The Poison Pen

by Evelyn James

  Tilney hesitated. He glanced back at Clara.

  “I am just visiting,” he picked up the bunch of flowers to prove his statement.

  “Never knew you and James were such good friends,” Ling said coldly. “Always thought you hated each other’s guts.”

  “We had our differences, but he was still a colleague,” Tilney blustered.

  “Do you always attempt to smother people you visit in hospital?” Clara asked smoothly.

  “I… I was rearranging the pillows,” Tilney attempted a smile. “What a surprise seeing you both here.”

  “Let’s not play games, Tilney. You are here to dispose of Constable Brompton.”

  “Why would I do a thing like that?” Tilney’s laugh was forced.

  “Because of Brilliant Chang,” Clara answered him.

  “Who?” Tilney didn’t quite manage to make the answer sound sincere.

  “I believe he has been paying you, Mr Tilney. Paying you to keep his activities in Brighton quiet.”

  Tilney tried the laugh again; it was no better the second time.

  “What nonsense. Who is this Chang fellow? Sounds foreign.”

  “I think you know well enough. But, no matter, now you have been unmasked Mr Chang will have no use for you. In fact, he may begin to wonder if you will be a liability to him, rather like Brompton was.”

  Tilney said nothing, though the laughing smile warped to a grimace.

  “How safe do you feel Mr Tilney, now that you are no longer of value to Mr Chang?” Clara persisted.

  “I think I would be watching my back,” Ling piped up, adding to the pressure. “I would be wondering if Mr Chang was thinking of running me down with a car.”

  “You are trying to scare me,” Tilney managed to sound cocky, but only just.

  “Aren’t you scared Mr Tilney? I would be. But then, I have had a criminal come after me, thanks to you,” Clara’s smile was not friendly. “You enabled Billy ‘Razor’ Brown to escape his cell, didn’t you?”

  “Brown?”

  “Are you going to deny you know of him too? That would be extremely foolish, seeing as he was in your police station for quite some time,” Clara could see Tilney’s façade beginning to crumble. “Does he work for Chang? Is that how he knew about you? Perhaps he threatened to tell everyone if you didn’t release him. Brown is in prison right now, facing a rather long term of incarceration. Perhaps he would be willing to discuss the matter of your corruption for a little leniency?”

  “Brown is a liar.”

  “Even liars tell the truth sometimes.”

  Tilney shifted from foot to foot. He glanced back at Ling, who had a scowl fit to melt iron on his face, then he looked back at Clara. He took a pace forward and gave an appeasing smile.

  “Look, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. Only you two and Brompton know, yes? Well, I’ll give you a cut of the money I received from Chang, if you just let me get out of town. I’ll never bother you again, Brompton will be safe. I’ll leave the police, no one will ever hear of me. What do you say?”

  “You wish to bribe me?” Clara asked coolly.

  “Call it a gift, why not?” Tilney started to look a little desperate. “Look, you are right. When Chang finds out I have been discovered my life is as good as over. At least let me have a head start.”

  “Why would I help a corrupt policeman who allowed a thug to come after me?” Clara said, her expression cold as ice, her words hard. “Inspector, he is all yours now.”

  There was a medical screen tucked into one of the corners of the room. Inspector Park-Coombs emerged from behind it and stared at Tilney.

  “I haven’t admitted anything!” Tilney shouted.

  “Do you really believe that?” Park-Coombs replied. “I think you better come with me Constable Tilney. You can explain everything in my office. Confession is good for the soul, they say.”

  Tilney looked grim. He threw the bunch of flowers in his hand at Clara’s feet, before glowering at her.

  “I wasn’t doing any harm. Who cares about a few drug addicts, anyway?”

  “Clearly not you,” Clara retrieved the bunch of flowers. “If you don’t want these I can think of a good home for them.”

  Ling grabbed Tilney by one arm, the Inspector grabbed the other.

  “This way Tilney,” the Inspector said in a remarkably jolly tone. He was clearly quite pleased to finally have his man.

