Hardcastle's Obsession (11 page)

At nine o’clock the following morning, Catto knocked on Hardcastle’s open door and hovered.

‘Don’t stand there like you’re waiting for a tram, Catto. For God’s sake come in.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Catto moved closer to Hardcastle’s desk.

‘Well?’ barked the DDI.

‘It’s about Sarah Cotton, sir.’

‘Well, of course it is, Catto. Get on with it.’

‘Yes, sir. I followed her as directed—’

‘Just cut to the chase, Catto.’ Hardcastle took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at the luckless DC.

Catto took a deep breath. ‘She hung about on the forecourt of Victoria station until ten o’clock, sir, but she didn’t pick up any tricks. One or two swaddies approached her, but she sent them packing. She seems to be a bit choosy for a tom.’ Sensing that the DDI was about to utter a word of criticism, Catto hurried on. ‘Then she took a taxi, sir, and I followed in another cab. She let herself into a house in Cadogan Place with her own key.’

‘Did she, indeed?’ Hardcastle re-lit his pipe, and sat back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. ‘And did she go in by the front door, or down the area steps into the servants’ hall?’

‘In the front door, sir,’ replied Catto, failing to understand why Hardcastle had posed the question.

‘And presumably you’ve checked the voters’ register to see who lives there.’

Catto knew that would be the DDI’s next question. ‘Yes, sir. It’s a Lady Sarah Millard and Lieutenant Colonel Hugo Millard. He’s shown as an absentee voter, sir. I suppose he’s at the Front.’

‘All right, lad. Ask Sergeant Marriott to see me. And well done.’

‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’ Catto grinned at this rare word of praise and hurried back to the detectives’ office, delighted his ordeal was over.

‘There’s more to Sarah Cotton than meets the eye,’ said Hardcastle when Marriott entered. ‘From what Catto’s found out it looks as though she ain’t Sarah Cotton at all, but Lady Sarah Millard.’ And he went on to relate what Catto had discovered.

‘But surely a titled lady wouldn’t be hawking her mutton round Victoria, sir.’ Marriott was astounded at the possibility.

‘Nothing would surprise me these days, Marriott. It’s this damned war,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Fetch Wood and Wilmot in here. I’ve a job for them, seeing as how it’s Wednesday.’

‘You wanted us, sir?’ DS Wood and DC Wilmot stood in front of Hardcastle’s desk.

‘Yes. First of all, I want Ruby Hoskins brought in here as soon as possible. Once you’ve done that you can stand by for further orders.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said Wood who, as a sergeant, was the senior of the two.

At seven o’clock, Wood showed Ruby Hoskins into Hardcastle’s office.

‘You want me to catch whoever murdered Annie Kelly, don’t you, Ruby?’ said Hardcastle as the young prostitute was about to protest at being brought to the police station yet again.

‘Course I do, Mr ’Ardcastle,’ said the girl.

‘Then listen carefully, lass. This is what I want you to do.’

When Hardcastle had finished, Ruby Hoskins grinned broadly. ‘It’ll be a pleasure, Mr ’Ardcastle, and that’s no error,’ she said.

‘D’you reckon the other girls will be willing to play along?’

‘You can bet your last brass farthing on it, guv’nor. In fact, it’ll be a job stopping them. They can be very nasty when the mood takes a hold of ’em.’

‘Good. Well, I’m relying on you, Ruby.’

Hardcastle sent for Wood and Wilmot again.

‘Get yourselves down to Victoria station and keep an eye on the toms there. With any luck, Sir Royston Naylor will show up and proposition Sarah Cotton. Once that happens, this is what I want you to do.’ The DDI went on to explain what he had arranged with Ruby Hoskins, and what he required of Wood and Wilmot. ‘You’d better take Catto with you, Wood. He knows what Sarah Cotton looks like. But once he’s pointed her out to you, send him back here. I don’t want him hanging about and making a Mons of things.’

SEVEN

D
etective Sergeant Wood and Detective Constable Wilmot had been standing beneath the portico of the Victoria Palace Theatre since eight o’clock. It was a vantage point from which they had a good view of the prostitutes gathered on the corner of Wilton Road.

Most of the women were chatting noisily among themselves, and from time to time glancing expectantly towards the railway station. Presumably they had heard of the imminent arrival of a troop train. But DS Wood, being a resourceful officer, had checked with the railway police, and learned that one was due to come in at nine o’clock. He hoped that Naylor would arrive on the scene before then, otherwise there was a danger that the women would scatter in search of soldiers.

