A Medal For Murder (42 page)

I tapped on the inspector’s door. No answer.

It would not be a good idea to follow Dan.

At the reception desk, I asked when the inspector would be back. No one knew. Nothing for it but to wait.

I took a seat in the lobby, on a small sofa, keeping to one side as though to give the impression I expected company. Normally I would be happy to sit and watch the world go by, speculating on passers-by. This time, I
felt heavy and weighed down by feelings I could not quite define. Yes, I had overheard Dan confessing to Lucy that he had killed. But it did not seem to fit. He had harboured his vengeful intentions for years. And yet now he was confessing to having quite deliberately walked back to town, after escorting an old lady home, lying in wait for Milner, and killing him in cold blood. What had suddenly prompted him to act when he had procrastinated for so long?

‘There you are!’

A whirlwind blew through the lobby, her round, smiling face crowned by a be-ribboned picture hat. She wore a low-waisted slip-over type dress in silk crepe, the bodice and skirt panels embroidered in brilliant colours, scrolls and stars. My mother.

‘I might have known you’d be here.’ She sat down beside me, lowering her voice to a triumphant stage whisper. ‘The instant I heard that the police had taken over part of the Prince of Wales, I thought, I know where I’ll find Kate. Look at you. Have you seen how lovely everyone looks out there? Why are you wearing a beige costume, and those shoes?’

‘Hello, mother.’

‘Don’t sound so pleased to see me! Have you had Sunday dinner?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Darling, it’s almost two o’clock. Back to the Grand with us, this instant. They are holding dinner. Your father is waiting.’

‘I can’t. I’m working.’

‘What do you mean, you’re working!’

‘Shush.’

A man and woman on their way to the lift turned to
gaze in disapproval. There was only one type of work a woman alone in a hotel lobby could be engaged in.

Fortunately at that moment, Inspector Charles strolled through the entrance doors, and spotted us. He made a beeline for me, raising his hat. ‘Mrs Shackleton.’

‘Mr Charles. Mother, this is Inspector Charles of Scotland Yard. My mother, Mrs Hood.’

‘Marcus Charles at your service. Delighted to meet you.’

It was exactly the kind of response my mother loves. She gave her winning smile. ‘Sometimes Lady Virginia. This is Harrogate after all. One’s title is allowed an outing here I think.’

I suppressed a groan.

‘My daughter has over-democratic sympathies. But really, Kate, a title will get us far better treatment in the spa, believe me.’

‘Mother, I need to talk to Inspector Charles now. Please tell Dad I will come if I can. Otherwise I will call and see him next weekend.’

‘And what about . . .?’

‘I’ll see you this evening. Promise.’

Inspector Charles took in the situation at great speed. He motioned to one of his men who was beside us in an instant. ‘McDonald here will escort you back to your hotel, Lady Virginia.’

‘Thank you but I have a car waiting.’

‘Then would you oblige me by letting me give you and your daughter supper this evening, at your hotel?’

Mother looked from him to me and back again. ‘That would be delightful. Would nine o’clock suit?’

‘Yes.’

‘I look forward to it.’ She leaned towards me, for a kiss on the cheek, and then was gone.

The inspector lowered himself onto the sofa beside me. ‘You have news for me?’

‘Lucy Wolfendale is at home now. She has a swollen ankle, but apart from that is all right, and could be interviewed.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And one other thing. Dan Root – he lives in the flat below the Wolfendales, and played three roles in
Anna of the Five Towns
. . .’

‘Versatile chap.’

‘Yes, an exceedingly good amateur actor. He’s with one of your officers now, confessing to the murder of Lawrence Milner.’

‘What?! But my men saw him earlier.’ He shook his head and gazed at me in amazement. ‘You’ve cracked it again. Do you have some kind of sixth sense?’

He looked almost elated. I felt entirely miserable. ‘This doesn’t make any kind of sense to me.’

The inspector practically rocked on his toes in his eagerness to get to Dan. ‘Do you mind waiting a little longer, Mrs Shackleton? I should like to hear how you reeled this chap in.’

I watched the inspector disappear upstairs, wondering just who had done the reeling in, Dan or me. I plumped for Dan.

 
 

For twenty minutes, I stuck limpet-like to my sofa in the lobby of the Prince of Wales Hotel, pretending to read the Sunday paper, alert to the comings and goings from the first floor.

As the inspector came down the stairs, he caught my eye. I folded the newspaper carefully as he crossed the lobby. The man in the chair nearest to me put down his book, pricked up his ears, and stared. Police activity had aroused a good deal of interest.

The inspector gave nothing away by his look or a word. ‘Shall we go?’ he said pleasantly. As we left the hotel, he shot me a quick, concerned look. ‘I’d very much like you to be with me on this next interview. If you feel up to it.’

My whole body felt somehow dried out. My eyes itched, my mouth felt dry, there was a prickling on my skin and a faint feeling of nausea. The day did not feel real; it was a carousel of uncertainty. ‘You have a car, I think,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘I still want to talk to Lucy Wolfendale,’ he said
quietly. ‘Do you feel up to driving? It may be kind not to arrive at 29 St Clement’s Road in a police car.’

We walked to my car. He climbed into the passenger seat without a murmur about Dan Root’s confession.

‘Are you all right?’ he said, when I did not start the car.

‘No. I have just spent the morning with a man whom I then drove to your rooms to let him confess to murder. And you haven’t said a dickybird. I have to know.’

He sighed. ‘Dan Root had a good deal of information about the killing, tells a persuasive tale, and has the impeccable motive of coming between a lecher and a young lady he is fond of.’

