Chapter Eleven
Riley’s first thought when he arrived at Mrs Kempton’s house was that she didn’t look at all well. Pale and seemed distracted, something that looked suspiciously like a bruise coloured one side of her face.
‘Lord Riley,’ she said, standing and offering him a slender hand. She waved away the butler who had shown them in without first asking if they would like refreshments. He left, closing the door on his interest in this visit from Scotland Yard detectives. ‘I had hoped,’ she added, glancing at Salter, ‘that you would grant me the courtesy of continuing to call alone, as well as offering me advance warning of any visit you felt it necessary to make.’
‘Sergeant Salter is discreet and trustworthy. But if you had been completely honest with me, Mrs Kempton, another visit might not have been necessary.’
‘I am sure I don’t know what you mean,’ she said a little too hastily, ushering them to the chairs facing the settee she occupied. ‘Do you bring good news?’
‘A number of suspects have come to light, but we are not yet ready to make an arrest.’ Riley stretched his legs in front of him and crossed them at the ankle, making it clear through his relaxed posture that he didn’t intend to be hurried. ‘I do however have some more questions for you.’
‘Naturally, I will do all that I can to help.’ Mrs Kempton’s offer sounded forced. She laced her fingers together and then released them, only to repeat the gesture. Clearly, she was on edge. A guilty conscience, genuine grief for Woodrow’s loss—or frustration because Riley had not arrested her husband? He was unable to decide upon the cause of her nervousness.
‘You told me when I called on the previous occasion that you had no further contact with Roderick Woodrow after your marriage.’
‘I did not.’
Riley fixed her with a hard look. ‘And yet you continued to correspond and meet…’
‘Correspond?’ She sat bolt upright, looking horrified. ‘Rod kept my letters?’ Riley nodded. ‘He promised me that he had destroyed them.’ She reached out a hand, as though expecting Riley to produce them from thin air. ‘May I have them back, please?’
‘Of course you may—when the investigation reaches a satisfactory conclusion.’
‘But they are mine.’ She sounded like a petulant child on the point of throwing a tantrum if she did not get her way.
‘You didn’t really imagine that he would just throw them away did you?’ Salter asked, sounding incredulous.
‘I had no reason to doubt his word, if that is what you mean to imply,’ she replied stiffly. ‘Rod was a gentleman, we were devoted to one another and he would never knowingly have embarrassed me.’
‘Even though you are married to Kempton?’ Riley asked.
‘Oh that.’ She flapped a hand as if her marriage was a trifling irrelevance. ‘I have already admitted to you that I don’t love Giles, but he wanted me, he’d always made that abundantly clear. He couldn’t believe his luck when I finally accepted his proposal.’
‘Did he know why you agreed to marry him?’
Mrs Kempton studied Riley for a prolonged moment before responding. ‘He was aware of my condition. I did not deceive him in that respect, but he did not ask who was responsible for it and I did not volunteer that information. Ever since then, we have pretended that my daughter’s is Giles’s own.’
‘He must know, even if he didn’t ask you outright,’ Riley said. ‘I cannot believe that any man would be content to remain in ignorance about such a matter.’
Mrs Kempton lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. ‘Perhaps. I suppose he could have made an educated guess. He saw Rod and I together on a number of occasions and probably heard my father complain about my attachment to him.’
‘Did your physical relationship with Rod Woodrow continue after your marriage?’ Salter asked.
‘It did not.’
‘That is what you told me on my previous visit, but not the conclusion we reached, having read your letters,’ Riley told her, fixing her with an appraising look. ‘Your feelings for him lost none of their potency and you had a daughter in common, in whom Rod took a great interest.’
‘Being a devoted father was not a crime the last time I checked.’ Mrs Kempton set her chin at a defiant angle. ‘Really, Lord Riley, I cannot imagine why you are wasting your time here with me, asking me embarrassing questions, when you have a killer to catch.’
