by L. A. Nisula
“Describe Mr. Clairidge? I suppose, but if you’d prefer, there is a picture of him on the wall over there.” He pointed to a framed newspaper story on the wall behind one of the desks.
We crossed to it, and I studied the features. It could very well have been Inspector Fulson’s body, allowing for the discrepancies between artists’ styles and one drawing being made after his head had suffered fatal damage.
“I can see by your expression that was what you were expecting, and that it isn’t good for Mr. Clairidge. I knew he was a fool to go.”
“To go where?” I asked.
“To meet his blackmailer, of course.”
Chapter 6
I STARED AT THE CLERK, uncertain how to respond to that bit of news.
He smiled a little. “I’m not shocked. Mr. Clairidge was the sort of man to be blackmailed. He wasn’t particularly clever or particularly nice. May I ask what trouble he’s in?”
I thought about it from several angles, but telling him the truth about what had happened to his employer didn’t seem to have any terrible ramifications. “I’m afraid there’s the possibility that he’s dead.”
“Oh my. And I always thought it was the blackmailer who had to worry about being killed, not the victim.”
He seemed to be taking the matter quite well, so I didn’t feel any compunction in questioning him further. “Do you know what he was being blackmailed about?”
“I’m sure there are plenty of lies that could be revealed. When he hired me, he promised me a promotion just as soon as the business started making money, then he turned around and hired someone else for the position I was expecting, and refused to give me a reference if I quit over it. A minor thing to be sure, but still.”
“It doesn’t sound minor if you can’t find another place.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad. I’m the one who deals with most of our clients; in fact, I do most of the job I’d be promoted to. As soon as one of them has an opening or if I hear of something else suitable, I plan to jump ship and threaten to ask the clients for references if he doesn’t give a suitable one. I’m sure he wouldn’t want all of his clients to know how petty he can be. Oh, you’re looking to see who would have motive. I suppose I do. Should I be thinking about alibis?”
“It’s always a good idea to be thinking about alibis,” Kate said.
He chuckled. “All right, and I suppose you won’t tell me when I’ll need it for. Not that it matters; I lead a fairly blameless life, and there will be no shortage of possible suspects. Even that article there, did you read it?”
I hadn’t looked at it beyond the etching of Mr. Clairidge’s face, so I turned my attention back to it. Local Businessman Saves Lady: Pulled from Certain Death in the Thames. Apparently, Mr. Clairidge had been something of a hero.
“What it doesn’t tell you is that he pushed her in. I know. The lady in question came here to yell at him the day it appeared in the papers. He paid her almost a thousand pounds to get rid of her.”
“A thousand pounds?” That was enough to shut anyone up. “He had that sort of money lying around?”
“Inherited. He inherited quite a bit from an uncle. Makes him a good target for blackmail, I would think. That and his personality, such as it is.”
“Why did he do it?” Kate asked. I supposed that was an interesting question, although as it wasn’t related to the current murder, I hadn’t thought to ask it.
“I’m not really sure. From the bit of the argument I heard, I think she had expected a proposal of marriage. Knowing him, that probably seemed the simplest way to get out of it.”
As Mr. Frankes was being helpful, I tried for a bit more information. “How long has he been missing?”
“He didn’t come to work on Wednesday. And yes, I did report it to the police, but at the time they said he hadn’t been missing long enough to worry but would take the report, and I had too much to keep track of here to be as diligent as perhaps I could have been in pursuing it. Still, Mr. Hanson, he’s the one who got my position, he could have done something, if he were ever here long enough to notice anything like the owner going missing.”
“And how long has he been missing?” Kate asked.
Mr. Frankes laughed. “Well, that was him who pawned you off on me, so he’s not missing at the moment. But he has been off and on since he was hired.” He made a gesture that suggested heavy drinking from a bottle. “I’ve no idea why Mr. Clairidge keeps him on. Kept him on, I suppose I mean. Maybe he was blackmailed into it. I suppose I should start looking in earnest for a new position, then. Should I expect the police to be by again?”
