Murder at the British Museum Read online

  ‘And the door in between the two, the one marked “Private. Staff only”?’

  ‘That is a storeroom, sir, for brooms and cleaning apparatus.’

  Daniel stood and took in the room. White tiles on the floor and halfway up the walls to the level of the four handbasins. A hand towel on a brass rail by each handbasin. Three urinals, and three cubicles, the doors of which were closed.

  ‘Are the cubicles in use at the moment?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then would you show me in which cubicle the body was found?’

  The man nodded and led Daniel to the end cubicle, where he pushed open the door to show the water closet with its wooden seat and the cistern above it. Daniel reflected how rare this sight was even in a city like London. Most houses still had earth privies outside.

  ‘Was the body clothed when found, or in a state of undress?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Fully clothed, sir.’

  ‘And on the seat, or on the floor?’

  ‘On the floor. The door was locked, but when the attendant saw blood trickling out from beneath the door he went to the storeroom and got a hammer in order to break the door down.’

  ‘Was that really necessary?’ asked Daniel. He gestured at the space above the door. ‘There is plenty of room above the door for someone to have climbed over from the next cubicle and unbolted the door from the inside.’

  ‘The attendant who discovered the body was a former soldier, sir. He has a disability which would have made climbing over the top difficult.’

  ‘What sort of disability?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘He only has one arm.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘I understand. In the circumstances, he did the right thing.’ In truth, Daniel didn’t feel this at all. The attendant should have got someone more agile to climb over the partition and unbolt the door, rather than destroying possible evidence by smashing the door open. But politics dictated it was better to let word spread among the staff at the museum that this Daniel Wilson, the private enquiry agent, was supportive of them. That he was on their side. People talked more freely if they felt at ease and safe with an investigator.

  ‘Who was the attendant who discovered the body?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Howard Wills,’ said the attendant.

  ‘Is he available?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s off today. But he’ll be in tomorrow.’

  ‘What about the usher who escorted Professor Pickering down here? Where will I find him?’

  ‘That was Gerald Dunton. He’s on his break at the moment.’

  ‘I see. Very well, I’ll make a point of seeking them out. If you see either of them before I do, will you tell them I’d like to talk to them. Sir Jasper is arranging accommodation for me, an office, and I’ll leave a note at main reception where that will be.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  ‘And your name?’

  ‘Rob Stevens, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Stevens, you’ve been very helpful.’

  Abigail was impressed by the way the exhibition had been put together and presented, with the more popular versions of the Arthurian legend – paintings by the Pre-Raphaelites, along with those by James Archer, depicting the death of Arthur, the Lady of the Lake, Lancelot and Guinevere, along with illustrated pages from Tennyson’s Idylls of the King – and then introducing (in glass cases to protect them) pages from the manuscripts of the early sixth-century historian Gildas, Bede from the seventh century and a page from the Nennius’s Historia Brittonum, compiled in the ninth century. From this, the key phrase was translated, displayed for all to see: ‘The twelfth battle was on Mount Badon, in which there fell in one day 960 men from one charge by Arthur’ – the first mention of Arthur as a king by name in any historical document.

  There then followed pages from the works of William of Malmesbury and Geoffrey of Monmouth, and finally from Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur, alongside illustrations specially produced for the exhibition. And finally a whole section devoted to Ambrosius Aurelianus, the fourth century Romano-British cavalry leader who led the British resistance against the Saxon invaders, and was said to be the model for the legendary King Arthur. And neatly, and conveniently, stacked on a table close to this section were copies of Ambrosius Aurelianus and King Arthur: The True Story by Professor Lance Pickering. Abigail was just slightly cynical, wondering how much sales had increased by as a result of Pickering’s brutal murder, when Daniel appeared beside her.

  ‘The mystery of the murder in the locked cubicle is solved,’ he told her. ‘There’s a large gap above each of the cubicle doors. The killer stabbed Pickering, put his body into a cubicle, bolted the door from the inside then climbed out of the cubicle over the top of the door.’

  ‘So, no mystery,’ she said.

