Murder at the Natural History Museum Page 5

  ‘Sometimes the museum hosts a special event,’ explained Sharp. ‘A talk by someone. Or a meeting of the trustees. For example, next week there’s going to be a talk on Mary Anning, the famous fossil hunter who lived in Lyme Regis, as part of the exhibition. That’s going to be next Wednesday evening.’

  ‘So, we’re sure to be working late on the Thursday morning,’ said Dolly.

  ‘Not too late, I hope, Dolly,’ said Sharp. ‘It’s a talk, not a dinner.’

  ‘So, you didn’t see a roll of cloth by the dinosaur skeleton this morning, and you didn’t know Raymond Simpson?’ pressed Abigail.

  ‘No,’ said Dolly. ‘And that’s no to both questions.’

  Daniel and John Feather sat at the spare desk in Miss Scott’s office, Feather studying the letter from Petter and Wardle. Daniel had filled the inspector in on the story of the Bone Wars, the rivalry to sell dinosaur skeletons which Petter and Wardle seemed to have been caught up in.

  ‘Abigail and I paid a call to the offices of Petter and Wardle, and frankly I think there’s something dubious about the set-up. Which made me wonder if there even was a Mr Wardle, for example.’

  Feather smiled.

  ‘Oh, I think he might be real enough.’

  Daniel frowned, curious.

  ‘How can you be sure? Petter said he was out of the country.’

  ‘Did he now? If it’s the person I think it is, his being “out of the country” just means being out of circulation. In jail.’

  ‘Jail?’

  ‘The letterhead lists the two partners as Erskine Petter and Benjamin Wardle, and their office as being in Paddington. By coincidence, Benny and Billy Wardle, a pair of thugs who lead a gang in the Paddington area were locked up for assault four months ago. I wonder if they’re the same people?’

  Daniel frowned.

  ‘I never heard of them when I was at the Yard.’

  ‘After your time, Daniel. I think I’ll pop along to Wormwood Scrubs to have a word with Benny and see what he says about his relationship with Mr Erskine Petter.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  Feather shook his head.

  ‘I’ve had a couple of run-ins with Benny before. We know one another. He’ll talk easier if there’s no one else there. Anyway, first I need to find the dead man’s address and inform his family. Then I need to catch up with the super and see how he got on with Mr Stoker.’

  ‘I get the impression that the superintendent sees Mr Stoker as more than just a witness,’ remarked Daniel, warily.

  ‘And you’d be right,’ answered Feather.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Do you remember the Oscar Wilde case earlier in the year?’

  ‘It was hard to avoid it,’ said Daniel. ‘The fuss in the newspapers, the lurid stories all over town. Though I feel that Wilde brought things on himself by suing Queensberry, when he must have known he had no chance. Wilde was hardly discreet about his activities, and nor was Queensberry’s son, Lord Alfred Douglas.’

  ‘The belief is that Douglas flaunted his relationship with Wilde as openly as he did to deliberately enrage his father.’

  ‘And he certainly succeeded,’ said Daniel.

  The bitter family row had led to Wilde being tried on charges of sodomy, found guilty, and sentenced to two years’ hard labour in prison, where he now languished.

  ‘As you can imagine, Scotland Yard was involved in the case, gathering evidence against Wilde,’ continued Feather. ‘Armstrong was one of those involved, and he was particularly incensed when people he wanted to bring as prosecution witnesses vanished, with most of them heading to the Continent. He blamed Stoker.’

  ‘Stoker? Why?’

  ‘Stoker has been a life-long friend of Wilde’s. They were at university together in Dublin. The superintendent is convinced that Stoker helped some witnesses for the prosecution get to the Continent to stop them testifying.

  ‘The super questioned Stoker at the time but got nowhere. Even though Wilde was found guilty, the super’s been upset about it ever since.’

  ‘So, how does that relate to the murder here?’

  ‘The man who was found dead, Raymond Simpson, was a vital prosecution witness in the trial. Simpson hadn’t been involved himself in any sexual acts but claimed to have been told by other young men of them engaging with Wilde in such acts, and named places and dates. The stories he told led to these men being brought as witnesses, and it was their evidence that led to Wilde’s conviction.

