The Corpse at the Crystal Palace

by Carola Dunn

  “Good morning, Inspector. You’re back from Yorkshire.”

  “Aye. I came back yesterday but I had division business to catch up with, so now I’m catching up with the reports here.”

  In view of his unexpected chattiness, doubtless prompted by boredom with endless reports, Daisy ventured to say, “May I enquire…?”

  “Miss Angela Devenish?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s off the hook. Her presence at the kennels all that day is vouched for by her assistant, her volunteer helpers, and the dogs.”

  Daisy laughed. “Thank goodness.”

  “If that’s all—”

  “It’s not actually what I rang about. I don’t know if you’ve got to the report about Ricky hyphen-Clark yet?”

  “I have.”

  “Good. I’ve discovered his complete last name. It’s—”

  “Just a moment, let me find my notebook among all these papers. All right, go ahead, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “It’s Wrexham-Clarke.” She spelled the first part. “And Clarke with an E. My informant doesn’t know his christian name, but that will be easy to find now. His brother is Lord Ledborough.”

  “Thank you. Your informant was Lady Gerald Bincombe?”

  “Yes, how did you guess?”

  “The Chief Inspector was going to consult her ladyship if we hadn’t found the information by other means before tomorrow.”

  So she had spared Lucy and Alec an interview that would certainly have brought out the caustic side of each. She had also been spared a lecture from Alec for meddling.

  She said good-bye to Mackinnon and hung up. “Alec was bracing himself to tackle you about Wrexham-Clarke, darling. Now he doesn’t need to.”

  “He’ll probably find some other reason to harass me.”

  “DI Mackinnon says your cousin Angela is in the clear.”

  “They thought Angela might have bumped off her brother?” Lucy said incredulously.

  “They had to consider it. She gets all Teddy’s money. Which I’m sure I shouldn’t have told you so keep quiet about it. May I give Sakari a quick ring?”

  “Of course.”

  Sakari suggested half past three to go to the jeweller’s and Daisy agreed. Ringing off, she told Lucy about having her aquamarines reset by the Zverevs. She didn’t mention their connection with Teddy, but Lucy was interested in the quality of their work.

  “I had a Victorian ruby ring reset and I wasn’t at all happy with the result. You must show me your necklace when it’s done and perhaps I’ll see what they make of the ring.”

  “Miss Zvereva wears a lot of rings. You can probably look at them and know whether you want to try the firm. The goldsmith himself worked for Fabergé.”

  “That’s promising, if it’s true.”

  “Oh! I hadn’t considered that it might not be, though I did wonder if her father is really a prince.”

  “Darling, how naïve, and you an amateur detective!”

  “Don’t let Alec hear you say that,” Daisy retorted absently.

  Was she naïve, as she had accused Phillip of being? If the Zverevs were lying about the princely title and about the goldsmith’s credentials, what else might they be lying about?

  * * *

  With Ernie Piper as his navigator and good roads all the way, Alec reached Saxonfield, the Devenish estate near Market Harborough, just before noon. He turned in between the two wrought-iron gates, standing open. The gravelled drive ran slightly uphill between an avenue of lime trees with pale new leaves. The park on either side was beautifully kept, grazed by recently sheared sheep, fat despite their near nakedness, and woolly lambs.

  At the top of the rise stood a large, foursquare Georgian house, its red brick almost hidden by the fresh foliage of Virginia creeper. Sir James’s ancestors had not indulged in the expensive frivolity of a pillared portico. To all appearances, generations of squires had husbanded the land on which they no doubt hunted, shot, and fished, as did their present descendant.

  In fact, Saxonfield shouted a worthy prosperity. Whatever their problems in the way of rebellious offspring, in spite of death duties and income taxes, the Devenishes were very well-off.

  Alec parked the Austin Twelve on the sweep in front of the house. As soon as he turned off the motor, a chorus of bays could be heard from somewhere behind a screen of evergreens off to the right.

  “Foxhounds,” said Piper with a shudder. He was a townsman through and through. “I’m glad I’m not a fox.”