  ‘Except for who did it.’

  ‘Mr Wilson!’

  The cheery call made them both turn. A small man in his forties was approaching them, a beaming smile on his face.

  ‘I heard they were calling you in! Like old times, eh!’ Abigail noticed that Daniel didn’t respond, didn’t offer to shake the man’s hand, just regarded the man calmly.

  ‘Ned Carson, in case you’ve forgotten me.’ The man beamed. ‘The People’s Voice. I was around during the Ripper investigation.’

  ‘And, as I recall, you accused myself and Inspector Abberline of engaging in a cover-up to protect people you referred to as “the guilty parties”.’

  ‘Well, there was evidence, Mr Wilson!’ said Carson, still smiling.

  ‘There was no evidence of any cover-up,’ retorted Daniel flatly.

  ‘Well, that could be debatable,’ said Carson, unfazed by Daniel’s hostility. ‘Still, all water under the bridge. This is a different day.’ He doffed his hat towards Abigail. ‘Sorry, miss, I guess I’m interrupting. Ned Carson at your service. Are you working with Mr Wilson?’

  ‘This lady is an employee of the museum,’ said Daniel quickly.

  ‘Oh? In what capacity?’

  ‘I am a historian,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Ah, then you’re in the right place,’ said Carson, and he gave a chuckle. Then he turned back to Daniel. ‘So, are the rumours true? You’ve been brought in to look into the grisly murder here? Does that suggest the museum isn’t satisfied with Scotland Yard?’

  ‘I have no information on that. My own personal view is that Scotland Yard is – and always has been – the right organisation to investigate crime. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ And Daniel moved off.

  ‘So you don’t think Superintendent Armstrong’s a useless idiot!’ Carson called after him, before giving another chuckle and heading for the museum exit.

  Abigail hurried after Daniel and found him in the Etruscan Room. He looked annoyed.

  ‘I’m an employee of the museum?’ she queried.

  ‘Technically, you are,’ said Daniel. ‘As am I.’

  ‘But you didn’t tell him that. Nor did you introduce me by name.’

  ‘From my experience, the less you tell Mr Ned Carson the better.’

  ‘I assume he’s a newspaper reporter.’

  Daniel gave a derisory laugh. ‘I think that’s stretching the description,’ he said sourly. ‘He writes for a gossip rag called the People’s Voice. It prefers innuendo and rumour to hard facts. And smearing people.’

  ‘You and Inspector Abberline, I gather, from your conversation with him.’

  Daniel scowled. ‘During the Ripper investigation there were all sorts of rumours circulating about who the killer was. They included members of the royal family. Abberline and I investigated those claims, but found nothing to back them up. Carson, in the pages of the People’s Voice, suggested that we’d been bought off. The People’s Voice has its own agenda, which is to attack and undermine the Establishment, in particular the government of the day, the royal family, the police and the armed forces. “The Arms of Brutal Repression”, Carson calls them.’

  ‘Why? He must have a reason. Or a politica
l stance?’

  ‘If he has, I don’t know what it is,’ said Daniel. ‘I suspect it’s some form of anarchy, the destruction of social order. But I’m not sure what he wants in its place.’

  ‘His parting shot was to call Superintendent Armstrong an idiot,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Yes, well, there he’s right,’ admitted Daniel. ‘But he’s certainly not going to get me to endorse that opinion. Publicly, I will always support the Yard, however much privately I think that some of the top officials don’t deserve to be in charge of a whelk stall, let alone the Metropolitan police force. But there are many good officers in the organisation I have a lot of time for.’

  ‘Like this Inspector Feather you mentioned.’

  ‘Exactly. John Feather is a superb policeman, and if the top brass had half a brain between them he’d have been promoted to superintendent long ago.’

  ‘So why hasn’t he been? What’s stopped him?’

  ‘I think the blockage lies with Armstrong. He needs the intelligence and detective skills of John Feather to get results, so he keeps him where he can use him, which is at inspector level. If John got promoted to chief inspector, which he deserves, he might be moved to a different department. So, Armstrong does his best to make sure he gets any credit, and John Feather is no threat to his position.’

