The Dorich House Mystery (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 3)

by P. J. Thurbin

  “But what was odd was that he was very particular about sticking to a tight regime. He always called his relatives just after lunchtime. I think he sent money to them as well. So why would he have phoned them so late? It doesn’t make sense for him to change his routine like that. Something must have really upset him to do that, don’t you think?”

  “Look Mrs. ----?”

  “It’s Miss. Miss Banks. Marjorie. I’m a spinster. Or that’s what they used to call someone like me,” she gave a small almost coquettish laugh.

  “Miss Banks. Look it’s getting a bit cold and I’m sure that you have done the right thing by providing the police with what you know about Mr. Rabinsky. I have to go now as my car is parked at the meter outside and I don’t want one of those traffic wardens to give me a traffic fine.”

  “Oh I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up, but I wanted to tell someone and you looked like a kind person. I can always tell.”

  Ralph made his exit hoping he hadn’t appeared in too much of a hurry. He liked Miss Banks. To him she represented someone from a gracious and bygone age. A slightly timid Maggie Smith perhaps? He wondered if she had designs on Mr. Rabinsky or if they merely passed each other in the hallway with a nod and a smile. But for now he had the traffic to contend with and he had to tell Sarah Winton that her friend was dead. Not that there was anything particularly sinister in that. Heart attacks are common enough and he was fairly old. Sarah had said as much herself. But for some reason, as he wound his way through the rush hour commuter traffic back to his warm apartment, he had a feeling that this was not the last that he would hear of Ivan Rabinsky from St Petersburg.

  ***

  Inspector Linham was feeling comfortable. Sergeant Wilson had just completed the crime reports for the previous month and handed them across his desk for his review.

  “We seem to be up to date, Wilson. Any loose ends you can think of?”

  “Well Sir, there was the shooting of that transport driver. It appears that the killer must have been waiting until the driver pulled into a lay-by on the M25. It looked like he was shot straight through the windscreen of his cab. I’ve checked the vehicle’s manifest and spoken to the owner of the firm, a Thomas Winton, and it seems the vehicle was empty. The driver had made a delivery of paintings and other antiques to an auction house in Paris, Droughots, and had come back empty. So whoever killed the bloke must have been unlucky. That is unless, as you suggested, it was a gangland attempt to frighten someone off who was trying to hone in on some sort of black market or smuggling activity.”

  “Well that one belongs to Sussex, although I wouldn’t be surprised to see it land on our desk, what with the transport company the victim worked for being located here and all. Meanwhile we’ve got a murder case in Belgravia to keep us busy.”

  Earlier that week Linham had been called in by the Metropolitan police on a recommendation from his old friend Jack Ince to take over the Ivan Rabinsky case. Jack thought that the link to Kingston University through the valuation work Rabinsky was doing and the attempted break-ins at Dorich House made it a natural for his old friend Bob Linham. Ince had phoned him and explained that what they had initially presumed was a death as a result of natural causes had turned out to be a murder case after all. The post mortem had shown that it had not been a heart attack that had killed Rabinsky as they had first thought. The medical examiner had found signs of bruising consistent with a struggle and concluded that he had died from a blow to the back of his neck that had snapped his spinal column. She determined that Rabinsky must have died instantly. Inspector Williams’ conclusion was that whoever did it must have known the victim as the killer was most probably standing right next to him when the blow was struck. The only things that were missing were documents from his desk drawers and his PC.

  Linham realised that all of this would come out at the coroner’s inquest. No doubt the local papers would have a field day and it might even be sent out to the AP and UP press. Linham updated Wilson on what he knew about the case which was now top priority. Murder always was.