  “You’d rather be a lamb? A clean but certain death at a young age or the chance of a grisly death when you can’t run and dodge as fast as you used to.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have to choose. There’s Sir James, Chief, coming round the corner.”

  They both recognised the baronet from a previous case. A large man, red-faced and bristly moustached, at sixty or thereabouts he was running a little to fat about the midriff but still vigorous, as his stride attested. He wore boots, breeches, and an old tweed jacket, with an ancient cap of a different tweed.

  The sheepdog at his side barked once, alerting him to strangers.

  “Down, Shep.” Shep lay down and fixed his commanding gaze on Alec and Piper, clearly ready to herd them if they strayed. “Mr. Fletcher?” The squire’s gaze was equally commanding. “Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher? They told me you were coming. We’ve met before, I believe.”

  “On another distressing occasion, I’m afraid, sir.”

  “A pretty idea of my family you must have!” he said bitterly. “I won’t ask— But come indoors. We can’t talk here. Come, Shep.”

  He led them into the house, straight across a high-ceilinged hall, along a passage, down a few steps, to a room obviously in use as an estate office. The window looked out to a cobbled yard with stables on two sides, one side in use as garages in this age of internal combustion, the other still occupied by horses. On one wall hung a map of the estate and detailed plans of three farms to a larger scale.

  Sir James motioned them to chairs, backs to the window, and sat behind his desk. Having demanded Alec’s presence, he sat in silence, staring down at his brown, sinewy hands, laid flat on the scratched and battered desktop.

  “Sir, you said outside you wouldn’t ask … something. Do you care to complete the sentence?”

  The hands clenched. “I wasn’t going to ask what my son did to provoke someone to kill him. But I need to know. Was it—one of his stupid practical jokes taken too far?”

  “We don’t know for sure. When we find out who, we’ll find out why. Sometimes it’s the other way round, but in this case we have a large number of people whom Mr. Devenish had offended in one way or another. Often trivial-seeming, but what looks trivial to an outsider can be of desperate significance to the person concerned.”

  “I see,” the baronet said heavily.

  “He had a great many—acquaintances, and I’m afraid he seems to have”—what was the tactful word?—“to have affronted most of them. The sheer number is sufficient reason for our slow progress, added to the public nature of the scene of the crime. If we understood his behaviour, it might help us understand the mind of the murderer. Will you tell me about him?”

  Sir James looked up for the first time. His faraway gaze seemed to pass through the detectives, beyond the stable yard, across his broad acres, and into the past.

  “His mother claimed he was fragile and cosseted him. She and his older sisters indulged him, spoiled him. I assumed he’d grow out of it. He did grow stronger. I tried to take him in hand, but he had no interest in manly sports, no interest in the land his ancestors farmed for centuries, that would have been his one day.” He sounded incredulous and the face he turned to Alec was bewildered.

  “Difficult to know what to do,” Alec murmured.

  “If he’d had an intellectual bent, if he’d wanted to go to a university, I’d have let him, though I believe a young man in his position learns more that’s useful right at home on the estate.
But he wasn’t interested in his studies. The only thing he had a spark of interest in was flummery like poetry and painting. All very well for girls, though most of them have more sense these days. Edward wouldn’t even settle to one of those! He wrote little, painted a little, played the piano a little … Tchah!”

  “A would-be Renaissance man, sir?”

  “A dabbler! And didn’t those fellows include swordplay among their skills? Edward wouldn’t know—wouldn’t have known the hilt from the blade. I should have put my foot down and made him stick to something. But what?”

  “Difficult to know,” Alec agreed.

  “I let him go to London. Sow a few wild oats, I thought, then you can get serious. Next thing I know, he’s hanging on the skirts of a divorcée ten years his elder! Maybe you remember that, Chief Inspector. It was at the time of my mother’s death.”

  “I do.” Alec clearly remembered trying to get hold of the divorcée and her rowdy entourage to confirm Teddy Devenish’s alibi.

