"Yes, I believe so, now that you mention it. There were two men in long dark gray overcoats. They are also wearing what I think you call Windsor caps. They didn't say anything but I noticed them because at one point while the Africans were taking up so much of Mr. Gandhi's time I looked around me to see how many of us there were gathered around him, and I noticed them. The tall one especially."
"How would you describe him?"
Godse looked around and then behind him and saw Pearce standing off his left shoulder. Godse nodded his head towards Pearce.
"His mustache was similar to that. Not as long with the handlebars though, I think you might call it an English mustache. Just very slightly curled up at the bottom, and mostly flat against his lip."
Frances nodded and watched Pearce as he took notes.
"He didn't have a face that you could recognize. I didn't look at him too long because he glared at me so I looked away. He was tall though, probably taller than that man over there."
Godse nodded towards Alfred standing against the wall behind Frances.
"He had a cane too, though it was an odd sort of a cane. Looked thicker than most of the others there, but I didn't really pay attention to it."
Frances nodded and smiled.
"I think we know what our murder weapon was."
Davison looked over at her and nodded.
"Yes we do, .38 Special rounds are fired by a revolver, which doesn't eject the casing, which is why we didn't find any."
Frances looked at him.
"Yes, Inspector, though I always thought the sound was more muted than what I would have expected from a revolver. I believe this cane that our Englishman had with him was likely the weapon. It would explain the more muffled sound that I heard."
Davison shrugged. He wasn't willing to argue with her, not in front of Godse especially. Nevertheless, he would savor the moment of satisfaction when they found this Englishman with his revolver. He'd never heard of someone using a cane as a modified gun. Perhaps in fairytales and Sherlock Holmes stories, but this was reality, and reality was much more pedestrian than fanciful tales.
"What about the shorter Englishman? Can you describe him in any detail?" asked Frances.
Godse had been looking back and forth from Davison to Lady Marmalade, quite intrigued by their banter.
"I didn't pay very much attention to him. The taller man caught my eye. I only remember seeing his companion out of the corner of my eye and noticed how similarly they were dressed."
"Anything else, anything at all that you found interesting, or odd, or strange about them?" asked Frances.
Godse took a moment to recollect his thoughts and to think back to the incident.
"Uh, not really, though…it was strange, they seemed out of sorts with the rest of us. Like they didn't quite fit in with the group."
"In what way?"
"Can't say for certain, though they reminded me of the military and the police I've seen in India. They were brisk in their manner, and something about them just seemed like they were used to order and routine. They just seemed to stick out a bit in that more relaxed atmosphere of Mr. Gandhi's talk. I can't really put my finger on it more than that."
"Thank you, Mr. Godse, I think you've been most helpful."
Godse didn't smile.
"I'd like to leave if it's all the same to you then," he said, looking at Davison.
"In a while," he said. Then he looked at Frances.
"Are you finished with your questions?"
Frances nodded and stood up, grabbing her handbag and slipping it into the crook of her left arm. Davison got up and opened the door for her and led her out followed by Frances, Pearce and then Alfred bringing up the rear. Frances turned to Alfred when they were outside in the hallway.
"How tall are you Alfred?"
"Six foot one on a good day, my Lady," he said, smiling.
She smiled back, and turned to face Inspector Davison.
"So we're looking for an Englishman over six feet tall with a much shorter companion."
"That doesn't really narrow it down very much does it? There must be hundreds of thousands of Englishmen who fit that description here in London alone," said Davison.
"That is true, Inspector, but we aren't looking for just any tall Englishman in London."
"We're not?" asked Davison, raising an eyebrow.
Frances shook his head.
"If I were you," she said, when what she really meant was that she was about to tell him how to carry on his investigation, "I would be looking for tall Englishmen who had recently served as police officers in India. To make it even easier, I'd start with those who were involved in any incidents related to Mr. Gandhi's marches with perhaps a focus on this most recent one at Dharasana."
"And why do you suppose I should do that?"
"Because that's a good place to start, Inspector, especially in light of what Mr. Godse just told us. I think these two men are ex police or military, and I've always thought that this murder had something to do with Mr. Gandhi and that Dharasana march specifically. In addition, is not the .38 Special a favorite amongst the British military and police in India?"
Davison shrugged again.
"I don't know."
"Well, Inspector, I suspect you might find that it is."
"Very well, I'll see if I can't find out who was in charge of the police contingent at the Dharasana Salt Works."
"Thank you Inspector," she said. "I'd also like to urge you to take a more active interest in the police whistle I found. I have a suspicion it might belong to one of our murderers."
Davison looked at Frances for a moment.
"Perhaps you're right. I've found out that it doesn't belong to any of my men."
Frances nodded and smiled at him.
"That would mean they were here in London," added Davison.
"It most certainly would."
TWENTY-ONE
Chapter 21
THE row homes in Hackney were nondescript. They all looked very much the same. Dour and long with sad faces. It was a working man's row of homes where the wives stayed at home and tried to stretch farthings further than pennies, and if she was any good, she might stretch it to within nodding acquaintance of pounds.
