Death of a Prosecutor

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Gawd help us all!’ Salter scowled as they left the Old Bailey and hailed a cab to take them to Lincoln’s Inn. ‘He wanted to be remembered, didn’t he, sir? That’s why he made such a fuss. Sounds to me like he was creating an alibi for himself whilst someone else literally stuck the knife in. Makes him our number one suspect in my book.’

  ‘Rather a ham-fisted way of going about it, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘He wasn’t to know that you would be called upon to investigate. Most other inspectors would be intimidated by his high-handed manner, much as Pettigrew’s clerks were, and assume that he was above suspicion. Given Inspector Hardgrave’s sloppy handling of the Caldwell case, no one can blame him for that.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Milton lives in Wimbledon and tells us he caught the eight-fifteen train into Waterloo yesterday morning, meaning that he would have reached the Old Bailey when the clerks opened their doors.’

  ‘If he left when he said he did, which only his wife can confirm or deny. I doubt whether anyone who regularly travels on that train will remember whether he was on it or not.’ Riley fell into momentary contemplation. ‘Mrs Milton is likely to support her husband’s account of events, especially if her husband killed Sir Robert in order to take control of the chambers. By so doing he would ensure that young Norman didn’t become a part of those chambers, bringing his sordid affair with his wife’s brother into his place of work, metaphorically speaking. However, if Milton killed Sir Robert, I very much doubt whether his wife knows anything about it. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to risk his own neck by admitting it to anyone. Anyway, we shall not know that until we have spoken to her and got the measure of her character.’

  ‘When do we see her?’ Salter asked, rubbing his hands in anticipation. There was nothing he enjoyed more than extracting truthful answers from witnesses who were reluctant to supply them.

  ‘We don’t, Salter. Sorry, but not yet. If Milton is guilty I want to gather more evidence before confronting his wife. A man in his occupation will know at once if we have only suspicion to point us in his direction.’ The cab drew to a halt, accompanied by colourful language on the jarvey’s part when his horse shied at a handcart. ‘Besides, the more we know about him as a man, the harder it will be for Mrs Milton to pull the wool over our eyes. Let’s see what the obliging Price can tell us at chambers before we decide what action to take.’

  The cab still hadn’t moved. Salter leaned out and observed an overturned cart blocking the road ahead.

  ‘We’re not far from Lincoln’s Inn, sir. It will take a while for the road to be cleared so it might be quicker if we walk.’

  They paid their fare and did just that, striding out to ward off the cold. Patchy fog swirled in eddies, flowing around buildings in enveloping shrouds. Smoke billowing from hundreds of chimneys mingled with the fog, creating a heavy toxic cloud that hung over the city, putting Riley in mind of the long, dark days of winter to come. The conditions were, he knew, a pick-pocket’s dream, and would keep his uniformed colleagues fully occupied in chasing down the perpetrators of opportunistic crimes of that nature.

  The clerks in Sir Robert’s outer office toiled away industriously and in silence, as though nothing had changed. But the tense, brittle atmosphere and their sharp inhalation of breath as the two detectives walked through the door reminded Riley that everyone would be on edge. If one of the men employed in chambers had killed Sir Robert, then he would now be a dangerous loose cannon. Riley knew that he must proceed with caution, fearful of putting more lives in danger by asking the wrong questions of the wrong individuals and spooking the perpetrator into further desperate acts.

  ‘Detective Inspector,’ Price said politely, putting his pen aside. ‘How may I be of assistance? Mr Milton and Mr Dunlop are both otherwise engaged,’ he added with a significant look towards their empty rooms, ‘so I cannot leave the premises unattended.’ Implying, Riley supposed, that the junior clerk was…well, too junior to be trusted to hold the fort.

  ‘Perhaps we could speak in Sir Robert’s room?’

  Price looked taken aback but quickly recovered his aplomb. ‘Of course, gentlemen. If you would kindly step this way.’

