Murder at the Ashmolean Read online

  To her surprise she found herself being pulled back by Daniel grabbing her arm.

  ‘Wait!’ he whispered urgently.

  ‘What? Why?’ asked Abigail, puzzled.

  Daniel released her arm. ‘Did you see that man leaving the Ashmolean just now? He’s walking away from us, wearing a brown overcoat and a trilby hat.’

  Abigail followed his look. ‘Yes, I see him. Who is he?’

  ‘His name’s Walter Grafton. He’s an inspector with Special Branch. I knew him when he was with the detective division. What puzzles me is what he’s doing in Oxford, and especially what he was doing at the Ashmolean.’

  ‘Could it be to do with the murder?’

  ‘It must be. But why? Special Branch don’t get involved in criminal cases, they’re about politics and terrorism. Especially Irish terrorism. But so far there have been no whispers of any Irish involvement in Everett’s murder.’

  ‘We should ask Mr Marriott if he knows.’ She frowned. ‘Although if he knows why this Inspector Grafton is here, surely he’d have told us.’

  ‘Not if he’d been warned not to,’ said Daniel. ‘And that’s Special Branch’s way, keeping their involvement secret and warning people off.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I understand that Special Branch have taken an interest in the case,’ said Daniel. ‘I saw Inspector Grafton leaving just now.’

  Marriott looked up at Daniel and Abigail, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘Their presence is supposed to be a secret,’ he said awkwardly.

  ‘I think we may have the answer as to why the government got involved and stopped the police investigating,’ commented Daniel. ‘Special Branch have a tie-up with the Secret Intelligence Service.’ He looked quizzically at Marriott. ‘Did Grafton say what in particular they’re looking for?’

  ‘It seems it’s the South African connection.’

  ‘What South African connection?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘You remember I told you Everett had been in South Africa for a few years before he joined us. He had lots of contacts with people in the Transvaal and Cape Colony, which was very useful when it came to adding to our collection. Our African collection is noteworthy, thanks to him. Inspector Grafton was interested in finding out who those contacts were, and how many of them might be in Britain.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘That I had no idea if he had any connections in Oxford with anyone from South Africa. As I told you, Everett seemed to keep himself to himself socially.’

  ‘Is there a South African community in Oxford?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ said Marriott. ‘There may be a few individuals, but I’m guessing they have just assimilated into the overall Oxford community.’

  ‘I assume Inspector Grafton made a search of Everett’s office while he was here?’ said Daniel.

  ‘I believe he did,’ said Marriott. ‘He was in there for a long time.’

  ‘Do you know if he found anything of interest to the case?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘If he did, I’m afraid he didn’t share that with me.’

  ‘No, Special Branch like to play everything close to their chest,’ said Daniel. ‘I assume you told him you had engaged us?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marriott. ‘It seemed wise.’

  ‘How did he take it?’

  ‘He was not happy. He asked that we end your employment on the case. However, I told him that our concern was the protection of the Ashmolean, that was why you had been engaged, and we intended to honour our agreement with you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Marriott,’ said Daniel. ‘I promise you, we will do our very best to uncover the reasons for Mr Everett’s death. In fact, we have a request to make. As this case seems to be becoming more complicated at every turn, I think it would be a good idea if Miss Fenton and I had a base where we can be easily contacted by anyone with information that might be useful. Do you have any immediate plans to use Mr Everett’s office for anything?’

  ‘Well … no,’ said Marriott.

  ‘Would you allow us to use it as our base of operations? We’ll have access to everything associated with Everett, and also be easily available to all interested parties. Especially yourself. You won’t have to go looking for us if anything happens, we’ll be just along the corridor.’

  Marriott frowned as he thought it over, then he nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That might be a good idea.’

  They left Marriott’s office and headed along the corridor to Everett’s.

  ‘At least now we have a base to operate from,’ said Daniel, as they entered the room.

  ‘I wonder if Grafton found anything when he searched it?’ mused Abigail, standing and surveying the office.

