by Tessa Dale
DCI Richard Clever looked, and smiled.
“Simeon Arthurson,” he muttered. “Now we really are getting places!”
“This links Arthurson directly with a material witness at Peter Fornell’s murder trial,” Dan Jones said. “It proves that he contrived Fornell’s death.”
“Yes, it does,” Clever replied, “but it doesn’t tell us why, or even, who killed Charles Vancleur. Arthurson had an unbreakable alibi for the night of the murder. He didn’t do it.”
“Where do we go to now then?” Stanton asked.
“To speak with the lovely Miss Catesby, I think,” the DCI told them. “I’m sure she can help us out, even if she doesn’t realise it. She’s in Room 3, isn’t she, Dan?”
Ellie Catesby looked up as the door opened and the tall, heavy set, DCI with glasses came in, followed by Dan Jones and DC Stanton. She put her cup of tea down and greeted them all with a heart warming smile.
“I’m ready to help in any way I can,” she said, shooting a quick look at Dan Jones, who blushed slightly.
“Thank you, Miss Catesby.”
“Ellie, please. All my friends call me Ellie, Chief Inspector Clever. Is it true everyone calls you Clever Dick?”
“Not usually to my face,” the DCI replied. “It might lead to insubordination… Ellie. I prefer Guv, or sir in work.”
“Quite the stickler, aren’t you? Tell me what you need from me, and I’ll do my best to oblige.”
“I have a set of photographs for you to look at,” he said to her. “You are in two of them. I was rather hoping that you could identify the other background faces for me.”
“I’ll give it my best shot,” Ellie Catesby said. Clever took out the first photograph and laid it in front of her. He pointed to an elegant looking woman in the middle distance.
“Not a good picture, I know, but if you could try your best please, Ellie.”
“Are you joking?”
“Pardon?”
“You don’t know who that is?”
“We aren’t that well up on all these socialites, Dan Jones apologised, “and these photographs are from twenty three years ago.”
“Fair enough. The woman is Lady Astor. The man to her left is, or rather was, called Jimmy Forland Grant. He won a hundred thousand francs in Monte that year, lost it all back to them… and more besides… then blew his brains out in a French hotel. I don’t recognise the old couple. I think that is Dilly Donovan. She was about nineteen or so. She was a music hall fan dancer, and married some duke or other a year or two before. The rest are too blurred to make out. I’m not on that one, am I?”
“No, you are not,” Clever replied. He placed a second picture down. “Nor are you in this one, but I can only hope you can help spot a few faces.”
“Very well. That’s Lady Astor again. She went to everything back in those days. The man hanging over her was a silent film actor called… let me see now… Conrad Vernon. I met him later with Peter. He was an absolute screamer, Chief Inspector.”
“A screamer?” DCI Clever asked.
“Slang for an overt homosexual, Guv’nor,” DC Stanton explained. “A real mincer can’t hide it. It’s in their nature, I suppose.”
“I see. And what became of this screamer, Ellie?”
“He went to Hollywood a few years ago, changed his name, and became a silver screen star.”
“Anyone else?”
“ I knew her,” Ellie flicked a well manicured finger nail at a pretty looking blonde woman. “She emigrated to Australia, or was it Canada, soon after. That chap is Billy Benton, the oil millionaire, and the fat girl was is second wife at the time. Laura something or other. The thin man was called Anton, the eldest son of an obscenely rich French count, and that was his younger brother, Andre. Such handsome young men. They both died, fighting for their country at Verdun. Sad old world, isn’t it, Chief Inspector.”
“Can you look at this one for me. You will recognise yourself, no doubt, as you have not changed at all.”
“Gosh, what a flatterer you are,” Ellie said, flirtatiously. “I must be at least six pounds heavier these days. There I am, third from the left. Next to the girl I knew who went to Canada. My, but she was so pretty. I used to hate her knowing Peter, even if it was only in passing.”
“Do you recall her name?”
