A Medal For Murder (37 page)

Inspector Charles had said he would meet me in the Prince of Wales Hotel where he had set up an investigation room on the first floor.

From my chosen seat in the lobby, I could see the staircase and the lift. The same police sergeant who had escorted me and Meriel on Friday evening plodded slowly down the stairs, stifling a yawn. A short, sturdy workman, whom I guessed to be one of the Milner & Son motor mechanics, pressed for the lift and seemed to enjoy the disapproval of the lift attendant.

Coming down the stairs slowly was Inspector Charles. He gave me the briefest of acknowledgements and held up a finger to indicate that he would be one moment. He disappeared into the hotel’s telephone cabinet, closing the door behind him.

Five minutes later, the inspector reappeared and apologised for keeping me waiting. As we walked up the stairs, I was very conscious of his closeness, the easy stride, an air of concentration. We walked along a corridor, hung with views of old Harrogate in the coaching days.

A door stood slightly ajar. I glanced in at a room set with two trestle tables and a few chairs. His back to me, a stout plain-clothes man in shirt sleeves spread index cards on the table, like a man playing Solitaire.

Inspector Charles took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door to another room. This one was smaller, with a desk and two chairs.

He pulled out a chair for me, and took a seat himself.

‘Thank you for your written statement. I did take the Belgian chap, Monsieur Geerts, into custody. But we have now released him.’

This news made me feel awkward, at having pointed a finger at the wrong man. ‘It was helpful to talk to him all the same,’ the inspector said quickly.

‘I was doubtful that he was our man, even before we checked his alibi.’

‘Oh?’

‘Geerts hasn’t a scratch on him. The evening dress clothing that he wore is in pristine condition. I believe he genuinely did not know how Mr Milner was killed, or that the tyres of the car had been slashed.’

‘And he has an alibi?’

‘Young Dylan Ashton recovered consciousness long enough to confirm Geerts’s story. They left the theatre together. Geerts had been agitated to discover his wife carrying on under his nose. He went into the gentlemen’s cloakroom to compose himself. Young Ashton was there, feeling unwell. Geerts walked Ashton home and went in with him. He had a hip flask and dosed Ashton with whisky. He left Ashton’s rooms just before midnight. On the way home, he said goodnight to a chap who was walking an old sheep dog. We have confirmed that.’

‘And Dylan Ashton?’

‘With his friends, up to the point of leaving with Geerts.’

‘That will be a relief for Madam Geerts. She was most upset yesterday. And I’m glad to hear Dylan Ashton is recovering.’

‘We have the reckless driver who knocked him off his bike. Blighter left him by the roadside, panicked and went on his way. Fortunately, the local sergeant had circulated the description of his car, given by a fellow cyclist. A garage owner spotted it, with a damaged wing. The driver was a flighty young fellow who’d been carousing all night.’

So Dylan’s accident had no connection with Milner’s death, or with Lucy’s disappearance.

‘Mrs Shackleton, you know we do from time to time in the force ask for female assistance.’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course, you would know that, being Superintendent Hood’s daughter.’

So he had done his homework. ‘I joined the women’s voluntary police myself for a brief time at the beginning of the war, before I deserted for the VAD.’

‘Then I’ll come straight to the point. We’re pursuing a wide range of enquiries, talking to the deceased’s business associates, customers, and so on. But I’m naturally interested in the people who saw him last – theatre patrons and performers, and there is one young lady we have not spoken to yet.’

‘Lucy Wolfendale.’

He gave me an appreciative bow of the head. ‘You are two steps ahead. Just as you were at the Geerts’ dancing school yesterday, where I understand you were asking
about Lucy Wolfendale, and Alison Hart.’

‘Yes.’ I decided against volunteering further information. I waited.

‘You found Miss Hart, but not Miss Wolfendale. Why were you looking for her?’

That is the trouble with policemen. They are entitled to ask awkward questions. I felt some sympathy with Lucy and her vaulting ambitions and was reluctant to get her into trouble. At the same time, I would not lie for her.

‘Lucy’s grandfather was worried. He asked me to see whether she really was at Alison’s house, as she had said.’

‘Go on.’

‘She was not, as you know. Alison had stayed with Madam Geerts.’

‘Go on’

How irritating he could be with his go on, go on. ‘I did not find Lucy.’

He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip, realised he was doing it and stopped. ‘Why did the grandfather ask you?’

I felt myself blush, which was very annoying. ‘Because he knows that I am a private detective.’ A stroke of genius occurred to me. I could hint at Lucy indulging in some forbidden romantic liaison. ‘Captain Wolfendale knew I would be discreet regarding Lucy’s reputation.’

‘So . . . you think . . .?’

There he was, at it again. In my excitement at recovering the jewellery, I had abandoned my threat to go to the police if Lucy was not found by the end of Saturday. Now I regretted it, but I did not want to give chapter
and verse about Lucy’s phony ransom demands.

Mr Charles pressed his hands on the table. ‘Does it not occur to you she could have come to harm, or be responsible for harm?’

It had not. The idea seemed absurd. Besides, I had been too busy solving my own case. With confidence, I said, ‘I don’t believe she has been murdered, if that is what you are suggesting. Or that she murdered Mr Milner.’

‘Then where is she?’

My annoyance levels rose. It was suddenly time to get off the back foot. ‘Inspector, I was in Harrogate from Friday afternoon to Saturday evening. Captain Wolfendale asked me to look for Lucy, which I spent a few hours doing. He then changed his mind. You asked me here today to help you, and all that has happened so far is that I have been cross-examined myself.’

He gave me a candid look, tilting his head to one side, as though undecided about something. Then he smiled. ‘I’m sorry. Mrs Shackleton, I asked you here because I hope you may be able to help us, if you are willing.’

