by Carola Dunn
“He didn’t say, or you didn’t get the impression, that recently Rumford’s demanded more? Larger sums or more often?”
“No, Chief. I’m pretty sure it’s been slow and steady right up to the present.”
“No alibi?”
“Just his wife. They live in the Beauchamp Tower, right by the chapel. He never told her about the blackmail. He says he went as usual to lock up the chapel at ten o’clock and took the keys to the chaplain. She says he came in at quarter past, same as usual, and didn’t go out again.”
In the meantime, Piper had turned up the notes of Dixon’s statement in the initial interviews with the Yeoman Warders. “That’s exactly what he told DC Ross, Chief.”
“I didn’t trouble the Reverend, seeing that was too early to interest us. Seemed to me the Dixons were telling the truth.”
“All right. The chaplain wasn’t on Rumford’s list, but I suppose we’d better have a word with him at some point, see if he has any light to shed on the business. He seems to have been overlooked. Who else, Tom?”
“One of the Hotspur sergeants, name of Willis. Denied everything, but he’s got an alibi anyway. Playing snooker in the sergeants’ mess. Three more sergeants as witnesses, his opponent and two onlookers waiting for their turn at the table—and keeping an eye on the clock.”
“Would they lie for him? Esprit de corps?”
“Yes, probably, but not in this case, I don’t think. After all, Crabtree was one of them not so long ago. They all knew him. The corpse was one of the corps, as you might say.”
“Great Scott, Tom, if you’re going to take up bilingual punning, I’m looking for another right-hand man.”
“Not speaking parley-voo, I doubt another chance’ll ever come my way, Chief.”
“Thank heaven. Whom else did you see?”
“Edgemoor. The Raven Master. No trouble with him. He told me Rumford heard him teaching bad language to Callum—that’s the bird that got dismissed for conduct unbecoming a Tower raven. It was when he’d just been promoted to Raven Master. He thought it would be funny, and everyone would assume Callum just picked up the words around the place. He didn’t realize it would get the raven chucked out for fear of upsetting visitors.”
“But they wouldn’t chuck Edgemoor himself out for that, would they?” asked Piper. “If they found out?”
“No, but he’d be busted back to ordinary Yeoman Warder. Rumford took off him just a little less than the extra he got paid for being Raven Master. Clever bugger! But aside from the pay, Edgemoor got to be fond of the birds.”
“Still, Sarge, he wouldn’t be in enough trouble if Rumford told to make it worth killing him.”
“Very true, laddie. He has a pretty good alibi anyway, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, that’s right. Up half the night nursing one of his birds, overheard by a neighbour.”
“Did Edgemoor receive anything in writing from Rumford?” Alec asked.
“Never, Chief.”
“That’s the lot, then, Tom? . . . Good, we’ve established a pattern that holds for the Resident Governor also. Rumford’s threats and demands have been verbal, not written, and he’s been taking what his victims can afford without hardship. At least till now.”
“Ah,” said Tom. “Are you thinking the same thing I’m thinking, Chief?”
“I expect so. We’ll get to that in a minute. Neither of you took notes of this lot of interviews?”
“You said not to, Chief,” Piper reminded him, “so’s not to make them nervous, because we wanted their cooperation.”
“Quite right. But now, I want it all written down while it’s fresh in our minds, before details get forgotten.”
They set to work, Piper’s pencil racing over the paper, Tom’s more laborious. Alec decided to leave out all mention of Fay Carradine’s venial sin, but he wrote down what Mrs. Tebbit had reported of Rumford’s conversation with Jeremy Webster. Webster had routed the predatory Yeoman Gaoler. However, Alec thought with a frown, that didn’t necessarily mean there was no basis for the accusation.
