by J M Bannon
Dolly asked if any of the party were present at the club and would take the time to speak with him about Señor Moya. The manager returned and advised that Mr. Strathmore was currently at the club and would meet with him in the smoking lounge.
The Detective was escorted by the manager to the smoking lounge. Floor to ceiling windows illuminated the entire room. It was a voluminous space for an older building. The walls were paneled in exotic wood with ornate cornice work. Eight separate seating areas encouraged members to gather and socialize with enough space between to deliver privacy. Each cluster comprised overstuffed leather sofas, wing-backed lounge chairs with end tables, pedestal ashtray, and floor standing phosphor lamps. Dolly contemplated the wealth that built this esteemed building as he took out his notebook and reviewed his questions.
The ceiling had a network of belts and pulleys to operate a fan system to keep the air moving in the room.
Randall Wells Strathmore stood near the teletype clacker, reading the strip to get the latest stock quotes and news. The clacker was in a prominent position in the lounge behind the sofa that faced the massive fireplace. Most members considered themselves too elite to look at a stock tape but wanted to show off the status of instantaneous worldwide communication. Strathmore was different. He needed to stay on top of world finances. Many of the club members’ inheritances were invested with Chilton House, and Strathmore was a steward of that wealth.
A striking man, Strathmore towered over his companions; seeming even taller with his long neck. He wore a standard banker’s dress of gray pants with spats, white round-collared shirt, black tie, his pinstriped waistcoat and a black overcoat with tails. He had a black mourning armband. Dolly wondered if he might mourn his own victims. Strathmore, by Dolly’s guess, had to be in his forties given what he knew of his financial exploits but looked much younger, almost boyish.
The manager handled introductions. There was a level of formality that all endured at these prestigious clubs. “Mr. Strathmore, may I introduce Detective Sergeant Fredrick Adolphus Williamson of the Metropolitan Police. Detective Williamson, may I introduce Mr. Randall Wells Strathmore of New York.”
“Thank you, Milton,” said Strathmore, acknowledging the introduction and dismissing the manager.
“I wasn’t aware that White’s had any American members,” said the detective.
“I am a guest of the late Sir Chilton and his son. While I hail from New England and now live in New York, I spend an inordinate amount of time in London and need a place to unwind,” said Strathmore in a Yankee accent. He let go of the ticker tape. It dropped in the waste bin set to collect old tape and put out his hand.
Dolly returned the outstretched hand with a firm grip and a shake.
Upon release of the clasp, Randall’s hand went to a walking stick that rested against the pedestal holding the ticker. It was made of ivory and a lacquered wood. “Let us have a drink and talk.” He used the cane to steady his gait as he walked around the sofa, his left leg suffering a handicap. “The irony is, as managing partner of the New York office, I spend more time in London than I do in New York.”
Dolly asked another question. “Did you recently hurt your leg?”
“Aren’t you Brits supposed to put social decorum above all? Not mention the elephant in the room, even if you’re waist high in elephant dung.” Randall tapped his leg with his cane and gave Dolly a smile. “No, this was a hunting accident some years ago.”
“I’m a Scotsman and a cop. People expect me to ask uncomfortable questions and lack social propriety,” retorted Dolly.
The two men sat down.
Strathmore was the American managing partner of the investment banking partners of Chilton, Chilton, Owens and Strathmore. Randall had become only named partner ever to not be a citizen of the United Kingdom. The firm had international interests that included naval shipping, plantations, railroads and industrial investments, and was aligned with the mechanists. They financed the guild’s projects. This banking house was so powerful that wars could not be waged without their funding. The rumor was during the Napoleonic wars that Chilton was financing both sides.
Randall amassed a fortune with his financial wizardry and insight into the new world markets. He was an early backer of Cornelius Vanderbilt, enabling the commodore to finance the Vanderbilt Air Transit Company. Vanderbilt proposed that air rather than sea or rail would win the race for transcontinental travel and that he could build an airship line crossing the wilderness between the east and west coast of America. The prize was a lucrative postal contract with the government between New York and San Francisco. At the time, LQ airships were only operating out of Prussia and were experimental. It was worldwide news when Vanderbilt struck the first deal to export LQ gas from the Europe to America. He built a special steam tanker to bring the gas by sea from the Baltic then across the Atlantic Ocean. When the first mail was delivered to San Francisco by air in only eleven days, the stock for the company shot up and Strathmore and his investors made a packet.