  ‘From what I hear, Wilde is taking his time in prison hard. You know what hard labour’s like, Daniel. The treadmill. Picking oakum. And conditions in Pentonville and Wandsworth are harsh as it is. And the food’s terrible. It’s tough enough for anybody, but for someone like Wilde …’ He sighed. ‘The word is he’s dying because of it. His health has completely gone. I can see why the super thinks that Stoker might want revenge on the man who put him there: Raymond Simpson.’

  ‘That’s stretching it, John. Simpson was just a witness. What about all the others?’

  ‘It seems that Simpson was a bit more than just a witness. From what we picked up from some of the others, he was a blackmailer who shopped people that didn’t pay up.’

  ‘Like Wilde?’

  ‘That’s what I heard. So it’s not unthinkable that Stoker, someone who’s been close to Wilde, goes into the Natural History Museum and sees the villain who a lot of people believe was the one who got him in jail, and pays him back.’

  ‘Hardly, John. Remember the crime scene. The body wrapped in a roll of cloth. The sign saying “The price of treason”. That smacks of more than a spur-of-the-moment action. It takes planning. Bringing in the cloth to wrap the body in, for one.’

  ‘According to the maintenance manager, Stoker was in the building on the Saturday, three days before Simpson’s body was found.’

  ‘Yes, he was,’ confirmed Daniel.

  ‘So, he sees Simpson, decides to do something about him and does it today.’

  Daniel shook his head, doubtful.

  ‘I still don’t see it, John. Stoker’s too well known to try something like that. He could be spotted.’

  ‘He was, by the maintenance manager. If Sharp hadn’t come along when he did, Stoker could have vanished.’ Feather picked up the piece of cardboard he’d brought up from the scene. ‘Where’s the one from yesterday?’

  Daniel took the card from a drawer and placed it on the desk alongside the one found with Simpson’s dead body. The two men studied them, then Feather announced: ‘They’re not the same. The cardboard, the string and, more importantly, the writing is different.’

  ‘So, different people did them. I’m guessing the second was done to try and throw us off track. Make us think it’s the work of the same person who smashed the skeleton.’

  ‘Which means it would have to be by someone who knew about the first message,’ said Feather. ‘Which would suggest someone from the museum.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Daniel. ‘It could be someone with contacts here who may have been told about the earlier message. Everyone here knew about it. We need to look into Raymond Simpson, find out what sort of person he was and who’d have a reason for killing him.’

  ‘The superintendent’s already got it into his head that Stoker’s involved in some way. Revenge for what he did to Oscar Wilde.’

  ‘I still can’t see it,’ said Daniel. ‘I think he’s too high profile.’

  ‘He didn’t have to do it himself,’ pointed out Feather. ‘He could have got someone else to do it.’

  ‘But why draw attention to himself by being found by the body?’

  ‘A double-bluff?’ suggested Feather. ‘I’m sure we’ll have some answers once the super’s had a chat with Mr Stoker.’

  Superintendent Armstrong sat in the cushioned chair and glowered across the desk at Bram Stoker. They were in Stoker’s office at the Lyceum Theatre, a room adorned with playbills from past productions, all of them starring Henry
Irving, most of them presentations of Shakespeare’s plays. Stoker held the superintendent’s malevolent glare, unsmiling and with an expression of grim determination, indeed defiance, on his face. He was a man in his late forties, well-dressed, his red beard neatly trimmed and his hair neatly barbered.

  ‘We have met before, Mr Stoker,’ said Armstrong.

  ‘I remember,’ responded Stoker coldly. ‘During the trial of Oscar Wilde. You accused me of aiding certain witnesses for the prosecution in that case to evade, as you termed it, “justice”.’

  ‘Information had been received that suggested as such,’ said Armstrong. ‘I merely asked you if you had been instrumental, even in part, in their departure to the Continent.’

  ‘And I told you at the time the same as I’m telling you now, Superintendent: no, I had nothing to do with any witnesses avoiding giving evidence at the trial. But I assume that is not why you are here to see me.’

  ‘You assume correctly. You were at the Natural History Museum earlier today, where it is said you discovered the dead body of a man.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Why did you flee the scene?’