  ‘It sounds like the nastiest of politics,’ said Abigail.

  ‘It is,’ said Daniel. ‘And unfortunately, we could well get caught up in it. Which is why I’m off to Scotland Yard. Will you be alright here for a while?’

  ‘Certainly. The way the exhibition’s been done is most interesting. Sir Jasper should be very pleased. I assume you feel my presence will hamper you.’

  ‘Not necessarily. I’m going to call on Inspector Feather at Scotland Yard and renew our old acquaintanceship. But there’s a chance I might run into Superintendent Armstrong, and that could prove … difficult.’

  ‘I assume he doesn’t like you.’

  ‘The feeling, as you may have guessed, is mutual. The thing is, he might have me thrown out of the building, and I don’t want that humiliation to happen to you as well.’

  ‘You must have done something very big to upset the superintendent.’

  ‘Let’s just say we never got on.’

  ‘Very well, off you go.’

  ‘Will you still be here when I’ve finished at the Yard?’

  ‘Indeed, I will. There’s a lot to take in.’

  ‘Anything leap out at you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Abigail. ‘The exhibition has been very well done.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Daniel stood across the road from Scotland Yard, surveying the imposing red and white bricked building and reflecting on the years he’d called it his working home. Then, he’d been an insider, a crucial part of Fred Abberline’s elite squad of detectives. Now he was most definitely an outsider, and although he still had good friends amongst many of his former colleagues, there were certain people who had no desire to see him in the building again. And, unfortunately, some of them were quite powerful. Like his nemesis, Superintendent Armstrong. As he approached the building he wondered if Armstrong would be there, and what his reaction would be if they met. What’s the worst he can do, thought Daniel, order me to leave the building? Yes, it would be an inconvenience, but not the end of the world. Still, he decided not to send a message up to John Feather telling him he was in the building and would like to see him, just in case it got intercepted. Instead, Daniel headed for the rear entrance and took the rather dingy concrete staircase up to the second floor, rather than the grand marble one of which the architect had been so proud.

  Daniel walked along the familiar corridor, passing offices that housed old colleagues, before he came to John Feather’s.

  Here’s hoping he’s not got Armstrong with him, he thought.

  He rapped at the door, and at the call ‘Come in!’, he opened it and stepped in.

  Inspector Feather’s face broke into a broad grin of welcome as he saw who it was. ‘Daniel! Good to see you!’

  The two men shook hands and Feather said, ‘You didn’t send a note up to say you were in the building. I’d have sent a messenger to bring you up.’

  ‘I was reluctant to let too many people know I was here,’ Daniel admitted. ‘Certain people wouldn’t be happy about it and might have had me thrown out.’

  ‘Superintendent Armstrong.’ Feather grinned.

  ‘So, I took a chance you’d still be in the same office.’

  ‘Indeed, I am,’ said Feather.

  Like Daniel, Feather was in his mid-thirties, but shorter. He’d also always looked younger than his years, and in his early days as part of Abberline’s squad the others had taken to affectionately referring to him as The Kid. This had led Feather to grow and develop a rather luxuriant moustache, eclipsing most of his face, and he still proudly sported this same moustache, which, to Daniel’s eyes, seemed to have grown even larger.

  Feather gestured for Daniel to sit in a chair, then asked, ‘So, is your visit for a favour, or are you planning to return to the fold?’

  ‘Neither,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ve come to let you know that the British Museum has hired me to look into the murder there.’

  ‘Good,’ said Feather emphatically.

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘On the contrary, this case could do with your particular eye on it.’ He grimaced. ‘But I doubt if Superintendent Armstrong will see it the same way.’

  ‘Sir Jasper Stone at the museum said Armstrong was taking charge of the case,’ said Daniel. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s a high-profile case and he’s looking for the top job when the commissioner retires,’ said Feather.

  ‘Armstrong as commissioner?’ repeated Daniel, aghast.

