It was the most important symbol of the return to normality for him. He thought of the match on Saturday last, which his shifts had allowed him to see. A couple of goals had been the result of howlers but there had been a wonderful one. Armstrong in full flight on the wing had been a sight to see as he had stopped suddenly then moved inside his man to direct a hard, pacey cross in the direction of Harry Watson who had powered a header down and past the outstretched keeper. A moment to savour, and he reminded himself of it now, the cheers of the crowd, the sudden uplift of spirit at the success of a goal after all those minutes of effort, run
ning and tackling and passing and sweating, then the release of all that tension in the celebration of scoring. Men competing against each other and proving themselves with a football made far more sense to Flockhart than battling it out with bullets.
But a flicker of light from inside the house brought him back to the moment. That light had come from where? The third floor? The servants’ quarters. It was silent now with no sign of movement, but he supposed someone must have been restless in the night and needed to pay a visit to the toilet. Constable Flockhart waited and watched. He ought to check the doors. The front one looked secure but he should check the back door and the servants’ entrance. Making great use of his flashlight, he walked to the side and checked there, tugging at the handle. He was relieved to find the door still locked. He then walked round the back of the house and tried the rear entrance which was also as it should be. He continued to shine his flashlight around, but there was no sign of anyone, so he made his way back round to the front. There he looked up at the servants’ floor again and stared at it for some time. He did not like the thought of someone sneaking past him and murdering one of these women. He decided to check inside as well. He unlocked the front door, opened it, and walked in. As the house was dark, he kept his flashlight on. He picked his way along the hall and up the stairs.
He was impressed by the quietness of the house. The only noises were from outside. He swept his eyes around him as he moved forward. Once on the servants’ floor he could hear the noise of quiet snoring from one of the rooms and was glad to note that at least one person was having a peaceful night, but as he crept along the passage there was a crash behind him, then the movement of feet. He cursed himself for swinging his flashlight round too late.
A door opened, and he turned towards it to see Janet standing there in her nightgown with a bewildered expression on her face, a poker she must have taken from the fireplace in her room held in one hand.
‘What are you doing?’ she bellowed at Constable Flockhart.
Flockhart dropped his light, and it went out. He bent down retrieved it with a fumble then switched it on again. ‘What are you doing wandering around here in the middle of the night?’ she asked him again.
‘I’m on duty,’ he said. ‘It’s my job.’
‘It’s not your job to scare the living daylights out of me,’ Janet replied.
The doors to the other two servant bedrooms had opened by now and Katy and Mary stood there, clutching nightgowns around them and gazing at him.
‘What’s going on?’ Mary asked.
‘Have you caught someone?’ Katy asked Flockhart.
‘Did you hear any noises?’ Flockhart said.
‘I heard someone blundering about,’ Janet replied, ‘and when I opened my door, I found you standing there.’
‘Did you not hear something crash?’ Flockhart asked.
‘I did,’ Mary said. ‘That’s what woke me. Then I heard Janet and then you.’
‘Where did that crash happen?’ Flockhart said, flashing his light about. It came to a stop at an upturned occasional table and a plant pot on its side. Flockhart stared at it. ‘Now I didn’t do that. Were any of you out of your rooms?’
‘Not me,’ Janet said.
‘Nor me,’ Mary added as did Katy.
‘So who did that?’ Flockhart asked.
All four of them stared at the pot. ‘Someone must have come in,’ Katy said.
‘They’re not still in the house?’ Mary said.
‘You were supposed to be protecting us.’ Janet pointed her finger at him, her voice raised. ‘Where were you?’
‘Where I was supposed to be,’ Flockhart replied, ‘standing guard outside the front door.’
‘And you let someone walk past you,’ Janet said.
Flockhart gave her a hard look. ‘Obviously not,’ he said.
‘So how did someone get in?’ Janet’s eyes glared at Flockhart.
‘They could still be in the house,’ Mary said.
‘I’ll check that,’ Flockhart said.
‘Don’t leave us by ourselves,’ Mary said.
So Flockhart found himself followed closely by all three as he prowled around, checking for any intruder. He did not mind this as it made it possible to do both duties at once, protect them and unmask the person who had broken into the house. It was Janet who found the open window on the ground floor on their tour of that area.
‘They’re nowhere in the house,’ Flockhart said. ‘We’ve checked everywhere.’
‘They must have gone out that way as well,’ Janet said.
‘So it seems,’ Flockhart replied.
‘Thank God for that,’ Mary said.
‘You’re telling me,’ Katy agreed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
‘An intruder in the night?’ Blades asked Flockhart.
