Chapter Nine
Riley barely had time to return to his office and mull over the interview with Archer before Salter returned.
‘Raining cats and dogs out there, so it is.’ Salter threw himself into the chair on the other side of Riley’s desk and rubbed rainwater from his whiskered chin. ‘Wainwright, the agent’s here. Had to tell him why he was wanted. He seems right upset.’ Salter looked edgy. ‘How did it go with Reggie, sir? Am I at least allowed to ask?’
‘Stop being petulant, Jack. You’re better than that.’
‘Not when it comes to Reggie, I ain’t. He brings out the worst in me. Always has.’ He let out a long-suffering breath. ‘Well, he’s on his own this time. I’ve no intention of scuppering my career for his worthless sake.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. He gave a convincing show of shock when I told him about Miss Mottram’s pregnancy.’
‘You believe him?’
Riley could see that Salter wanted him to and wished he could give him a definitive response. ‘I’m inclined to, but what I think won’t be enough. As things stand, he’s still the main suspect.’
Riley went on to tell Salter about the ownership of the knife.
‘Well then, if Reggie’s telling the truth for once, then it casts doubt over his guilt.’
Despite his determination to wash his hands of his wife’s nephew, Riley detected relief in his sergeant’s eyes. ‘Not necessarily, Jack. You wouldn’t be so quick to exonerate any other suspect on those grounds alone. Reggie could have taken that knife and then deliberately dropped it to cast suspicion elsewhere.’
‘That would imply that he’d thought about it beforehand and went armed with the deliberate intention of committing cold-blooded, premeditated murder.’ Salter shook his head. ‘I don’t have a high opinion of Reggie, but I don’t reckon he’s capable of doing something like that, even if he did know about the gal’s pregnancy and felt slighted ’cause she flirted with him, went into a questionable partnership with him and then lay with another man. He’s a dreamer, not a killer.’
‘We shall have a talk with Miss Bowden and take the measure of her, then we’ll have a clearer picture of what went on in that studio.’
Salter snorted. ‘No good, I should imagine.’ He paused. ‘How come a well-to-do girl like Miss Bowden ends up touring England unescorted? It don’t seem…well, seemly.’
‘We don’t know that she is, but that’s another question that we will put to her in due course. Before that, there’s more you should know.’
Salter’s expression turned forbidding when he learned that his nephew had passed his own paintings off as Miss Mottram’s work.
‘Typical of the conniving little scapegrace.’
‘He hasn’t actually broken any laws, Jack. He’s a fine artist in his own right but became frustrated because he couldn’t get the acclaim he felt he deserved.’
‘He ain’t exactly spent years living on the breadline or starving in some freezing attic for the sake of his art,’ Salter pointed out. ‘He’s not even thirty.’
‘Be that as it may, he saw an opportunity when he noticed how Miss Mottram used her wiles to get herself noticed, and it gave him an idea. He could either play up to some rich old biddy who’d be taken in by his charms, recognise his talent and agree to sponsor him, or use Miss Mottram’s willingness to work for their mutual advantage.’
Salter snorted. ‘There’s a name for men who live off women.’
‘You’re being too hard on the lad. His behaviour is a matter for his conscience, not the law.’
‘Well then, he won’t be having too many sleepless nights on account of his not having a conscience.’
‘Remain focused, Jack. We’re here to enforce the law, not criticise your nephew’s judgement.’ Riley spoke with firm authority. ‘Just about every man we’ve spoken to who knew Miss Mottram was affected by the acquaintance to a greater or lesser degree. And for what it’s worth, I think your nephew genuinely did not love her. Whether she felt slighted by the rejection I have yet to decide. I get the impression that our supposedly innocent little victim thought only of herself, knew the affect she had on men, used it to her advantage and probably didn’t take kindly to failing with any man.’
‘And that attitude got her killed.’ Salter sighed.
‘Yes.’ Riley stood. ‘Let’s have a word with the agent who liked her work. Or should I say, Reggie’s work.’