“Not really. I might, if I heard it again.”
“And she went to Canada?”
“Or so I heard. I guess she wanted to get away from all the nastiness. Peter was constantly falling out with his father about that time, and stayed in London at the Mayfair house. Old Charlie never went down there. I think he was afraid of catching his wife with one of her lovers. She was one for the younger sort of man.”
“Then their marriage was unhappy?”
“It rubbed along, I suppose,” Ellie said.
“This young woman was involved?”
“Like I said, Peter Fornell knew her. They were hardly friends, of course. Besides, she was older than she looked. I guessed her to be at least thirty odd. It’s amazing what you can do with a bit of makeup, Chief Inspector.”
“I’m sure. You don’t recall her name?”
“Is it important?”
“Probably not, Ellie, but a name would help us eliminate her from our enquiries.”
“Then you think one of these faces was involved?” Ellie asked. “One of them could be a murderer?”
“Maybe. Let’s press on. Here is the next picture. You are in this one also.”
“With Peter. There, that’s his shoulder just out of shot. The snub nosed girl with the big smile is Harriet Quimby, the American flier. She’d just become the first ever woman aviator to fly the English Channel. To her left, that hard to distinguish blob at the back is someone called Simeon Arthurson. He used to show up quite often at these things, I believe. There, he’s just behind my blonde friend, and Harriet Quimby. Maybe that was why she fled abroad, to avoid him. He used to leer at her all the time. Peter said it was quite disgusting to watch.”
“At these functions?”
“And at the house too,” Ellie explained. “He said he would turn up on the silliest pretext to do with Vancleur’s business dealings, and linger around where ever she was.”
“At the London house of Charles Vancleur, you mean?”
“Yes, she worked there up to a few weeks before the murder,” Ellie told them. “I bet that Her Ladyship wasn’t sorry to see her go though. She hated having attractive women around her all the time.”
“Why would your friend be around her so much?” Richard Clever asked, realising that he had almost missed a glaringly obvious clue.
“Well, she was the housekeeper, wasn’t she?” Ellie said. “Of course she was around all the time. Then she just went off. Later, I heard she had reconciled herself with Vancleur’s widow, and gone to Canada with her, and her new young fellow.”
“I bet you missed Daphne,” Clever said.
“Not really. She could be a something of a …what did you say? Daphne… yes… Daphne… damn… wait a moment, It’s coming. Yes, her name was… Daphne Litton.”
“Daphne Leighton,” Clever said, correcting his material witness‘s memory. “You met an attractive young woman, who called herself Daphne Leighton, and served as resident housekeeper at the London house. Did Charles Vancleur ever meet her?”
“I doubt it. He used to arrive at these functions straight from the train, and went back the same night, no matter what the time was. He hated being away from here. Some of the servants of these socialites were allowed to attend, on occasion, but were kept well in the background.” Ellie frowned. “Vancleur wouldn’t have recognised her, even if he bumped into her. I say, if she was involved… then it must have been in partnership with Lady Vancleur. The widow sold up very quickly, and shipped out to Canada the moment poor Peter was hanged. The conniving, filthy, murdering bitches!”
“Please, let’s not jump to conclusions,” DCI Clever said, almost flinching at the w
oman‘s intensity of feeling.. “I have a set of photographs, collected by a deranged woman, because you showed her gratitude. She idolised you for a while, and tried to save any pictures she could with you in them.”
“Really? Then tell me this, Chief Inspector, why did Lady Vancleur cut and run so quickly? I heard she sold the estate to her husband’s partner at a ridiculously low price. No, she was running away from something bad. I think she and her housekeeper killed her husband, let Peter hang for it, and ran away.”
“Lady Vancleur was in London,” Richard Clever explained to Ellie Catesby, “and Daphne Leighton had left her employ. What possible motive would either have to kill the Earl?”
“Money?”
“Her Ladyship had her own personal fortune, left to her by her industrialist father, and Daphne stood to gain nothing. Besides, she was very good looking!”