  “So far the only tangible lead we have is a note that was recovered from the victim’s wastepaper basket. It was a single sheet of A4 that was addressed to a Professor Sarah Winton at Kingston University with a cc to a Grant Richardson. It appeared to be the beginning of a draft of some sort of report. But it wasn’t finished. Without Rabinsky’s papers or the PC we can’t determine if it has a bearing on the case. And what is interesting is that Professor Ralph Chalmers, our favourite nemesis, is involved. It seems as though he had gone to see Rabinsky about some work he was doing for the University while the police were still there. Evidently he’s the one who told them about Rabinsky’s workshop, but when they checked, it was empty. A check with the curator at Dorich House, a Cynthia Harper, showed that the Kingston work had been completed and the paintings involved had been shipped back to Dorich House by a firm owned by a Mr. Thomas Winton and run by a Mr. Paul Scott.”

  “That’s the same firm that I interviewed about that shooting on the M25 lay-by just outside Dover!” exclaimed a surprised Sergeant Wilson.

  “You and I have been on this job far too long to believe in coincidences, Wilson. I always had a feeling that blooming Dorich House would be the centre of something much more sinister than a simple attempted break-in. We’ve got to have a word with Professor Sarah Winton and Mr. Grant Richardson, the man who owned the paintings that were shipped from the workshop to Dorich House. That Thomas Winton is bound to be Professor Winton’s husband or brother, unless we believe that’s another coincidence. And of course there’s our old friend Professor Chalmers. I’m sure he has worked it all out by now and must be itching to tell us how to do our jobs. So here we go again. Let’s just hope we can solve this one before the local press hangs us out to dry.” He reached for his mug of tea before going on.

  “And the vultures are already beginning to circle. I had a meeting yesterday with the Chief Superintendent. There have been lots of complaints from those wealthy types up on Kingston Hill. And to add to things, the Assistant Commissioner from the Met Police, Arthur Moulton, lives two houses down from Dorich House and he has told the Chief Inspector that he is holding him responsible for all of this. So as always, we are at the bottom of the totem pole and it all lands on us.”

  “So no pressure then,” Wilson replied. “Do you want me to visit some of the neighbours and try to placate them and maybe give us some breathing space, Sir?”

  “No. Leave that to the uniformed branch. You and I have got to get over to Kenry House and see what our academic friends have to say about all of this, although I expect that they will close ranks. As I recall, they run a pretty tight ship when it comes to giving away anything that would put the University in a bad light. So we had better contact the Dean, Professor Rupert Granger ahead of our visit and get him to pull his staff in for a little chat. Telephone over to his secretary and set that up for tomorrow morning. Meanwhile see if you can find out a bit more about that Grant Richardson. He must be in the loop somehow. I can feel it in my bones.”

  ***

  Ralph had sent an email to Sarah telling her about Ivan Rabinsky’s murder. Although it seemed an insensitive way to inform someone about the death of a friend, he thought it was the only way to contact her while she was in Rome. So far there had been no reply. Ralph had driven into the College because he wanted to collect his mail. Not that there was much mail these days what with email and text messaging and a whole host of other instant communication processes that Ralph had thus far avoided learning about, but there were still a few of his contacts who staunchly refused to embrace twenty-first century technology, so he thought he should check, just to be on the safe side.

  Janice made tea and produced some of her homemade cakes to welcome his now rare appearance at the college. Since the start of his sabbatical he had made only fleeting visits to collect papers or packages that had been sent to his office at Kenry House. He was relieved that he wasn’t teach
ing or dealing with the usual queue of students asking for an extension of time on assignments. The admin staff and other lecturers that he passed in the corridor looked at him almost as a stranger. It was amazing how quickly you were forgotten once you stepped outside the bubble. Ralph found it all a bit disconcerting. But his introspective reverie was interrupted when Janice stuck her head in the door and told him that Rupert Granger wanted to speak with him immediately.

  “I didn’t mention that you were in today but he must have seen you drive up,” Janice apologised.

  “That’s okay, Janice,” he said. But he had that sinking feeling he always got when summoned by the Dean. Over the years nothing good had followed from any contact with Granger, and now he wished that he had stayed at home and not succumbed to a whim to be in college.

  Ralph walked down the oak lined corridor leading to Granger’s office. Margaret, his secretary, welcomed him as though this were a normal day.

