Snifter of Death

by Chris Karlsen

  Light-headed, she’d almost been caught, she retched but didn’t vomit. With trembling hands, she stuffed her hair under the apple cap, and then walked for blocks to work off the rush of emotions.

  I have got to plan better. I cannot go through this with Finch.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ruddy pulled the draperies in Skinner’s office back to let in more light. “How long has this window been like this, Mr. Button?” he asked, looking at the cut out section under the lock.

  Skinner’s clerk turned his attention from talking to Archie to the damaged window. “Oh my! That had to have happened last night or this morning.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I was the last to leave yesterday evening. I closed the drapes myself. The window was intact then.”

  A clean and precise cut. Whoever made it used a tool specifically for that purpose. They also took care to make certain the glass didn’t fall to the floor inside. The scene had all the appearances of a burglary occurring at some point between the time Button left and the time Skinner died. Yet Button said nothing was missing.

  “You’re sure you don’t see anything missing?” Ruddy asked the clerk again.

  “As far as I can tell, no.”

  “You didn’t notice the window this morning because you didn’t touch the draperies?” Archie asked.

  “That’s correct. Mr. Skinner prefers to do that himself.”

  “Everything was normal until midday, is that right?” Archie went on.

  Button nodded. “A short time after he returned from court, he called me over and gave me money and sent me off to have tea and biscuits elsewhere.” He lowered his voice as though he’d committed a crime. “I often have a nibble at my desk to tide me over until dinner. The point is he’s never done that, just like he’s never taken to drinking in the afternoon, as I told you already.”

  “Are we clear to take the body now?” a constable asked Ruddy, who told him to go ahead.

  “I wonder if something happened at court to upset him?” Button asked as the constables covered Skinner with a blanket and carried the body out to the Medical Examiner’s cart. “It’s the only the way I can explain his odd behavior.”

  “You said he’s not handling any contested probate cases. None of his clients are involved in family disputes over inheritances,” Archie said.

  “None.”

  “Could he have run into an angry relative from a previous matter?” Ruddy asked.

  “Anything is possible,” the clerk said, shrugging. “But no one like that comes to mind. Something was amiss with him though.”

  The more Button revealed, the more illogical the circumstances leading to Skinner’s death seemed. Ruddy hated the uncertainty the absence of logic presented. Hoping for the missing piece that links all the other bits of information he asked Button, “Can you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant that was different about today?”

  “Walk it out, do a step by step, if it helps,” Archie suggested.

  Button did. After going through the motions of his morning routine at his desk and making tea etcetera, he suddenly rose and went to the armoire.

  “What’s going on?” Ruddy asked. “What happened?”

  “The door creaked.” He opened the doors to the armoire to show Ruddy and Archie. The left door opened fine but halfway open the right one moaned in shrill protest. “I heard it at my desk and came to investigate. I shook all Mr. Skinner’s coats and looked around the cupboard floor. I didn’t see anything suspicious. I certainly didn’t see anyone.”

  “Thank you.” Ruddy looked inside for himself. A person, if they weren’t terribly big, could possibly secrete themselves well enough for Button to miss seeing them. An intriguing possibility if the autopsy showed homicide.

  Ruddy handed a third constable the decanters of wine and port and the glass Skinner drank from. “I want you to talk to the neighboring businesses. Ask if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary. But first, take these and ask the doctor to test them for poison.”

  Behind him the clerk gasped. “Who would murder Mr. Skinner?”

  Ruddy instantly regretted speaking in front of the civilian.

  “I didn’t say he was murdered. We have to consider many possibilities when a suspicious death is involved. You called us here because felt there was an extraordinary set of occurrences. You wanted us to investigate further and we are.”

  Ruddy walked away from the clerk. It was that or bring the man to tears saying what he really thought. What were you thinking when you called the constable on this patch to the scene and told him Mr. Skinner was dead and you feared something was very wrong? That combination, dead body plus wrongdoing usually equals murder, goose brain. That’s what Ruddy wanted to say but didn’t dare. His thoughts put to voice would come out sounding harsh to anyone other than another policeman.

  Archie must’ve read Ruddy’s patience thinning and told the clerk, “We won’t need any more from you today. You should go home.”

  “What if a client comes in?”

  Archie wrapped his hand around the clerk’s elbow easing him from the room. “We’ll take care of any clients. We need to finish our investigation here and your presence is slowing the process. Please go.”

  “Do you think he was murdered?” Archie asked when he returned. “I thought the same thing.”

  Ruddy nodded. If it had been simply a matter of the clerk finding his boss dead on the floor after he’d had a glass of wine, Ruddy might’ve been more inclined to consider Skinner had a heart attack. He’d have been peeved they were called. A man is entitled to break with routine and have a drink midday if he wishes. The clerk carried on so the responding constables had called him and Archie to the scene just to satisfy the man’s insistence that police look deeper into matter.

  “That cut window,” Archie said.

  “A burglar’s cut just under the lock but nothing was taken. We have a dead victim with a goodly amount of cash on him and who’s behaved strangely. The scene points to him having a drink. After finding Cross in similar circumstances, poison comes to mind right away.”