I nodded. “Most likely soon.”
“Then I suppose I ought to hide the cooked books and the smuggled brandy. If you’ll excuse me.”
I assumed he was joking, but we took the hint and left the office. At least Inspector Wainwright would know who the victim was, but why murder a blackmail victim rather than the blackmailer? Although Constable Jackson had seemed to think that the death could have been accidental in the course of a struggle, so perhaps Mr. Purnell hadn’t intended to kill Mr. Clairidge, but it had happened while they struggled over something, perhaps even in self-defense. And of course, Mr. Purnell couldn’t tell the police why he had been struggling with Mr. Clairidge or even why they were meeting, so he would have a hard time explaining why it was self-defense, hence the need to disappear. In any event, it seemed I was well out of the case.
But as we were crossing to the Underground station, I realized I wasn’t out of it. Not quite. Mr. Clairidge was Inspector Fulson’s body, so no doubt he would be at the office soon to find out what he could about his victim and would learn about the blackmail. Normally, I would assume that he would see the connection to Inspector Wainwright’s case and let him know what Mr. Purnell was most likely on the run from, even if only by leaving him a copy of the report after Inspector Wainwright had left for the day. But Inspector Fulson had not seemed inclined to share anything with Inspector Wainwright unless pressed, which meant, if I thought it was important for Inspector Wainwright to know that Mr. Purnell was most likely a blackmailer on the run, I needed to tell him myself. Or at least leave him a note; I wasn’t sure I felt able to face the wait to be allowed up to the detectives’ floor. A note would be delivered if I asked. Even better, I’d ask to have it brought to Inspector Burrows. No one would think that odd, as it was known we were friends, and he wouldn’t mind bringing it to Inspector Wainwright for me. And Inspector Wainwright might even be more inclined to pay attention to it if it were delivered by Inspector Burrows, if for no other reason than to remind him that we were trying to be more civil to each other.
“You’re looking thoughtful,” Kate said.
I realized I’d stopped walking in the middle of the pavement as I formulated my plan. “We’ll have to tell Inspector Wainwright all of this.”
“I suppose we ought to, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not wait in another line for the pleasure of his company.”
I knew she meant she’d rather not see him again so soon. “I was going to write him a note. If you think Ada needs help back at the shop, it isn’t really a two-person job.”
Kate smiled. “She will want to know about this. You don’t mind coming back alone?”
“Not at all.”
We parted ways near the Underground station, and I went to the nearest teashop to begin composing my note over a pot of Earl Grey and a bit of Victoria sponge. I decided short and to the point was best, mainly because it allowed me to skip over parts that would annoy him, such as how we decided to go to the office to begin with, and gave him a concise statement of what we’d learned instead. Really, there wasn’t much need to say anything beyond the fact that Mr. Clairidge had been going to meet a blackmailer that night and hadn’t been seen since, as I knew Inspector Wainwright would make the relevant connections on his own, although I did add in the gossipy bits that seemed relevant, including the disgruntled clerk and the newspaper article. I debated
whether or not to mention that Kate had been there, and finally decided that, while he might be annoyed that there was more than one amateur involved, he’d be far more annoyed if he were caught off guard by a suspect mentioning there had been two of us there in the middle of his interrogation, so I mentioned her in the last sentence, in a passing sort of way that I hoped made it obvious she’d been with me.
As I put the finishing touches on my note, I realized that was the answer to the riddle of why Inspector Wainwright had allowed me to see his files; he had hoped I would bring him anything I found while investigating the mug so he could use it in his investigation of Mr. Purnell’s disappearance. It did seem we were trying to get along. But I still wasn’t completely certain Inspector Wainwright would give a note I sent him the attention it deserved, so I composed a short note to Inspector Burrows to ask him to pass the other note on. When I’d enjoyed the last of my tea, I found a stationer’s next to a bookshop on the next street and purchased a few envelopes, addressed one to Inspector Burrows and the other to Inspector Wainwright, which I slipped inside the first, then went to find someone to deliver it. Since it seemed I was done investigating for the day, I stopped in at the bookshop and spent a pleasant bit of time browsing before making my way to the Underground station.
