Death of a Prosecutor

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Did he indeed,’ Riley’s senses were suddenly on high alert. ‘Is she absolutely sure?’

  ‘Oh yes. She’s certain he was there at six-thirty because…well, I get the impression that he disturbed her. She heard him moving about.’ Carter shrugged. ‘Mrs Sinclair insists that he slept in the lounge, being incapable with drink and not wishing to earn a trimming, as she put it, from his father by arriving home completely intoxicated. Anyway, she definitely heard him at six-thirty, and I’m assuming that’s because he was a whole lot closer to her than the lounge. She reckons she dozed off again and when she next opened her eyes it was just after seven. The place was quiet as the grave and Glover had gone.’

  ‘He forgot to mention that, didn’t he, Sergeant?’ Riley pondered for a moment. ‘So we must discover what he did with himself between seven in the morning and his return to the family home when we were there at eleven.’

  ‘Looks that way,’ Salter agreed.

  ‘But in the meantime, we don’t have time on our side and can’t waste any sending back to the Yard and asking Barton to check Sir Robert’s briefcase for his keys.’ Riley moved away from the desk. ‘Do the honours, if you would be so kind, Sergeant.’

  Salter grunted, selected a thin paperknife from the ink stand on Sir Robert’s desk and inserted it in the desk lock. He gave a sharp jerk to the left and the lock popped open.

  Riley and Salter methodically searched through the drawers while Soames and Carter looked over the rest of the room. They found little to excite their interest, other than Sir Robert’s appointment book and a deep, empty bottom drawer. At a nod from Riley, Salter pocketed the book.

  ‘Anything?’ Riley asked the constables. Both men shook their heads.

  ‘I shall need a list of all Sir Robert’s recent cases,’ Riley said, returning to the clerk’s office and addressing the comment to Henry Price. ‘I’ll send someone round to collect it this afternoon.’

  ‘It will be ready and waiting, sir.’

  Riley put his head round the door to the conference room. A circular mahogany table dominated the space, surrounded by eight high-backed chairs that did not look comfortable, chosen to discourage prolonged, time-wasting meetings, no doubt. There was a sideboard with glasses and decanter arranged on its surface and little else to excite their interest.

  ‘What’s that?’ Salter pointed to a framed photograph on the wall. Riley followed the direction of his gaze and swore softly when his eyes fell upon the picture of Sir Robert and his lifelong friend, Mr Max Austin, that Riley had seen several times before. Sir Robert was holding a bronze wolf-head dagger up to the camera.

  ‘That’s where I had seen it before,’ Riley said. ‘The dagger was a gift to Sir Robert from Max Austin after he successfully prosecuted the killer of Austin’s young niece.’

  ‘Where did he keep it?’ Salter asked.

  ‘I saw it once, displayed in pride of place in his study at home,’ Riley said. ‘Austin is a bit of a roamer and brought it back with him from a trip to India.’

  ‘It wasn’t there today,’ Salter replied with alacrity. ‘We wouldn’t have overlooked it.’

  ‘No, it was not,’ Riley agreed.

  ‘This don’t look too good for young Norman Glover. He had access to the dagger and probably thinks he has a failsafe alibi. He didn’t count on Mrs Sinclair waking so soon after he left. It would be natural for her to assume that he took his leave a great deal later than he actually did, given his intoxicated state and the lateness of the hour when he took to his bed…or hers.’

  ‘We must talk to him,’ Riley agreed, troubled by the turn events had taken. It all seemed too convenient. ‘You know what this means, of course.’

  Salter nodded. ‘If he took the dagger with him before he went out the night before, that makes the crime premeditated. He planned to do it and use Mrs Sinclair to vouch for his whereabouts. Unfortunately for him, she’s a light sleeper.’

  ‘Yes, but would he be silly enough to use a weapon that would lead us directly to him?’

  Salter shrugged. ‘We best ask him, I suppose.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Riley replied. ‘He won’t be going anywhere in the meantime and we would be better advised to finish our preliminary investigation first.’

  Salter gave Riley an odd look. ‘You’re the boss,’ he said.

  Chapter Three

  ‘There’s not much more we can do here until we’ve seen the list of Sir Robert’s cases,’ Riley pointed out. ‘Let’s get ourselves back to the Yard.’