  “What if it is? What’s the motivation?”

  Good question. One Ruddy didn’t have a ready answer for. “We still don’t have one for Cross. Let’s push for fast autopsy results and the lab work on the wine.”

  Outside a tram came and went. It occurred to Ruddy that someone may have broken in and what...made Skinner drink poison? How’d they do that? The tram reminded Ruddy how busy the street was with foot traffic. All Skinner had to do was yell out. Again, why break in and not rob the man? Why make the man drink poison? All he had were questions and no clues for answers. The idea that his two murder cases, if this turned out to be a murder, might be connected, drifted across his mind like faint smoke, floated there for several uncomfortable seconds, and then dissipated.

  “I had a disturbing idea work its way into my brutally short list of theories,” Archie said. “What if the Skinner and Cross murders are related?”

  “I wish you hadn’t said that,” Ruddy said.

  “You had the same thought.”

  “Sadly, yes. After the press mess last year with the Whitechapel murders, we do not need the additional attention of a string of influential men getting picked off.” Ruddy searched Skinner’s desk, stacking the calendars from the two previous years with the current one. They could contain a reference to Cross.

  On the rethink, it might work out better for the investigation if they were connected. That should or could narrow the target field of potential suspects. It would be damned convenient if Cross and Skinner both availed themselves of the whore Violet’s services. Or if they belonged to the same men’s club, they might’ve offended the same person and thus have the same enemy.

  Ruddy moved to the cut window. He stood, contemplating the significance. “Let’s say for now, Skinner was murdered. Be the killer.” Archie joined him. “You’ve chosen to kill Skinner here, at his office, ra
ther than at home. Why?”

  “Too many people at home. Too hard to get him alone.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “It’s too hard to try and kill him en route between home and here. He has his driver and maybe a footman. I’d have to sneak into the stable, board the carriage and somehow secrete myself so Skinner doesn’t see me when he gets aboard. Even if I succeeded, which I doubt, any struggle as I attacked Skinner would rock the carriage and draw both the driver and footman’s attention. This is my best option,” Archie said in a firm tone, reminiscent of the way the savviest of killers think.

  “You come through the window to avoid being seen. Is it because the clerk would recognize you or a different reason?”

  “What other reason is there?”

  “I don’t know yet. It’s just a thought I’m throwing out. Ready to go?”

  Archie took one of the calendars and a black ledger book he found on a shelf. “Ready.”

  ****

  The autopsy report and test results on the contents of the decanters were returned by midmorning the next day. Skinner had died of arsenic poisoning. The claret in the decanter was the same as in his stomach and both contained arsenic. The port did not.

  “What the deuce kind of maniac do we have on our hands now?” Archie lamented.

  “A strange one indeed.” And Ruddy meant it. “Shall we give Jameson the bad news?”

  “Let’s get it over with.”

  Jameson listened with a pained expression. The crease between his eyes deepened with each named similarity. When Ruddy finished, the Superintendent looked from Ruddy to Archie and back to Ruddy. “Is there no other way to look at these cases other than as connected?”

  “We could. We can always take a different approach. Follow a different course of investigation but I think sooner or later we’d have to pursue this theory. If nothing else, to eliminate the possibility they’re related,” Ruddy said.

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. The idea we may have a demented looney on the loose poisoning well-to-do businessmen curdles in me.” He fixed hard eyes on Ruddy as he made his objection known.

  Ruddy had a response sitting on the tip of his tongue. He’d love to tell the Superintendent the nature of the case didn’t exactly set him doing a jig either.

  “I’m beginning to think there’s something about you Bloodstone, that attracts these cases involving influential people. Somehow, someway while investigating the case I just know you’re going to overturn a rock and an ugly frog of information will pop out that has another influential person screaming like a banshee.” Jameson pointed a finger in Ruddy’s face. “I believe that. I truly do.” He turned to Archie. “I can feel it. The two of you. Get out.”

  Back at their desks, Ruddy snatched his coat from the stand where he had carefully hung it. “I hope we do discover some toff involved up to his wealthy neck in these cases,” he said without bothering to lower his voice. “I hope it turns into a carbuncle on Jameson’s bum.”

  “Shh,” Archie raised a finger to get Ruddy to quiet down. He’d drawn the attention of the other detectives who were listening with interest to the tirade.

  “Let’s talk to Cross’s staff first. His residence is closest and on the way to Belgrave Square. If they don’t recognize Skinner as a friend or associate, we’ll move on and speak to Skinner’s family,” Ruddy said, changing the subject and putting on his coat.

  “Good idea. I’m happy to get out of here for a while,” Archie said with a quick glance toward Jameson’s closed door.

  ****

  Staff at the Cross residence confirmed they never heard Skinner mentioned by name nor did any of them recall a man by that name visiting. Skinner’s family said the same about Cross.