Should he alert Carradine? Awkward, especially as it looked as if the general was going to have Webster as his cousin by marriage. Better, perhaps, to mention the secretary’s keen interest in the Crown Jewels to the Keeper of the Regalia. General Sir Patrick Heald was surely the best person—
“One thing I didn’t mention, Chief,” Tom said, interrupting Alec’s thoughts, “Edgemoor said he’s getting fed up with paying out. He reckons he’s pretty secure in his position, seeing his mistake is long past and the ravens are thriving under his care. He was going to tell Rumford to go to hell next time he asked to be paid off. I told him Rumford wouldn’t be coming round anymore. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Yes, one way or another, we’ll put an end to his racket, even if we can’t arrest him. He hasn’t yet told Rumford where to get off?”
“No. So I can’t see it makes much difference far as we’re concerned.”
“Probably not. I’ll think about it.”
19
Piper finished his notes first. He sat lost in thought, no doubt trying to work out what conclusion Tom had drawn from Alec’s words: “At least not till now.” Ernie excelled at taking verbatim notes of interviews, his memory for detail was superlative, and he had a better feeling for numbers than either Alec or Tom. What he lacked was imagination, the ability to look at the mass of details and see where they led. He was getting better at it, though, willing to listen and learn. He was still young, in his mid-twenties. Alec thought that with experience he’d make a good detective and probably rise further in the ranks than Tom had ever aspired to.
With a satisfied sigh, Tom put the final full stop to his scrawl and looked up. “What’s next, Chief?”
Alec smiled at him but turned to Ernie. “You’ve been in a brown study. What have you come up with?”
“It’s the motive, Chief. All these little sums here and there—not enough for any one victim to kill for, you’d think. What we’ve heard about so far prob’ly adds up to a thousand quid or so over the years. A nice little bit to retire on, but even nicer if it was twice as much.”
“According to what the doctor told the Chief, Rumford didn’t want to retire,” Tom pointed out, his tone encouraging.
“He could’ve meant not right then, Sarge, right when he got out of the hospital that time last winter, couldn’t he? Maybe he decided to ask for more, so’s he could double his money quickly and get out before anyone got so upset they’d do something about it. Only he got it wrong.”
“Good thinking, Ernie,” said Alec. “That’s more or less my conclusion. To give credit where credit is due, Daisy came up with the idea first.”
“Mrs. Fletcher’s always right.” Ernie was unstinting in his admiration for Daisy.
“Tom?”
“Sound reasonable to me.”
“Only it leaves us with more questions. First, has he given notice, or whatever the yeomen do when they retire? Webster’s the man to ask. But you’d think he or Carradine would have mentioned it, so, second, did Rumford miscalculate and ask for more than someone could manage, at least on the spot? Perhaps one of the victims needed time to collect the cash.”
“Or said he did,” Tom put in, “hoping for a chance to put Rumford out of the way before push came to shove, in a manner of speaking.”
“Good point. Now it seems to me that if he increased his demands on all his victims, he’d vastly increase the chance that one of them would take exception and act. By all we’ve learnt so far, he’s too shrewd to risk that.”
Tom nodded. “More likely he’d go for a big sum from one, but—” He stopped as a knock on the door was followed by the entrance of an orderly with a tray of sandwiches and bottled beer.
“Compliments of the sergeants’ mess, sir,” he announced. He unloaded the tray and departed.
“Looks like you made a big hit there, Sarge,” said Piper, regarding the mountain of food. “Even if Sergeant Willis
denied everything.”
“Guilt offering, laddie. But I won’t say no.”
“Let’s just hope,” said Alec, “that they coordinated with the yeomen. Otherwise, we may find ourselves consuming two lunches to avoid offending anyone.”
“ ’S all right with me,” said Tom.
For a while, the only sounds were those of mastication, beer glugglugging into tankards, and the odd comment: “Could do with more mustard.” “Any ham and cheese left?” “A bit heavy-handed with the horseradish.”
To this last remark, from Piper, Tom retorted, “Don’t look a gift horseradish in the mouth, laddie.”
Alec and Ernie groaned.
Tom was still working his way through the last beef with horseradish when Piper sat back with a replete sigh.
“Don’t do ’emselves too badly, those Hotspurs, do they, Chief?”
“They have certainly done us well.”