  Salter nodded his agreement. ‘Every detective in the department is aware of some old lag who threatened Sir Robert at some stage or another, blaming him for their incarceration. We were talking about it this morning as soon as we found out who the victim was.’

  ‘Talk is cheap, Jack, and if we start chasing down every villain with a big mouth, the whole of Scotland Yard will be tied up for months. We’d be wiser trying to narrow our search. Work backwards, starting with his most recent cases. Which means waiting for that list.’

  ‘And in the meantime?’

  Riley moved off the pavement to make way for a woman with a baby in a perambulator. She swept past him without a word of thanks. ‘There’s plenty to be done. I’d like to know a great deal more about Joseph Milton.’

  Salter raised a brow. ‘You suspect him?’

  ‘I suspect everyone.’ Riley took a moment to articulate his thoughts. ‘I see Milton as a man driven by ambition and dreams of personal glory. That wasn’t going to come his way while Sir Robert was alive to eclipse him.’

  ‘Aye well, people have killed for less, I suppose.’

  ‘Considerably less.’

  ‘Lord Isaac and Mr Morton will be the best sources of information. They regularly crossed swords with Milton at the Bailey and they’ll have heard all the law courts’ gossip.’

  ‘My thoughts precisely. I’ll seek them out later, but first I need to find out what was in Sir Robert’s briefcase. I most particularly want to find his keys. If they are in it then we can discount our theory that someone wanted access to his chambers.’

  ‘Aye well, I hadn’t set too much stock by that possibility.’ Salter sighed. ‘Breaking in would have been a damned sight easier and far less risky.’

  ‘Hmm. Let’s not jump to conclusions either way just yet.’

  Upon their arrival back at the Yard, they discovered that Sergeant Barton had already taken possession of Sir Robert’s personal effects, including the briefcase. Riley took it to his office and opened it in front of Salter.

  ‘Not much in it,’ Salter said, stating the obvious.

  There were notes on one or two cases that Sir Robert was due to prosecute. Riley recognised one of his own amongst them. More significantly, his keys were nestled at the bottom of the expensive, soft-leather case. Riley examined them, identifying them as home and chambers keys. The purpose of one small key defeated him. They had not seen anything in either his apartment or his room in chambers that it might unlock. Riley wondered if the discovery was significant, but was distracted by the next item that Salter withdrew from his friend’s case. A box bearing the insignia of Asprey, the exclusive Bond Street jeweller. Riley exchanged a glance with Salter, took the box from his sergeant and opened it to reveal a bracelet set with diamonds, their sparkle undimmed by the drab interior of a utilitarian Scotland Yard office. Riley let out a low whistle. Salter gaped at the beautifully crafted piece of jewellery with incredulity.

  ‘That will have set him back a bob or two,’ Salter said, scratching his head. ‘Wonder what he’d done that made him feel the need for such extravagance.’

  ‘You have a suspicious mind, Salter.’ But Riley agreed that it was an oddity. He thought of the insipid Lady Glover and somehow doubted that the diamonds had been intended for her.

  ‘Comes with the line of work, sir.’

  ‘This confirms that the murder wasn’t a random robbery. No self-respecting thief would l
eave such a valuable piece behind. And as we already know, Sir Robert was still wearing his gold half-hunter and had money in his pockets.’ Riley’s expression turned grim. ‘Someone definitely wanted Sir Robert out of the way. Permanently. The question is, was it someone connected to his business or his personal life?’

  ‘You suspect the son?’

  ‘I can’t imagine Sir Robert’s daughters banding together to kill their father, despite the fact that they don’t seem that distraught at their loss. Besides, they wouldn’t have the strength or the stomach for violent knife crime. Poison, as we have good reason to know, is a lady’s preferred weapon. That isn’t to say that someone wasn’t hired to do the deed, especially given that Sir Robert felt the need to buy a very expensive gift for…well, someone.’

  ‘You think he might have been having an affair? And Lady Glover found out, felt humiliated and arranged to have him done away with? A woman scorned, and all that. I know she looks a bit pathetic and a strong gust of wind would likely knock her off her feet, but her father is, to the best of my knowledge, well connected and wouldn’t take kindly to his daughter being humiliated.’