  Riley followed the clerk into his friend’s office and was obliged to swallow down a fresh swell of anguish. Riley half expected Sir Robert to walk through the door and apologise for keeping him waiting. He would give a great deal to bring that situation about, but shook off such unrealistic desires. He had a murderer to run to earth, and he needed to be at his sharpest. Everyone he had spoken to thus far in his investigation had reason to want Sir Robert dead. None of them, he was convinced, had been entirely honest with him.

  ‘Were you aware that Sir Robert hoped to train his son to eventually take your position?’ Riley asked, leaning his backside on the edge of Sir Robert’s desk.

  The question had been designed to take the clerk by surprise. If Price had known of his employer’s intentions there was no saying how far he would have gone to protect his position. He admired and respected Sir Robert, but presumably he had a family to feed. Besides, Norman Glover made no secret of his disdain for the occupation and such blatant disinterest in the situation that Price had dedicated himself to with years of faithful service would be anathema to such a diligent man.

  ‘I did know, sir. Sir Robert discussed the possibility with me and, naturally, I agreed to do my very best to instruct the young master.’

  ‘Forgive me, Price, but you do not seem old enough to be contemplating retirement,’ Riley pointed out. ‘Would it be in your best interests to train someone to take over your position, thus leaving yourself without employment?’

  Price allowed himself a half-smile. ‘I trusted Sir Robert to do right by me, sir. Besides, young Mr Glover would not have taken the position, and even if he had tried it, he would not have lasted long. You will excuse me for saying so, but he is not diligent and this work is exacting, some might say laborious, requiring patience and attention to detail. Young Mr Glover is not the laborious type, nor is he blessed with patience or, I suspect, pride in a job well done.’ Riley conceded the point with an inclination of his head. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘Mr Milton was adamantly opposed to the idea, so it would not have happened even if Mr Glover had agreed to try it.’

  ‘Surely the decision would have been Sir Robert’s alone to make,’ Salter said, taking a heavy law tome from the shelf behind him and idly flipping through the pages.

  ‘Sir Robert had the final say in all decisions connected to chambers, it is true, but he liked to have the approval of Mr Milton and Mr Dunlop before making any changes or engaging new employees. He said it made for happier chambers if there were no disagreements.’

  ‘What objection could Mr Milton possibly have?’ Riley asked with a disingenuous smile.

  Price glanced to the left and straightened something on a shelf that was already perfectly aligned. ‘I am sure I could not say, sir.’

  Riley nodded, but did not pursue the line of questioning. There was no need. Glover’s predilections were clearly an open secret.

  ‘I understand that Sir Robert’s ornamental dagger was recently taken in for repair. Did that form a part of your duties?’

  The tops of Price’s large ears burned bright red; a stark contrast to his otherwise white pallor as he allowed an elongated pause. ‘He was killed with it?’ Price fell into the nearest chair and dropped his head into his hands. ‘There was a rumour but I didn’t want to believe it.’ His fingers left trails on the skin of his face as he let out a ragged cry. ‘This is all my fault!’

  ‘As far as I am aware,’ Riley said, not without sympathy, ‘you have everything to lose and nothing to gain by Sir Robert’s death.’ He spoke the truth since he agreed with Price that Norman Glover would never had attempted to steal his livelihood. ‘I find it hard to imagine that you would have any reason to kill him.’

  ‘I might just as well have done.’ He struggled to recover hi
s composure, recalled where he was and abruptly got to his feet again. ‘I respected and admired Sir Robert. He gave me this position at a time when no one else would employ me. There had been some unpleasantness, not of my making, but…well, suffice it to say that Sir Robert had faith in my abilities. I have worked diligently over the years to repay that faith, but…’ Price took a deep breath and let it out again in slow bursts. ‘You are right to suggest that I took the dagger in for repair and collected it the day before Sir Robert’s death.’

  ‘What did you do with it?’ Salter asked.

  ‘I told Sir Robert when he returned from court that I had it.’

  ‘Everyone in chambers heard you?’ Riley asked. ‘They were all here?’

  Price took a moment to recollect and then nodded. ‘They were. He thanked me, inspected the repair and then took the dagger from me. He left it on his desk, presumably with the intention of taking it home on the last night of his life. Whether or not he did so, I am afraid I could not say.’