‘Oh, I think you know exactly why I am here, Mrs Kempton.’ Riley leaned forward, his expression uncompromising. ‘You are anxious for us to look towards your husband because you think it was he who killed Rod Woodrow.’
‘What! Of course I do not think that. How could you even imagine…’ She gave an unconvincing shudder. ‘I came forward in good faith—and at considerable risk to my own reputation—in order to help you, and this is how you repay me.’
‘I rather think we are behaving precisely as you hoped we would,’ Salter remarked, scratching his nose.
‘You mistake the matter,’ Mrs Kempton replied coldly.
‘We know from your letters that you were upset with Rod because his name was linked with Laura Durand,’ Riley pointed out.
‘That much is certainly true.’ She seemed relieved by the change of emphasis. ‘I thought she was too young, too immature to hold the interest of such a sophisticated man.’ Mrs Kempton sat a little straighter but failed to meet Riley’s eye. ‘It would have been a mistake that he’d have come to regret. He could have done a great deal better for himself.’
‘You didn’t like the idea of the father of your child marrying a woman who was younger and better connected than you, did you?’ Salter leaned forward, his expression harsh. ‘You were jealous, stuck in a loveless marriage to a cove you have no respect for. You were faced with the prospect of losing contact—as well as the occasional tumble—with the only man who made your life worthwhile.’ Salter held up a hand. ‘And don’t try to convince us that you weren’t still spreading your legs for him because we ain’t gonna believe you.’
‘Really, Sergeant, there is no need for such vulgarity.’
‘You seriously expect us to believe that the physical side of your relationship with Woodrow ceased the minute you married the man who saved your reputation.’ Riley raised a brow, watching her attempting to formulate a response that would satisfy him.
‘I regret that I did not tell you the complete truth in that respect,’ she eventually settled for saying, looking away from him. ‘I did not want you to think less of me. So few people understand the love that Rod and I shared. A love that refused to be suppressed, no matter how hard we both tried.’
‘Not so perfect that he wasn’t still looking for a wife elsewhere,’ Salter said harshly.
She tossed her head. ‘He had to live on something.’
‘He might perhaps have considered the idea of working for a living,’ Riley remarked.
Mrs Kempton folded her hands in her lap, at which point Riley noticed more bruises ringing both of her wrists. ‘He was a sensitive soul, not suited to the rules of society or being told what to do by others. One cannot cage a wild bird.’
Salter made a disparaging sound that could have been a grunt or a guffaw.
‘Why did your father select Kempton as his second in command and pass control of the business to him?’ Riley asked.
Mrs Kempton seemed surprised by the question. ‘Well, he is my husband, so…’ She spread her hands, implying that the answer ought to be obvious. Riley had an uncanny feeling that they were somehow being coerced into to playing into those self-same hands.
‘And yet your father passed day to day control to Kempton before there was any question of the two of you marrying. It is our understanding that Kempton was keen to make a good impression upon you, but you took no interest in him whatsoever.’
‘Until such time as you required a man to save your reputation,’ Salter added harshly.
‘I imagine my father appreciated Giles’ aptitude for the business and groomed him to assume his position for that reason.’ She glanced off to the left, feigning boredom. ‘Papa never discussed such matters with me.’
‘I would prefer it if you told me the truth, Mrs Kempton,’ Riley said, his voice hardening.
Her head snapped round, her expression wavering between outrage and anxiety. ‘I am being entirely truthful.’
‘Your husband, in the short time that he has had complete control of a previously thriving business, has made some disastrous mistakes. The people who work there all agree that he is both incompetent and unwilling to take advice from wiser heads, so your father must have known that about him, too.’ Riley paused, fixing her with a probing look. ‘What hold did Kempton have over your father that forced him to cede control of a thriving business to such an unsafe pair of hands?’
‘Nothing as far as I am aware,’ she said, less than convincingly.
