The Architect of Murder

by Rafe McGregor

  “Likes to travel light, our friend,” Truegood muttered to himself. He turned to me. “Finished?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s see if you’re worth whatever Mr M’s paying you.” He pushed past me into the sitting-room. “Tell me what happened.”

  I dressed without hurrying and then positioned myself behind the sofa. “Lowenstein was sitting here. He was struck in the temple from behind,” I made a chopping motion with my right hand, “by a man who was right-handed. He toppled forward, knocking the table over. He would have been stunned, or perhaps even unconscious. His assailant then walked around,” I moved towards the window, “probably this way, and administered the coup de grace. One — no, two — more strikes to the same area. The weapon was small, blunt, and heavy. Perhaps a hammer, or the grip of a very heavy stick. Lowenstein must have known the murderer because — ”

  “They usually do,” Truegood interrupted. There was a noise from the stairs, and he left, returning a few seconds later with an elderly gentleman wearing a top hat and frock coat. His long, jowly face was framed by untidy wisps of white hair. His deep-set eyes were doleful and my impression was of a basset hound in human shape. “This is Major Marshall, Doc. He’s working for Mr M.”

  “Is he?” The doctor raised his eyebrows.

  I extended my hand. “Alec Marshall, pleased to meet you, Doctor.”

  “John Maycock, how do you do?”

  “I’ve turned the body over, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t move anything until Collins has finished,” Truegood cut in.

  “You’ve called Collins, have you?”

  “Yeah. I’ll send Aitken up to lend you a hand, if need be.”

  “Will you be requiring a post-mortem examination on this one?” Maycock asked.

  “Yeah, I will.”

  “I’ll see to it first thing tomorrow if you like.”

  “Much appreciated, Doc.”

  “You’ll be attending?”

  “No. We aren’t half busy at the moment, I haven’t got time. I’ll leave you to it.” Truegood picked up his hat and bag, and we left the doctor.

  Aitken was ascending the stairs with another detective. Aitken carried a bulky portable camera, while the other chap struggled with a tripod-mounted model.

  “The doc’s just arrived, Collins,” rapped out Truegood. “Let him finish and then photograph everything. Everything. Both rooms, all angles. Got it?”

  “Evening, sir,” Collins replied, slightly out of breath from the climb. “Are there any fingerprints?”

  “No, but I still want the photographs. And I want it photographed exactly as I found it. I’ll show you.” He led Collins into the sitting-room, leaving Aitken and me on the landing.

  “The constable who found the body is to be commended,” I said. “He did well not to disturb the scene of the offence.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass that on, sir.”

  Truegood returned, tossing his bag to Aitken. “Give the doc and Collins whatever help they need. When Collins is finished, put the money under the floorboard in one of the evidence bags. Make sure you seal and label it. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then arrange for the removal of the body. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Once the dearly departed is gone, I want you to tear the place apart.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me. Tear the place to pieces. Lowenstein hid his money and his personal papers. Maybe he hid something else as well. Check the floorboards, the walls, everything. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Right. Who lives here?”

  “Mrs Curran and her daughter downstairs. The Russians are on the floor below, a Mr and Mrs Ilyin.”

  Truegood turned to me. “Come on.”

  I followed him down the stairs. “If you were going to have the offence-scene photographed, why did you let me make a sketch?”

  “You never know with the photographs. They don’t always come out too clear.”

  “Do you photograph all offence-scenes?” I asked, impressed once again.

  “No. Collins works for the Fingerprint Branch. Always use them if they’re available. Our chief’s mad about it. You haven’t heard of the Galton-Henry classification?”

  “No, but I’ve read Galton’s book.”

  Truegood looked at me as if I was a complete fool. “That’s fifteen years old. Mr Henry’s refined his system, but I’m not giving lessons.”

  One of the constables was waiting on the landing below us. Truegood shot me another look. “Don’t ask any questions — that’s my job.” He knocked once on the door and flung it open.