The agent was a tall man in his forties with sparse hair and a thick waistline. He stood when Riley entered the room.
‘Mr Wainwright. I am Inspector Rochester. Thank you for coming in. I regret the necessity for my sergeant to bring you such bad news.’
The man inclined his head, looking genuinely distraught. ‘Naturally I will help in any way that I can. It’s a travesty to have such a talent cut down in its prime.’ He shook Riley’s outstretched hand and settled back in his chair. ‘What can I do to be of assistance?’
‘I would be interested to know how the lady first came to your attention.’
‘Reggie Archer mentioned her to me. I call at his studio once every month or two, just to see if any undiscovered talent has found its way to his door that might have some commercial value.’
‘I understand that French impressionists are in vogue?’
‘True for now, but art doesn’t stand still. It only takes one influential person to support a new style and collectors follow that lead.’
‘But seascapes?’ Riley allowed his scepticism to show. ‘A little passé, I’d have thought.’
Wainwright offered a patronising smile. ‘That rather depends upon the artist’s interpretation, inspector. Nowadays his or her character can make almost as much impact. It’s all about being a little different, I suppose.’
Riley nodded. ‘You met the lady, and she made more of an impression upon you than her work?’
‘Naturally I met her, quite by chance. She happened to be at Archer’s studio when I called in one evening.’
‘She wasn’t aware that you would be coming?’
‘Heavens, no! If I gave advance warning, I’d be swamped with aspiring talent—most of it unsaleable.’
‘So what made Miss Mottram, as you put it, saleable? Was it her work, or the lady herself?’
‘A little of both, inspector, I won’t deny it. I noticed her the moment I walked into that crowded room. She stood out like a beacon, and not just because she was young and pretty.’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t explain it. There was just something about her. A confidence, I suppose.’ He scratched his head, as though he himself was still attempting to decide what had attracted his attention. ‘It was as though she knew she would succeed. That it would be simply a matter of time before her talent was recognised.’
‘Even when she didn’t paint the pictures in question?’
Wainwright blinked like a startled owl. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘You heard the inspector.’ Salter removed himself from the wall and leaned over the table, pushing his face towards Wainwright’s—his favourite form of intimidation. ‘You’re supposed to be an expert, so I reckon you’d know Reggie Archer’s hand when you see it.’
Wainwright sank lower in his chair. ‘I do, and he’s got a rare talent.’ He held up his hands and Salter retreated to his place against the wall. ‘He’s a handsome young man, but the art world abounds with handsome young and talented men. All the gallery owners I have dealings with were looking for an alternative.’
‘So you suggested that he pass off his work as Miss Mottram’s?’ Riley asked.
‘Actually, it was Miss Mottram who put the idea to me. I looked at her actual work and expressed my disappointment. I knew it wouldn’t make the grade, whereas she herself was very saleable. She knew it too, and came up with the suggestion of passing Archer’s work off as her own. She said they were frustrated by the fads of pernickety collectors, that jointly they had what it took to succeed—’
‘Archer could paint the seascapes, and Miss Mottram could be the new face in the art world?’
‘Precisely. She said that it wasn’t illegal, and it would benefit the three of us. I could see merit in the suggestion—’
‘Beat them at their own game?’ Riley remarked.
‘Quite, so I thought why not? Pickings have been slim recently and we all have to eat. I reckoned I could get one or two gallery owners interested, especially if Miss Mottram met them in person and they saw how saleable and persuasive she could be.’
‘Manson met her?’ Riley asked.
‘He did. He planned to have one of his regular open evenings in the near future, at which artists meet potential purchasers. She would have attended and charmed them into opening their wallets, I have absolutely no doubt. But in actual fact, one of her canvases sold for the full price within days of being exhibited. I was shocked rigid, and delighted, too.’
‘Miss Mottram repelled your advances,’ Riley said after a short pause.
‘What? No! Nothing like that.’
Riley fixed him with a hard look and said nothing.