  Tilney sulked, his head hung down and he looked utterly miserable. Not surprising really, considering the grip Ling had on his arm. Besides, they all knew the police were now the least of his problems. A formidable drug dealer like Chang, who could afford to bribe policemen, would not want any loose ends hanging around.

  Clara watched them leave. Then she strolled along the corridor, across the staircase landing, and into another corridor. On her left she found a door marked ‘Welk’ and quietly entered. Mrs Welk was lying unconscious in her bed. There were no visitors, though supposedly her family had been informed of her indisposition. Clara went and stood beside her for a few moments. Then she rested Tilney’s bunch of flowers on the bedside cabinet and took a pace back.

  “Get better, Mrs Welk,” she spoke softly, before turning and heading downstairs.

  Inspector Park-Coombs had hauled his captive away by the time she arrived on the hospital steps. Instead, her eye was drawn to a big red car, clearly a sporty number, parked just in front of the entrance with its engine running. She walked down the last few steps and stared at it. Fumbling in her pocket, she withdrew the small piece of metal that had been found in the lane after Brompton’s accident. She had been carrying it around idly, thinking something might trigger an idea of what it belonged to. Now she was looking at the sports car and its grand hood ornament – a woman leaning forward with winged arms stretching back. Clara held the small fragment of metal next to the miniature woman. It was identical to one of the tips of her wings.

  “You like my car?”

  Clara looked up and spotted Brilliant Chang. He was dressed, as usual, in a smart suit and rakish hat. He was smoking and looked quite relaxed.

  “Yes, I am,” Clara smiled back. “I was just marvelling at how well your garage has fixed the damage to the front. It must have needed quite a bit of work after you collided with Constable Brompton.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Chang grinned. Unlike Tilney the accusation failed to ruffle him. He threw away his cigarette and climbed into the driver’s seat of the car.

  “Visiting someone?” Clara asked.

  “Just keeping an eye on an old friend,” Chang winked at her. “Goodbye, Miss Fitzgerald. I hope we can be as cordial as this the next time we meet.”

  He revved the engine, released the brake and drove off, swirling up leaves from the road as he went. A couple of people who had been about to cross the road in front of him shook their fists. Clara pocketed the small piece of hood ornament.

  “Next time we meet Mr Chang,” she said under her breath, “I shall make sure you are wearing handcuffs.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  With the matters of Brompton and the poison pen letters resolved, there was only one question left on Clara’s mind.

  She paid a final call on Miss Wicks. The woman looked as sour as ever as she opened the front door.

  “What do you want?”

  “I assume you have heard that the Cotterley sisters were behind the nasty letters?” Clara asked. “Except yours, that is.”

  Miss Wicks frowned.

  “You best come in,” she said at last.

  Sitting at the religiously scrubbed kitchen table, Clara explained the situation.

  “The Cotterleys have admitted to writing all the letters, except for yours. I suspect someone else used the excuse of the other letters to send you one. The question is, who?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Miss Wicks folded her arms across her chest.

  “You cannot think of anyone who might have sent the letter?”
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  Miss Wicks sniffed, as if she had smelt something bad.

  “No,” she said.

  “I know the matter is upsetting. After all, you confided the contents to Mr O’Donaghue, so you must have been concerned…”

  “What did you say?” Miss Wicks interrupted.

  “The matter was upsetting.”

  “No. About O’Donaghue?”

  Clara was curious.

  “He told me you had given him the letter to read, because it had arrived around the time he was laying your linoleum.”

  “I did no such thing!” Miss Wicks was appalled, “That little man is a scoundrel, I would no more show him a private letter than I would show it to a stranger in the street! Though,” she hesitated, “he does lay lino’ well, I’ll give him that.”

  “But, if O’Donaghue knew the contents of the letter, and you did not show it to him, that means…” Clara met Miss Wicks’ indignant gaze. “Why would Matthew O’Donaghue want to write you a nasty letter?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Miss Wicks began, then she flicked her eyes to the side and grimaced. “Though, there was that unfortunate business with his sister.”