  Ruddy and Archie left for the financial district located in the City of London’s jurisdiction. Cross was an investment advisor to a select group of private clients at the Bank of England. Hugh Smiley, the bank manager, led them to Cross’s office, which had been locked up. Clients were notified of his death but formal reassignment of their portfolios hadn’t occurred yet. “May I ask what you need in his office?”

  “We’ll need to read through the client base and document some of the pertinent information,” Ruddy replied.

  “You may not.” Looking horrified, Smiley pulled the key from the lock. “Our client’s privacy is of paramount importance. This bank will not allow you go mucking about into their affairs. How dare you even suggest such an invasion of their personal finances?” Smiley was a petite man, no taller than Ruddy’s chin, sallow-faced with pale blue eyes, a weak chin, and a fuzzy grey ring for hair. He puffed himself up as he challenged the detectives with all the indignation of a man twice his size.

  Under different circumstances Ruddy might’ve laughed. But it served no purpose to irritate Smiley more than necessary. The financial district fell under the City of London’s police jurisdiction. The last thing he and Archie wanted to do was find themselves encountering Napier or Effingham.

  “Mr. Smiley, we are investigating a double homicide, one of the victims is your former employee, Mr. Cross. Their brutal murders are far more important than the privacy of your clients. We believe the murders are connected. If so, the connection maybe be found in Mr. Cross’s business relations,” Archie explained.

  As Archie reasoned with the banker, Ruddy gently but firmly wrenched the key ring from Smiley’s hand and over the man’s chirps of objections unlocked Cross’s door.

  “We are not interested in the private matters of your client’s finances, not unless they pertain in some important way to how Mr. Cross handled them. If his advice impacted their financial performance in such a way that they might’ve been ruined and they sought vindication of some sort, then we’ll have to take a hard look at that client,” Ruddy explained further. “We’d see if that client spoke with or contacted our other victim. So you can see the need for our mucking about as you say.”

  “I do not. This is not over.” With that Smiley spun and left.

  “Lord only knows what mischief he’ll get up to now,” Archie said and began making two piles of ledgers, one for each of them to read through.

  “He’ll do the usual and write a long disparaging letter to Jameson declaring us smug Philistines. I’m sure we’ll be held up as examples of that class of Englishman who have no appreciation for the world order, blah, blah, blah.” Ruddy smirked, opened a ledger, and said, “He’d be right, almost, except I’m a Welshman with no appreciation for the world order as he sees it.”

  An hour passed and neither detective found any client who seemed to fit the role of disgruntled party. No one had lost a fortune or seemed to have been put in dire straits in any way. They were on the last of the books when Archie looked up. “Bloody hell.”

  “What?” Ruddy asked. “Bloody hell,” he repeated, looking up to see the tight-lipped, angry visage of Effingham and Napier striding toward them. “Bloody hell.”

  “What do you two think you’re doing?” Effingham asked. “I thought I’d made it clear last year that any case involving one of our citizens needs to have Napier included.”

  “No,” Ruddy said and clarified. “Napier’s inclusion was specific to speaking to the Viscount Everhard. This is a different matter entirely and relates to two crimes committed in our jurisdiction.”

  Napier stepped around to see what they were reading. Archie slammed the ledger he was reading shut.

  “Don’t try and play fast and loose with technicalities. You should’ve known the rules apply across the board on all cases that now come into the City’s boundaries. What are you after?” Napier asked.

  “Since we didn’t find what we were looking for, I don’t see why you need to know,” Ruddy said, shutting the ledger in front of him. “Our cases are ours. We don’t require your permission to speak to anyone in an effort to solve them. If that’s a problem, then please take it up with Jameson.”

  “I will do just that,” Effingham said.

&nb
sp; Ruddy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to us, we’re finished here anyway. You are, aren’t you?” He glanced at Archie.

  “I am.”

  “Leave the ledgers. Napier and I will walk out with you.” Effingham smirked and nodded at the bank manager who stood scowling a short distance away watching. Ruddy was certain Smiley labored under the misimpression Effingham and Napier had given them the boot. The Superintendent wanted to walk them out so it appeared they were escorting him and Archie out of the bank.

  On the sidewalk, Effingham said, “Napier, you should tell Bloodstone about your new prize.” Before Napier could respond, Effingham said, “Nathaniel’s too modest. I’ll tell you. He won the department’s boxing championship this year again. That’s four in a row.” He leaned closer to Ruddy. “You’d better be on your toes if the day ever comes that our department challenges yours. More to the point, he challenges you.”

  “You needn’t worry about me, Chief Superintendent.”

  Archie spoke low next to Napier, “One day Effingham will stop too quick and it’ll take a squad of your men to pull your head from his arse. I just hope I’m there to see it.”

  Napier pivoted toward Archie, his cheeks brightly flushed with color. A vein in his neck stood out, reflecting every beat of his hear. A flash of surprise crossed his face when Archie didn’t automatically step back but held his ground. “I am going to challenge your partner. Soon. I’m going to thrash and humiliate him. And I’m going to relish every minute of it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Don’t get too close to the forge. I worry the embers might catch your dress or the blanket,” Ruddy warned Honeysuckle.