‘Yes, all right.’ He expelled a long sigh. ‘I did try my luck, I’ll grant you that. The artistic community have different values to ordinary folk and are freer with their favours. But Miss Mottram wasn’t like that and I respected her for it. I can assure you that I didn’t kill her to assuage my hurt feelings. She was worth a great deal more to me alive than dead.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Several weeks ago. I have been touring studios in the north these past few weeks and only returned to London yesterday. I can give you a full account of my movements, if you will kindly tell me when you think the crime was committed.’
Salter noted down the necessary details. Riley thanked the man and allowed him to leave.
‘I think we can put him to the bottom of our list, Jack,’ Riley said as they returned to his office.
‘Unless she got greedy and demanded more than her fair share of the proceeds,’ Salter remarked.
‘Which pushes your nephew higher up the list,’ Riley pointed out. ‘Wainwright would have received a standard commission for any sales made. Archer is the only one who would have lost out.’
‘Aye, right you are. He would have resented that, given he did the work and she got all the credit. All well and good if he loved the lass and assumed they’d have a future together, but then she ups and tells him she’s having another man’s baby.’ Salter shook his head, looking genuinely troubled, as well he should. ‘Wish I could talk to him, one to one. I’d get the truth out of him and I’d know if he was lying to me.’
‘Stay away from him, Jack.’ Riley’s tone turned to granite. ‘If you go anywhere near him, I won’t be able to do anything to protect you.’
‘I know it, sir, but it’s damned frustrating. Still an’ all,’ Salter said as they entered Riley’s office, ‘I can’t help thinking that our Miss Mottram was a tad manipulative. All these men dancing to her tune. She was playing with fire, and that’s a fact.’
‘But she didn’t deserve to be killed.’ Riley looked up as Carter tapped on his door. ‘Ah, you’re back. Is Mottram with you?’
‘He is, sir.’
‘How did he take the news?’
‘Surprisingly calmly. We’ve just now come from the hospital. He identified his daughter’s body, which seemed to bring it all home to him. He’s a bit shaken up. I’ve put him in an interview room. Wasn’t sure where you’d want him.’
‘Bring him in here please. I take it you haven’t told him anything.’
Carter scratched his head. ‘He hasn’t asked much. Not that I could have answered his questions, even if he had.’
‘Right then, go and fetch him. Then take yourself off to Dulwich, to this address.’ He handed over a piece of paper with the address in question written on it. ‘Miss Rachel Bowden is an American who knew the victim. I need to speak with her. Bring her back here with you, please.’ Riley held up a hand. ‘No, on second thoughts, don’t bother. Salter and I need to speak with both Vermont men after we’ve talked to Mottram, and to Renshaw as well for that matter. We might as well go down to Dulwich ourselves.’ Carter nodded and went off to fetch Mottram. ‘It’s going to be a long day, Jack,’ Riley said, sighing as he awaited Mottram’s arrival.
Riley and Salter both stood when Carter returned.
‘Mr Mottram, sir,’ Carter said, ushering a tall, thin and soberly attired man into the room, then retreating and closing the door behind him.
‘I am Inspector Rochester,’ Riley said, extending his hand. ‘And this is Sergeant Salter. I am very sorry for the circumstances that necessitated this meeting.’
Apart from signs of strain around the eyes, Mottram appeared to be holding up with remarkable stoicism given that he had just come from identifying his daughter’s body. ‘Thank you, inspector. This is not easy for me, as I am sure you can imagine. One does not anticipate the need to bury one’s own children, no matter how wilful and independently-minded they might be. It ought to be the other way around.’
‘Wilful?’ He motioned Mottram to Salter’s vacated chair and resumed his own behind his desk, a little taken aback but the man’s bluntness. But then again, grief manifested itself in many guises. ‘You do not seem terribly surprised by the violent nature of your daughter’s demise.’
Mottram let out a long breath. ‘She liked to take risks, inspector, and I will admit that I’d lost control of her. My daughter refused to listen to any of the advice I or her brothers offered her, and always thought she knew better.’