“Now, Detective, before you ask about my whereabouts and movements with Mr. Moya and where I was at when he died, I would appreciate if you would share with me what exactly happened to Moya.”
Dolly wondered if this was his way of throwing him off kilter before he answered, “Señor Moya was murdered in his rooms at the Carlton. I cannot share the specifics, but it was not a pleasant sight, and we are still finding out the exact cause of death.”
Randall looked over to one of the staff standing near the wall. With only his gaze and a small wave of his hand, he signaled for service.
A server approached the gentlemen. “Can I get you something, sir?”
“Why, yes. What is your name, son?” The waiter was at least twenty years older than Randall.
“Arthur, sir.”
“Yes, Arthur. You can fetch me a glass of whiskey and a Partagas. Mr. Williamson will have?” Randall’s tone dropped off as he shifted Arthur’s attention to the detective.
“I will have the same.”
“Excellent! Thank you, Arthur,” said Randall, unbuttoning his coat and the lower buttons on his vest to get comfortable.
“What can you tell me about Señor Moya?” asked Dolly.
“Well, Detective, what would you like to know?”
“I would like to know who murdered Señor Moya and Sir Francis. That would make my day. In light of that, I need as much as you can share about Moya, beginning with his visit to this club,” stated Dolly, looking at Randall to assess body language and tone.
Randall smiled, sitting both hands on the top of his walking stick, arms outstretched in front of him. He then leaned in closely and quietly said. “I can’t answer that question, but I will let you know all about what Señor Moya and I were up to on Saturday night.” Randall leaned into Dolly. “I would like your professional opinion on something,” Randall said in a quiet and serious tone.
Men like Strathmore, smart privileged men, would play this game. The game where they presumed Dolly was a dumb Scot, that he was too stupid to find out what they were hiding. Dolly relished that game because he had so much practice. So, let’s play thought Dolly before declaring, “What might that be, Mr. Strathmore?”
“How many murders have you investigated?”
Dolly thought for a moment. “I have closed seventy-eight cases as a detective. Some of those cases had multiple victims.”
“Impressive. What would you say was the most common cause? Lust? Greed? Envy?” Randall said, bouncing his eyebrow as he pronounced each sin.
Dolly thought for a moment. “There are four other deadly sins, but given the ones you listed, I would say greed.”
“Greed. I was unsure, and I do appreciate a professional’s opinion. Now, with Señor Moya there is the potential for either greed or envy.”
“Please elaborate,” interjected Dolly.
“The Moyas, while related to the throne of Portugal, are self-made. Emilio’s grandfather captained slave ships. Señ
or Ernesto Moya, Emilio’s father, produced an exceptional amount of coin for Chilton’s bond syndicates in the slave trade then onto the harvest and sale of West Indies cotton and tobacco on the return passage. Don’t look so shocked, Detective. The city of London was built on the flesh trade. If not in financing the ships or insuring the cargo, they did so on the return of cheap goods made in the colonies. Frankly, it’s the beloved mechanists and their engines that got the empire out of financing the slavers.”
Dolly fancied the blunt talk of the Yank, and he settled in for Randall’s lecture. “First Chilton financed his ships then he helped diversify investments across the trade. When the Commonwealth outlawed the slave trade, Moya needed to change businesses. Those that made money insuring his cargo and financing his fleet followed Moya’s transition into other colonial ventures. Emilio’s father, always one step ahead, moved into the sugar business in the West Indies.
“Now, Ernesto had two sons, Hernando and Emilio. Both were sent to the best schools in England. His father thought with an English education his heirs would become captains of finance with a foot in the New World and one in the Old … Ah, here we go.” Arthur had returned to them pushing a serving cart.