  ‘I’m not sure if there was much to find,’ said Daniel. ‘I believe Inspector Pitt made a search, before he got warned off.’ He walked to Everett’s desk and sat down in the big leather chair, studying the desk. ‘I’m intrigued at Grafton’s asking about the South African connection. Special Branch only investigate murder if there’s a serious political aspect to it.’

  ‘So, what’s the political aspect here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘If it involves South Africa, that suggests something to do with the Boers.’

  ‘But the Boer War was fifteen years ago,’ said Abigail. ‘Everything there has settled down.’

  ‘Does anything ever settle down?’ commented Daniel. ‘After any war there are always resentments bubbling. The anger of those who lost, and also the anger of the victors at the losses they suffered.’

  ‘So now we have two possible motives for his death,’ said Abigail. ‘The alleged Shakespeare play, or hostilities surfacing with the Boers.’

  ‘And we’ve only just begun,’ said Daniel.

  Mrs Persimmons returned home from shopping filled with determination to take control of her house again. At the police’s request she’d left Everett’s rooms as they’d stood, but now the conclusion had been reached that he’d taken his own life, it was time to clear the rooms of his possessions and prepare it for letting again. Those rooms were her income, and as a widow the money was vital. Yes, she’d been able to put money aside by being careful, but any such savings would soon disappear. She needed a new tenant, and hopefully one as quiet, tidy and as little trouble as Mr Everett had been.

  With that in mind, as soon as she entered her house, she put the shopping bags in the kitchen, then headed upstairs to her late tenant’s rooms to take stock of the situation. She pushed open the door and entered, and then stopped, shocked at what she saw.

  Someone had been in here! The drawers in the dressing table were open, where before she knew for certain they’d been shut. Similarly, the wardrobe door was now ajar. And the bed! She knew she’d left it neatly made up, just in case a potential tenant should arrive and ask to see the room. But now, the blanket had been pulled to one side and the pillows were on the floor.

  A sense of rage filled her. It wasn’t just that an intruder had been in here, but the sheer and deliberate untidiness of it was an insult that felt like a knife in her heart.

  And then another thought filled her with horror. Had the intruder been into the rest of the house? Into her own private rooms?

  Her hand flew to her mouth and she almost screamed, but then she controlled herself.

  Someone would pay for this outrage!

  Inspector Pitt walked into the main reception area of the police station, just as Mrs Persimmons stomped in from the street.

  ‘Ah, Inspector Pitt! Just the man I was hoping to see!’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Persimmons?’

  ‘Something terrible has happened. I have been burgled!’

  ‘Burgled?’

  ‘I only discovered it when I went into Mr Everett’s old rooms after I returned home from shopping. I decided it was time to remove his belongings and prepare the rooms for letting. The intruder had been in Mr Everett’s rooms. Things had been d
isturbed.’

  ‘Do you know what was taken?’

  ‘Nothing, as far as I can make out. But, of course, I didn’t examine Mr Everett’s personal possessions, so I’m not sure.’

  ‘What about the rest of the house?’ asked Pitt. ‘Anything taken or disturbed?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I checked the rest of the house very carefully. It looks as if the intruder only went into Mr Everett’s rooms.’

  ‘Had the door been broken into? Or a window broken?’

  ‘No. It’s as if someone had a key. But I know that the only key is the one I have!’

  Pitt nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll get my coat, Mrs Persimmons, and accompany you. Hopefully, we’ll find out what’s going on and who’s behind it.’

  Daniel and Abigail were methodically going through the books on the shelves of what had been Everett’s office in the hope of finding something that might give a clue to his character, his likes and dislikes.

  ‘This is pointless,’ announced Daniel with a groan. ‘All of these books are just practical guides to historical artefacts, and by the look of them they’ve been here for some years. Long before Everett was here, I suspect.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ agreed Abigail. She replaced a book on South American costumes back on the shelf. ‘I’m thinking I might have a word with Esther Maris.’