  ‘True, but he’s old now and doesn’t have the mental acumen or the connections to arrange anyone’s killing. Besides, I seem to recall that he was a bit of a womaniser himself in his day, and probably wouldn’t hold the odd affair against Sir Robert.’

  Salter sniffed his disapproval. ‘The way the better half live,’ he muttered.

  ‘But it wouldn’t do much good for Sir Robert’s professional image if Lady Glover knew of the affair and threatened to make that knowledge public,’ Riley said, ignoring his sergeant’s puritanical grumble. ‘So he would have needed to keep his wife content. Perhaps the diamonds were meant for her after all.’

  ‘Then why did he have them in his case on the way to chambers? It ain’t as if he could have collected the bauble on his way to Lincoln’s Inn. It’s right out of his way. Besides, Asprey’s don’t open until ten. I mean, what would be the point?’ Salter grinned. ‘Their customers ain’t out of bed before then.’

  Riley shook his head but refused to rise to the bait. ‘Let’s think on it. I’m off to speak to Inspector Hardgrave about Sir Robert’s current case. The one that won’t go ahead today because the prosecutor is dead. You start going through Sir Robert’s appointment book and see if anything jumps out at you.’

  ‘Right-ho.’

  Riley locked the case and bracelet safely away and went off to track down his colleague. He found him buried behind a pile of paperwork, the size of which made Riley feel moderately virtuous by comparison.

  ‘Ah, I’ve been expecting a visit from you,’ Hardgrave said, abandoning his pen with a willingness that probably accounted for the accumulation of papers.

  ‘You’ve heard about Sir Robert, I take it.’

  ‘No one’s talking about much else. It’s a bad business,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘He was a friend of yours.’

  ‘He was.’ Riley lowered his head to cover the swell of emotion that took him unawares. ‘He was a credit to his profession. A man with a conscience, and we both know how rare that is.’ Riley sat across from Hardgrave and moved a pile of papers aside so that he could see his colleague’s face. ‘The murder he was due to prosecute today. That was one of yours.’

  Hardgrave nodded. ‘I’m satisfied that I got the right man, if that’s what you’ve come to ask me about. A young girl was found strangled outside a bootmaker’s shop in Clapham early one morning.’

  ‘Found by the bootmaker, whom you subsequently charged with her murder?’

  ‘That’s right. We made enquiries and discovered that he’d been indulging in a spot of hanky-panky with the victim. He admits that but swears night is day that he didn’t kill her.’ Hardgrave rolled his eyes. ‘When don’t they? Needless to say, we didn’t believe him. The bootmaker lives above his shop with his wife and children. We think the girl had been on her way to spill the beans to the wife after Caldwell, that’s the bootmaker’s name, remembered he was married with a daughter not much younger than the victim and ended the affair.’

  ‘But she didn’t get as far as the wife?’

  ‘Nope. Someone—Caldwell—stopped her.’

  Riley frowned. ‘Dumped her on his own doorstep, aware that details of their friendship would emerge, and then “found” her body?’

  ‘We reckon he hadn’t thought it through. He intercepted her somehow, they argued, it got out of hand and he killed her without meaning to. Then he panicked. He couldn’t risk moving the body for fear of being seen in a busy part of town, so left her there, hoping someone else would report it. When they didn’t…well, what else could he do?’ Hardgrave sat back and spread his hands. It appeared to Riley that Hardgrave was trying a little too hard to justify himself. ‘The girl’s family were distraught, especially the father. The girl was only fifteen, so I suppose it’s understandable that he felt he’d let her down. Anyway, we couldn’t find anyone else who had any reason to harm the chit other than Caldwell, and we’re pretty sure a jury will reach the same conclusion.’ Hardgrave paused. ‘Or would have done, before Sir Robert so inconsiderately got himself killed.’

  ‘The case was due to be heard today.’ A decision would also have been reached today, Riley suspected. Cases did not generally take long to be presented. Not even cases of capital murder where the accused’s life hung in the balance.

  ‘Well, it won’t be now.’

  ‘Don’t look so glum. If your case is as solid as you imply then one of Sir Robert’s juniors will be able to prosecute it successfully. I take it the victim’s family are paying Sir Robert’s fee.’

  ‘They are. They wanted to be sure of a conviction, so I recommended the best.’

  ‘Is there any doubt about Caldwell’s guilt?’

