Death of a Prosecutor

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Don’t you?’ Norman shot Riley a surprised look. ‘I cannot think of anyone else who disliked him sufficiently to kill him.’

  ‘I shall need to talk to you all—you especially—but it can wait.’

  ‘Me?’ Norman looked astounded. ‘Why? I know nothing of the matter.’

  ‘But you knew your father, perhaps better than anyone. I need your help if I am to catch whoever did this to him.’

  ‘Of course, I am at your disposal. But any enemies he made would be connected to his work, and…well, I knew nothing about it. You would be better advised to talk to his junior barristers and clerks.’

  ‘I fully intend to, but he might have mentioned in passing something that would help me to narrow down my search for the perpetrator.’

  ‘That I very much doubt. He made it a rule never to talk about his work when he was at home. He kept his family life completely separate from what he described as the depraved natures of the men and women he prosecuted.’

  ‘I see.’ Riley nodded towards the three ladies huddled together on a settee. ‘Look after them and I will call and see you all again tomorrow. In the meantime, perhaps you would tell me where you were early this morning.’

  ‘I say!’ Norman cried, loud enough to draw his mother’s attention to them. ‘Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with this terrible business?’ he added, in a more moderate tone. ‘The idea is damned insulting.’

  ‘I am not paid to think,’ Riley replied calmly. ‘I am paid to follow procedure, and that requires me to ask difficult questions at a time when feelings are running high.’

  ‘Well yes, I suppose…’

  ‘So I would appreciate an answer, if you please.’

  ‘I attended a party at a friend’s house until about two. Then I visited another friend.’

  ‘Her name?’

  Norman sent Riley a mulish look. ‘I would prefer not to say.’

  ‘And I must insist that you do.’

  ‘Damn it, Lord Riley, she holds a respected place in society! I had nothing to do with my father’s death and she most certainly did not. If she’s dragged into this business it could ruin her—’

  ‘Perhaps you should both have considered all possible ramifications before getting carried away by passion.’ Riley hardened his expression. ‘Now, I will not ask you again but I will arrest you if you don’t give me your full cooperation.’

  ‘I can depend upon your discretion?’

  Riley inclined his head. ‘I have no reason to embarrass either of you. I am merely doing my duty.’

  Norman’s indignation seemed to deflate. ‘Very well. Mrs Dorothy Sinclair.’ He reeled off an address in a fashionable part of London.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Riley hid his surprise at Norman’s revelation. The Sinclairs were wealthy, and had been part of the fashionable set until Sinclair’s death a few years previously. Mrs Sinclair had to be at least ten years older than Norman. There was no accounting for taste.

  ‘I will take a brief look into your father’s study whilst I am here. Then we will leave you alone for now. I shall return tomorrow morning to speak with you all. Please ensure that your mother and sisters are here.’

  ‘I shall be, but I don’t see why you need to trouble them. Can’t you see how distraught they are?’

  ‘Please do as I ask,’ Riley said curtly, already tired of Norman’s clumsy attempts at manipulation.

  Riley took leave of Lady Glover and her daughters and then turned down the long passageway that divided the rooms on either side of it. He stopped at the one he recognised as Sir Robert’s study. He inhaled sharply before turning the handle and entering the room where he and Sir Robert had whiled away more than the occasional hour, talking about the failings of the criminal justice system, about the rampant crime endemic to London, the plight of the poor that gave them little choice but to turn to unlawful behaviour in order to survive and what they would do to remedy that situation. The room smelled of tobacco, the distinct aroma of Sir Robert’s citrusy cologne and the embers of the previous night’s fire.

  Before feelings overwhelmed him, Riley conducted a methodical search but found nothing to aid his enquiry.

  ‘No diaries or appointment books,’ he said, disappointed.

  ‘He probably kept them in his chambers.’

  No further forward, Riley and Salter took their leave.

  ‘What did you make of the son?’ Riley asked as they quit the building and there was no longer any danger of their being overheard.