‘Brothers?’
‘I have two married sons who have settled close to me in Devon, and one married daughter.’
‘Miss Mottram has a sister?’
‘Good heavens, no.’ Mottram sent Riley a surprised look. ‘I am referring to Melanie herself.’
Riley widened his eyes. ‘She was married?’
‘Oh yes, and I am sorry to say that she walked out of her marriage when she became bored with it. But then that was Melanie all over. She had no sense of duty.’
‘That is why you wrote to her, urging her to recall the duty in question, and then cut off all connection with her when she declined.’
Mottram inclined his head. ‘Precisely so. David Treadwell is a fine upstanding young man. I was delighted when he asked for my permission to propose to Melanie. I gave that permission, more in hope than expectation of it meeting with success. No one was more surprised than me when she accepted him.’
‘Why did that surprise you?’ Riley asked.
‘David is a local solicitor from a good family; steady and reliable, whereas Melanie is…was, flighty and fun-loving. They were direct opposites, but I have heard it said more than once that opposites do attract, so I allowed myself to hope, probably because I wanted it to work.’ Mottram scratched his chin. ‘She and I did not see eye to eye. Her mother died when Melanie was still small and I’m afraid her brothers and I overindulged her, so the fault for the defects in her character is partly mine. She didn’t have sufficient guidance and discipline early enough for it to influence her. She seemed to think that whatever she wanted would be hers for the taking simply because she was an engaging little minx and the three men in her life danced to her tune.’
‘You over-compensated for the loss of her mother,’ Riley surmised.
‘Perhaps, but I didn’t realise it at the time. Anyway, she reached marriageable age, mixed in local society and was inundated with attention. At that point, when I saw the way she behaved, flaunting herself in front of the young men who were attracted to her, I tried to stop the rot. But of course it was too late. We quarrelled frequently. I laid down the law, confined her to the house before her behaviour could disgrace us all and insisted that she only accept invitations that I deemed appropriate.’
‘I’m a father myself, sir,’ Salter said when Mottram finally paused. ‘I understand how difficult it must have been for you to attempt to control a wilful child.’
‘Yes well, I encouraged the match when David showed an interest in her. I thought he would be the steadying influence she needed but didn’t think there was much hope of her reciprocating his feelings.’ He shuffled in his chair, his expression full of guilt. ‘I should have realised when she did that it was for all the wrong reasons. However, it does no good to repine. It won’t bring her back, or make David feel any better about being deserted.’
‘How long were they married?’ Riley asked.
‘Two years. Then one day she walked out and simply didn’t come back. She wrote to me once she obtained the position with Vermont, told me she had reverted to her maiden name and that nothing on this earth would persuade her to return to David. She said that he stifled her creativity, whatever the devil that was supposed to mean, and that she wasn’t cut out for a life of rural domesticity.’
‘You could have forced her to return by revealing the fact that she had lied to the agency and to Vermont,’ Riley pointed out. ‘So too could her husband.’
‘We discussed the possibility, David and I, but he advised against it. Damned generous of him, if you ask me. He doesn’t hold her desertion against me personally and we have remained friends. His attitude was that one couldn’t cage a free spirit and that the marriage had been a mistake. He couldn’t be what she wanted him to be, which was frivolous, I suppose. He also recognised that she wouldn’t change and would never make him a good wife.’
‘Theirs wouldn’t have been the first mésalliance in history,’ Riley said mildly. ‘I am surprised though that Treadwell hasn’t sought a divorce. He had more than adequate grounds and obviously couldn’t remarry with a wife still living, should the desire take him.’ Although of course, Riley thought but did not add, his wife’s murder saved him from the stigma of divorce—a situation that a rural solicitor with a reputation to uphold would likely prefer to avoid. He would have to speak with Treadwell and had already added his name to the list of suspects.