“Oh, I see. Good looking women can’t possibly be murderers then?”
“I suggest that Sergeant Jones returns you to your hotel,” the DCI said. “Or would you prefer being put on a train back to Coventry?”
“I’m not going back to Coventry,” Ellie announced. “I’ve decided to settle down back here. I might buy a nice little house and get married to a nice, decent kind of man.”
“I wish you luck,” Richard Clever told her, sincerely, “Now, if you don’t mind, we have a murder case to close.”
Chapter Twenty Three
The County and City Police force often moved at a ponderous pace, grinding every piece of evidence down until it fit the required place in the puzzle, but there were occasions when the great mill stones of justice moved faster. This was just such a time, and the speed of things caught Alan Herbert, Chief Constable of the County, and a man of hitherto unblemished character completely by surprise.
He had been counting down the hours until he could terrify Vincent Morant into surrendering his uncle’s old files, and had decided that, once he had them in his possession, he would teach the poisonous little blackmailer a severe lesson. After that, he would speak to several close friends on the County Police Board, and recommend the closing down of DCI Richard Clever’s squad as soon as possible.
Over the years, the Chief Constable had accrued a long list of names who had crossed him in some way. With the help of Black Archie Moran’s poisonous jottings, he would spend many happy hours getting even. The future looked bright, and he looked forward to influencing the way his county was run, for years to come.
Instead, he found himself answering his front door to two very big men in khaki coloured trench coats. The taller of the two removed his trilby hat, and nodded a perfunctory greeting to the Chief Constable.
“Your secretary told us you were going to be at home all day today, sir,” he said. He looked, pointedly, past the Chief Constable, as if expecting a troupe of dancing girls to appear. “I hope we aren’t disturbing you unduly?”
“What is this?” Alan Herbert snapped. “Can’t you make an appointment? Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Detective Superintendent Raymond Black, from Newcastle CID, and this is my colleague, Detective Inspector Joe White… and yes, we’ve heard all the jokes, sir. Could you come with us, please.”
“Why?”
“I am authorised to arrest you, should you refuse my invitation, Mr. Herbert,” Black said. “Will that be necessary?”
“Do you know who the hell I am?” Herbert shouted.
“Yes, sir. That’s why we are here to take you in to custody. It was felt that an external police force would act in an altogether more independent manner.”
“I’m going nowhere, not until I ring my solicitor.”
“My colleagues are collecting him as we speak, sir,” Black said. “I’m sure he’ll want to distance himself from you, once we start investigating him too.”
“You have no right!”
“Inspector White, please cuff Mr. Herbert. Sir, I am arresting you on suspicion of bribery and corruption whilst in office. Anything you say will be taken down, and might be used in evidence.”
“You evil, clod hopping bastards!”
“Don’t note that down, White, just cuff the bent bugger!”
It was late afternoon before Vincent Morant finally decided to call at the police station, and offer a deal to save his skin.
“Let me get this straight,” Dan Jones said as they settled down in one of the free offices. “You want to offer me valuable information, in return for immunity?”
“Yes, that’s about it.” Vincent could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his brow. “I was hoping to see Chief Inspector Clever in person.”
“Tough luck,” Jones replied. “He’s currently busy with some officers from Newcastle CID. They came over to help out with an important arrest. We have Alan Herbert in a cell.”
“Jesus Christ!” Vinnie gasped, before recovering himself. “In that case, I’ll just be running along. My little business isn’t that important.”
“Fair enough,” Dan Jones said. “I hope our carpenter made a decent job of re-hanging your mum’s front door.”
“My mum’s door?” The colour drained from his face as the implication sank in. “Why would you do that?”
“Gas,” Jones replied, straight faced. “We could smell gas, so forced an entry. We looked for your mum, of course, but she was away. Then one of my men noticed some papers and diaries in an old box.”
“Shut up in a wardrobe!” Morant said, indignantly. “You coppers had no legal right to do that.”