He need not have worried, however. At a quarter to nine the two detectives’ patience was rewarded. With his cane tap-tapping the pavement, the figure of Sir Royston Naylor strolled nonchalantly towards the assembled women from the direction of St James’s Park. Without further ado, he made straight for Sarah Cotton and began to talk to her. From what the chauffeur had told him yesterday morning, Wood guessed that Naylor had probably dined at the Carlton Club; that was certainly the direction from which he had come. Not that it mattered where he had been.

There was an immediate uproar as the prostitutes surrounded Naylor and Sarah Cotton and began shouting abuse. Completely taken aback by the sudden onslaught, Naylor dropped his walking stick – it bore a knob shaped like the head of a dog – and attempted to distance himself from the coarse screaming of the aggressive women encircling him.

As Hardcastle had hoped, Ruby Hoskins appointed herself ringleader. ‘’Ere, you leave her alone, mate. Sarah don’t want no truck with you,’ she cried, and started to belabour Naylor with her umbrella. Sarah Cotton, who had not been made privy to Hardcastle’s plan, appeared utterly bemused by the sudden furore that had developed around her. She took a step back intent upon removing herself from the unseemly fracas, but a couple of the other girls made sure she did not escape, and pushed her back towards the centre of the contrived disturbance.

‘Get away from me, you whore,’ yelled Naylor in panic, as he tried to defend himself against Ruby’s blows. He then made the mistake of pushing her away, accidentally putting his hand on her breast as he did so.

‘’Ere, did you see that?’ screeched Ruby to her mates. ‘He tried to touch me up. It’s an assault, that’s what it is. Fetch a copper; I want ’im nicked.’ She poked Naylor in the chest. ‘You’re a bloody pervert, mate, that’s what you are.’

Seven or eight of the prostitutes encircled Naylor and began to pummel him with their fists, while others shouted at him to leave Ruby alone.

‘I think it’s time we broke it up, Fred,’ said Wood, smothering a laugh, and he and DC Wilmot ran across the road. ‘We’re police officers,’ he shouted, as he and his partner drew closer to the warring crowd. ‘Now then, now then, what’s going on?’ he demanded.

‘All right, ladies, leave him be. It’s the law. They’ll take care of him,’ shouted Ruby, who knew what was to happen next. ‘This man assaulted me, officer,’ she said as the policemen drew within earshot. ‘He grabbed hold of me tits.’

‘I did nothing of the sort,’ protested Naylor loudly. ‘It was the other way round. That common little tart attacked me.’

It was a statement that brought forth a further battery of insults directed at Naylor.

‘Common little tarts, are we?’ shouted one girl. ‘But you couldn’t wait to have it up with one of us, could you?’

‘I’m a police officer,’ Wood repeated, seizing hold of Naylor’s arm. ‘I’m arresting you for making an affray.’

Naylor’s face became suffused with rage. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll have you know that I happen to be a personal friend of Sir Edward Henry.’

‘I’ll make sure he knows you’ve been arrested,’ said Wood mildly. As an officer stationed in the centre of the capital, he had frequently encountered such veiled threats. ‘He’s very keen to maintain public order is the Commissioner. I’ll probably get a pat on the back.’

‘It was that woman who started it,’ shouted Naylor as he looked around for Ruby Hoskins, but following Hardcastle’s instructions she had fled.

‘Pick up that gentleman’s cane,’ said Wood to a constable, and signalled to the police van that he had arranged to have waiting. Wilmot bundled the still protesting Naylor into it, and Wood arrested Sarah Cotton telling her that she had been a part of the affray.

But neither she nor Naylor was to know that Hardcastle had carefully orchestrated the entire operation.

‘Sir Royston Naylor is in the charge room, sir,’ said DS Wood, ‘and Sarah Cotton is being looked after in the matron’s office.’

‘Did Naylor give any trouble, Wood?’

‘No, sir, apart from screeching like a banshee,’ said Wood, with a grin, ‘and claiming that the Commissioner is a personal friend of his.’

‘Aren’t they all?’ said Hardcastle phlegmatically, and calling for Marriott, he descended to the charge room.

Naylor leaped to his feet the moment the DDI entered. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he demanded. ‘And I want to know your name.’

‘I’m Divisional Detective Inspector Hardcastle, head of the CID for this division. And this is Detective Sergeant Marriott.’ Hardcastle indicated his assistant with a casual wave of one hand while dismissing the attendant constable with the other.