  ‘I did not “flee the scene”, as you put it. After I reported the discovery of the body, I left the premises along with Sir Henry Irving and Miss Ellen Terry.’

  ‘Why did you feel the need to depart before the police had arrived?’

  ‘To protect Sir Henry and Miss Terry. They are very public figures, as I’m sure you know, which is why we’d gone to the exhibition early in the morning before it opened to the general public. There was a danger to their reputations if they’d been caught up in the sort of scandal that usually accompanies a murder.’

  ‘You felt it was murder?’ asked Armstrong, intently.

  ‘A body wrapped in cloth like that. It hardly appeared to be suicide or a natural death.’

  ‘Did you recognise the young man?’

  Stoker shook his head. ‘I peeled back the end of the roll of cloth because I was curious as to what it was and why it was there. I thought it might have been part of the exhibit. As soon as I saw it was a human face, I realised it was a person. A dead person.’

  ‘You realised he was dead, not just unconscious?’

  ‘I have seen dead people before, Superintendent. I know the difference.’

  ‘The dead man has been identified as Raymond Simpson. Does that name mean anything to you?’

  ‘No,’ said Stoker.

  ‘I’m surprised,’ said Armstrong. ‘He was a prominent witness at the trial of your friend, Mr Wilde. Your very good friend, Mr Wilde.’

  ‘What are you implying, Superintendent?’

  ‘You were one of Mr Wilde’s closest friends. You’d been so since your days when you were students together at university in Dublin. During the trial you went to the Old Bailey on many occasions to observe proceedings. I’m surprised you don’t recall Raymond Simpson.’

  ‘There were many witnesses, Superintendent. Too many to remember.’

  ‘I spoke to an attendant at the museum who said he saw you there a few days ago looking at the exhibition.’

  ‘That is correct. I found it very impressive, which is why I encouraged Sir Henry to see it.’

  ‘But you didn’t view it with Mr Irving …’

  ‘Sir Henry,’ Stoker corrected him sharply.

  ‘Sir Henry,’ conceded Armstrong grudgingly. ‘As I understand it, Sir Henry viewed it with Miss Terry while you were separate from them.’

  ‘That is correct,’ said Stoker. ‘Sir Henry mentioned the exhibition to Miss Terry after I’d spoken to him about it, and she was keen to see it as well, so all three of us went together. But once we were there, Sir Henry intimated that he wished to view it in the company of Miss Terry.’ He paused, then added: ‘There are times when they prefer to have privacy. I was happy to give them that.’

  ‘On the day you visited on your own, do you recall seeing Raymond Simpson there?’

  ‘No. As I said, I did not recognise him today, nor can I say I recognised him when I was previously at the museum.’

  ‘Despite the fact that this man’s evidence has led to one of your closest and longest friends being incarcerated in not very hospitable conditions.’

  Stoker gave a sarcastic smile.

  ‘“Not very hospitable” hardly covers the conditions Mr Wilde has been enduring, Superintendent.’

  ‘But you claim that this man, Raymond Simpson, who could be held responsible for Mr Wilde’s downfall and imprisonment, was not known to you.’

  ‘That is correct, Superintendent. Now, if you don’t mind, I have much work to do. We have a performance of King Arthur this evening to prepare for.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As Daniel and Feather made for the address they’d been given for Raymond Simpson and his parents, Daniel reported the encounter between Turner and Radley he’d observed. ‘Turner told Radley he’d seen him at the museum earlier in the morning, coming up from the conveniences in the basement before the body of Raymond Simpson was discovered, but Radley insisted he’d arrived at the museum just a few moments before we saw him, so it must have been someone else.’

  ‘Perhaps it was,’ said Feather.

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Daniel. ‘But if you saw Mason Radley, I think you’d agree he’d be hard to mistake for someone else. He’s got a shock of red hair and a big red beard.’

  ‘Perhaps this Turner chap only saw the outline of someone and he looked a bit like this Mason Radley,’ wondered Feather.

  ‘That may be the case, but I thought it worth mentioning. Especially because Radley was very keen indeed to get away from the museum before the police arrived.’