~ * ~ * ~
Everything seemed back to normal when I approached Kate and Ada’s shop—at least no alarms were ringing and the Moresons’ cat was napping on their front step—but I was barely through the shop door when Ada came rushing out from behind the counter. “Cassie, you heard.”
I couldn’t think of anything I’d heard that would warrant Ada looking so concerned, certainly not since I’d left Kate near Mr. Clairidge’s office. “No, I don’t think I have.”
Kate looked up from the alarms she was tinkering with. “Inspector Fulson is threatening to arrest me.”
That was something I had definitely not heard. “What on earth for?”
“Murder, I assume.” She sounded calm, but I could see she was trying to tighten a screw that was already tightened as far as it could be and was on the verge of being stripped by her efforts.
“That’s utterly ridiculous.”
“That’s what I told him,” Ada said, “but you know how he is.”
“It’s a sad day when Wainwright is our reasonable policeman.” Kate put down her screwdriver and came over to the counter. “It seems my fingerprints were the only ones on the remains of the shaving mug, so Fulson says our story makes no sense.”
“And it’s taken him this long to check the prints?” Admittedly, that was not the most crucial thing I could have noticed, but Inspector Wainwright would not have allowed practically two full days to pass without having an important clue fingerprinted, which made me wonder why Inspector Fulson had the mug when Inspector Wainwright was the one who had taken it with him the day before. “And of course your story makes sense. It’s the truth.”
“That’s what we tried to tell him,” Kate said.
I leaned against the counter. “So he was here, then? You better tell me all of it.”
“We were counting up the mid-sized sprockets over there,” Kate pointed to the shelves near the unbroken window, “when he came to the door. As we were in the shop and visible from the street, we couldn’t very well pretend we hadn’t seen him, so we didn’t have much choice but to let him in.”
From where I was now standing, I could see Kate had picked up another screwdriver and was fiddling with an alarm that she had already declared was in perfectly good working order. That meant she was more worried than she was letting on. From the way Ada kept glancing at her, I could tell she already knew that. “What happened when you let him in?”
Kate kept poking at things with her screwdriver but not actually doing anything with them. “Well, first he said he wanted to go over our statements, which didn’t seem too out of the usual way, so Ada and I told him everything that happened that night just the way we had before. And he said that it matched what we’d told him, so I said of course it did since it was the truth. Then he said he knew we were lying, and we’d better tell him everything now. So I said again that we were telling the truth, and if there were discrepancies, that had to mean someone else was lying to him. I was going to say that meant there were problems with his note-taking, but he probably would have blamed those on Constable Jackson, and I didn’t want to get him in trouble. Then he asked how I accounted for the fact that only my prints were on the mug. Obviously, I didn’t have time to think that through logically, so I just said it made perfect sense as it had been tossed through my shop window. Afterwards, I remembered that he had insisted Inspector Wainwright’s case was not related to his, so the mug had nothing to do with him at all, but then it was too late to point that out. Then he asked if he could search the shop. Naturally, we said as soon as he had a proper warrant. I mean, if it had been Inspector Burrows, we might have allowed it. But Fulson? Then he got huffy and said he was going for the warrant, and I was not to leave town, and he stormed out.”
So, not as dire as it had first sounded, but not good either. “So that’s all the evidence he has against you? That your prints are on a shaving mug that was thrown through your shop window and which he insisted wasn’t related to his case?”
“I think that’s all the evidence he has, full stop,” Ada replied.
I nodded. “Probably. It doesn’t make any sense at all. I thought the original theory was that his victim was knocked down during a fight. Surely he can’t think Kate was out brawling in the middle of the night, then came back here and broke her own windows with a shaving mug, which we then proceeded to report to Constable Polwarth.”
Ada sighed. “You forgot setting off the alarms. And the obvious answer is that he’s not thinking, which, as I don’t think he’s capable of it, isn’t particularly surprising.”