‘Your father set great stock by his reputation. From what I understand, he had not been considering retirement, yet suddenly pulled back from his involvement and left matters to Kempton even before you married the man.’ Riley’s perplexed expression did not have to be feigned. ‘My sergeant and I have been wondering why he would do such a thing.’
‘You will have to ask my husband that.’
‘We intend to.’ She must be aware that their talking to Kempton about the murder of the man who had fathered his wife’s daughter would violate the privacy she had previously insisted upon, but the prospect didn’t appear to worry her unduly. ‘In the meantime, perhaps you would tell me how you reacted when Kempton came to you, begging for a handout to save a thriving business that he had taken to the point of ruin in a few short years. And please don’t bother to say that he didn’t, since I shall not believe you.’
‘He did mention the situation, as it happens,’ Mrs Kempton said into the heavy silence that followed Riley’s pronouncement. ‘He said my father’s good name depended upon my helping him, but I’m afraid I refused. Giles had made his bed, so to speak, and it was up to him to find a way to recover his position.’
‘Your lack of loyalty must have rankled,’ Salter said. ‘After all he had done to save your reputation.’
Mrs Kempton gave a contemptuous huff but remained silent. The gesture told Riley more about her opinion of her husband than she probably intended. Here sat a very unhappy, disappointed woman who did not like to be gainsaid, vindicating Riley’s conviction that she knew more about Rod’s death than she had thus far revealed.
‘The bruises on your face and wrists are the result of your having said no, I imagine,’ he said. ‘Your husband is given to fits of rage and turned violent.’
She instinctively touched the side of her face. ‘I fell,’ she replied, less than convincingly.
Riley allowed the lie to pass uncontested. ‘Your husband approached you at the same time as you realised you were losing Rod’s attention. He really did intend to marry Lady Laura, and you were beside yourself with fury. After all you had done for him. All the financial help you had given him, to say nothing of satisfying his physical needs, and this was how he planned to repay you. Your anger must have festered like an open wound, but you were powerless to do anything about it. Until Kempton required something from you, which is when you recognised an opportunity to gain the ultimate revenge. You couldn’t abide the thought of Woodrow in some other woman’s bed, so if you couldn’t have him then nobody would.’
‘Nonsense!’
‘You told your husband that you would help him if he helped you. Oh, you didn’t tell him the truth, of course. You and the truth are barely on nodding terms.’
‘How dare you!’ Mrs Kempton’s bosom swelled in a convincing display of indignation.
‘Oh, I dare, madam, never doubt it.’ Riley allowed a significant pause. ‘You told your husband some story or other about Rod wanting access to his daughter…or to you. That would be enough to send a jealous man over the precipice. He had always sensed your affection for Rod and wanted rid of him once and for all, especially if that meant you would bail your father’s business out of trouble by way of reward.’
‘A charming hypothesis, Lord Riley,’ she said, appearing to have regained a little composure. ‘But that is all it is. Complete conjecture. Really, if that is the best you can come up with then I am not surprised at the level of criticism levelled at Scotland Yard’s supposedly elite Detective Department. Sadly however, your deficiencies mean that Rod’s killer will likely never be brought to justice.’
‘Unless, of course, it’s one of the many other ladies Woodrow slept with.’
Salter’s throwaway comment had the desired effect. Mrs Kempton sat bolt upright and glowered at both detectives. ‘There were no others,’ she said dismissively, but the expression in her eyes had turned wary. She had not known, Riley surmised, not for sure, but she must have had her suspicions.
‘You think you were the only lady financing his extravagant lifestyle?’ Riley asked, standing to take his leave. ‘Think again. And whilst you are at it, consider telling me the truth about what information your husband used against your father in order to improve his prospects.’ He held up a hand to prevent her from protesting. ‘I accept that you may not know, not for sure, but I believe that you suspect there is something. Make your husband tell you. I am perfectly sure you know how to persuade him, and then you will tell me.’
‘Why would I do that, always supposing there is anything to tell?’
