Mugs, Murder, and Mayfair

by L. A. Nisula

  Lupo’s trail brought us to another alley a block away from the first. He bounded down it, pulling Inspector Wainwright along, until he reached the wall that stretched between the backs of the two buildings. He scratched at the wall, trying to find a way around.

  “Sit,” Inspector Wainwright said and handed Lupo a treat as soon as he complied.

  I looked around the alley, but nothing struck me. I was going to ask Inspector Wainwright if he’d noticed anything important, but he seemed to be deep in thought. Then he went forward and looked over the wall. “As I thought.”

  I wasn’t entirely certain if he was talking to me, or Lupo. On both our behalves I asked, “What?”

  “That’s the alley where the body was found.”

  I stared at the wall. “So he came into this alley and went over that wall to leave the body in another alley?”

  Inspector Wainwright nodded. “Hold Lupo.” He shoved the leash into my hand. Lupo and I watched as he boosted himself up to the top of the wall. He rested there for a moment, then came back down to join us.

  “So how did he manage that?” I asked.

  Inspector Wainwright took Lupo’s leash from me. “I believe I just demonstrated...”

  I nodded. “You climbed the wall easily enough with two hands and no dog, but he had a body and a prisoner. How did he manage with both of those to keep track of? Even one would be a challenge. And as no one thought that the body had been dumped over that wall when they found it, I’m assuming it was arranged in a way that made it look as if it had been killed there, meaning he had to get both of them over the wall along with himself or devise a way to keep Mr. Purnell from running off as soon as he was over the wall and busy arranging the body.”

  “You’re suggesting he had help.”

  “How else would he have gotten the body and Mr. Purnell here to begin with?”

  Inspector Wainwright snorted. “It was a very crowded alley. Lupo, come.” I followed them to the street and realized we were re-tracing our steps back to the first alley. Apparently, Inspector Wainwright was still taking me seriously. It was novel enough to keep me thinking as we walked. Who would Mr. Hanson trust? What sort of person could a man like that have in his life to trust with murder and blackmail? “What if it wasn’t so crowded? What if we already know all the parties there?”

  “I don’t have time for riddles, Miss Pengear.”

  “How did Mr. Hanson get the blackmail information from Mr. Purnell? Mr. Reed said none of it was written down. And Mr. Hanson hardly seems the sort to...to rip out someone’s fingernails for it.”

  Inspector Wainwright looked amused at my attempt to describe forcing information from someone. “So you’re suggesting they’re in on it together now, Mr. Purnell voluntarily telling Mr. Hanson what he knows?”

  I nodded.

  “That does bring up the question of why Mr. Purnell would share such a lucrative income stream with him.”

  I considered that question as we walked. “What if Mr. Hanson is telling the truth, and he didn’t kill Mr. Clairidge?”

  That made Inspector Wainwright stop. “You mean he saw Purnell kill Clairidge and is involved in a bit of blackmail of his own. Interesting.”

  I was expecting Inspector Wainwright to try to poke holes in my theory, but we made it almost half a block without him saying more than, “Lupo, come.” Perversely, that made me start looking for flaws in my logic. “Of course, blackmailers rarely murder their victims. No profit in it.”

  “Self-defense,” Inspector Wainwright said with no indication that he found the sudden return to the theory odd.

  “Then why allow himself to be blackmailed?”

  “To hide the original blackmail.”

  That made sense, although I couldn’t help adding, “But wouldn’t he simply deny it? I would think he would be able to destroy any proof he had of the blackmail and then Mr. Hanson would have no way to prove it. Or Mr. Reed did say they kept all of the information in their heads, so there may not have been anything.”

  “Perhaps Hanson had the blackmail note or threatened to get one if he tried again. Perhaps Purnell thought bringing in a reduced amount was better than giving it up entirely.”

  I realized we were back in the original alley, which gave me the perfect excuse to avoid answering.