‘Well, Inspector, it might interest you to know that I happen to be a personal friend of—’

‘If you’re going to say Sir Edward Henry, I’ve just been on the phone to him and he said he’d never heard of you.’ Hardcastle had done no such thing of course, but took a chance on the Commissioner not knowing Sir Royston Naylor. Although accustomed to Hardcastle’s frequent outrageous statements, Marriott was, nonetheless, flabbergasted at the enormity of his DDI’s latest fabrication.

‘That still doesn’t explain why I was hauled down here in a police van like a common criminal.’ The exposure of his lie about knowing the Commissioner did nothing to deflect Naylor’s rage at having been arrested.

‘My officers tell me that you were engaged in an unseemly brawl with several prostitutes in Wilton Road, Sir Royston,’ said Hardcastle mildly. ‘And that
makes
you a common criminal in my book.’

‘I was trying to defend myself. I was set upon by those damned women for no reason at all.’

‘Be that as it may, Sir Royston, I understand that one young woman complained that you’d indecently assaulted her.’

‘Poppycock!’ exclaimed Naylor. ‘It was she who attacked me when all I was doing was having a private conversation with a young woman.’

‘You were speaking to a common prostitute,’ said Hardcastle brutally, ‘presumably in an attempt to arrange for a quick screw?’

Naylor’s faced turned scarlet, and he huffed and puffed, and for a moment Hardcastle wondered if the clothing manufacturer was about to have a heart attack. ‘What if I was?’ he demanded eventually. ‘It’s not against the law.’

‘No, but engaging in a fight in a public thoroughfare, that amounted to an affray, most certainly is an offence. And I see no reason why you should not appear before the Bow Street magistrate tomorrow morning. I’ve of a mind to charge you with making an affray, and indecently assaulting a female.’

‘I suppose there’s no way around this, is there, Inspector?’ asked Naylor, suddenly adopting a tone of reason as he realized the predicament in which he found himself. He fingered the medallion on his albert and displayed it so that Hardcastle could not fail to see the square and compass device.

‘I’m not a Freemason, Sir Royston,’ said Hardcastle coldly, as he recognized that Naylor was attempting to seek preferential treatment, ‘but I am sworn to uphold the law.’ He paused and gazed at Naylor. ‘However, I might be able to persuade the complainant to drop the charge.’ He paused. ‘If you are willing to assist me, that is,’ he added.

‘In any way I can, Inspector.’ Naylor suddenly realized that this brash and irascible detective was offering him a way out. If he were to be taken to court, with all its attendant publicity, the scandal of engaging in fisticuffs with a prostitute whom he was soliciting, would ruin his reputation, and would certainly put paid to the peerage that had been hinted at in certain quarters.

‘When did you last have it away with Annie Kelly?’

‘Who?’ Naylor affected ignorance of the name, but the expression on his face indicated otherwise.

‘Let’s not beat about the bush, Sir Royston,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I’m investigating her murder, and I’ve received information that you knew the woman, and furthermore that you had sexual intercourse with her.’

‘D’you mind if I smoke, Inspector?’ Naylor began playing for time.

‘Not at all.’ Hardcastle took out his pipe, and waited while Naylor took an Abdulla cigarette from a gold case.

‘It’s true that I saw the girl on a couple of occasions, but that was before I met Sarah.’ Naylor lit his cigarette with a gold lighter.

‘Which brings me to my next question, Sir Royston. Where were you on the night of Sunday the twenty-fourth of last month?’

‘I was in the country for the whole of that weekend,’ said Naylor promptly, almost as if he had been anticipating the question. ‘I didn’t return to London until midday on Monday.’

‘And where in the country were you, Sir Royston?’ asked Marriott, as he opened his pocketbook on the table.

‘At my country estate in Buckinghamshire.’ Naylor frowned, seemingly offended that a mere sergeant should have the audacity to pose a question to a person of his standing. ‘Together with my wife and a number of house guests. Influential house guests, I may say.’

If that were true, Naylor was unlikely to have murdered Annie Kelly, but Hardcastle was not about to accept the word of a suspect. ‘Perhaps you’d be so good as to give my sergeant the address,’ he said.

‘Certainly.’ Naylor took a card from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to the DDI who, in turn, gave it to Marriott. ‘Both my addresses are on there,’ he said, ‘and the address of my club. It’s the Carlton.’