  ‘I see.’ Riley allowed a momentary pause and then asked his final question. ‘Can you tell me at which chambers James Boland is employed?’

  Price showed no surprise at the question, further confirming that he understood the nature of the relationship between Sir Robert’s son and Boland.

  ‘He clerks for Mr Franklin in Chancery Lane.’

  Riley nodded, recognising the name of a barrister who enjoyed an unblemished reputation. ‘Are you aware if Boland gives good service?’

  ‘I have no reason to imagine otherwise. Mr Franklin demands efficiency and Boland is an ambitious and intelligent young man.’

  ‘I see. Well, thank you, Price. You have been a great help. Please keep the nature of our discussion confidential.’ Riley didn’t need to add that he would prefer that the particulars of its content not reach Milton’s ears. Price appeared to be as anxious to avenge Sir Robert’s death as Riley himself, and didn’t seem particularly loyal to Milton. ‘Especially with regard to the dagger.’

  ‘You may depend upon my discretion, sir.’

  ‘Well,’ Salter said as they left chambers and made their way on foot back to Scotland Yard, ‘the dagger being in chambers the night before the death rather excludes anyone in the Caldwell case having used it. They couldn’t possibly have had access to it.’

  ‘How often have I told you not to jump to conclusions, Jack?’ Riley stepped off the pavement to allow a woman with a perambulator to pass, just as he had the previous day. On this occasion he was rewarded with a nod of thanks as she carefully wheeled her burden along. Riley watched her until her figure was enveloped by the swirling fog. ‘We do not yet know where Sir Robert went on that last night of his life. If he was worried about the evidence against Caldwell, he might have called to see Maisie’s family to discuss his concerns with them. They work during the day time, I would imagine, so if he wanted to talk to them all together it would have to be in the evening.’

  ‘Would he go to that trouble?’ Salter asked in a dubious tone. ‘A man of his stature stooping to making house calls, so to speak, in a not especially salubrious part of town?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Riley replied with conviction. ‘Sir Robert was nothing if not diligent. Anyway, if I am right and he did so, and if he had the dagger with him in his case and left it open and unattended…Well, it’s unlikely, I’ll admit, but we cannot afford to overlook the possibility that someone in the victim’s family was so determined to see Caldwell hang for his crime that they seized the opportunity, aware that the dagger could not be traced back to him.’

  ‘To avoid being suspected of having committed it himself?’

  ‘Possibly. Anyway, we both know how impetuous young men can be. How hot-headed. This particular one—the brother or her young man—acted without conscious thought. Determined to revenge himself upon Sir Robert, whom he considered had let the family down, he stole the dagger and…well, as I say, it’s unlikely but in theory possible.’

  ‘Much more likely that Milton swiped it and made sure it found its way into Caldwell’s brother’s hands.’

  ‘I know you want it to be Milton, but that’s about as likely as Norman Glover following in his father’s footsteps. I don’t say that Milton couldn’t have swiped the knife and arranged for someone to kill Sir Robert with it, but it would have been an almighty risk to take. If he wanted him dead, I see no reason for him to have chosen that particular murder weapon. Quite the opposite, in fact. The man is not without wits, so the less reason he gives us to look upon him with suspicion, the better. No, Salter, I think it much more likely that Sir Robert did take the dagger home and Norman saw his opportunity. Now he does have reasons a-plenty to make a symbolic gesture by using his father’s own knife. Boland too, for that matter. It’s vital that we discover whether or not Sir Robert actually took the dagger home, but I cannot imagine how we will arrive at the truth. The maid doesn’t live in and the mother and daughters probably won’t know. Nor would they tell us the truth even if they do. Not if it implicates Norman.’ Riley rubbed his chin. ‘The young man may not be as stupid as we think.’

  ‘We’ll break him,’ Salter growled.

  ‘I would like Barchester to be responsible, but I can’t see how he could have got his hands on the dagger. I shall have to think about that one.’

  Their deliberations took them back to the Yard, moments before the heavens opened and torrential rain poured down. Riley paused in the cramped room shared by the detectives to ask Carter and Soames how they had fared in Covent Garden.