  ‘The reporter you told me about?’

  ‘Yes. She writes the women’s page, so it’s likely she’ll be in touch with all the local gossip, who’s engaged to who, that sort of thing.’

  ‘You think she might give us a lead on any women Everett might have been involved with?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘If there were any women. He might have been of another persuasion.’

  ‘Men?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘If he was, I can’t see this Esther Maris being very helpful. Men of that predilection tend to keep their activities secret.’

  ‘Except for Mr Oscar Wilde,’ observed Abigail. ‘In his case he positively flaunts it.’

  ‘Yes, and I hope his true friends try to dissuade him,’ commented Daniel. ‘I was told by some friends of mine at Scotland Yard that the Marquess of Queensberry seems determined to bring him down. More, he seems set on having Wilde imprisoned.’

  ‘Surely he’s taking a big risk,’ said Abigail. ‘As I understand it, Queensberry’s own son, Lord Alfred Douglas, is Wilde’s current paramour. If he persists, his son could also end up in jail.’

  ‘You’d think so, but Queensberry has friends in high places, many of them sympathetic to him in view of what happened to Francis, Lord Drumlanrig, Lord Alfred Douglas’s eldest brother and heir to the Queensberry title.’

  Abigail frowned. ‘I’m sorry, this is foreign to me. I know about Wilde and Lord Alfred, as does almost everyone, because Wilde seems intent on making a scandal and relishing it. What happened to this Lord Drumlanrig?’

  ‘He shot himself last year, following what was rumoured to be a sexual relationship between him and the Prime Minister, Lord Rosebery.’

  ‘I saw nothing about that in the newspapers.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have. Rosebery’s people were quick to make sure it was hushed up.’

  ‘So how do you know about it?’

  ‘If you remember, Fred Abberline and I were involved in the Cleveland Street Scandal.’

  ‘Ah yes, the homosexual brothel. Telegraph boys and members of the aristocracy.’

  ‘Exactly. They thought, as it was the same area, that I might have some light to throw on the subject.’

  ‘And had you?’

  ‘No. And I had no wish to be involved. Political intrigue can be very dangerous. As I understand it, the official verdict on Drumlanrig’s death was that he died as a result of a hunting accident. But all the talk in London’s social circles was of the real cause.’

  ‘His relationship with Lord Rosebery.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘Whether it was true or not, Queensberry evidently believed the rumours, because when stories about Wilde and Lord Alfred began to surface, he was heard to say that he was determined to rescue his son “from the clutches of that damned predator, Wilde. I will not let the same fate befall Alfred as befell poor Francis.”’

  A gentle tap at the open door made them both turn, and they saw the figure of Inspector Pitt in the doorway.

  ‘Inspector, do come in!’ welcomed Daniel. ‘Take a seat.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Pitt, settling himself into a chair. ‘I’ve come to tell you that there was a burglary at Everett’s lodgings, either last night or this morning while the landlady was out shopping. By all accounts, they only went into his rooms, not the rest of the house.’

  ‘What did they take?’

  ‘According to Mrs Persimmons, nothing as far as she could see. I went to the house with her and took a look. The drawers in the bureau and the sideboard had been turned over, and the mattress had been disturbed, suggesting someone was looking for something that Everett had hidden, but she couldn’t tell if anything had actually been taken.’

  ‘Any signs of an actual break-in?’ asked Daniel. ‘Window broken? Door lock interfered with?’

  ‘No,’ said Pitt. ‘It was very neat. As if they had a key.’

  ‘Or a lock-pick,’ said Daniel. He frowned thoughtfully. ‘The entry was neat and tidy, yet the intruder left signs of a mess. Why?’

  ‘A message,’ said Pitt. ‘To tell us that he’d been in.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Daniel again.

  ‘I think whoever did it wants to stir thing up,’ suggested Pitt. ‘And deliberately point the finger at Everett.’

  ‘I’m guessing that whoever did it also searched his office first,’ murmured Daniel. ‘The fact they’ve burgled his rooms suggests they didn’t find what they were looking for at the museum.’