There was a constable outside the front door of the home. He nodded at Inspector Davison and Sergeant Pearce as they walked up the stairs. Pearce twirled his mustache as they walked into the house. They both wore light rain jackets, though it wasn't raining this afternoon.
It was Friday just after noon, and they had been called out by the postman who had found a man's body slumped up against the couch. He had seen the body through the large windows as he had walked up to deliver the post. The coroner was inside the living room kneeling over the body.
"Doctor," said Davison as he entered the living room.
Standing to one side were a couple of the coroner's men, ready with a stretcher to take the corpse away when Dr. Williamson was done with it.
Williamson looked up at Davison and Pearce.
"Inspector, Sergeant," he said.
"What can you tell me?" asked Davison.
"Well, Inspector, looks remarkably similar to the Indian chap, Mr. Ravi Meda, who was shot at Mr. Gandhi's lecture on Monday night. Two bullet holes, as you can see. Only this chap seems to have gotten into a fight too."
Williamson pointed to the two bullet wounds that were on the man's chest.
"From the cursory look that I've taken, they look to be of similar caliber and to have been delivered at a similar distance to the murder from Monday."
"Except this man is not Indian," said Davison.
Williamson looked up at Davison, a little puzzled.
"Yes, Inspector, that's quite obvious. He's not Indian, he's British."
"Yes, Doctor, I can see that, I was wondering why a similar murder is committed against two different people."
"That's for you to determine isn't it, Inspector?" asked Williamson.
Davi
son didn't say anything, and continued to look at the dead body. It was hard to tell the size of the man as he lay slumped in the chair, but Davison would guess he was shorter rather than taller.
"How do you know that, Doctor?" asked Pearce, looking down at the body of the dead man."
"I don't understand what you mean?" asked Williamson.
"Well, couldn't he just as likely be American, or Australian? Perhaps even South African?"
Williamson looked back over at the dead body and nodded. Then he looked back at Pearce.
"I suppose so, Sergeant," he said, "we'll find out soon enough once we've identified him."
"What about the bruising on his face. Is that related to the shooting?" asked Davison.
Williamson looked back at the dead man, and shook his head.
"Doesn't look like it. Looks more like that happened the night before. There wouldn't be as much bruising otherwise."
Davison nods thoughtfully and taps his chin with his finger.
"I've just had a thought," said Pearce as he walked away.
Pearce went out into the hallway and picked up the mail that was still strewn over the floor, having spilled through the mail flap of the front door. The postman had delivered the mail, even though he had seen the dead man in the house. Perhaps a creature of habit. Pearce picked up the mail. There were only a few pieces of it. They were all addressed to a Mr. Trafford Leak. Pearce walked back into the living room and showed the letters to Davison.
"I think we might have an idea who the dead man is, Doctor," said Davison.
Williamson stood up and gathered around Davison and Pearce.
"Mr. Trafford Leak," he said. "Well, that certainly makes my job a lot easier, Inspector. If that's all you need from us, I'll have my lads take the body away."
"Just a minute if you don't mind, Doctor," said Davison. "I want to know if you've disturbed anything in here at all."
"Not at all, Inspector, your constable let us in and we went straight into the living room where the body was. We haven't touched anything except for the body, and we might have stepped on the post when we came in, but that's all."
Davison nodded.
"Can you give me any idea of when he might have been shot?" asked Pearce.
"Hard to say without getting him to the hospital, but probably two to four hours ago if you pressed me to answer it."
"This morning then," said Pearce.
Williamson nodded.
"I can tell you with greater certainty once I've had a better look at him," said Williamson.
"Very well, thank you Doctor, you can take him away."
Williamson nodded at his staff and the two men put Mr. Leak's body onto the stretcher and carried him out, as Davison and Pearce moved out of the way. Davison looked at the letters and opened up the first one. It appeared to be from his fiancée.
Dear Traf,
I can't bear to write this, but ever since you've been back from India, you're a changed man. I don't understand what happened to you there, but you've become terrible angry and distant.
I have to call off the wedding, and I'll return the ring whenever it's convenient for you.
I'm sorry,
Mabel Walmsley
"That's interesting," said Pearce, "looks like we have an Indian connection here. We should tell Lady Marmalade right away."
Davison looked up Pearce with an arched eyebrow.
"In time, Sergeant. This is a homicide, and as far as I remember, homicides are the domain of the police."
"Yes, of course, but we have been encouraged to keep her aware of any developments."
"Indeed we have. And we will, in due time. Let's first finish up our investigation."
Davison opened up the second letter. It was from a firm of barristers and solicitors. The return address was to Wallace and Bigsley.
Dear Mr. Leak,
We have reviewed your case, and determined that there is not sufficient evidence to pursue. It appears that the British Indian Police, acting with the authority of the British Government has discharged you dishonorably well within their rights.
You may retain us to pursue it if you wish, but we advise you that you would be wasting our time as well as your money.