  “Mrs Uxbridge?”

  “Yes. She made a cake for a social lunch I was hosting with the Cotterleys. It was a few years ago now. She made a sponge, but I had specifically ordered a fruit cake. Mrs Uxbridge tried to make out that I had made the error when placing the order. There was a bit of a scene. The Cotterleys and I, well, we refused to pay her for the cake,” Miss Wicks twiddled her thumbs together. “Mrs Uxbridge was rather upset, but to hold a grudge all these years?”

  “It was not Mrs Uxbridge who held it, but her brother. Perhaps he was even sparked by the letter she received,” Clara sighed. “I shall have to have a word with Mr O’Donaghue.”

  “No,” Miss Wicks said.

  “No?”

  “The matter is over and done with,” Miss Wicks commanded. “And he really is the best linoleum fitter in Brighton. He is coming to do my hallway next week.”

  Miss Wicks shuffled in her seat.

  “In any case, this business has had me thinking,” she clarified. “Perhaps I was over hasty with Mrs Uxbridge all those years back and, well, I don’t want to end up like the Cotterleys, despised by everyone. Maybe it is time to be a little more forgiving.”

  “If you are happy with that,” Clara said.

  “I am,” Miss Wicks nodded her head firmly. “I am. Thank you, Miss Fitzgerald.”