‘Because I will find out eventually.’ He fixed her with a penetrating look. ‘Never doubt it. And if you put me to that trouble, I will have no reason to behave with discretion. But if you tell me yourself and it has no bearing on Woodrow’s death then I give you my word that the particulars will remain confidential and your father’s memory will not be sullied. Think on it. Good morning to you, madam. I look forward to hearing from you.’
‘Well, sir,’ Salter said, once they were again outside in the freezing conditions, sleet blowing into their faces. ‘What did you make of that?’
A tavern on the corner of the street attracted their attention. It was now early afternoon and hunger drew them towards it. Riley waited until they had ordered lamb stew and seated themselves with tankards of ale before responding.
‘Her husband is given to fits of jealousy and beats her,’ he said in a reflective tone. ‘She did not have those bruises when I spoke to her a couple of days ago. Perhaps she failed to deliver on her promise to bail Kempton out of trouble after he had played his part in her wily scheme, and he lost his temper with her.’
‘It strikes me that she’s very good at goading men into doing her bidding. She was definitely jealous of Rod’s attachment to Lady Laura.’ Salter chuckled. ‘Good job she didn’t know about Alice.’
‘What’s to say that she didn’t?’ Riley asked mildly.
Salter looked up at Riley and blinked. ‘No, she couldn’t have. No one did.’
‘Never make assumptions, Jack. Mrs Kempton was fiercely possessive of Rod, and has a lot of time on her hands. Rod regularly walked out with Alice on her afternoon off. He never missed. If he’d always declined to meet Mrs Kempton on a Wednesday, it would have aroused her suspicions. So she followed him, or had him followed. Only imagine, discovering that he was in cahoots with a girl from the working classes.’
‘God forbid,’ Salter replied with a wry smile.
‘Exactly. At least Lady Laura was from the right walk of life. But to have the man she adored, supported and took so many risks for preferring an apprentice milliner would have been totally unacceptable. The ultimate betrayal.’ Riley nodded decisively. ‘Oh yes, our Mrs Kempton could not have permitted such an insult to pass unavenged.’
‘You think she tackled him on the subject, sir, always assuming she knew?’
‘I am sure she did. Mrs Kempton is not the type to exercise discretion, at least not in terms of the man she adored.’
‘She adored him and then had him killed?’ Salter looked perplexed. ‘Not sure about that. Anyway, if you’re convinced she knew about Alice, why didn’t you mention her?’
‘She would have denied it. I didn’t want to antagonise her too much because I want her to find out what hold her husband had over her father.’
‘Is it relevant?’ Salter asked dubiously.
‘We shan’t know until we find out what it was.’ Riley leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘If Mrs Kempton told Rod, what’s to say that he didn’t use it as additional blackmail material and approach Kempton direct with his demands?’
‘Ah, I see. Kempton called to see Rod on the night of his death, saying he was there to buy his silence.’
‘Possibly.’
Their food arrived, which precluded further conversation. Less than appetising, Riley merely picked at his, whereas Salter cleared his plate, wiping up the gravy with crusty bread and then enviously eyeing Riley’s leftovers.
‘Help yourself,’ Riley said, pushing the plate towards his sergeant.
Salter did so. They finished their ale, paid their dues and stepped outside again, pulling hats low and turning up collars. Salter hailed a cab and Riley gave the jarvey the address of Kempton’s business premises in Hatton Garden as he climbed into the conveyance.
‘It’s a rum affair, Jack. In spite of growing evidence to the contrary, I remain to be convinced that Kempton’s the guilty party. His wife wants us to believe that he is—’
‘Even though her reputation will suffer if the truth about her connection to Rod comes to light?’
‘She is a woman scorned. Never underestimate the vindictiveness of such creatures.’
‘Speaking from experience, sir?’