  Inspector Wainwright led Lupo into the alley while I waited near the entrance, staying as close to the sidewalk as I could without obstructing foot traffic so I wouldn’t disturb any of Lupo’s scents. While I watched them, I considered what this new theory did for Inspector Wainwright’s case, but I couldn’t decide if it would make finding Mr. Purnell easier or harder. Less urgent, certainly, if he wasn’t a prisoner and therefore was able to get food for himself, although I didn’t think Inspector Wainwright would look any less urgently for him in case we were wrong. If Mr. Purnell was able to leave wherever he was staying and walk to the shops or to get a newspaper, there was a chance he’d be seen, but if he wasn’t a prisoner, he would most likely seem quite normal, not like someone who was in trouble, and therefore not attract enough attention to be noticed. It would certainly make it harder for Inspector Wainwright to find his hideout. A prisoner might at least try to attract attention; someone in hiding would be sure to find an even better hiding spot.

  I was wondering whether or not to say something of my speculations to Inspector Wainwright when Lupo distracted me by flattening himself on the ground near the stack of crates. Inspector Wainwright didn’t seem surprised. “Has he found something?” I asked.

  “That’s where Fulson thinks Clairidge fell, so it stands to reason.”

  “So Inspector Fulson knew about this alley?”

  “While you lot were being questioned, Fulson came down here and looked around.”

  “And told you about it?”

  “Of course not.” He knelt next to Lupo and looked at the spot he was indicating. “Constable Jackson left a folder of notes open. Very careless.”

  “Indeed.” That explained the visit to Inspector Fulson’s office, then. I was curious about Lupo’s technique, so I edged closer, being careful not to block the light coming into the alley so they could find whatever Lupo had scented. There wasn’t much to see. Inspector Wainwright had flattened himself on the ground and was reaching under the crates, pulling out bits and pieces and showing them to Lupo, who didn’t react to any of them. That got boring quickly, so I tried to figure out how the crime itself occurred. That was complicated by the fact that I couldn’t figure out where Mr. Clairidge had fallen and hit his head. I risked bothering Inspector Wainwright with a question. “Why do they think he fell here?”

  Lupo was ignoring a glove. “The crates are damaged,” Inspector Wainwright said without turning his attention from the bits and pieces under the crates.

  I looked at the boxes again. There was a section that had been broken out. “Did they take some away?”

  “What, Miss Pengear?” I couldn’t tell if he was getting annoyed at my questions or couldn’t hear me, as he had pressed himself closer to the crates and was almost under them, reaching for something.

  “I just wondered if they took away the crate he actually fell on.”

  “Not so far as I know.” He pulled out a few bits of paper.

  “I thought there’d be more blood. I’d always heard head wounds bled profusely.”

  I was so used to Inspector Wainwright ignoring my theories that I was quite surprised when he sat up with a piece of rope in his hand and stared at the broken edges of the crates. “Normally, they do.”

  Lupo distracted both of us by springing up from his crouch, pushing his head towards the rope without actually touching it, giving one bark, then sitting next to Inspector Wainwright with an intent look at Inspector Wainwright’s pocket that clearly meant he was expecting a treat.

  “I take it that means that rope is something?”

  Inspector Wainwright pulled two doggie nibbles out of his pocket and fed them to Lupo without trying to hide the
m. “It means Mr. Purnell handled this rope at some point. And if he was tied up, that means he is a victim.”

  “But if he was tied up, why is the rope here? Wouldn’t it be wherever they have him?”

  “Why else would a rope have his scent on it? There’s no reason for him to be tying up someone else.” Inspector Wainwright’s eyes went to the smashed crates. “No blood.”

  I realized what he was thinking. “Strangling?” I asked. “Then the head wound made after the fact. It would explain moving the body. If they knew there wasn’t enough blood, and if they thought no one would find the original crime scene, they might have moved the body, not caring that it would be known it wasn’t left where it happened, but to hide the real cause of death.”