  ‘He looked genuinely surprised when he heard the news, but I can’t say that I took much of a liking to him,’ Salter replied. ‘A bit of a lazy devil, I’d say.’

  ‘You would say right,’ Riley replied. ‘Sir Robert despaired of his ever settling to a career. He had no interest in the law, despite Sir Robert’s efforts to involve him in it.’

  ‘He wanted his son to follow in his footsteps?’

  ‘He hoped that he would, but didn’t force him. Unfortunately, Norman not only lacks his father’s intellect but is also bone idle and thoroughly indulged by his mother. A lethal combination.’

  ‘So what does he do for a living?’ Salter asked.

  ‘He grew up admiring Brunel’s work and now calls himself a civil engineer, although whether he is actually employed in that capacity is another question entirely.’

  ‘Ah, one of them,’ Salter said cryptically.

  ‘As you say. He is, in his father’s words, a dreamer who writes papers on romantic yet unrealistic projects, none of which have seen the light of day to the best of my knowledge. But now he will have to grow up. Depending upon Sir Robert’s circumstances, he can either lead a life of leisure or he will have to exert himself in order to support his mother and sisters.’

  ‘He disappointed Sir Robert and must have grown tired of his father’s disapproval. We have seen situations of that nature get out of hand more than once.’ Salter allowed a contemplative pause. ‘He could easily have killed his father, you know. He’s taller than Sir Robert, and young and strong. There were no bloodstains on his clothing that I could see but that don’t mean nothing.’

  ‘He could indeed, which is why I need you to check his alibi, before he has an opportunity to warn the lady and they can corroborate their stories. He tells me he spent the night with a Mrs Dorothy Sinclair.’ Riley gave Salter the address. ‘Get yourself over there now and talk to her. Don’t be fobbed off. If she prevaricates, you might remind her that it’s in her best interests to cooperate with us if she doesn’t want society to get wind of her activities.’

  ‘Right you are. Where will you be?’

  ‘With Carter and Soames, going through Sir Robert’s chambers, then talking to his employees. Join me there when you have spoken with Mrs Sinclair.’

  Salter whistled to a cabbie, who swerved his conveyance dangerously towards the pavement, cutting off a coal wagon, in order to collect him. Riley walked at a brisk pace back to New Square Passage, stopping just before he entered the lane in order to collect his colleagues from the coffeehouse, still crowded at a time when its occupants should have been hard at word. Clearly the rumours had already spread about Sir Robert’s murder, and other barristers and clerks were keen to know the particulars.

  Riley ignored those who tried to intercept him and introduced himself to Sir Robert’s employees, their numbers having increased to four. He expressed his sympathies for their loss whilst simultaneously taking their measure.

  ‘A tragedy,’ one of them said, shaking his head in despair.

  ‘Indeed.’ Riley nodded. ‘However, time is of the essence if we are to catch the person responsible. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Inspector Riley Rochester. I dare say my constables have already introduced themselves. If I may have your names please, and your positions within Sir Robert’s chambers.’

  The only man to have thus far spoken appeared to have taken charge. ‘I am Joseph Milto
n, Barrister,’ he said, offering Riley his hand.

  ‘Indeed, I have seen you in court,’ Riley replied.

  ‘I am Sir Robert’s junior partner, having had the privilege of serving beneath him for five years. Peter Dunlop here,’ he added, touching the shoulder of the younger man beside him, ‘is also a barrister, and has been in chambers for two years. Henry Price, on your left, has been Sir Robert’s clerk since time immemorial and George Jessup is his assistant.’

  ‘You were not here earlier, Mr Milton,’ Riley said. ‘May I ask where you were?’

  ‘Indeed you may. I was at the Bailey, supposedly prosecuting, but there was a confusion with the date and the hearing was not on today’s list. I exchanged harsh words with the clerks when I realised I had been inconvenienced, but then whispers about Sir Robert’s demise began to filter through. I didn’t believe it, of course, but I came immediately to see who had been causing mischief.’ He shook his head. ‘If only it had been mischief-making.’