Riley deal his sergeant a dour look. ‘Susan Kempton is wealthy enough to withstand a little gossip, and young enough to attract a husband she would prefer over Kempton.’ Their jarvey turned the air blue when a small private carriage cut in front of him, requiring him to swerve in order to avoid an accident. ‘There are plenty of what you would describe as my lot with pockets to let who would be willing to overlook her indiscretions in return for getting their hands on her blunt.’
‘In other words, they would raise her social standing, a situation she’s keen to bring about, and she would save a potential husband’s family from impecunious obscurity.’
‘Exactly.’
The hansom drew to a halt outside of a small shopfront with the name C. Burton – Bullion and Rare Coin Dealer – picked out in neat gold lettering above the door. Closer inspection revealed that the gold had started to flake against a background that was in need of a new coat of paint. Not a façade to inspire confidence, Riley thought, as he paid the jarvey and walked through the door that Salter opened for him. A bell jingled above it and they found themselves in a small interior, lined with glass cabinets displaying various coins, presumably rare and valuable. The air smelt musty, it wasn’t much warmer than outside, and unsurprisingly there were no other customers.
‘How may I be of service, gentlemen?’
The question was posed by a man in late middle-age, soberly attired, who appeared through a curtain that divided the shop from the rest of the premises.
‘We are here to see Mr Kempton,’ Salter said. ‘We are Scotland Yard detectives.’
The assistant looked intrigued rather than alarmed. ‘I shall see if he is available, if you would be so kind as to wait here.’
‘He damned well better be available,’ Salter muttered as he rubbed his hands together and stamped feet that were probably as cold as Riley’s.
The assistant returned, looking regretful. ‘Mr Kempton is about to go out to keep an appointment that he cannot postpone,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I can be of some assistance. Is this to do with the coins we purchased in good faith that—’
‘Tell Mr Kempton,’ Riley said, in no mood for procrastination, ‘that he can talk to us now, or we can send uniformed constables to bring him into Scotland Yard and conduct our interview there. The choice is entirely his.’
‘Actually, don’t bother to tell him,’ Salter added, striding towards the back of the shop. ‘I’ll tell him myself.’
‘Hey, look here, you cannot…’
But Salter could and did. Riley followed him into a large back room where two men pretended to be diligently working. But it was obvious that they were more interested in the arrival of Scotland Yard detectives intent upon interviewing their employer. One of them, an older man, probably the person who had spoken with Stout, grinned and pointed to a staircase in the corner. Shrugging, Riley and Salter made for it and found themselves in a small sitting room immediately above the shop. Mercifully, it was far warmer than downstairs, since a fire had been lit. A man, presumably Kempton, stood and scowled at them. He was in shirtsleeves and didn’t look to be on the point of keeping any appointments.
‘What is the meaning of this intrusion?’ he demanded.
Riley took close stock of Kempton’s appearance, which was far from impressive. A small man in all senses of the word, he had thin shoulders, thin hair and even thinner features. Riley could understand why his wife was dissatisfied with her lot. Even so, he found it hard to imagine such a weak-looking man possessing the strength to whack Rod Woodrow hard enough to render him unconscious, much less strangle him. Then again, stranger things had been known to happen. Small men, in Riley’s experience, often felt they had a point to prove.
‘I am Inspector Rochester. This is Sergeant Salter. You are Giles Kempton?’
‘I am, but I fail to see what business you could possibly have with me. As you have been told, I am about to keep an urgent appointment and you are making me late for it.’
‘You’ll be later still if you don’t stop mucking us about,’ Salter growled.
‘Shall we sit down?’ It was not a question on Riley’s part, as evidenced by the fact that he took the chair across from the one that Kempton had just vacated, directly in front of the fire. Salter, as always, propped a shoulder against a convenient wall, ready for whatever the interview would bring. And to intimidate from a standing position, which Riley anticipated would be necessary, since Kempton’s attitude oozed antagonism. With no other choice available to him, Kempton resumed his seat.
‘How can I help you?’ he asked grudgingly.
‘The father of your wife’s daughter was recently murdered,’ Riley replied, ‘but, of course, you are already aware of that fact.’