‘If you were acquainted with David then you would understand,’ Mottram replied. ‘He is one of the finest men I know, and was completely besotted with my daughter.’ He shook his head. ‘It is so very sad. He will be devastated when he learns of her death. I think a small part of him always hoped that she would return to him once she’d had a taste of freedom. He is a respectable middle-classed gentleman with a prosperous career. Any number of women have him in their sights but he eschews them all. He shows no interest in marrying again and his reputation is beyond reproach. He’s very much a one-woman man.’
‘There must be talk locally,’ Salter said. ‘His marriage to your daughter was no secret. Don’t they wonder where she is?’
‘We put it about that she’s gone abroad to recover from a wasting disease.’ Mottram gave a hollow laugh. ‘No one was deceived but such is the respect locally for David that no one contested that fiction either.’
‘There were no children?’ Riley asked.
‘No. David hoped there would be, thinking that a child might help to temper Melanie’s restlessness.’ He sighed and crossed his legs as he shuffled into a more comfortable position, his expression distracted. ‘Perhaps it’s as well that didn’t happen. Melanie was not the maternal type.’
‘You, your sons and Treadwell have had no contact with Miss Mottram since the cessation of your letters?’
‘We have not.’ He looked Riley squarely in the eye. ‘My sons terminated all contact with her the moment she walked out. They were disgusted by her selfishness and wanted nothing more to do with her. David was not prepared to beg, and although he knew where she had gone, he didn’t attempt to contact her. He has his pride and she has already made him look like a big enough fool.’
‘Have you told him?’
‘No. There was no time. I was shocked when your detectives arrived and needed time to resign myself, if you follow my meaning. I have not even told my sons, but I suppose I shall have to.’
‘I understand that your feelings are conflicted,’ Riley said, not without sympathy. ‘When all’s said and done, she was your only daughter.’
‘Quite. Melanie and I were estranged, but I shall always blame myself for the way things turned out. If I had done things differently, been firmer with her…’
‘I shall have to speak with Mr Treadwell,’ Riley said, almost to himself. ‘If you will give me his details I will arrange for a telegram to be sent and ask him to come up to London at his earliest convenience.’
‘He will be devastated,’ Mottram said, showing the first signs of real distress.
‘Do you know a man by the name of Renshaw? Peter Renshaw.’
Mottram scowled. ‘What of him?’
‘He gave your daughter one of the references that secured her position with the Vermonts.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ Mottram folded his arms defensively and his scowl intensified. ‘At least he had the decency to leave Devon before he was hounded out.’
‘Please explain,’ Riley invited, leaning back in his chair.
‘He taught mathematics and games at a leading local grammar school. It was a highly sought-after position. He and Melanie were friendly. They attended the same art class, I believe. Anyway, there were rumours that they had become more than friends.’ Riley nodded, sympathetic. ‘David turned a blind eye to his wife’s wild ways but even he had his limits and wasn’t about to let her make a complete fool of him by behaving adulterously.’
‘He had proof?’
‘Only rumours. He told Mel that if it didn’t stop he would have a word with Renshaw’s headmaster, and the man would lose his position.’ Mottram let out a long breath. ‘In the event, it was David who lost his wife. He blames himself. Says that if he had let things be, Melanie might not have left him.’
‘Better to be without a wife who don’t remember her wedding vows,’ Salter, a deeply religious man, grumbled.
‘Quite so, sergeant. I agree with you and I think in retrospect that David now would too. He has found contentment, after a fashion, and his life is more stable without Mel constantly disrupting it.’
Riley allowed a reflective pause. ‘I’m afraid I must tell you that your daughter was carrying a child when she died. I’m sorry.’
Mottram shook his head. ‘That doesn’t surprise me, inspector.’
‘Any idea who the father might have been?’
‘Someone in a position of authority,’ Mottram replied without hesitation. ‘Melanie knew her own worth and, I’m sorry to say, wouldn’t be above selling herself to get ahead.’
Which confirmed Riley’s own suspicions, but didn’t narrow down the suspect pool much.