  “Professor Granger will be happy to see that you are here,” she explained. “It was only by chance that I noticed your car in its usual place just after Professor Granger had mentioned that he wished you could sit in at the meeting.”

  “Meeting? I wasn’t aware of any meeting that I was meant to attend,” Ralph replied warily. He knew that Margaret was very protective of Granger and was unlikely to respond.

  “Inspector Linham and his Sergeant are in with Professor Granger at the moment. If you would like to take a seat I will let him know that you’re here.”

  Ralph realised that this might be something to do with his having spoken to the police at Ivan Rabinsky’s apartment, although he couldn’t think why the local police were involved. Just then Sarah Winton strode into the outer office.

  “Ralph! What the dickens is going on? I had just gotten off the plane from Rome when I got this text message from Granger’s office saying that he wanted to see me right away. He had arranged a car to pick me up from Heathrow so I didn’t have much choice. I haven’t even had a chance to go home and get myself freshened up, much less unpack. It’s a bit much to be dragged in here like this, don’t you think? After all, I was attending a conference, not lying on a beach somewhere eating bon bons.”

  Ralph was confronted by a sun bronzed Sarah. The last thing that she needed to do was to clean up. She looked immaculate. She was wearing a freshly pressed linen suit with a crisp white blouse and looking very much like someone who had just come back from a luxury resort or spar, which he suspected was nearer the truth than her lament about being stuck in a conference hall all week. She didn’t mention anything about the death of her friend Rabinsky, or about Ralph’s email. Before Ralph could ask how the conference had gone Margaret emerged from Granger’s office.

  “You can both go in now. I’m glad to see that you made it, Professor Winton. We sent the taxi to the airport so that you could come straight here.” With that she ushered them into Granger’s oak paneled fiefdom.

  Granger did not stand up. He liked to sprawl back in his upholstered leather chair and hold court from an almost supine position. Being overweight, it took a great deal of effort for him to struggle up.

  “Professor Winton, let me introduce Inspector Linham and his Sergeant, Wilson. They’re from our local police and would like to ask you and Chalmers some questions about a case they are working on. It seems that you were both acquainted with the victim and they seem to think you might be able to shed some light on things. Naturally I want to ensure that the University is not embarrassed by anything either of you may have done.” He smiled in a way that Ralph always felt was likely to be seen on a lion just before he pounced.

  Linham looked as though he was not enjoying being involved in a ritual that he had seen Granger orchestrate before. There had been a few incidents at the University over the past few years and Granger had always managed to somehow emerge smelling of roses. The Inspector took charge.

  “Very nice to meet you, Professor Winton. Thank you both for coming in. It’s good to see you again, Professor Chalmers. As you probably know, the local papers are trying to link the attempted break-ins at Dorich House with the murder of Ivan Rabinsky at his apartment in London. I won’t go into details, but suffice to say that there is no evidence to support those allegations. All the editor of the paper will tell us is that they received an anonymous tip off.”

  “Let’s hope it wasn’t from either of you two,” Said Granger, with a smile that said ‘this is not a joke and if you did, then it would be a disciplinary matter’.

  Linham cringed inwardly at this display of mistrust let alone bad manners. But he had seen it all before. The last thing he wanted was to stop wasting everyone’s time on petty displays of power. He continued.

  “The local police found a note at Rabinsky’s apartment with your name on it, Professor Winton. It suggested that he was concerned about something he had discovered concerning the value of some paintings he was valuing for you on behalf of the University. It appeared to be some sort of report although it was obviously only a rough draft that we recovered from his waste bin. Had you by any chance receive a communication from Mr. Rabinsky of this nature, or about anything else, for that matter?” He paused waiting for a reply.

  “No. I did have a call from Ivan some few weeks ago. He indicated that he had sent me some information about the work he was doing for the University, but it never arrived. I spoke to Ralph, Professor Chalmers, about it, and he offered to go and see Ivan since I was just preparing to fly out to a conference in Rome. I only just learned of Ivan’s death when I checked my email at the airport in Rome. I came straight here as soon as my plane landed at Heathrow this morning as the Dean requested. That’s really all I can tell you, Inspector.”