“Wonder who’ll give us lunch tomorrow.”
“With any luck, we shan’t be here to find out.”
“You think we’re going to bag chummy today, Chief?” Tom dabbed at his moustache with one of the napkins thoughtfully provided by the sergeants’ mess.
“I hope so. Unless we’re on completely the wrong track, which is possible. I want you to go to the King’s House first to ask Mr. Webster whether Rumford has made any official move towards retirement, or even asked how to set the ball rolling, in the past few months. Then go and have a chat with the chaplain, general enquiries, with an emphasis on his views about the people Rumford named, especially his clerk, of course. If he balks at gossiping, tell him . . . Well, you know how to go about it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him happy, Chief.”
“Then make a tour of the inner wall. I want to know what, if any, possibility there may be of climbing over surreptitiously, in both directions, though from inside is most important. There are plenty of nooks and crannies in the Inner Ward where a man could hide until midnight, but if we’re looking for someone who lives in the Outer Ward, he got out without being seen by any sentry.”
“Right, Chief.”
“You’d better take a yeoman with you. The Raven Master, perhaps. He seems to have taken to you, and he probably knows the place as well as anyone.”
“Yes, but having been blackmailed, he might not be too keen on helping catch the man who tried to do Rumford in.”
“Remind him it was Crabtree who was actually murdered. I’ll leave it to you to choose the best man for the job, though. Ernie, you’ll come with me to have a word with the rest of the people Rumford thinks would want to kill him. I want a record of these interviews.”
They left the Guard House, Tom going off towards the King’s House, Alec and Piper in the opposite direction.
As they went up the steps to the Parade Ground, Alec wondered whether he ought to have another word with Lieutenant Jardyne. He had told Daisy the youth was out of the picture, since he could hardly have quarrelled with Crabtree while under the impression he was quarrelling with Rumford over Fay’s cigarettes. But a fiery young man in love was not a rational being. Suppose he had waited in the fog for Rumford, brooding over his grievances and Fay’s wrongs, eager to prove his gallantry to the girl who disdained him. Drinking, perhaps? In the heat of the moment, might he not have attacked without waiting to quarrel first?
Against that were the cold, clammy fog, which even with the aid of alcohol would have made it difficult to keep his anger white-hot, and the partizan.
Damn that partizan, Alec thought. The pathologist agreed with Macleod that Crabtree had died of a broken neck before the weapon transfixed him. If the murderer had not gilded the lily, the death would almost certainly have passed as an accident.
“Why the partizan?” he demanded of Piper.
“That pike thing, Chief? To make it look like a Beefeater did it?”
“Yeoman. So we’ve been assuming. Or a yeoman wanted to make us think someone else was trying to cast suspicion their way. However you look at it, it doesn’t work, and you’d think that must be obvious to anyone not completely naïve.”
“I s’pose so.”
“So why the partizan?”
“To make sure he was dead?” Piper hazarded.
“That’s the obvious answer. But what a risky way to do it! Because of the angle, we can be almost certain it was thrown from the top of the steps, a difficult shot even if he had been able to see clearly. If Crabtree hadn’t already been dead, it might well not have done the job. Not to mention a good chance of the damn unwieldy thing making a clatter that would bring a sentry to investigate.”
“Why didn’t he at least go down the steps and find out if the victim was dead?”
“Exactly.”
“Too nervy?”
“Could be. Throwing the partizan was still a bloody stupid risk to take. That’s what bothers me. It has the smell of improvisation, of acting on impulse, but all the rest was apparently well planned. The murderer knew just where Rumford was supposed to be and when. He patiently waited for a foggy night, not unusual at this time of year so close to the river. He got to the steps without being seen and he got clean away without being seen. And then the partizan. It’s almost as if a different person suddenly took over.”
“You don’t think that could be it, Chief? Someone else threw it?”