  Inspector Wainwright pushed himself to his feet. “Or it’s possible Mr. Purnell’s feet were tied with it while the body was disposed of, then freed so he could walk to wherever they were taking him.” He took a small sack out of his pocket and dropped the rope inside, then pulled out his notebook—the one I’d loaned him, I noticed—and started scribbling. “I should have brought a constable,” he muttered without looking up. I assumed he was talking to himself or Lupo so didn’t answer. After scribbling a few lines, he ripped off the sheet and held it out to me. I was so startled to be acknowledged, I almost forgot to take the paper. When I had, he handed me the sack with the rope. “Take that back to the Yard and bring it down to the kennel. I’ve written instructions for them. That should get you in.”

  No wonder he wanted a constable. I knew the last thing he wanted was to ask me for help, so I didn’t say anything about it. “Where will you be?”

  “Lupo and I will follow the trail and see if we can find out where Mr. Purnell went when he left the alley, either on his own or as a prisoner.”

  So he was going to follow both possibilities and see which one led somewhere. It seemed sensible, especially as there was still the possibility that Mr. Purnell was a prisoner and his jailor had been arrested. “Good luck,” I said and left before he could feel obligated to think of a way to answer.

  Chapter 13

  I DECIDED THIS WAS THE SORT OF MISSION where time was of the essence, so when I got to one of the larger streets, I hailed a hansom cab to take me to Scotland Yard. Inside the cab, I unfolded Inspector Wainwright’s note and read his instructions. It was curt, more a list of orders than anything. The first line said I was delivering it for him and was to be admitted. The second was to ask the kennel master to have one of the dogs check to see if Mr. Hanson’s scent was on the rope and another to check for Mr. Clairidge’s. I realized that was because, smart as he was, Lupo might be confused and think he was supposed to be looking for Mr. Purnell’s scent again, which had already been confirmed. Then the kennel master was to send the information up to the coroner and have him check Mr. Clairidge’s body for signs of strangulation. It seemed a sensible course of action to determine if that was the best theory.

  Inspector Wainwright’s note got me directly into the kennels, where the kennel master was summoned as soon as my note was looked at. I handed everything over and waited to see if there were any questions, but he read the instructions silently then said, “So Lupo’s done it again, eh? I’ll send up a receipt for this,” which I took as a dismissal.

  Once I’d finished Inspector Wainwright’s deliveries, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I knew Inspector Wainwright had intended for me to go home after delivering the rope, but I also knew he knew I wasn’t particularly interested in what he intended. In the end, I decided I was more curious than anything, and as I was on the official side of the station and wouldn’t need to pass through more lines to get to the detectives’ floor, that was where I went. A glance at the schedule board told me Inspector Burrows wasn’t in, so I went to Inspector Wainwright’s office and sat in his visitor’s chair to wait for him.

  Again, I was caught at Scotland Yard without anything to read and quite a bit of time to wait. As there was nothing else to do, I started to think about the case. But without knowing the results of Lupo’s clue, there wasn’t much new information to consider, and I hadn’t come up with any brilliant ideas when, after about fifteen minutes, a constable poked his head in. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, but then he could have simply been relieved Inspector Wainwright wasn’t there.

  “Report from the kennel master for Inspector Wainwright.”

  “I’ll see that he gets it.”

  The constable looked unsure of what to do, then handed the folder over and left in a rush. He was probably hoping to avoid Inspector Wainwright completely. I opened the file and looked at the report. It was something to read, at least. The report was brief and to the point. A dog named Ridley had tested the rope but not detected any sign of Mr. Hanson’s scent. Romulus had detected Mr. Clairidge’s scent. That seemed interesting. The kennel master had sent the rope up to the coroner when he’d finished with it. I stared at the page trying to figure out what it meant.

  We now knew that Mr. Purnell and Mr. Clairidge had handled the rope, or at least had contact with it, but not Mr. Hanson. Inspector Wainwright’s theory that it had been used by Mr. Hanson to tie up Mr. Purnell seemed disproven now. That left Mr. Purnell using the rope to strangle Mr. Clairidge. And that made self-defense very unlikely. And that gave us a way to get Mr. Hanson to tell us what he’d seen. Surely he’d rather be accused of blackmail than murder, especially if being a witness to murder might make the courts view him more favorably.