“They made for some very interesting reading, Vinnie,” Dan Jones continued. “We arrested the Chief Constable a short time ago.”
“That’s all old stuff, to do with my uncle’s business,” Vinnie told him. “Besides, Alan Herbert isn’t going to incriminate himself by blowing the whistle on anyone, is he?”
“He’ll talk, if only to save his own, precious, skin.”
“So what? I never paid him a penny.” Vincent Morant gave a mental sigh of relief. Herbert had not been on his personal payroll, and would have to admit as much. He was almost home and dry. “I think I’ll go now, Sergeant Jones. I’m not under arrest, am I?”
“Not just yet,” Jones confirmed. “I must tell you, however, I have one of my officers locked up in a cell downstairs. He wants to confess to taking backhanders, in return for not being prosecuted.”
“What’s that?” Vinnie felt his stomach turn.
“You have a choice. Either you deal with me now, or I listen to what he has to say.”
“Why are you offering me a deal?” Morant asked, warily.
“Simple. You have more to offer me. He might not know who the others are on the take, but you certainly do. Last chance, Vinnie.”
“What’s the deal?”
“You agree to give evidence in court against them, and we don’t charge you with corruption, running brothels and an illegal casino. We will give you a month to close down your operations, and a further month to move town. I hear your mum has relatives in Scarborough.”
“Your word on it?” Vinnie said.
“In writing, signed by my DCI,” Dan Jones confirmed.
“Fair enough. If you back out of the deal, I can always refuse to give evidence, can’t I?”
“Shrewd thinking. I want that list of names now.”
“There’s no list,” Vinnie replied. “I’m not made of money. Besides, I only needed a couple of coppers in the right places to see me right. Which one wants to peach on me…. That fat bugger Sergeant Godley, or Constable Horton in Records?”
“Never mind,” Jones said. “Stay here and I’ll se about getting you sorted out with my Guv’nor.” Dan Jones picked up the unopened file in front of him and left the room. Richard Clever was waiting in the corridor for him.
“How did it go, Dan?”
“Like a charm, Guv. He fell for it, just like you said,” Jones replied, grinning from ear to ear. “He gave me two names. Godley and Horton are our bent coppers.”
“
Excellent, he’d never have given them up willingly,” Clever told his sergeant. “Once he thought we had one, he had no reason to protect the rest.”
“He’ll be as mad as hell when he realises he’s been tricked,” DC Stanton put in. “Can I be the one to tell him, Guv?”
“In due course. I want you to get a couple of uniformed men and arrest our two bad apples. Charge them with corruption to start with, and lock them up in separate cells.”
“Yes, Guv.” Stanton went off to find some help, leaving his DCI and Sergeant Jones to start the business of winding up the Morant empire.
“Vinnie will try and wriggle out of our deal, the moment we let him go,” Richard Clever said. “Pick out a dozen of our best lads and have them raid every crooked place we know about. With the Chief Constable in a cell, I doubt we’ll have any trouble raising the right search warrants. Magistrates will want to show they have clean hands. Tell the men to smash the gaming equipment up, close his pubs, and arrest any of Morant’s gang they come across. Whilst we are at it, we might as well round up any of the West End Lads who have been foolish enough to stick around. By tomorrow, I want our cells full. Make sure they all know that it was Vinnie who turned them in. That way, he‘ll have to run for it.”
“What about the whore houses, Guv?”
“Take the madams into custody, but put the girls on the next trains out of Castleburgh.”
“Most of them are local girls, Guv.”
“You are developing a soft spot for scarlet women, Dan. Make sure it doesn’t interfere with your career.”
“It won’t, Guv, trust me, but these girls might have kiddies, and husbands at home.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Take their names and send them home, with a threat that we’ll lock them up if they start back on the game.”
“That sounds eminently sensible, Dan. See to it then, and get back to me with Stanton as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Guv. What’s next?”
“We are going to tie up the Fornell murder case tonight.”