  ‘I’ll look into him,’ said Feather. ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Daniel. ‘Except for his distinctive appearance, that he’s a trustee of the museum and he owns a company that imports tea from his own plantation in India.’

  ‘So, wealthy,’ said Feather.

  ‘Or not,’ said Daniel. ‘Not every company is profitable.’

  They’d arrived at the short, narrow cul-de-sac and made their way to the Simpsons’ address. The family obviously took great pleasure in their house: the doorstep shone with red lead and a window box filled with colourful flowers showed their pride in the property.

  ‘This is the part I hate,’ said Feather, ‘telling a family their loved one’s been murdered.’

  ‘Even if that loved one was a blackmailer?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘We never actually got proof of that,’ admitted Feather. ‘If we had, we’d have charged him.’

  ‘So, it was just gossip and rumour?’

  ‘Half-admissions, from people who had a lot to lose if their secrets got out.’

  ‘Shall we raise that with his family?’

  ‘Maybe. We’ll see how it goes. They don’t know he’s dead yet, so we have to tread carefully.’ Feather looked at Daniel hopefully. ‘Actually, I was going to ask if you’d mind asking the questions. After I’ve done my official duty, that is, and given them the bad news.’

  ‘Me?’ asked Daniel, doubtfully.

  ‘You’re good at it, Daniel. You have a knack of getting people to talk without upsetting them. And I want to get to the Scrubs to talk to Benny Wardle, then I need to catch up with the super because he’ll want to know what’s happening.’

  ‘All right, leave it to me,’ said Daniel. ‘Shall I come to the Yard later and let you know what I’ve learnt from the Simpsons, and you can fill me in on Benny Wardle?’

  ‘I’ll come to you,’ said Feather. ‘Just in case the super’s in a bad mood if things with Stoker didn’t go the way he wanted.’

  ‘All right. The museum in a couple of hours?’

  ‘Make it three,’ said Feather. ‘Just in case my visit to the Scrubs turns up something I need to look into.’ He knocked. ‘Let’s hope someone’s in or I’ll have to come back.’

  The door was opened by a tall, thin woman who lo
oked out at them warily.

  ‘Mrs Simpson?’ asked Feather. When the woman nodded, he took out his warrant card and showed it to her as he continued: ‘I’m Inspector Feather from Scotland Yard and this is my colleague, Mr Wilson.’

  ‘Scotland Yard?’ said the woman, and her hand went to her mouth in horror.

  ‘Do you mind if we come in?’ asked Feather. ‘We’d rather talk privately than out here in public.’

  Mrs Simpson opened the door wider, and they walked in, wiping their feet on the doormat, then going into the room on their right after she’d indicated for them to do so. It was a sitting room, immaculately clean and smelling of furniture polish. She gestured for them to sit in two of the armchairs and perched nervously on one herself.

  ‘What do Scotland Yard want with us?’ she asked, apprehensively. ‘We’re just ordinary people.’

  ‘Is your husband at home, ma’am?’ asked Feather. ‘It might be better if we talk to you both.’

  ‘My husband died four years ago,’ said Mrs Simpson. ‘There’s just me and my son, Raymond, and he’s at work.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s about Raymond that we’ve come,’ said Feather.

  ‘Has something happened to him?’ asked Mrs Simpson, urgently.

  ‘I’m afraid it has. I’m sorry to tell you that Raymond was killed this morning.’

  Once more, her hand flew to her mouth. She stared at them, bewilderment on her face.

  ‘No, that can’t be right,’ she said. ‘He’s at work.’

  ‘It was at work it happened,’ said Feather gently. ‘At the museum.’

  She continued to stare at them, her mouth open, tears welling up in her eyes.

  ‘No, it can’t be,’ she said. She swallowed, then asked: ‘An accident?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Feather. ‘It seems as if he was murdered.’

  ‘No.’ Mrs Simpson shot to her feet, now outraged. ‘No, that’s impossible. No one would want to harm Raymond. You’re confusing him with someone else.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Simpson. He’s been identified by the senior staff at the museum.’

  Suddenly, she collapsed back onto the chair, her head in her hands, weeping.