‘I did read something to that effect in the newspapers, but you will not be surprised to learn that I have shed no tears over his passing. The man was a bounder who took shameful advantage of an innocent girl. We had never met, but if we had I should not have hesitated to give him a long overdue thrashing.’
‘Perhaps you did,’ Riley replied.
‘Me?’ He widened his eyes in a convincing display of astonishment. ‘You think I killed the rogue.’ He chuckled. ‘I shall take that as a compliment.’
‘And I might take your words as a confession.’
‘There is a world of difference, Inspector, between wishing a person dead and actually killing them.’
‘And yet he was a permanent thorn in your side. It must have rankled to be aware that your wife loved and trusted the man enough to give herself to him when they were not married.’
‘Yes, I’ll grant you, I wasn’t happy about that. What man would be? But I never blamed Susan. He was the one who took advantage of her.’
‘And you are reminded of the fact every time you look at the child you pretend is your own,’ Salter added. ‘I wouldn’t be too happy about that myself.’
‘Well then, Sergeant, it’s probably as well that my nature is more understanding that yours seems to be.’
Salter shrugged himself from the wall and walked over to Kempton. ‘Or could it be,’ he suggested, leaning a hand on the back of Kempton’s chair and squatting down so their faces were only a few inches apart, ‘that you were forced to accept the situation if you were to stand any chance whatsoever of marrying the women you adored? It was the only way she would ever take you, and well you knew it.’
‘None of this is the child’s fault,’ Kempton replied, glowering at Salter’s hand, which he did not remove from the back of the chair. ‘I can see that you are unwilling to accept my word for it—’
‘If we accepted everything we’re told at face value, the gaols would be empty,’ Riley said. ‘We know you had plenty of reasons to resent Rod Woodrow, and at least you have had the grace to admit it.’
‘I don’t see what else he could have done,’ Salter said, sniffing, ‘given the circumstances. I dare say he made his wife aware of the fact too, in lots of subtle little ways. And a few not so subtle ones.’
‘Quite so. Thank you for the reminder, Sergeant. Where did your wife acquire the bruises she currently sports?’
‘What? You have been to see my wife? Without my permission? How dare you!’
‘The bruises?’ Riley reiterated.
‘She fell.’
Salter stood up and put a foot against Kempton’s chair. He pushed it over and Kempton, taken by surprise, went sprawling. “Oh, what, like that?” Kempton’s diminutive stature meant the it was easy for Salter to reach down and pull him to his feet with one hand and slam him against the wall of the shabby little room. Salter moved forward and put his mouth an inch or so from Kempton’s face. ‘I’ve got a wife myself, Mr Kempton. Call me an old fool but I’m rather fond of her. And if there’s one thing I can’t abide in this world it’s a man who hits women. I’ve seen more than enough women who’ve met with the business end of their husband’s fists not to recognise the signs when I see them. You pinned her down by her wrists, didn’t you, when she refused to keep her side of the bargain? And then you gave her a slap for good measure.’
‘Bargain?’ His eyes darted between the two detectives. ‘What bargain?’
Salter picked up the chair Kempton had been sitting in. He set it upright and pushed Kempton down into it with almost enough force to almost tip him over again. At a discreet gesture from Riley, he returned to his position against the wall. Riley allowed a few seconds to pass and then continued in a more reasoned tone.
‘You’ve made basic errors with the business your wife’s father built up from scratch, and you need capital to bail it out of trouble,’ Riley said. ‘Your wife agreed to supply that capital, provided that you did her a favour and rid the world of Rod Woodrow.’
He looked terrified. ‘She told you that?’ He collected himself, stood and paced the room. ‘No, she could not have since there’s not one iota of truth in it. Besides, she would not, not after I have been so lenient, so understanding—’
‘You don’t seem to have much faith in your wife’s opinion of you,’ Riley remarked. ‘And as for leniency, I saw the bruises as clearly as my sergeant did.’