  “He went straight back to her before his grandmother was in her grave. That was too much even for my wife. When he refused to give the woman up, I washed my hands of him. Not that it called him to heel, of course, as Mother left everything to him. Nothing I’ve heard of him since suggests any amendment in his character.” He dashed a hand across his eyes. “So much for the glorious career of my son and heir,” he said harshly. “Enough?”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I can’t see how it’ll help you lay hands on … his killer.”

  “Nor can I at present. All I can say is that, put together with a great deal of other information, it may at least speed things up. Don’t worry, sir, we’ll catch him.” Alec stood up, Ernie following suit.

  Sir James heaved himself to his feet, leaning with both hands on the desk. “You don’t suppose Edward was killed by that woman’s ex-husband, or a jealous lover of hers?”

  “That was four years ago, sir,” Alec protested. “We’ve come across no sign Mr. Devenish was still in touch with her.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty sure. I can’t recall her name, though. Can you?”

  “No. My wife— No, we mustn’t remind her of that dreadful time. She has enough to bear. You don’t want to see her, do you?”

  “I spoke to Lady Devenish in town, thank you. We’ll be off, then.”

  “Thank you for coming. I’m afraid I was growing rather impatient. I realise you’re doing everything possible and having seen you work at Haverhill, I’m glad you’re in charge, Chief Inspector. Do you mind showing yourselves out? You can go through this door to the yard and round to your motor.”

  As they crossed the stable yard, Alec looked back and, through the window, saw him slumped at the desk, one hand covering his face.

  “Whew!” said Ernie. “That was all right. I thought we were sent to have our knuckles rapped.”

  “We were lucky.”

  “What a waste of time, though, half a day on the road for half an hour’s chat.”

  “Not entirely a waste of time.” He ought to have talked to Sir James sooner. Mackinnon’s report had been excellent, but the baronet had not been nearly as frank to the Scot. Somehow, knowing what made Teddy tick ought to make it easier to understand the murderer.

  A couple of horses whickered at them as they passed; a stable hand glanced out from a stall and waved a sort of salute, without a pause in his whistling. Everything was was spotless, the cobbles wet from a recent washing. Alec wondered what would happen to the place without a direct heir to keep it going.

  An archway led on to a back drive, which they followed round the house to the front.

  “You drive, Ernie.”

  “Right, Chief. D’you think there’s anything in the divorcée business?”

  “A jealous lover from the past? It doesn’t seem at all likely. I suppose we’d better find out her name and do a bit of digging. As if we need any more suspects!”

  “I know her name: Rendell. Called herself Mrs. Genevieve Rendell so I don’t know her husband’s first name.”

  Alec frowned. “Does any Rendell, male or female, turn up in any of our lists?”

  “No. But a lover—”

  “Don’t waste time over it for the present. If we come to a dead end, we’ll take another look. We’re not desperate yet.”

  “You reckon this Clark bloke, Chief?”

  “I reckon he’s our first priority, if only because of the possibility of danger to his brother. But I’m not losing sight of the Russians.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Daisy drove down Hampstead Hill to St. John’s Wood. Sakari was ready for her, bright eyed after her postprandial nap. She was wearing a particularly fetching sari, turquoise figured with black and gold. Daisy admired it as her friend struggled, with the aid of her turbaned footman, into a very English coat.

  “Yes, is it not a pretty colour? It is new.” Sakari sighed. “My husband says it is the last new sari I may buy unless I lose some pounds. Fat is a sign of prosperity in India, but enough is enough, he says. The doctor also orders me to slim unless I wish to drop dead one of these days.”

  “Darling, how grim! You must know all about slimming diets, though. Aren’t people forever giving lectures on the subject? And you go to a great many lectures.”

  “However, I have always avoided those about dieting, Daisy.” She sighed as Kesin helped her into the car. “It is not a subject that appeals to me. Let us change it. How is Alec doing with the Crystal Palace case?”

  “He tells me hardly anything. As a matter of fact, I’ve given him more information than he’s given me. You remember Mr. hyphen-Clark?”