  ‘I’m satisfied that he did it. Problem is, he claims to have been in a local tavern at the time the crime was committed. He says he visited the Red Lion every Tuesday evening but we couldn’t find anyone who recalled seeing him there on that particular night.’

  ‘The girl knew of his habit and chose that time to visit the wife?’

  ‘That’s the conclusion we reached. She probably told Caldwell what she intended to do, he laid in wait, tried to reason with her and things got out of hand.’

  Riley nodded, unwilling to say that he couldn’t understand why a man of Sir Robert’s integrity would have agreed to prosecute a case that might have sent an innocent man to the gallows. The case was not nearly as watertight as Hardgrave tried to make it seem, and perhaps Sir Robert had second thoughts. Riley could easily imagine the ambitious Joseph Milton seeing it as a perfect opportunity to make a name for himself—always assuming he managed to secure a guilty verdict.

  ‘Any threats towards Sir Robert from Caldwell’s family?’

  ‘He has a brother, a partner in the boot-making business, who’s been shouting loud and long about Caldwell’s innocence. But that’s no more than you’d expect from a close family member.’ Hardgrave spread his hands. ‘The man’s guilty, Rochester. Never doubt it.’

  ‘Does Caldwell have a defence barrister?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Oh yes. I thought you would know, seeing that he’s a friend of yours. Isaac Arnold himself has taken this one on.’

  ‘Has he indeed?’ Riley rubbed a finger down the cleft in his chin, aware that this piece of news put a different complexion on the entire situation. ‘No, I was not aware.’

  But it explained why Hardgrave was so anxious to defend himself. Isaac charged a great deal for his services, and could afford to be selective. He only took cases on if he considered that the evidence against the accused was slim. By the same token, Riley thought as he thanked Hardgrave and left his office, if Caldwell had a viable defence there was a good chance that he wouldn’t be convicted and the hot-headed brother wouldn’t need to resort to murder in order to exact revenge. The circumstances gave Milton added reason to want to take on
the prosecution. If he crossed swords with Isaac in a high profile case and won, his future would be assured.

  ‘Anything?’ Riley asked as he passed Salter’s desk and found him still pouring over Sir Robert’s appointment book.

  ‘Actually, yes.’ He collected up the book and followed Riley into his office.

  ‘Tell me,’ Riley said, leaning back in his chair and propping his booted feet on the edge of his desk, wondering what Amelia was doing at that moment. Wishing he could be with her and Sir Robert could still be alive. He warned himself to be realistic. Wishes were for children, reality was the province of the working detective.

  ‘Well, Sir Robert had his own system of abbreviations, but all the daytime appointments appear to be in connection with his professional life,’ Salter said. ‘I reckon his clerks will be able to tell me who the various initials refer to. But his social activities are also noted, and here’s the interesting thing. Every Wednesday afternoon for the past six months he’s left chambers early. I know that because he’s drawn a line through the pages after four o’clock, as though reminding himself not to make any appointments past that time. And the reason why not is that he seems to have a standing engagement with P.B.’

  ‘Who the devil is P.B.?’

  Salter shrugged. ‘I don’t have the first idea.’

  ‘An instructing solicitor? A fellow barrister?’ Riley sat upright again and returned his feet to the floor. ‘Go and collect the list of cases from Price yourself, Salter, and ask him if he can identify the mysterious P.B.’

  ‘A lady friend?’ Salter suggested, waggling his brows.

  ‘Possibly,’ Riley conceded, thinking of the wilting Lady Glover, who always seemed to be suffering from ailments real or imagined. Riley had often wondered how such an insipid woman could satisfy Sir Robert’s needs, both physical and intellectual. He thought as well about the expensive bracelet locked in his desk. Today was Wednesday. Perhaps Salter was right, P.B. was his paramour and Sir Robert had planned to give her the jewellery when he kept his engagement with her later on. ‘But if his appointment with P.B. was so regular, it hardly seemed necessary to note it in his personal engagements book. Ask Price if he kept a note of the barristers’ professional engagements. I expect he does. See if P.B. came to chambers or if Sir Robert went to P.B. In fact, on second thoughts, I’ll come with you to Lincoln’s Inn.’ He got to his feet. ‘Come on, Salter, fetch your hat. There’s no time to waste.’