‘Personally, sir, I wouldn’t blame her for making mischief,’ Salter remarked. ‘Not after she’d received a thumping from a bully and a tyrant.’
‘There is that.’ Riley straightened his shoulders. ‘So we can either take her word for it, in which case you will hang, or you can tell us the truth. Where were you three nights’ ago between midnight and two in the morning.’
‘And don’t bother to say that you were at home in your bed, since we know it ain’t true.’ Riley shot his sergeant a brief look, aware that they didn’t know any such thing.
‘Then you have been misinformed.’ Kempton looked smugly satisfied, a look that Riley knew Salter would be itching to wipe from his face. ‘My wife and I have separate rooms, but our servants can confirm that I retired at my usual time and did not leave the house again.’
‘You keep a night porter?’ Riley asked.
‘No, that would be an unnecessary expense.’
Salter scowled. ‘Then how can anyone confirm whether or not you left the house once everyone else was in bed?’
‘It would have been necessary for me to unbolt the front door and leave the premises unsecured…’
‘You don’t have a key to your own house?’ Salter asked before Riley could.
‘Of course, but a simple lock is no deterrent to modern-day criminals. I’m sure you are aware of that, given your line of work.’
‘Even so,’ Riley said in a reasonable tone, ‘the fact remains that you could easily have slipped from the house without anyone being aware. And a man answering your description was seen loitering outside Woodrow’s rooms.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve never been to Half Moon Street.’
‘Oh, that’s interesting, Mr Kempton,’ Riley smiled, tapping a forefinger absently against his chin. ‘Remind me, Sergeant, at which point in this conversation did I say that Woodrow lived in Half Moon Street?’
Salter’s grin was broad, but contained no humour whatsoever. ‘I don’t believe you mentioned his address at any point in it, sir.’
‘I must have read it in the newspaper,’ Kempton said, looking far less sure of himself.
‘It would help me to believe your honourable intentions,’ Riley said, ‘if I could be made to understand why Burton let you take control of his business when everyone I have spoken to says the same thing about you.’
‘What thing?’
‘Well, frankly, that you are inept.’
‘I resent that!’
‘Then you will have to resent a great many people, Mr Kempton, because it’s a fairly common assumption among those I’ve spoken to. And I have to say the facts support that theory. You have made a bit of a mess of things and you are in financial difficulties. That you cannot deny.’
‘I made an honest mistake,’ Kempton said, lifting his angular chin in an attempt at dignity, leaving Riley with the impression that he had a bad smell under his nose. ‘These things happen. I will recover.’
‘Not without help from your wife, which I suspect will not be forthcoming,’ Riley replied. ‘And she would not help you without proof that you killed Woodrow.’
‘Perhaps he supplied that proof, sir, and she then reneged on her side of the bargain, which would account for them bruises. That would be enough to make anyone lose their temper. I mean, committing murder, no less. Risking the noose and getting nothing in return.’
‘If, as you suggest, my wife still had feelings for Woodrow, why do you imagine she would want him dead?’ Kempton asked, his smug expression back in place.
‘Perhaps you should ask her that.’ Riley stood, aware that they would get nothing more from Kempton unless or until they uncovered proof of his culpability. ‘I shall be speaking with her again and if I notice any fresh bruises on her person then you will be held accountable for your actions.’ He swept up his hat from the table where he had left it. ‘Good day.’ He paused. ‘For now.’
Immediately outside Kempton’s door, Riley paused and spoke to Salter in an undertone that he was sure would penetrate the flimsy door.
‘We have to find the letters that we know Mrs Kempton wrote to Woodrow,’ he said, gesturing to Salter to play along. ‘They have to be somewhere in Woodrow’s rooms.’
‘We’ve searched high and low,’ Salter said, grinning with real humour this time.
‘Then we must have missed them. If we can find them, I’m pretty sure they’ll solve this case once and for all.’