  ‘I know. Unthinkable, isn’t it. But he’s an example that you don’t have to be a good copper to rise through the ranks; being a clever politician counts for more. You see the amount of coverage he gets in the papers? And he spends a lot of time at Parliament, mixing with the right people.’

  ‘So a result here pushes him further up the ladder. But isn’t he taking a chance with a high-profile case like this? If it isn’t solved, it’ll be a big mark against him.’

  Feather shook his head. ‘If it isn’t solved, it won’t be his fault, you can be sure of that. It’ll be someone further down the chain.’

  ‘Someone like you?’

  Feather gave a rueful grin. ‘Someone very much like me. Which is why he kept making sure my name was mentioned when he was talking to the press about the case. If we don’t get our killer, it’s down to yours truly. If we do, hail the hero, Superintendent Armstrong. So, what do you make of it so far, Daniel?’

  ‘The killer got out of the cubicle over the top.’

  ‘Yes, I worked that one out.’ Feather grinned. ‘So, someone who’s agile. Not too big or fat.’

  ‘And someone with a very cool nerve,’ said Daniel. ‘It was well planned. The “Out of Order” notice on the door. Have you spoken to the usher who showed Pickering to the gents’ convenience?’

  Feather nodded. ‘He says he just escorted the professor downstairs and showed him into the convenience. He said he didn’t notice anyone in there when they went in. The usher left and went back upstairs, and left the professor to it.’

  ‘So, the chances are the killer waited for the usher to go back upstairs, and then went in to kill Pickering.’

  ‘The usher said he didn’t notice anyone following them, or hanging around downstairs. But that doesn’t mean someone wasn’t.’

  ‘There’s a ladies’ just along from the gents’, with a cleaning store in between the two,’ said Daniel. ‘Someone could have been hiding in one of them.’

  ‘But why would they?’ asked Feather. ‘That assumes they knew that Pickering would be going to the gents’ as his first port of call.’

  ‘Yes.’ Daniel nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s more likely the killer followed them down.’
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br />   ‘But the usher said he didn’t notice anyone.’

  ‘It’s one to think about,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Along with the fact that Pickering was stabbed not once but seven times, and there was no suggestion of robbery.’

  ‘Seven times?’ echoed Daniel.

  ‘So, someone, despite having a cool head when planning the murder, was very angry indeed,’ said Feather.

  Daniel mused, ‘Anger. Hate. Love. Jealousy. Seven stab wounds means a lot of passion was involved.’

  ‘Unless it was the work of a lunatic, which is Superintendent Armstrong’s favourite theory.’

  ‘Always a possibility,’ admitted Daniel. He hesitated, then said, trying to be casual, ‘By the way, John, the other reason I came was to let you know I’m working with a partner on this case.’

  ‘Oh? I thought you preferred to work on your own. The Lone Wolf.’

  ‘Yes, well, this is someone who’s got knowledge that I haven’t. She’s an archaeologist and historian. Got a degree in history from Cambridge. Been on archaeological digs all over the world. Egypt. Palestine.’ He noticed Feather surveying him with an amused smile on his face.

  ‘A woman?’ asked Feather.

  ‘Well, obviously,’ said Daniel. ‘That’s why I said “she”. I worked with her at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge. Circumstances brought us together because she was working there – and her insights into the history side of the case were invaluable. Same as here. The murder seems to be connected to this exhibition that’s on: “The Age of King Arthur”.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Feather. ‘Perhaps not. We’re looking into Pickering in case there might be some other reason anyone would want him dead.’

  ‘And?’ asked Daniel.

  Feather looked as if he was about to say something, then stopped and gave a small smile. ‘I’d prefer you to form your own opinion,’ he said. He wrote something on a piece of paper and passed it to Daniel. ‘This is the address of the late Professor Pickering, in case you want to call and talk to his widow.’

  ‘You think there might be something there?’

  ‘Let’s see what you think,’ said Feather. ‘I don’t want to prejudice anything. But I’m guessing you’d be talking to her anyway.’ He looked at Daniel with a quizzical smile. ‘So, there’s nothing between you and this female archaeologist …’