Mottram extracted a watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at the time. ‘If there is nothing more I can help you with, you must excuse me. I must make the necessary arrangements, send telegrams to my sons and so forth. If David is to come to London, we can make the arrangements together. We shall take Melanie home and give her a decent burial. At least then our story about the wasting disease might…although I suppose I am being naïve.’ He glanced up at Riley. ‘The newspapers will reveal her name. It can’t be brushed under the carpet, I imagine.’
‘I’m afraid not, sir. If you will kindly give my sergeant the name of the hotel you intend to stay at, then we will know where to find you if there is anything else we need to speak to you about.’
Mottram named his hotel, a modest establishment close to Waterloo Station, and also gave them Treadwell’s particulars. Riley stood to shake his hand and Salter showed him out.
‘Poor man,’ Riley said when Salter returned.
‘Aye, parenthood ain’t for the fainthearted.’
‘And we now have another suspect to add to our list.’
‘The cuckolded husband, you mean?’
‘I do indeed, Jack. He sounds a little too forgiving for my taste, and Mottram seemed determined to paint him as the wronged party—even at the expense of his own daughter’s reputation.’
‘Sounds like he was.’
‘He wasn’t that upset about his daughter’s death, but he didn’t think to inform the husband who was supposedly waiting patiently for her return, or his sons either, for that matter. Can’t help wondering why not.’
‘Presumably because we’d have asked Treadwell to come up to town as well, if we’d known about him. Once he realised that we didn’t, Mottram decided to pave the way by painting a holier-than-thou picture of the wronged husband.’ Salter nodded. ‘I see what you’re getting at, sir.’
‘The implication is that Mottram suspects him of having run out of patience. Think about it, Jack. If Miss Mottram did contact her husband, telling him she was pregnant, or if he somehow found out, he would be deemed responsible by law for a child that wasn’t his. That might have been one humiliation too far, even for the mildest mannered of men.’
‘Why would she have contacted him, sir? We know she was determined to make her name as an artist and was on the brink of doing just that, with Reggie’s connivance.’
‘She didn’t plan that pregnancy, Jack, and if the father was unwilling or unable to marry her…well, he couldn’t even if he wasn’t married himself because she was—married that is.’
Salter scratched his head. ‘Blimey, it’s all getting a bit complicated.’
‘And Miss Mottram wasn’t the type to take chances that would scupper her ambitions. So it begs the question, why did she risk it?’
‘Perhaps she’d finally found a man whose affections she returned. Ironic or what?’ Salter chuckled. ‘She wouldn’t be the first woman to throw caution to the wind for the sake of love.’
‘There’s Renshaw, too. He’s lied to us, albeit by omission. I can’t help wondering how he thought he’d get away with it. He obviously followed Miss Mottram to Dulwich and took a backward step in his career, just to be close to her. That implies that his feelings for her ran deep.’ Riley dragged a hand down the length of his neck. ‘I would dearly love to know what they were really arguing about that day when Vermont’s daughter saw them.’
‘If he’d found out that she was expecting and he wasn’t the father, after everything he’d sacrificed for her sake.’ Salter looked grim. ‘Perhaps she’d finally pushed him too far.’
‘Cheer up, Jack. The more suspects we acquire, the more the odds lengthen regarding your nephew’s guilt. That should ease Mrs Salter’s mind.’
Salter grunted. ‘I’m ecstatic.’
‘So I observe.’ Riley sent his sergeant a droll look and reached for his hat. ‘Come along. Let’s get ourselves some lunch, then we’ll go off to Dulwich. But before we do, have Carter send that telegram to Treadwell right away please. Oh, and have him come down to Dulwich later today with Soames, once they’ve finished up here. I want them talking to everyone in the village, especially the landlords of those two taverns. There’s always a busybody or two in these places who sees and hears everything. I need all the gossip they can gather regarding Miss Mottram, and I specifically need to know if anyone saw her arriving back in Dulwich on the night in question. More specifically still, was she alone or did they see anyone following her?’
‘Right, I’ll arrange it.’