  “Thank-you, Professor.” He turned to Ralph.

  “And what can you tell us about your involvement in all of this, Professor?”

  Ralph told them about how the call from Sarah led to his being at the apartment in Belgravia and his conversation with Inspector Williams. He explained about the valuations being done for Kingston and how Boris Sarovsky and John Weston had shown interest in the paintings that Grant Richardson had loaned to Dorich House. Wilson made copious notes as the Inspector continued his questioning.

  “I know that on past occasions you have had your own theories about what might be behind various incidents, and although I am generally of the opinion that police matters are better left to the professionals, I would be interested to hear your views since you had the benefit of being at the crime scene practically at the same time as our colleagues from the Met. And of course there is the off chance that that the papers are right and there is a link between the murder and the paintings that Rabinsky was valuing for the University.”

  Ralph was not sure if he detected a hint of sarcasm in the Inspector’s voice, but he decided that he might as well play it straight and carry on as everyone was now looking at him. To back out now would only open the floodgates for more bantering from Granger, and he was getting pretty tired of that.

  “I have no hard evidence to support my conclusions,” Ralph said rather tenuously. But when Linham and the others continued to look at him expectantly he went on. “But I think that Mr. Rabinsky may have discovered or at least suspected that some of the un-attributed paintings may have been originals, or at least old attributed copies, and therefore worth a lot more than the current insurance had indicated. Alternatively, he may have found that some of them were fakes.

  “What’s the difference?” Inspector Linham interjected. “Wouldn’t any copy that looks like the original be a fake?”

  “Professor Winton is the art expert,” Ralph nodded in Sarah’s direction, but when she didn’t jump right in he went on with his explanation.

  “Apparently there is a vast distinction between modern copies that have been artificially

  aged and framed using old wood to mislead the buyer into believing that they were painted in the 18th century by some known artist, or even where the artist’s signature
on the paintings had been forged, and those which, although not painted by the original artist, were nevertheless painted by an attributed artist two or three hundred years ago or more.”

  Do you have any other theories about who may have had a motive to murder Mr. Rabinsky?” Linham asked. Ralph wasn’t sure if the Inspector was really eliciting his opinion or if he was simply looking for more theories to mull over.

  “I know this sounds a bit far-fetched,” Ralph continued. “But Miss Banks, the elderly neighbour who first telephoned the police, told me that she heard loud voices coming from the apartment the evening before that sounded foreign, most probably Russian.

  I wondered if one of those Russian organized crime syndicates like the Chechen mafia was pressurizing Rabinsky in some way.” Ralph stopped. He realized that he had provided four explanations without offering a shred of evidence to support any of them, not one of which would qualify as a theory to even a third rate academic. But evidently Sergeant Wilson had been inspired by Ralph’s outburst.

  “Could someone have swapped the paintings for modern fakes while they were at Mr. Rabinsky’s workshop?” He received a scowl from his boss.

  “Well you have presented quite a collection of ideas, Professor. Thank you for sharing that with us. At least you have given us plenty of food for thought,” Said Inspector Linham as he thanked everyone for their co-operation and he and Wilson made their way out.

  Once the officers were out of earshot Granger rounded on Ralph and Sarah.

  “Look, you two, I don’t want you messing around in this business anymore. You’ve done enough damage, and quite frankly Ralph, I would have thought that you of all people would have more self control. You’re supposed to be on sabbatical and bringing in new contributions to the University coffers. And all you’ve done so far is to make us look stupid in front of the local police. It’s a good job I was here or God knows what you might have said. Let’s hope the Inspector sees your foolery for what it is. And you, Sarah. From what the bursar has told me, you were the one who recommended Rabinsky to carry out the valuations in the first place. A fine mess that’s turned out to be. I know that you’re looking for promotion in your school, so let’s just draw a veil over this whole mess and I will do you the favour of not mentioning any of this to your Dean. Do I make myself clear?”