‘What is it you wish me to do?’ I knew exactly what he wanted me to do, and he knew that.

‘Since you began to look for Miss Wolfendale, would you kindly go on doing so, try and find her for me? I believe you may tread more delicately and with greater success than some of my men.’

‘Very well. But I will do it in my own way, a way that does not damage her reputation. Harrogate is a small place.’

His jaw tightened. ‘Reputation?’ he said coldly. ‘A murderer is on the loose, a girl is missing since Friday evening, and you talk of reputation, and worry about gossip.’

‘If you are asking me to help you, please trust my judgement.’

Let him order his sergeants and constables to do things his way, but he would not order me.

He sighed. ‘Of course. Thank you for agreeing. We have a standard rate of payment for such engagements. I could . . .’

I interrupted him, not wishing to discuss pounds, shillings and pence. ‘Your standard rate will be acceptable.’

It suited me very well to continue looking for Lucy, to finish what I had started. The only looming difficulty was my mother’s impending arrival. I kept quiet about that.

The inspector had a way of filling a pause with expectancy and meaning. There was something else he wanted to say. I waited. He flexed his fingers as though playing the piano. It made me think of a theory of Gerald’s, that the Druids and the poets of old had a memory system for stories that depended on their fingertips.

He said slowly, ‘I am not cross-examining you. Please do not think that . . .’

‘But?’

‘There is one other matter.’ He was slightly embarrassed and this led him to sound a little brusque, which was oddly endearing. He continued ‘Madam Geerts is naturally very defensive at present, and emotional. She seemed equally upset about Mr Milner’s demise and her own husband’s arrest. It would be useful to know from her, or from other quarters, whether any other lady . . . this is rather delicate.’

His tactic seemed to be a pretend hesitation, or
perhaps it was genuine. ‘Are you asking me to find out from Madam Geerts what other mistresses Mr Milner may have had?’

Now it should have been his turn to blush. He did not oblige. ‘I suppose I am. There are husbands who would not be as tolerant as Monsieur Geerts.’

‘Madam Geerts would probably be in the dark about other women. But I have another suggestion. There was no love lost between Mr Milner and his housekeeper. She might be able to help.’

‘Good thinking. I don’t believe that line of enquiry was followed up when the housekeeper was interviewed.’

‘Also, Milner played golf every Saturday. His golfing partners may know something of his amorous exploits.’

The inspector leaned back in his chair in a relaxed manner, as though trying to banish the earlier awkwardness there had been between us. ‘I am going up to the golf club myself later. Not much golf being played there just now. It was flooded last week.’

‘Yes, I heard that.’

‘But I’ll talk to the secretary and the staff.’ He smiled. ‘Do you play golf? A lot of ladies do these days.’

I shook my head. ‘We played tennis at school. That’s the extent of my prowess in ball games.’

‘And I don’t play tennis.’ He gave me a quick glance from unfathomable hazel eyes.

It was one of those moments when we each knew there was an undercurrent, a tension between us that might go one way or another. He held my gaze for just a fraction too long. But there was no overture, nothing more than a ripple in the air between us.

‘I expect it would be a pleasant change for you to
come to Yorkshire without a murder having happened,’ I said, sliding over the moment as quickly as he had himself, yet wanting to mark it in some way.

‘It would,’ he said, giving me a penetrating look that almost made me forget I was here to help the police with their enquiries.

In that moment, something was understood between us, and it was nothing to do with a murder investigation.

The moment passed. He took a small key from his pocket and unlocked the desk drawer. ‘I have something to show you.’ He drew out an evidence bag, and tipped it. Something slid from the bag onto the desk. It was a bone-hilt dagger with a sharp diamond cross-section blade, more blade than hilt. As I looked closely, I saw that blood had dried on the blade.

‘Do you recognise this?’

It looked familiar, and yet I could not be sure. ‘It’s the murder weapon?’

‘Yes. One of our chaps says the dagger is most likely from central Africa.’

‘It was dark when I saw the body. I couldn’t really have made much of the dagger handle.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Are there fingerprints?’

‘We think the perpetrator may have worn gloves. The only clear print is Mr Milner’s. There were signs of a struggle, a mark on Mr Milner’s right-hand knuckles as though he had hit out at someone.’

Slowly and reluctantly, my words came out. ‘I’ve seen a dagger similar to this. When Captain Wolfendale asked me to search for Lucy, I took a look round. He has a collection of weaponry. One of his daggers could be the twin to this.’

The inspector nodded. ‘I’ve made enquiries about him. He and Milner served in South Africa at the same time. We found a similar weapon in the Milner house.’

So Rodney had not been exaggerating yesterday when he kept denying to me that he had killed his father. For all I knew, he was still a suspect. ‘Mr Milner and the captain, they know . . . knew each other well. It’s possible that Mr Milner had some kind of hold over him.’

‘Oh? Go on.’ The inspector leaned forward.

‘On Friday afternoon, when I arrived in Harrogate, I believe it was Milner I saw through the window, with the captain, playing a board game.’

The inspector looked surprised. ‘That sounds a rather friendly kind of activity. Wolfendale said that Milner called regularly. Milner had served under him and was fond of the old chap. Brought him tobacco.’

Of course it sounded friendly. Having been wrong about Geerts, I hesitated to jump in with my suspicions about the captain not being the captain. Without evidence, it would seem far-fetched.

‘Wolfendale would bear a closer look,’ I said finally. ‘He has something to hide.’

‘He claims rarely to leave his flat. He was at home all Friday evening, if we are to believe him.’

‘And do you believe him?’

‘I keep an open mind. The full picture isn’t in view yet by any means. We know from enquiries that there is one person whom Milner would have let close enough for her to put a knife through his heart and, at the last moment, he could have struck out.’

‘Lucy?’

‘Yes.’