  5. The Penang Lawyer

  Mrs Curran was up and at him immediately. “This is an absolute outrage, Inspector! Here my young child and I are, victims of violence, and we’re being treated like prisoners in my own home. I must protest — ”

  “Sit down and shut up. You’re both suspects and if you don’t tell me what I want to know sharpish, you’ll find yourselves in quod proper.”

  She was a slovenly, bulky woman, and she sat on the divan instantly — joining her daughter, who was about fifteen years old and unwashed. The room was much better furnished than the one above, and boasted a carpet, although there were still damp patches on the walls. I took out my notebook and repaired to a wing chair to record the conversation.

  Truegood nodded his approval and remained standing. “Start at the beginning. Tell us everything you know about your lodger. Don’t leave anything out because my colleague is writing down every single word. If you lie to me — or forget to tell me anything — it’ll be a night in quod for you. Got it?”

  She nodded, and began. “Mr Isaacs came to me on Monday the fifth of May. He’d seen my advertisement in the newspaper and wanted to rent the rooms. Only he wanted them on his own terms — which they were peculiar — but he was prepared to pay a fair price for them.”

  “What were his terms?”

  “He didn’t want the first floor rooms. He only wanted the top floor, even though it’s a bit smaller. I told him the Ilyins was already there, but he offered me sixty pounds for three months’ rent. I moved the Ilyins downstairs. What else could a poor woman in reduced circumstances do? I should have charged them more for the extra space. Too generous by far, that’s me, Inspector, I can tell you —”

  “Get on with it.”

  “That wasn’t all. He told me he liked his privacy. He wanted all his meals served in his room, and didn’t want me giving his name to anyone what came asking. I offered him a key to the front door, but he didn’t want none. And do you know what? He never left the house did Mr Isaacs, so he didn’t. Not once since he’s been here. He hardly even left his rooms except to make use of the… facilities… downstairs. I told him that if he thought he was going to lock himself away, he couldn’t expect to keep me out, so Lizzie went in every other day to sweep and clean.

  “Mr Isaacs stopped taking breakfast after a while, but he didn’t ask for any money back, so I didn’t mind none. I work my fingers to the bone running this household, Inspector; I have to take every chance I can get to make a few pennies. Lizzie took him up his dinner at midday, with a cup of coffee. I’m sure he only left his bedroom then. Sometimes, late at night, we could hear him pacing around above us. But I could never be sure because my house is in a good state of repair — not like some — and my floorboards don’t creak very much. Also, the neighbours,” she pointed towards the fireplace, “aren’t gentlefolk like I take in here. They’re forever shouting and screaming into the night. Foxed half the time... now, where was I?”

  “You said Mr Isaacs paid you three months’ rent in advance on the fifth of May. Is that right?” I asked.

  Truegood glared at me — opened his mouth — then changed his mind.

  “Yes, sir, that’s what he did.”

  “He was due to pay you again, yesterday?”

  “No, sir, he paid me two weeks ago. He paid twenty-two
pounds for another month on top of the three. He said the extra two was for keeping a quiet about his being here, and that if I carried on keeping a quiet, there’d be plenty more where that came from.”

  “Did anything else out of the ordinary happen between May and last night?” asked Truegood.

  “Not at all. He had his queer ways, but it weren’t for me to say nothing.”

  “Did anyone ask about him?”

  “Not until yesterday, they didn’t.”

  “Who was it?”

  “He didn’t leave his name. He was dressed like a gent, but I know a wrong ’un when I see one, and he were a wrong ’un. He asked if a Mr Lowenstein was living here. When I said no, he said the gentleman might be using another name, and gave a description of Mr Isaacs. But I didn’t tell him nothing. Mr Isaacs paid me good money to keep my mouth shut and I’m not one to tell a tale or gossip with strangers.”

  “What did he look like, this wrong ’un?”