  Clara was satisfied the matter was settled. She said her farewells to Miss Wicks, hoping that some good might have come from this letter business after all. In any case, she was very relieved it was all over. She set out for home.

  ~~~ * ~~~

  It was good to have everything back to normal as they sat down for Sunday lunch. Oliver Bankes was looking much happier now his father had calmed down and was no longer being ordered to leave town by disturbed old crones. As he helped himself to Annie’s best beef gravy he was smiling and talking about his latest batch of photographs. He was thinking of organising an exhibition in the summer. Clara was all for it, as long as there were no pictures of her on display.

  “I wouldn’t dare,” Oliver grinned at her. “A portrait of you would overshadow all the others, and no one would want to look at anything else.”

  Clara blushed so red she looked like a beetroot and Tommy could not resist laughing. Annie kindly changed the subject.

  “What is the news concerning Constable Tilney?”

  “The Inspector interviewed him last night, apparently it was quite a long chat,” Clara answered, relieved to be on safer ground. “He sent me a copy of his report this morning. According to Tilney, it all began around a year ago. Tilney has a taste for fine living that is not accommodated by a constable’s wages. He had fallen severely into debt and was looking for any means to claw his way out. Then he met Brilliant Chang. It happened while he was visiting a dance hall with a girl. He had been spending rather freely to impress her, and when the bill arrived he found he couldn’t pay. Chang spotted an opportunity. How he learned Tilney was a policeman we don’t know, but that piece of information would have been easy to come across. He stepped in, splashed money around, and paid off Tilney’s debt. After that, it was child’s play.

  “Tilney couldn’t pay Chang back at once. Chang played the true gentleman and said it was not about the money, he merely wanted to help a fellow in distress. They became friendly. Chang always seemed to be at the places Tilney spent his free time. Chang had plenty of money and once, or twice, he helped out Tilney again. Before long the constable felt indebted to his new friend.

  “Then the first ‘favour’ came. It was a minor one. Chang had been caught speeding in his car and was facing a court hearing and a fine. Would it be too much to ask, he proposed to his new friend, if Tilney could ‘lose’ the paperwork on his case? After all, he was only speeding a little and what was such a small favour between friends. Chang didn’t need the bad press the hearing would cause, you know how people get when a foreigner appears to do something wrong, and he promised, whole-heartedly, he would never speed again. What was the point of him going to court anyway? If it made Tilney feel better, Chang would pay the amount of the fine to him, to do with it what he wished. Perhaps there was a police fund Tilney wanted to support? Or a charity? Surely that would make things even?

  “No doubt Tilney was well-plied with alcohol before the request was made, and he agreed. The money was handed over and that was when it all started to go wrong. Tilney ‘lost’ Chang’s papers, but instead of giving the money to charity he used it on himself. And once it was gone he wanted more. He was caught in Chang’s snare before he knew it. After that the requests came more often – could Tilney lose a charge sheet concerning a friend of Chang’s? Could Tilney listen out for news of when an arrest was happening and let Chang know? Could Tilney overlook Chang’s being caught dealing drugs? And so on it went. Tilney dug himself in deeper and deeper, until Brompton stumbled across something.

  “Brompton had been patrolling one night when Chang was arrested for dealing drugs. Brompton had seen the arrest made and the paperwork being written up. So he was surprised when Chang simply walked free afterwards. He went looking for the paperwork and found the same file I did. It must have shocked him to discover Chang’s record ceased after 1910. He dug a little deeper, talked to fellow officers, and quickly realised that papers had been going amiss. Tilney had been none too subtle, it was only because the police were so undermanned and overworked that no one else had noticed. But Brompton was an old intelligence officer from the war, and he quickly spotted a pattern to the losses. He was putting a case together when he slipped up.

  “Tilney spotted him in the archives one day. He was browsing the Chang file, but put it away quickly when Tilney approached. Tilney knew Brompton had been asking questions and he began to panic. He contacted Brilliant Chang and a plan was hatched. Chang would run Brompton down while he was on patrol. He hoped to kill him, but Brompton survived. However, he realised his life would still be in danger if anyone believed he remained a risk to Chang’s operation. So he played dumb; he acted as though he had lost his mind, even taking a menial job in the hospital. All the while he was biding his time and gathering evidence. When I came to him, he wasn’t sure if I could be trusted or not. I might have been sent by his enemies to see if he remembered anything. Feeling desperate, he asked Ling to get him into the archives to examine the files. He was close to having a case against Tilney, but needed to tie everything together. Unfortunately Ling had to go tend to the boiler and Tilney stumbled across Brompton. He struck him again, hoping to finish him off.”

  “How is Brompton?” Tommy asked.

  “Recovering. Now it is clear he has not lost his mind, it is hoped he will be able to return to the police. Inspector Park-Coombs is very grateful to him and I have no doubt he will be considered for the detective role he always aspired to.”

  “And Alfie Ling was not a cr
ook after all,” Annie mused.

  “Yes, you will have to revise your opinion of him.”

  Annie pulled a face.

  “I suppose we can all be wrong sometimes.”

  They were just delving into a baked apple cobbler with fresh cream when the doorbell rang. Annie went to answer it, and returned looking a little sour-faced. Agatha was behind her.

  “I do apologise for interrupting your lunch,” Agatha said. “But I am due on the train within half an hour and I just wanted to thank you for your hospitality and help.”

  “Not a problem,” Tommy grinned. “How is Mrs Welk?”

  “She is awake and the doctor’s think she will live. I only hope the scare will make her think twice about changing her drug preference,” Agatha grimaced at her own humour. “I have been thinking about my next book. I won’t be setting it in Brighton after all.”

  “Oh, what a shame.” Clara said.

  “However, I do have an idea about the main characters. A man and a woman this time, a detective couple working together, and one ought to be called Tommy, I think.”

  Tommy grinned from ear to ear. Annie glared at her bowl of cobbler.

  “Now, I must go catch my train. Oh, by the way,” Agatha dipped into a large bag she had draped over one arm and produced a book in a brown wrapper. “My first novel. I hope you enjoy it. Good day everyone.”

  With that she was gone. Clara pulled the wrapper off the book.

  “The Mysterious Affair at Styles,” she read.

  “Sounds like one for the great Clara Fitzgerald to solve,” Tommy said, beaming gleefully.

  “I’m sure this fellow on the front cover can solve it all by himself,” Clara tapped a finger on the book cover. “I’ll stick to the mundane mysteries of Brighton.”

  “And when have any of your cases been mundane?” Tommy couldn’t help but laugh. “Honestly, Clara!” he shook his head in mock remonstration. “Pass the apple cobbler, old girl.”