He poured and handed them each a crystal tumbler of scotch whiskey then displayed a box of Cuban Partagas cigars to Dolly. Dolly selected a cigar.
“Thank you, Arthur,” Williamson said.
Arthur nodded while Randall kept talking. “Hernando was cut from the same cloth as his father, a man of action. But he is the younger son, and his inheritance is far smaller than Emilio. Hernando went to Brazil to make his fortune in the sugar business. He has plantations in Brazilia and Haiti. We have co-invested in his enterprises and done well.
“The older Emilio learned something else in England. How to be a man of leisure. He stayed in London after he finished school to carouse with the group of English dandies rather than join the family business. With each success, Hernando makes Emilio richer and finds it disagreeable that his brother has a say in company affairs and receives a large allowance. I know Hernando will be the master of his fortune, but he lets his family situation and the privilege of his brother fuel resentment. With Emilio dead, the Moya fortune of nearly seven million pounds goes to Hernando.”
“Is Hernando in London?”
“Not that I know of,” said Randall.
Arthur then turned to offer Randall a cigar. Randall took one. “I would like a flat cut, not a V cut, please.” He handed the cigar to Arthur, who cut the cigar then handed it back to Randall.
“May I cut your cigar, Detective,” said Arthur.
“Please.”
Arthur made the cut then handed the cigar back to Dolly. As Dolly wetted the end of the cigar, he then removed loose tobacco from his mouth. When he looked up, Arthur was igniting a lighter.
“Arthur, get us matchsticks to light the cigar. You’ll ruin the flavor with that filthy lighting fluid.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You see some things should not change, like lighting a fine cigar with a flame of a match after the sulfur is burned off.” He leaned back in his chair to draw on the cigar as Arthur held out the match.
Dolly noticed now the top of the man’s walking stick was a carved wolf head with gold filigree and the collar around the wolf’s head had a pattern of circles, with a smaller circle or dot in the center of each larger circle.
“This is a fine cigar, Mr. Strathmore.”
“I am personal friends with Don Jaime Partagas. He has an amazing plantation. You know, they say these cigars are rolled on the thighs of virgin girls. Can you believe that?” asked Strathmore.
“Smoking a cigar that is this smooth, I believe it,” replied Dolly as he held out the cigar sideways, gazed at it and gave Randall a smile of satisfaction.
“We became friends after I looked at his property to assess the collateral for a loan he has with Chilton. He took me on a tour to see the assets. First, he showed me the tobacco fields. Not worth much. Next, he showed me his inventory of tobacco that is curing. Now there is a value that can be priced to market right in Havana. He could tell I was struggling to see how I could approve the size of this loan he sought with what he had shown me, so he said he was prepared to secure the loan with his prize chattel, a group of slaves. Forty in number he had roll his cigars.
“After lunch, Don Jaime and I rode in his surrey to the building, and to my surprise, when I enter, it’s not forty vestal virgins rolling cigars, but forty old men. Toothless scrawny, not a one looks like he would live another day or could work an hour in the field without keeling over.” Randall took a sip.
Dolly laughed. “So much for the loan, I’d say.”
“Well, funny you say because that was what I was thinking. Forty young slave girls that can roll cigars. That is stock, and if the cigar market falls, they’re still breeding stock or trainable for the house or field but how do I give him 20,000 pounds’ sterling for some tobacco and forty men with one foot in the grave?” Randall stretched out his bum leg and rubbed it while he spoke.
“Well, one thing I have learned is that I can always learn just one more thing, and I needed to learn about the cigar business, but I also can’t look a fool in front of Don Jaime.
“I wired Don Moya, Emilio’s father, who was still alive at the time in Haiti. I requested to know if he had knowledge of the tobacco business and the matter of the value of a cigar roller. He introduced me to Don Jose Hoya de Monterey, who agreed to meet with me the next day. So the next day, I had a meeting with Don Jose at his plantation and asked him what he would pay for five of Don Jaime’s top cigar rollers. He told me that if they could roll a pyramid like these, he would pay one thousand pounds each. I asked him if I could go to see his rolling rooms and you know what he said? 'Amigo, you will not find any virgins there either.'"