  Riley allowed Sir Robert’s employees to talk themselves dry without asking questions. One could learn a lot, he knew from experience, if those closest to a victim were allowed to run on in the immediate aftermath of a brutal crime, when shock temporarily overcame discretion. He had no reason to suspect any of them, but they might possess knowledge without being aware of it that would point Riley in the right direction.

  ‘Consider this question carefully before you answer,’ Riley said, looking at each man in turn when their shocked utterances ran out of steam. ‘Can any of you think of anyone who held a grudge against Sir Robert?’

  Milton gave a hollow laugh. ‘Only all the men and women he sent to gaol, all of whom are carted off protesting their innocence, naturally. You must be the recipient of similar verbal threats when you arrest them, Inspector.’

  ‘Anyone specifically?’ Riley pressed. ‘A person who seemed more aggrieved, more persistent than most?’

  The four men shared a look and simultaneously shook their heads.

  ‘No threatening letters?’

  Milton gave a brief smile. ‘Most of the people we prosecute find it a challenge to express themselves in writing.’

  And yet, Riley thought, the murder had been committed by an educated man. His thoughts kept returning to the dagger used to commit the crime. The distinctive bronze handle decorated with the figures of two wolves, one howling at the moon and the other looking ahead. The sort of artefact that could only have come into the possession of a poor man if it had been stolen. In which case, why part with such a valuable item so carelessly? It could of course have been given to the killer by the mastermind who employed him in order to make some obscure point. But could said mastermind, if he existed, be sure that his hired killer would leave the dagger behind? It could be pawned anywhere for a tidy sum. Perhaps he had not intended to leave it, but had thrust it in with too much force and couldn’t pull it free again. That dagger really was an oddity. A puzzle. Riley had definitely seen it somewhere before, and wished he could recall where. No matter, it would come to him.

  ‘I should like to take a look at Sir Robert’s rooms in chambers now. Would you be kind enough to accompany my officers and myself,’ Riley said, addressing them all as he stood up.

  ‘By all means,’ Milton replied, also getting to his feet. ‘It will seem strange. His not being there anymore, I mean. He was our inspiration—and, I like to think, a close personal friend. I learned a very great deal from him,’ he added, sticking to Riley’s side as the group made their way into New Square Passage. ‘I’m not sure what will happen now. None of us is skilled enough to step into Sir Robert’s shoes, but I suppose we must try to carry on. This is a sad day for law and order, and that’s a fact.’

  Riley made the appropriate noises but allowed Milton to run on. He seemed to feel the need to articulate his feelings. Grief affected different people in different ways, Riley had good reason to know. He had seen every reaction known to man during his years as a detective. The guilty were often the most loquacious, the keenest to appear helpful, the most anxious to remain close to the heart of the investigation, if only in an attempt to guide its direction.

  Of the four of them, Milton had the most to gain from Sir Robert’s death. He was the obvious choice to take over as head of chambers and benefit from the prestige attached to Sir Robert’s name. But was he so desperate for advancement that he would be willing to kill in order to achieve it? Had he and Sir Robert had a disagreement over money? Until Riley had a better idea of the finances associated with successful prosecution, he would not be in a position to judge. Prosecutors were often hired by grieving relatives to ensure that justice was served. Sir Robert’s success rate would ensure that his services came at a higher price than most—and money, Riley knew, was a prime motivator for criminal activity.

  ‘Here we are.’

  The party stood back as Henry Price unlocked the door with a key that he produced from his pocket. Riley found himself in an outer office, clearly the domain of the clerks, as evidenced by the high desks and equally high stools and the neat stacks of briefs tied with ribbons.

  ‘The room directly ahead is…was…Sir Robert’s private office,’ Milton told him. ‘Mine is here to the right, and Dunlop’s is next to it. The room on the left is reserved for interviewing prospective clients.’

  Riley nodded, having been in it several times when discussing prosecutions with Sir Robert.

  ‘You do a little defence work as well, I believe,’ Riley said.

  ‘We do, but rarely.’