“Conspiracy or chance? No, we’ll have to keep the possibility in mind, but I consider it highly unlikely.” Alec stopped at the foot of the steps to the Officers’ Quarters. “I’d better have a word with Colonel Duggan before I start on his officers again. With any luck, he came home for lunch and hasn’t gone back to his office yet. See if you can find out whether Captain Devereux and Lieutenant Jardyne are in the building, and if not, where they might be found.”
“Jardyne, Chief? Rumford didn’t give us his name.”
“No, but I want to speak to him. You’ll find out why.”
They went in. An orderly ascertained that the colonel was in his quarters and available to see Alec. Duggan’s batman, awaiting Alec outside the flat, saluted smartly and opened the door.
The colonel’s voice came from within. “Of course the Chief Inspector hasn’t come to arrest me, Teenie.” His tone surprised Alec—not exasperated but tenderly reassuring. “I haven’t done anything felonious, I promise you.”
“I know you haven’t, dearest, but what if he’s made a mistake?”
“My love, whatever people may think, the police are not stupid, at least not those who reach Fletcher’s rank. Least of all Fletcher himself.”
So much for eavesdroppers hearing nothing but ill of themselves. Alec coughed.
“Here he is, Teenie. You can ask him for yourself.”
Mrs. Duggan came to Alec with both hands held out. “Mr. Fletcher, Sidney had nothing to do with that poor man’s death.”
He took her hands. “I have no reason to suppose he did, Mrs. Duggan.”
“There, what did I tell you?” Duggan chuckled, giving Alec a manto-man wink. “The little woman would have it that you were coming with handcuffs to haul me off to prison.”
Daisy would have hit the roof if Alec had called her “the little woman.” But then, if she’d thought someone was coming to arrest him, she’d probably manage to smuggle him out of the country. At least Duggan was more affectionate than patronizing. To all appearances, as he had claimed, he hadn’t married just for his bride’s money.
“All I came for,” said Alec, “is to advise the colonel that I’m going to be holding second interviews with a couple of Hotspur officers. I would politely say to ask your permission, sir, but it wouldn’t be true.”
Duggan frowned. “No, no, quite. You must see whom you will. But I’m not very clear at what point military law might insist on taking over. Court-martials and so on, you know. I’ll have to consult my adjutant.”
“I hope it won’t come to that, but by all means find out your position.”
“Which officers, Mr. Fletcher?�
� asked Mrs. Duggan apprehensively.
“Captain Devereux and Lieutenant Jardyne.”
“Dev? Oh dear! Brenda will be so upset.”
“I’m not about to arrest him, Mrs. Duggan.”
“No, but . . . If Dev seems rather brash and care-for-nobody, it’s because he lost so many friends in the War, and several family members, I believe. You won’t take offence at his manner, will you? He’s not at all like that underneath.”
The colonel muttered “Tosh” or “Pish,” or something of the sort.
“I frequently have to deal with far worse manners than I’ve encountered from Captain Devereux,” said Alec. “It’s my job not to let such things influence me.” He noted that Mrs. Duggan expressed no concern about Jardyne’s interrogation.
Belatedly recalling her duties as a hostess, she offered Alec coffee.
“Thanks, but no. I must be on my way.”
Duggan accompanied him to the door. “I appreciate your notifying me of which way you’re looking. Don’t need to tell you, I have absolute confidence in all my officers.”
“Naturally. As I told Mrs. Duggan, I’m not on the point of arresting either of them.”
“Good. Excellent.” The colonel shook Alec’s hand heartily. “When this is all over, I hope you and Mrs. Fletcher will dine with us one evening. Delightful young lady.”
“Isn’t she?” Alec agreed, wondering whether Daisy had taken herself home to the twins after lunch or was lingering at the Tower to continue meddling in his investigation.
“Lieutenant Jardyne is in the bar, Chief,” Piper greeted him. In a low voice, he added, “Two cocktails before lunch, wine with, and several brandies since.”
“Good work. How did you get that out of them?”
“One of the mess orderlies is a Private Piper, born and bred in Norfolk, which is where my grandfather came from. So we reckon we’re prob’ly some kind of cousins.”