‘But?’

‘He didn’t do it. I got the impression that he wished he had. One motive is usually enough, but he had two. Says he cared for Lucy and warned Milner to keep away from her, then stabbed him. Says Milner was a soldier in the Boer camp where his mother died, and he bore a grudge.’

‘Isn’t that good enough?’

‘Root fought in the Great War. He’s as British as I am, though he might not like it. He’s wasted an hour of my men’s time.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘He claimed to have used a kitchen knife, knew nothing about the parked car, or the damage to it. I’ve told the sergeant to let him stew for another half hour and then send him on his way. I’ll deal with him later. My interest at the moment is in talking to Miss Lucy Wolfendale.’

‘You suspect her?’

‘I want to talk to her, that’s all.’

I started the car, suddenly not fully trusting myself to drive. A pressure in my head made me feel my brain would burst. I took a few deep breaths, and drew away from the kerb.

We drove in silence, thoughts spinning in my head. If Dan Root were not guilty, and he was protecting Lucy, then what they must have been talking about in the tower was her having killed Milner. And Dan could have been offering some understanding, saying that he himself had once intended to kill. Engrossed in my thoughts, I almost passed the end of St Clement’s Road. I would have liked to have driven on, and away, and out of all this mess. I signalled right, and turned.

By now I was heartily sick of this road, and the sight of shabby number 29. If I never saw it again, that would be too soon.

The main door was open. I tapped and entered the Wolfendale flat. Miss Fell was seated in the captain’s chair. She held a finger to her lips and came towards us.

‘Lucy’s sleeping. The captain has gone out. He said he may be some time.’

‘Miss Fell, this is Inspector Charles of Scotland Yard. He needs to speak to Lucy. I know it’s a shame to wake her . . .’

‘Scotland Yard?’ Miss Fell’s eyes widened.

‘Perhaps you and I could have a brief word, Miss Fell, while Mrs Shackleton rouses Miss Wolfendale.’

He led Miss Fell into the hall.

As the inspector and Miss Fell left the room, I sat down in the chair opposite Lucy. She lay like Sleeping Beauty, waiting to be awoken by a prince. Still wearing Friday night’s dress, she had a faintly earthy whiff about
her from having slept in her clothes all weekend. She had managed to keep her ankle raised. On the low table beside her was an unappetising jam sandwich.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly. It struck half past two.

She opened her eyes. ‘You can eat that blackberry jam sandwich if you like. I’m not asleep. Auntie Ada fusses so much I had to shut her out.’

‘What’s that you have?’

A fat envelope lay on her solar plexus

‘Granddad gave it to me. It’s a mass of money. Haven’t counted it. If he’d done this on my twenty-first as I asked, I could have saved myself an awful lot of trouble.’

‘Where did he get it? How much?’

‘It’s lots. Nice big fivers. He said it came from Mr Milner. But how could it, when Milner’s dead?’ She pushed it behind the cushion. ‘Why does the policeman want to talk to me?’

‘Why do you think?’

‘About Mr Milner I suppose. Does he think I stabbed him?’

I was saved the trouble of answering.

The inspector walked in, introducing himself.

Lucy’s manner changed. She stiffened and sat up. ‘I didn’t do it,’ she said straight away. ‘He was a nasty man and I hated him, but I didn’t kill him. Why should I? I want to go to drama school. I have a plan and it did not include marrying or murdering anyone.’ She swung her legs to the floor and faced him, wincing in pain.

He motioned me to stay in Wolfendale’s big leather chair, and brought a carver across, placing it between me and Lucy.

‘What happened to your ankle, Miss Wolfendale?’

‘I fell.’ She nodded towards me. ‘Oh I expect she’s told you about my little escapade. I know I shouldn’t have done it.’

The inspector’s attention remained on Lucy. ‘What escapade is that?’

She looked at me in surprise, and gratitude. ‘You didn’t tell?’

‘No. Perhaps you should do that. And while you’re about it, put your leg back on that footstool.’

There was something about Lucy that brought out a protective instinct in me. Now, of course, the inspector would wonder what else I had not told him.

He showed great patience as he drew Lucy’s story from her. He asked her about the play, and the final performance on Friday evening. ‘Don’t plays usually run to a Saturday?’ he asked disarmingly.

‘They do. But the Opera House is a professional theatre and although they have a space for amateur groups to perform, they had a variety show touring in for the Saturday, and so we had to get out on Friday night, gather up all our props and costumes and so on.’

‘What props did you have to carry?’

‘I’d borrowed Auntie Ada’s sewing box. My character, Anna, she went without needle and thread to a sewing evening, and her friend provides her with what she needs. Alison Hart played my friend. Well, Alison’s mother said she wasn’t parting with her sewing box for love or money, and so I had to take one.’

‘Tell me about that Friday night, after the performance.’

As she spoke, she painted a picture of the party that I recognised – the admiration of the cast for Meriel, how
she and the other young people formed a clique, the shy way in which Dylan stuck by her, how relieved she was when I kept Mr Milner talking, and when Madam Geerts drew him away.

She left the theatre at about 11.15 p.m. with Madam Geerts and Alison, and walked back with them to Madam Geerts’s house. Rodney and his friend were with them. She went into the house for a few moments, left her props there, and then pretended that she would catch up with Rodney and his friend. Instead, she went to the backyard of Croker & Company, where she had arranged to meet Dylan. When she heard another voice, and recognised it as Monsieur Geerts, she hid in the outside lavatory until he had gone. Then Dylan got out his bike and cycled her to the tower.