  “Smart dressed. Short, with one of them horseshoe moustaches in brown. Oh, and he had a gold tooth,” she grimaced to reveal a gap in her own teeth, and jabbed at it, “right there.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I’m not sure. Before dinner. Late morning, I think.”

  “What happened next?”

  “What do you mean what happened next? Nothing. I told him to be on his way, and he went.”

  “I saw the gent with the gold tooth,” Lizzie piped up for the first time.

  “Lizzie, you didn’t tell me about that!”

  “Let her talk. Tell us what happened, Lizzie.”

  “It were after lunch. I was hanging out the washing and I saw the gentleman walking in the street behind. He tipped his hat and said good afternoon. I said good afternoon back and went inside. But I remember him because when he smiled I could see the gold in his tooth.”

  “Lizzie, I really wish you wouldn’t flirt with gentlemen so, you’re not nearly old enough. No good will come of it — ”

  “Did you speak to this man?” Truegood asked the girl.

  “I said good afternoon, that was all.”

  “He didn’t ask you anything?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did anything else out of the ordinary happen yesterday?” Truegood resumed questioning the landlady.

  “No, Inspector, it didn’t. I s’pose you wants to know about last night and I came to find the… body?”

  “Go on.”

  “Some time after Lizzie and I was asleep — unfortunately I’m forced to share with my daughter and rent both of the other floors — a time after midnight and before dawn, I woke up with the noise of talking and footsteps. I couldn’t be sure because like I said the neighbours is wont to make all sorts of racket at ungodly hours. Then I must have just dropped off again, when I heard a noise. I don’t know what it were, but it were loud. After that there was some more footsteps and I were thinking about getting up to find out what was going on, when I fell back to sleep. And thank the Lord. I might have been murdered just like Mr Isaacs!”

  “When did you discover he was dead?”

  “Lizzie took up his dinner and coffee and knocked on his door. He quite often doesn’t open up right away, in which case she just sits it on the floor. She came back later and saw it hadn’t been touched. I thought it were strange: because he doesn’t have breakfast, he almost always eats his dinner. Then, when I found out about the back door, I wanted to know who was responsible, so I came up myself. That was —”

  “The back door?” Truegood interrupted.

  “Yes. When I got up this morning, I found the back door — the kitchen door — unlocked. Obviously I thought Lizzie had unlocked it before me, so I didn’t say nothing. But later, in the afternoon, Lizzie asked me if I were tired from being up so early, and we realised someone had left it unlocked last night. The key was in the door, but it was unlocked. All night! I can’t have that sort of thing going on in my house, so I went up to ask Mr Isaacs if he were responsible. I would’ve asked the Russians first, but they was both out at work. When I knocked on Mr Isaacs’ door, there were no answer. I weren’t going to be put off that easily, so I told him I were coming in and opened the door, and — oh, the shock to my poor heart — a murder under my own roof!”

  “You went inside?” asked Truegood.

  “I didn’t dare. As soon as I saw him lying there with all the blood, I screamed. I nearly swooned, but Lizzie took me away — didn’t you, girl?”

  “You called for the police and no one went in until the constable arrived?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Lizzie, did you go in?”

  “No, sir, it was awful. I didn’t want to go into a room with no dead person.”

  I guessed that they were both telling the truth. Even the most cursory search of Lowenstein’s rooms would have revealed the small fortune buried in the floor, and I couldn’t imagine much of it being left by the time the constable arrived had these two been in the room.

  “That was about four o’clock, was it?”

  “No, later than that; about five o’clock.”

  “Was his door locked?”

  “No.” Mrs Curran shook her head.

  “When was the last time either of you saw Mr Isaacs alive?”

  “I told you I heard him pacing about last night, he — ”

  “Saw, Mrs Curran. When was the last time you or Lizzie saw him alive?”

  “That was me,” said Lizzie, pleased to be the centre of attention again. “I saw him when I took him his tea yesterday evening.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Six o’clock.”