  ‘Nothing definitive, sir,’ Soames replied. ‘They remember Glover and Boland being in the coffeehouse on the morning of Sir Robert’s murder. Someone spilled coffee on Boland’s coat and he made quite a fuss about it.’

  Salter rolled his eyes. ‘All our suspects are making themselves look guiltier by the minute. Either that or they wanted to be sure that they would be remembered if questions were later asked.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Riley said. ‘They didn’t arrive together, but shared the same table because the shop was crowded. No one knows if they were both there the entire time, for how long, and if they left together.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it, sir,’ Carter said.

  ‘Never mind. Keep ploughing through Sir Robert’s old prosecutions to see if anything looks out of place. It’s unlikely and laborious work, but it has to be done.’

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ Salter added when the two detective constables groaned in unison. ‘At least it’s dry in here.’

  Riley retired to his office, surprised to see that it was now mid-afternoon. His stomach gave an embarrassingly loud rumble, reminding him that he’d forgotten to take luncheon. He was surprised that Salter hadn’t dropped a few of his less than subtle hints. Very fond of his rations, was his sergeant. It was too late to worry about food now, so he sent Salter back out to make enquiries at the Archaeological Society regarding Professor Edwin Barchester.

  ‘Keep it general,’ Riley said. ‘I don’t want to arouse his suspicion. Pose as a potential member with interest in Egypt.’

  ‘I don’t know the first thing about Egypt,’ Salter protested.

  ‘You don’t know much about a lot of subjects, but that doesn’t usually hold you back.’ Salter grunted his reluctant agreement. ‘Just get whoever you meet there talking. You know as well as I do that it doesn’t take much to get an aficionado running on about his interests. Egypt’s supposed to be Barchester’s field so his name will undoubtedly come up. Then take yourself off home and we’ll start again fresh in the morning.’

  Salter nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Good man.’

  Salter put his coat and hat back on and disappeared. Riley took a moment to gather his thoughts and update his notes, then went in search of Inspector Hardgrave.

  ‘You again,’ Hardgrave said in a friendly tone. ‘Can’t seem to keep away.’

  ‘I find you irresistible.’
>
  Hardgrave chuckled. ‘I’m spoken for.’ His laughter quickly faded. ‘How goes it with Sir Robert’s investigation?’

  Riley threw up his hands. ‘More suspects than I know what to do with.’

  ‘Ah, one of those cases.’ He shot Riley a sympathetic look. ‘And I suppose you think I can help. Very well, what do you need from me?’

  ‘The Caldwell case.’ Riley fixed his colleague with a probing look. ‘Were you aware that Sir Robert was having second thoughts about his guilt?’

  Hardgrave sat bolt upright. ‘First I’ve heard of it, but if he was, he’d have spoken to me.’

  ‘I gather the victim had a young man, a greengrocer’s son, but I can find no evidence of his having been interviewed in your notes.’

  ‘He was distraught at her death,’ Hardgrave replied a little too hastily and far too defensively. ‘He wouldn’t have harmed a hair on her head.’

  ‘Spoke to him yourself?’ Riley asked casually.

  ‘Well actually, no. I left that to my sergeant. The wife’s confinement came at the same time as I got the case and well…I was needed at home that day.’

  In other words, he’d been distracted, accounting for ineptitude which he now attempted to cover up. Riley would sympathise—their chosen occupation was no respecter of private lives—but for the fact that the life of a potentially innocent man hung in the balance.

  ‘Sir Robert’s second in command has taken over the case,’ Hardgrave remarked. ‘I spoke with him briefly today and he doesn’t seem to have any qualms about the quality of the evidence.’

  Riley was perfectly sure that he didn’t but saw no profit in disputing the facts with his colleague. ‘Milton benefits from Sir Robert’s death,’ he said instead.

  ‘Doubt whether he murdered him though,’ Hardgrave said offhandedly. ‘Still, rather you than me on this one. There’s something about Milton that would make me hesitate to get on his wrong side.’

  Riley gave a grim smile. ‘Getting on people’s wrong sides is part of what we do,’ he said, pulling himself to his feet and returning to his own office.