  ‘Do you think it was the person who shot him?’ asked Pitt.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Daniel. ‘I wonder when Inspector Grafton arrived in the city?’

  ‘Who?’ asked Pitt.

  ‘Inspector Walter Grafton. He’s with Special Branch in London. We saw him earlier today leaving the Ashmolean. Mr Marriott confirms he was here asking questions about Everett, and he also took the time to search his office.’

  ‘If he’s here on official business then by rights he’s supposed to report to the local police superintendent,’ said Pitt. ‘And Superintendent Clare hasn’t mentioned anything to me about Special Branch being here.’

  ‘I’m sure Grafton will check in, in his own good time and when it suits him,’ said Daniel. ‘Regardless of the rules and police protocol, I’ve found that Special Branch tend to work to their own set of rules.’

  ‘Do you think it was this Grafton who burgled Mrs Persimmons?’ asked Pitt.

  ‘He’s certainly capable of it,’ said Daniel. ‘But if he did, it’s not his style to deliberately leave a mess announcing he was there. Unless, as you say, he did it to stir things up.’

  ‘And what was he looking for?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘Something flat, if he looked under the mattress,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Papers of some sort?’ suggested Pitt.

  ‘The Shakespeare play?’ wondered Abigail.

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Pitt. He rose to his feet. ‘Anyway, I’d better get back to the station and see if I can come up with something that will satisfy Mrs Persimmons, although I doubt it. In the immortal words of Mr W. S. Gilbert, a policeman’s lot is not a happy one.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Abigail entered the reception at the offices of the Oxford Messenger and went straight to a woman sitting at a desk with ‘Enquiries’ written on it.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘My name’s Abigail Fenton. I wonder if it might be possible to speak to Esther Maris. She does know me.’

  The woman wrote a message on a notepad on her desk, tore it off and summoned a uniformed man standing guard by the double doors that Abigail assumed led to the reporters’ area. br />
  ‘Please take this to Miss Maris,’ she said.

  The man nodded, took the note and disappeared through the double doors. Abigail thanked the woman and went to look at the recent editions of the Messenger’s front pages displayed on one wall. The death of Gavin Everett featured, although the report was suitably vague: The sad and tragic death of Mr Gavin Everett, assistant curator at the Ashmolean Museum, has been reported. According to official police reports, Mr Everett took his own life by means of a gunshot wound. There seems to have been no obvious reason for his action. It is not known whether Mr Everett has any relatives. The museum says it is not aware of any, and has asked that if anyone knows of any family he may have had, or any other person who was close to him, to get in touch with the museum director, Gladstone Marriott, at the Ashmolean Museum in Beaumont Street, Oxford.

  ‘Looking at our work?’ came Esther’s voice behind Abigail.

  Abigail turned and smiled at the young woman.

  ‘Just while I was waiting for you. I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Esther. ‘At the moment I’m writing about knitting patterns, so this is a welcome break.’ She lowered her voice as she asked hopefully, ‘Is this to do with Mr Everett?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Abigail. ‘As you know, we’re trying to find out what made him do such a thing, but the problem is we can’t find anyone who knew him outside of work. And the people at the museum didn’t know him very well, not socially, anyhow. So, I wondered if you might have known anything about him, even from local gossip. You know, was he involved with anyone, for example.’

  ‘A romance?’

  ‘Even rumours of a romance would help,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Not that I know of.’ Esther frowned. ‘I must admit, I did a bit of nosing around after he died in case there might be a story there. You know, a tragic love affair, or something. That would be a great story! But I didn’t get far. Mr Pinker, the editor, heard me asking one of the other reporters if there might be a woman involved, and he told me to leave that particular story alone and concentrate on “less salacious items” for my women’s page, as he termed them.’ She gave Abigail a conspiratorial smile. ‘But now I’ll start asking around, however this time I’ll talk to people outside the newspaper and won’t let Mr Pinker know.’