  “Did he eat it?”

  “Why yes, sir,” she replied, looking confused.

  “The other lodgers — the Ilyins — how long have they been living here?” Truegood asked Mrs Curran.

  “Since the beginning of the year, the end of January.”

  “Did Mr Isaacs talk to them?”

  “No. Only just so as to say good morning — or good evening, or the like — if he passed them on the stairs and such.”

  “No one else asked for Mr Isaacs or a Mr Lowenstein while he was here?”

  “No one.”

  “And nothing out of the ordinary happened since Mr Isaacs rented your rooms? Think before you answer. You too, Lizzie.”

  They both shook their heads. Truegood looked at me. I was surprised by the courtesy. “You said that Mr Isaacs never left the premises, Mrs Curran. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir. Not since he walked in here at the beginning of May with just that little travelling case.”

  I looked at Lizzie. “You didn’t see him leave, either?” She shook her head, more emphatically this time. “Mr Isaacs smoked cigarettes. Surely he must have stepped out to the tobacconist’s to replenish his supply?”

  “He never left the house, sir. His tobacco and all his sundries and etceteras he sent the boy for.”

  “The boy?”

  “Harry. A young lad from across the road. He helps me and Lizzie out during the week.”

  “Go and fetch him for me, Lizzie,” said Truegood. “We’ll speak to him downstairs. We’ll talk again later, Mrs Curran. Don’t leave the house in the mean time.” She muttered a protest as we left.

  We escorted Lizzie out, and Truegood spoke the constable on guard. Dr Maycock met us on his way down. “Right, Doc, what can you tell me?”

  “As I’ve said before, this is not yet an exact science, but given the temperature of the body and the fact that rigor mortis is still present, my estimate is that he was killed twelve to thirty-six hours ago. Yes, yes, Truegood, I know what you’re like, so I’ll make an educated guess before you badger me… twelve to eighteen hours… but I’ll not commit to that. He was struck from behind with a heavy, blunt object. It appears that he fell in the same position you marked with the chalk. He was probably insensible. He was then struck either two or three more times — I can’t be certain at present. One of the blows cracked
the zygomatic bone, forcing the bulb from the orbital cavity. I should be able to tell you more after the post-mortem.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” Dr Maycock continued his egress.

  “Are you going to question the Russians next?” I asked Truegood.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I’ll join you shortly. I’m going to have a look outside while it’s still light.”

  Truegood grunted again and I left him on the first floor landing as I followed the doctor out of the front door. There were three steps down to the pavement, with no front garden, and no external access to the cellar or coal hole. Mrs Curran’s establishment was a mid-terrace, with a dingy tobacconist’s — White & Son — at number twenty and another private residence at number sixteen. I greeted the constable as I crossed the road for a better look. Most of the houses on the street were residential, with the exception of the tobacconist’s, a public house called the Three Compasses, and a tiny bookshop on the corner of Whitfield Street. I looked up at the three pairs of windows above the ground floor: Mr and Mrs Ilyin, Mrs Curran and Lizzie, and Lowenstein.

  As I re-entered the house, the mortuary wagon arrived with two attendants. I examined the front door lock, and found no signs of tampering. I ignored the stairs to the cellar and explored the three rooms on the ground floor, a kitchen, a bathroom and a water closet. The key was in the back door, in the kitchen. I turned it a couple of times. It was well oiled and made very little noise. Once again, there was no sign that the lock had been forced. The garden was a small rectangle with the same air of neglect as the inside of the house. Three low brick walls of just over waist height marked the boundaries. The rear of White & Son was piled high with packing crates. The garden on the other side was overgrown, with two trees obscuring much of the view. I crouched next to the dustbin and examined the ground for traces of footprints. Another constable was talking to a woman in the narrow lane behind. The row of houses opposite were all of a similar type, also backing onto the alleyway. All those I could see appeared residential.