The two men laughed. Dolly needed to get Randall off his stories and onto the subject of Saturday night.
“What was Mr. Lester Chilton’s disposition on Saturday?”
“Reasonable for an English man who just lost his father to a heinous murder and had his bank robbed. If I know Lester, he will try to lose himself in the work and pick up as much of his father’s clientele that he can,” said Randall.
“Was there a reason you all convened Saturday night?” asked Dolly.
“Emilio wanted Chilton to loan money against his inheritance to invest in Babbage’s manufacture of difference machines. He touted that the next advances in mechanical automation would require his methods in computation.”
“And?” pressed Dolly.
“Lester said Babbage hadn’t a chance without support from the guild and was resistant to investing with Babbage.”
“Would Lester Chilton have a reason to kill his Father and Moya?”
“Detective, Don Moya left an estate of over seven million pounds. While that is a fantastic sum of money for most, it is nothing to the Chiltons. Lester and Francis were close as a father and son could be and business partners as well. Lester had more than enough money to wait out Sir Francis’ last day on earth, when he would inherit another fortune he could not spend.” Randall finished as he dropped ash in the ashtray on a corner table.
Dolly felt the time was right. “So why did you meet with Emilio at his hotel room the night of his death?”
Randall smiled and paused before he answered. “I won’t ask how you knew I met with him nor will I deny that I did.” Randall adjusted his position to get closer to the policeman. “I met with Emilio because I wanted to hear more about his scheme with Babbage. It intrigued me, and there are interested pools of capital that the mechanists have no influence over. I am not interested in missing out on a good deal because some guild cronies of Chilton would get upset.”
“Was there anyone there that can corroborate your story?”
“Maybe your witness? Other than that, no. It was brief. I was also staying at the Carlton. I dropped in to make a date with him for lunch,” answered Randall.
“At one-thirty in the morning?” Dolly queried.
“Detective, that may seem strange to you, but we had just been carousing and gambling not a few hours before. I imagined he would either be up and ready for more, or passed out and not able to answer his door.”
“So you were the last one to see him alive?” said Dolly.
“No, Detective. That would be whoever killed him,” answered Randall.
“And you think that is Hernando?”
“The brothers never did see eye to eye. They were too different, and Hernando’s good stewardship enriched Emilio, who gambled, drank and whored. You said it yourself. Greed is a primary motivator. I would have Arthur get the betting book and wager that this boils down to family and money, Detective.”
Dolly thought this would go in circles unless he could find evidence beyond what he had to connect Randall, but his gut was telling him that Randall knew more than he was letting on. “Here is my card. If you think of anything, please wire me. I would be indebted.”
“Sir, I will, if I recall anything. There is nothing more that I want than to help you find the culprit and bring him to the gallows. As far as being indebted, never say that to a banker, my friend.”
9
Wednesday, the 16th of June
9:30 AM, Scotland Yard
When Dolly entered Commissioner Mayne’s office, two gentlemen were already sitting in the two seats in front of the commissioner’s desk.
The two men stood upon his entrance. Mayne remained seated with a sour look.
“Detective Sergeant Frederick Williamson, I would like to introduce you to French consul, Dr. Felix Anou,” Anou was a slight man with a bald head and a goatee, although he was an English-educated physician and had been in the United Kingdom for decades as an attaché to the consulate; his face, his clothes, his tone, accent, and demeanor all reeked of France.
“And this is Special Envoy of the French government, Guild Master Gerrard Saint-Yves,” said Commissioner Mayne. Dolly struggled to understand what a necronist was doing here. The guild’s close relationship with Emperor Napoleon made them a foe of the Queen. Many thought they used their scrying powers to give the Emperor an advantage on the battlefield. Other rumors were that the necronists negotiated a covenant between the Devil and Napoleon for his protracted life. Between the government's concerns of the guild being saturated with enemies of the Crown and both the Catholic and Anglican Church considering their practices unholy, Parliament had never ratified the guild in the commonwealth.