It was now the next morning, and daylight at least made the scene look more cheerful.
‘He gained entry here,’ Flockhart said as they stood in the hallway looking at the open casement window. Blades strode over to it and peered out at an area of lawn and a flowerbed. He turned back to Flockhart.
‘Has anyone touched the window?’ he said. Seeing Flockhart hesitate, he said, ‘Was it you?’
‘I didn’t touch it,’ Flockhart said. ‘I don’t think anyone did.’
‘We’ll check it for prints as a matter of course,’ Blades said. ‘We have everyone else’s but we’ll need yours as well. What was it that first alerted you to this?’
‘I was at my post.’ Blades noticed how clear Flockhart was making this though he had not thought to doubt him. ‘Then I noticed a flicker of a light in the servants’ quarters. It’s not out of the ordinary to need to find the washroom in the middle of the night and at first, I thought that was what it was. But I investigated, and as I was doing that there was a thump and I wasn’t able to see who’d caused the noise. Then one of the doors opened and Jane challenged me with her poker.’
‘Good job you weren’t the prowler, Flockhart. Might have been your early demise.’
‘Then the other two bedroom doors opened and Mary and Katy turned up. I found the source of the thud. Someone had knocked over a plant pot.’
‘We’ll have to have a look at that,’ Blades said.
‘And then when we searched everywhere, we found the open window.’
‘Careless of them to leave it open behind them,’ Peacock said.
‘But lucky for us,’ Blades said. ‘You’ve done well, Flockhart. Someone was up to mischief all right, but you’ve kept the women safe. Peacock, you’ll have to dust this window for fingerprints and photograph it. Have a look outside as well and see if you can find footprints to take plaster casts of. And we’d better have a look at this overturned plant pot too. Show us to it, Flockhart.’
This Flockhart did, and Blades ruminated on it. Flockhart then took him on a guided tour of the whole house and Blades examined this corner and that, tut-tutting as he did so, though he wasn’t always entirely clear about what himself. This was a puzzle. He found himself staring at fire irons as he walked past and wondered why he was becoming fascinated by them. When they had finished, he said, ‘We’ll interview the servants, and we’ll have a good look at that weapon Janet was wielding in your direction. It’ll be the one from the fireplace in her room. Good job it wasn’t one from the drawing room. That would have finished you off quickly.’
Flockhart snorted. He did not seem sure how to take that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
‘My mother says I’m definitely not safe here,’ Mary said to Janet as she stood with her coat laid out on the bag beside her, all ready to leave. ‘It’s not only Miss Wright who was murdered, so was Charlie, and you wouldn’t have thought anyone would want to do him in, so who’s next? There’s a maniac around, that’s what she says. And she could be right. Who was that prowling around in the middle of the night? Not that she’s happy at the thought of having me back. She was pleased to be rid of me, one less mouth to feed, and
I was sending money home. And my sister Jessie will be furious. She’ll have to share her room with me again.’
Janet had little to say in reply. ‘Your mother knows best. You pay attention to her.’ But she was wondering at the duties that would be left undone. She supposed Katy would take on Mary’s jobs in addition to her own. Katy would manage as there would be less to do with the only rooms in use being those of the servants, and kitchen duties were light as Janet only had Katy and herself to cook for now. Why did they continue doing things anyway? Janet mused, and why did she still bark endlessly at Katy? There was no Miss Wright to appease and her father was gone. Janet realised she was the one who had become the tartar. She was so disciplined by years of habit to supervise the household to the standards that the Wrights set that she was incapable of doing anything else now. It might keep her going through this, she supposed.
Katy was livid with Mary. ‘Don’t go,’ she said. ‘Pay no attention to your mother. I don’t want to have to whiten that front step again or black-lead the kitchen range. I thought I was finished with all that.’
‘My mother doesn’t want me working in the kind of place this is,’ Mary continued. ‘What that Miss Wright was up to. Who’d have thought it?’ Then, with all the wisdom of her fourteen years on her face, Mary said, ‘Think of the reputation I could get if I kept on working here. I wonder why you don’t all leave.’
We might have to, Janet thought. We don’t know whether that Andrew Wright will want to keep us on or not.
‘You don’t want to worry about what old gossips say,’ Katy said with a superior scowl.
But Mary moaned on. ‘And my mother was ever so pleased when I got this job,’ she said, ‘because it was supposed to be such a grand household and look how it’s turned out.’
‘I’ll give you a good reference,’ Janet said. ‘You haven’t been here long, but you’ll get a suitable place somewhere. You’re young and healthy.’