  “You have spoken of him.”

  “I found out his name!” Daisy said triumphantly.

  “Good gracious, how?”

  “It was easy, actually. His brother is a lord, so I simply went and asked Lucy. She knows everyone who’s anyone, by repute if not in person.”

  “But could not Alec have asked her?”

  “Of course, but the police hate to bother the aristocracy if they don’t absolutely have to. They’re so apt to complain, and they know the right people to complain to.”

  “Was Alec pleased?” Sakari asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “He couldn’t possibly object to my talking to Lucy! As it happens, he wasn’t at the Yard. I spoke to DI Mackinnon, and he was delighted.”

  “Did you suggest that he did not need to reveal his source to Alec?”

  “No. I can do that with Ernie Piper, but I don’t know Mackinnon half well enough.”

  “He seems to be a pleasant and competent officer.”

  “Oh yes, I like him. But I wouldn’t want to put him in the position of withholding information from his superior. Ernie Piper and Tom Tring know what Alec will put up with—if he finds out! And they know me, of course. I’m so very glad we had Tom with us when I discovered Teddy’s body.”

  “Indeed. Mr. Tring’s presence was a great comfort.”

  “How long ago that seems! I know Alec and his crew have been working non stop but if they’re any nearer an arrest I haven’t heard about it. I wonder if the Zverevs are still suspects.”

  “Perhaps we ought not to go there, Daisy.”

  “Alec knows they’re doing some work for me and he hasn’t told me to stay away. Besides, they have no reason to want to harm us. By now the police must know much more about them and their connection with Teddy than we do.”

  Sakari sighed. “I suppose so. Well, here we are,” she added as Kesin turned into the narrow passage and stopped before the jeweller’s.

  “You’re very pessimistic this afternoon.”

  “I will tell you why. I am thinking that after your business we will go to that nice little coffee room round the corner and we shall have a nice cup of tea, but I, for one, will not have a nice pastry to go with it.”

  “Too frightful, darling! I’d forgotten.”

  “You may have one. It is not your waistline.
Or rather, lack thereof.”

  “I do still have a waistline,” Daisy agreed, “though I daresay by the time fashions allow one to display it, it will have vanished.”

  Sakari sent Kesin to run an errand. “I have told him to return in twenty minutes, Daisy. It should be enough time, and if not he will wait.”

  They went into the shop, jangling the bell on the door. Sakari sat down immediately.

  “They are right, my husband and my doctor. It is possible to look too prosperous.”

  Daisy went to the counter and stood there watching the curtain in the corner. It didn’t stir. Perhaps the door behind the curtain had been shut accidentally so that the bell on the front door couldn’t be heard. If so, rapping on the counter with her knuckles would only serve to damage her knuckles.

  “Jiggle the street door,” Sakari suggested. “‘Jiggle’ is a good word. I learned it only recently and I have been dying to use it.”

  Laughing, Daisy jiggled the door. The bell obligingly clanged again, and she kept it going for longer than its usual course. There was no response from the curtain.

  Impatient, she went over and lifted the curtain a little. The door behind stood open. She stepped just across the threshold and glanced round the room.

  “No one here,” she reported to Sakari. Raising her voice, she called, “Hello?”

  Hurried footsteps on the stairs presaged the arrival of a maidservant. She stopped on the landing, peered down at Daisy, and said, “Oh, I’m awf’ly sorry to keep you waiting, ma’am. The master’s ill and everything’s at sixes and sevens. I’ll just run up and tell miss you’re ’ere and I’m sure she’ll be down in ’alf a tick. What name?”

  “Mrs. Fletcher. I’ll wait in the shop,” she called after the girl as she scampered upward.

  She went back and told Sakari what the maid had said.

  “Miss Zvereva will not want to discuss your jewelry if her father is ill.”

  “No, I won’t press her.”

  “She may not come down, whatever the maid told you.”

  “But as she may, we can’t just leave. I hope she’s not too long.” Daisy perched on a stool and leaned back against the counter.