  ‘You look disappointed, Mr Milton. Do I take it that you are in favour of defending?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if I was,’ came the rather sharp response. ‘I admired and respected Sir Robert and felt privileged to be selected as his pupil seven years ago.’

  ‘Excuse me, but I thought you said you had worked for him for five years.’

  ‘As a fully-fledged barrister, yes. But I spent two years in pupillage, learning at the feet of a master, much as Dunlop is…was now doing.’

  ‘I see.’

  That explained why he had wanted to be a part of the chambers, Riley thought. As a fresh-faced graduate, full of youthful fervour, he had been keen to preserve the integrity of the justice system, gaining invaluable experience by learning from the best. But as he slowly became more jaded, more disillusioned with the system, he began to see that defence work was more lucrative. With Sir Robert out of the way, Milton could trade upon his dead mentor’s reputation and gradually take the chambers in a different direction.

  Riley told the employees that they were free to resume their duties whilst he, Soames and Carter entered Sir Robert’s private domain. It was as neat and precise as the man himself had been. Not a single sheet of paper adorned the surface of his desk. There were bookcases against two walls filled with legal tomes, and nothing of a personal nature on display. Anything of interest would be in his desk drawers, which were locked. Riley sent Soames to ask Price for the key, but was told Sir Robert held the only one. His keys had not been on his person, Riley knew from the brief search of his pockets that he had conducted whilst the body had still been in situ—an ominous and telling absence. Unless, of course, they were in his document case which Riley had not opened at the scene.

  ‘I wonder if we are looking for something that is no longer here,’ he mused aloud. ‘Why else would the killer take Sir Robert’s keys but not his valuables as well, unless there was something of a specific nature that they wanted to remove from in here?’

  ‘Evidence in a case?’ Carter suggested.

  ‘Hardly. He could easily obtain duplicates from us at the Yard. If there was something they wanted, they would have been better advised to simply break in at night to avoid the inconvenience of having to commit murder. But I’ll wager that no one has been in this room since Sir Robert left it last night. Nothing has been disturbed and I have yet to encounter a burglar who fails to leave a mess in his wake.’

>   ‘Perhaps that’s what we are supposed to think, sir,’ Carter replied. ‘The murderer could have been waiting for Sir Robert with a view to knocking him out but somehow finished up killing him, panicked and scarpered.’

  ‘Hardly,’ Riley replied. ‘He came up on him from behind and deliberately stabbed him. There was no struggle, and there was no attempt to simply subdue him, so Sir Robert knew nothing about it. But I take your point. The killer could have taken the keys, come in here to get what he needed, locked up after himself and we would be none the wiser.’ Riley paused. ‘Except it would take a cool head to commit a brutal murder and then calmly search the dead man’s premises. Even so, it could have happened that way.’

  ‘What could?’ Salter appeared in the doorway.

  Riley explained Carter’s thinking.

  ‘His briefcase wasn’t taken,’ Salter pointed out. ‘If it was something to do with Sir Robert’s current case that his assailant wanted to get his hands on, that would be the obvious place to look.’

  ‘Perhaps the killer was disturbed and ran off before he could be caught,’ Soames suggested.

  ‘You might be on to something, Salter. I dare say Sir Robert had details of the testimony the witnesses against the accused were to give.’ Riley paused and gave the matter serious consideration. ‘If supporters of the accused knew in advance what they planned to say, pressure could be brought to persuade them to develop amnesia. We must look closely at the people involved with Sir Robert’s current case, which I believe involves the death of a girl who was killed by the bootmaker who had seduced her.’

  ‘Bit extreme, ain’t it?’ Salter scratched his head.

  ‘The whole business is extreme, Sergeant. Anyway, how was Mrs Sinclair?’

  ‘Belligerent at first. Then when she realised why I was asking she became terrified.’

  ‘Of her indiscretion with a younger man becoming public knowledge, I would imagine.’

  ‘Precisely so.’

  ‘Did she confirm Norman’s alibi?’

  ‘Yes and no. He was with her from about two in the morning but left just after seven.’