  But none of that told us where to find Mr. Purnell, and that was what Inspector Wainwright was trying to do. It was beginning to seem most likely that he had indeed been involved in the actual murder, but that wasn’t helping us find him. I was certain Inspector Wainwright had already tried all of the obvious places associated with Mr. Purnell, so what was left?

  Mr. Hanson was the new wrinkle in the case. It was most likely that he had Mr. Purnell hidden somewhere, possibly against his will, although that was looking less likely with each new clue. So had Inspector Wainwright looked into any hiding places Mr. Hanson would have had access to? He did say he’d seen Mr. Hanson’s flat, and I would think between him and Inspector Fulson there would be policemen all over the flat now looking for evidence. And as Inspector Wainwright had said no one in the case had made any obvious changes to their routine, that left anyplace Mr. Hanson might be able to stop between his home and the office without being obvious about it.

  I considered going out and getting a cab to the office and taking the most likely route from the office to Mr. Hanson’s lodging house to see if anything struck me, but I expected it would be the sort of place that wouldn’t strike someone. I knew Inspector Wainwright had a map of London in his desk, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to go poking around in his things to look for it. Perhaps Mr. Hanson had let something slip when I’d spoken to him, something that would lead to his hiding place. I sat back down in the chair and tried to think of every conversation I’d had with him, but there had been so few, there hadn’t been much chance for him to slip.

  It was possible Mr. Frankes might know something. He hadn’t been friendly with Mr. Hanson, but they had shared the office for quite some time. It was only natural for them to talk to each other at least a little bit, or for Mr. Frankes to overhear things. I doubted Mr. Frankes would return to the office today, but perhaps he would still go there in the morning to finish preparing the place for the heirs to take over.

  Remembering the heirs reminded me of something else. When I spoke to Mr. Frankes, he had talked about getting the office ready for the heirs, but Mr. Hanson had said something about the building being turned over. So had Mr. Clairidge owned the whole building? And if so, who knew about it? Was it the sort of thing Mr. Frankes also knew and had merely been being specific about what they were working on when we spoke, or might Mr. Hanson’s mention of it have been a slip of the tongue, or did Mr. Hanson have a bit more knowledge of the place than Mr. Frankes? If that were the case, it would certainly work as a
hiding place, as Mr. Hanson would have known at the time that Mr. Clairidge was dead and wouldn’t be poking around upstairs, and if Mr. Frankes didn’t know who owned the upstairs, neither would he. I wondered if Inspector Fulson had bothered to find out about the building. And would he have searched it? There had been no reports of robbery, and if he didn’t know the entire building belonged to Mr. Clairidge, if it did, would he have bothered or seen it as being as irrelevant as searching nearby offices? Not that he would have told Inspector Wainwright if he had.

  I was interrupted by another constable poking his head into the office, this time to leave a report from the coroner. I told him I’d be sure Inspector Wainwright received it as well and waited until he was gone to open the folder and have a look.

  It wasn’t so much a report as a note scribbled on the original report, pointing out that if anyone had bothered to read the thing, they would have had the answer to their question. Not that Inspector Fulson had given me or Inspector Wainwright the chance to do that. I scanned the report until I spotted the word strangulation. I was quite pleased to see that Inspector Fulson was wrong and our theory was correct; Mr. Clairidge had indeed shown signs of bruising around the neck, meaning it was possible he had died of strangulation, not the blow to the head, which may have been pre- or post-mortem; the coroner saw signs of both possibilities. So it was quite possible Mr. Purnell had strangled Mr. Clairidge, then he and Mr. Hanson had made it look like he’d died during a fight and Mr. Purnell had agreed to share the blackmail monies in return. It seemed to fit the facts nicely. But how to prove it? We needed some way to convince Mr. Hanson to tell us what he’d seen in the alley. And why had Mr. Purnell thrown the mug through our window?

  I still hadn’t come up with anything beyond getting Mr. Hanson to turn on Mr. Purnell, and no idea how to do that, when I heard footsteps in the corridor again. As they didn’t pause outside the door but turned the knob immediately, I knew it wasn’t another constable with a report.