Kate put down the screwdriver she had long since stopped doing anything but fiddling with. “So what are we going to do now?”
The only thing I could think of to do was to try and get Inspector Wainwright to see sense. He was involved in the case, at least peripherally. He might be annoyed with the lot of us, but he wouldn’t want to see his case disrupted or interfered with because Inspector Fulson couldn’t be bothered to think logically. “I’m going back to Scotland Yard.”
“We knew you’d know what to do,” Kate said. “I told Ada not to be worried.”
Privately, I thought Ada had plenty to be worried about, but I didn’t see any point to worrying her further, or worrying Kate more than she already was, so I said something indistinct and set out.
~ * ~ * ~
Waiting in line to try to get permission to go to the detectives’ floor gave me plenty of time to consider Kate’s problem. It was clear to me that Inspector Fulson had no other suspects and had latched onto the one piece of physical evidence that pointed at someone, even if that someone had no motive—I mean really, what reason could Kate have for killing a barber—despite his claims that it was unrelated. Really, if Inspector Wainwright’s missing barber was in fact related to the murder case, it was not at all surprising that Inspector Fulson couldn’t find any suspects without looking at that case as well.
I wasn’t in the mood to wait around, so when I got to the receptionist behind the cage, I considered saying I wanted to see Inspector Burrows, as I knew he would approve having me go up. But I wasn’t certain he was in, so I gave Inspector Wainwright’s name and said I had some important information for him. News of Inspector Fulson’s stupidity was important, and as I was quite certain he was accusing Kate of something related to Inspector Wainwright’s missing person case, it was relevant to him. But I was still slightly surprised when I was called to the lift and told I’d been approved to go up after only waiting a few minutes. Still, Inspector Wainwright was not one to let personal dislike interfere with his cases.
Once I was on the detectives’ floor, I went straight to Inspector Wainwright’s office and knocked.
&nb
sp; The “Enter” that followed was brusque but not angry, so there was a good chance he’d listen to me. I went in and sat down across from the desk.
“All right, Miss Pengear, what is this important information you have for me?”
At least he was acknowledging my presence. Perhaps my last note had been helpful to him. “Inspector Fulson is planning to arrest Kate Ferris for murder.”
That startled him into silence.
I gave him a moment to digest that information, then added, “And as the information he’s using to make that ridiculous claim is related to your case, I thought you’d want to know about it.”
“Of course you did.”
I hadn’t really thought he would think that had been my first consideration, but it had sounded better than anything else I could think of quickly.
“I suppose you’d better tell me all of it, then.”
I was a little surprised at his willingness to listen but not about to lose the opportunity, so I told him everything Kate had told me about Inspector Fulson’s visit to the shop. Inspector Wainwright snorted at some of Inspector Fulson’s more ridiculous notions but otherwise let me tell the story at my own pace. When I’d finished, I gave him a chance to think about what I’d just said, then asked, “So what are we going to do about it?”
“The murder is Inspector Fulson’s case. I’m not sure there’s much I could do about it if I were so inclined.”
“But he’s using the mug as evidence, and that is clearly connected to your Mr. Purnell and his disappearance.”
Inspector Wainwright sighed in a manner that suggested he knew he would not be getting rid of me until he addressed my concerns. “All right, then how do you explain the lack of other fingerprints? Miss Ferris did not handle the mug in your account of events.”
“Simple. When Ada and I were collecting up the shards of the mug, we were also cleaning up the shattered glass from the window, so we were both wearing gloves to protect our hands from the glass, therefore we did not leave any prints. And when I was trying to put the pieces together, I used one of Kate’s screwdrivers to move them, again so I wouldn’t get cut on the pieces. Kate probably touched them when we were trying to piece the image on it together and speculating on where it came from. As to why there were no prints from the barber shop, I’d assume they clean the mugs after use, and Mr. Purnell may have been wearing gloves himself, either because he was cold or to keep his prints off of it, although I’ll admit that doesn’t make much sense if he wanted the cup to be used to identify him.”