They walked down the stairs, shoulder to shoulder. Salter grinned at Riley. ‘Very clever,’ he said. ‘You think he’ll take himself to Half Moon Street and search for them himself.’
‘I do. He probably didn’t know about the letters and won’t want them falling into the wrong hands. It’s vital that he gets hold of them.’
‘Even so, you should’ve let me at him,’ Salter complained as they took another hansom back to Scotland Yard. ‘He knew more than he was telling us.’
‘I thought I did let you at him,’ Riley replied. ‘Your tactics have been called into use most effectively during the course of this case so far. But yes, he does indeed know more, and is aware that we know it too. He feels threatened, and that will hopefully make him incautious. Have Carter and Soames watch him and nab him in the act if he breaks into Rod’s rooms. If he does not, I want to know everything he does over the next few days.’
‘It will be my pleasure, sir,’ Salter replied with a grunt of satisfaction. ‘Like I told him, I cannot abide men who hit women.’
‘Then you are I are in accord.’
‘Do you think he did it, sir? I want to think that he did but, somehow, I can’t see Woodrow letting him into his rooms late at night, even if Woodrow was trying to blackmail him. And even if he did, Woodrow would have been on his guard. I doubt they would have sat down together and had a nice companionable drink.’
‘You have hit upon the one aspect of the affair that troubles me, Jack.’ Riley glanced at the passing buildings as the Hansom made fast progress through streets that for once were not logjammed. ‘Frankly, Kempton looks as though a strong gust of wind would blow him from his feet. I cannot see him having the strength to carry out a crime that required…well, brute strength. There again, anger is supposed to lend the most unlikely of people superhuman strength. But why remove those glasses?’
‘One or both of them must have been used to knock Woodrow out, sir, given that the maid swears all six of ’em were intact the previous day.’ Salter ruminated for a moment or two. ‘Odd, that.’
‘Odd indeed, Jack, and I cannot help thinking that those missing glasses are the key to everything.’
They arrived at the Yard and made a dash for the cover of the back entrance through the persistent rain.
‘The superintendent’s been asking for you,’ Barton told Riley.
‘Thank you. Anything else I should know?’
‘A whole load of things, I dare say,’ Barton replied, ‘but it ain’t for me to enlighten you.’
Riley sent the desk sergeant a pained look. ‘Help like yours I can do without.’
‘Ah, you might think that, but you wouldn’t be the first to discover you’re wrong.’
‘Very likely.’ Riley chuckled, preferring Barton’s good-natured jibes to his previous attitude of non-cooperation. ‘And since I have your attention, I shall need some help to keep watch on a suspect.’
Barton rolled his eyes. ‘You want Peterson again, I suppose. I keep telling you, he’s more use to me than he is to you.’ He gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘All right, you can have him for a couple of days, but I want him back after that. It’s the best I can do.’
‘A couple of days will be enough. Thank you, Sergeant.’
‘My pleasure, I’m sure,’ the older man replied, turning to yell at a hapless constable who had done something to offend his superior.
Riley left them to it, returned to his office and threw himself into his chair. There were no helpful messages awaiting him among the half dozen on his desk that pointed to the identity of the killer. Riley thrust them aside with a disgruntled sigh.
‘All these suspects and we don’t have enough proof to charge any of them,’ he said.
‘We ain’t spoken to Lady Eldridge’s son yet.’
‘No.’ Riley pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at the time. ‘It’s getting late, Jack. Brief Carter, Soames and Peterson about keeping watch on Kempton. They can take it in shifts. Then get on home and we’ll come at this fresh tomorrow. I shall report to the superintendent on our progress—or lack thereof—and then be off myself.’
‘Right you are then, sir. Don’t look so downhearted. We’ll get him eventually. We usually do.’
They did, Riley conceded, as he watched his sergeant leave his office. But this time it was personal, and if something didn’t break soon he would be duty bound to read the letters that had enabled Rod Woodrow to blackmail his sister-in-law.