Regards,
William Wallace Esq.
"Looks like we've found our couple of killers, Inspector," said Pearce.
Davison folded the letter back up and put it in the envelope. He looked up at Pearce.
"Looks like we've found one of them. The shorter one, and the one with the smoking gun seems to be the taller chap who isn't anywhere to be seen."
Pearce nodded.
"It would appear we have two British Indian policemen who might have been involved with our murder from Monday night," said Pearce.
"It would appear that way," said Davison, "though we're going to have to try and find out where this taller chap is, and where he might be hiding."
"A name would help."
Davison nodded.
"Go and knock on a few doors and see if you can't come up with anything."
Pearce left the room and headed outside to see if there were any neighbors who might have something to offer about the mysterious second man.
Davison took a look at the third letter. It was from the electric company. On the outside were stamped in large blue lettering 'Overdue'. He looked at the invoice. It appeared that Mr. Leak was about to lose his lights if he didn't pay up. The bill was a final one for three months being in the arrears. Mr. Leak owed twenty pounds and thirteen shillings. Not only had he recently been discharged, but it appears he had come into some financial difficulties too.
Davison looked around the rest of the house. It would appear as if the taller man was a friend of the now deceased. Nothing seemed disturbed or out of place. There wasn't even any sign of a struggle between the two of them. This was a tale that would be interesting to hear, and he planned on hearing it.
He walked up to the arm chair which had just recently held Mr. Leak. It was dry as if it had been out in the sun all day. The bullets had not exited his body. The coroner would have checked for that, but it was information that Davison needed for his report in any event.
Upstairs were two bedrooms, the one obviously being Mr. Leaks. On top of the tall chest of drawers by the bed was a picture of a man and a woman. It appeared to be reasonably recent, probably within the last few years. Davison could tell because he recognized the man. It was Mr. Leak, and he stood next to an attractive woman with short hair and a hat on her head. She was about his height, and they were holding hands and smiling at the camera. It was a black and white photo taken outdoors. They were in front of the Thames with Big Ben behind them. Mr. Leak was dressed in his police uniform.
There was a second photograph on the chest of drawers which was a group shot of a dozen or so policemen. The men appeared to be in a dry and hot climate. It wasn't England. Davison guessed it was India, but it might have been Australia or perhaps even South Africa. He hadn't visited any of those countries and the scene was minimal, dry and barren except for a few clumps of bushes and a couple of trees behind the men.
Davison picked up the photograph and looked at it more closely. He could see Mr. Leak in the first row on the far left. There were two rows of men, staggered. A front row and a rear row where the tallest men stood.
There was one chap in the middle of the back row who was the tallest. To his left was another taller chap. Those two were the only obviously tall men in the group. Davison stared at them closely. The photograph must have been at least half a dozen or more years old. He could tell by the uniforms they were wearing. The cut of the jacket was a little longer in the waist than it had become about six or seven years ago.
Davison looked at the bottom of the photograph where the initials and surname of each of the men were, he took note of their names and put the photograph in his jacket pocket.
The second room was practically barren, except for a shorter chest of drawers. Each drawer was empty
and there was nothing else in the room except for a bed that was covered in a threadbare white sheet.
Davison left the room and headed back downstairs. He exited the front door and stopped to talk to the constable stationed outside.
"I want the front door dusted for fingerprints, and anything inside the living room that might have had fingers upon it."
The constable nodded and Davison trotted down the front steps and looked up the road and then back down. He saw Pearce knocking on a door kitty corner from where Davison was. He crossed the street to meet up with his sergeant.
An old woman in a dress that was too tight for her and made her look like a fat sausage opened the door. She had curling rolls in her hair and wore no makeup. She had a bulldog's face with an upturned mouth. Pearce looked over at Davison as he joined him. He then looked back at the woman and smiled at her.
"Good day, madam, I'm Sergeant Pearce, and this is Inspector Davison."
"'Ullo," she said.
"We're investigating a murder over at twenty six Houlsen Road," said Pearce.
He turned away and nodded his head towards the home where the constable still stood stiffly outside. Then he looked back at her.
"You don't say?" she said.
"Sadly, yes, madam. We're wondering if you happened to see anything this morning across the road? A man coming and going, or anything at all?"
"Wot time?" she asked.
"Anytime this morning, whenever you might have been up until now."
The older woman puts a fat finger to her sad looking mouth and looks up towards the sky. Then she nods.
"Yes, I do b'lieve I saw a tall man leave that 'ouse 'bout nine thirty, maybe b'fore."
Pearce nodded and jotted down the information in his notebook. He then looked back up at her and twirled his mustache, holding the pencil in the same hand.
"How would you describe him?"
"'E was definitely tall. I didn' take a good look. I don't make a 'abit of spyin' on my neighb'rs."
Pearce nodded.
"We understand that, madam, but anything you might be able to share with us. Anything at all would be truly helpful. Scotland Yard would be in your debt."
The older woman liked that, her sad mouth turned happy for a moment. She liked to feel important.
Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 63
