The Architect of Murder Page 11

  I felt the thump as I clipped him, and turned to follow as he passed.

  Nothing happened.

  Half a second later he let out an almighty cry, stumbled, cursed, and ploughed headlong into the paving stones. He tumbled, rolled, and rolled again. I pounced, straddling his prone form as he struggled to his feet. In an instant I had the stick under his chin, and tugged him backwards, pulling him off balance.

  O’Donnell — on his knees — gripped the stick and tried to pull it away. I was too strong for him.

  Truegood arrived a second later, grabbed one of O’Donnell’s wrists, and twisted it. O’Donnell flipped around like a child’s rag doll and before he could cry out again, Truegood had both his hands handcuffed behind his back.

  “I’m glad you used that bloody stick for something,” he said to me as he pulled O’Donnell up without effort. “Come on, son, let’s go.” He crooked his arm under O’Donnell’s and steered him towards the Palace.

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “Grab the first growler you see. We’ll go to Rochester Row nick. Now, what was that all about?”

  “I don’t want any trouble, Truegood,” O’Donnell said in a smooth Irish brogue.

  “I think you mean ‘Mr Truegood’, don’t you, O’Donnell — or Donnelly — which one is it today?” He raised O’Donnell’s arm further up his back, resulting in a canine yelp.

  “Sorry, that’s what I meant, boss.”

  “If you didn’t want any trouble what did you leg it for?”

  “Because every time you and me have a chat, it means trouble.”

  This piece of irrefutable logic coincided with the appearance of a four-wheeler and after a brief explanation to the driver we were all seated inside. I’d not been in one for years and had forgotten what an uncomfortable, bumpy journey they afforded. Truegood and I sat opposite O’Donnell, who had to lean forward because of the restraints.

  “Tell me about your current employment,” said Truegood.

  “I can’t do that, Mr Truegood. If I told everyone what I was up to, I wouldn’t be a very good private agent, would I?”

  “You aren’t.” Truegood leant forward so his nose was only a couple of inches from O’Donnell’s face. “I do the jokes around here. It wouldn’t do for a private agent to get banged up and tell the traps everything he knows, would it? So either you spend a few days being interrogated and I put the word out that you told us everything about the Russians and the French and the whole lot; or, you sing here — now — and I’ll drop you off in Covent Garden so you can report to Moser. And I nearly forgot: if you choose the first option, I’ll break your fucking legs.”

  O’Donnell’s pale face blanched and he swallowed loudly. “I think I’ll choose the second option, Mr Truegood. Was it my current job for Mr Moser you were interested in?”

  “How many current jobs have you got?” Truegood answered.

  “Four.”

  “Stick to Moser.”

  “Mr Moser has me following Dr Drayton until he leaves for Cape Town on Sunday. I report his comings and goings and everything in between.”

  “Before that.”

  “Yer, two weeks ago Mr Moser had me looking for a feller called Lowenstein. Eric Lowenstein. He turned up dead yesterday. He was living in a room off the Tottenham Court Road, calling himself Isaacs.”

  “Where?”

  “Tottenham Street, number eighteen.”

  “How did you find out about it?”

  “Come on, Mr Truegood, I can’t tell you that.”

  “I already know how you found out, O’Donnell, but you’re going to tell me anyway. If you don’t, I’ll lock you up as a suspect because I happen to be investigating Lowenstein’s murder, and you haven’t convinced me that you didn’t do it. Convince me you didn’t find Lowenstein on Tuesday and then go back late that night and do him in. You or Moser.”

  “That’s not my style, Mr Truegood, you know that. Sure, if I’d found Lowenstein, I would’ve gone straight to Mr Moser and told him, because he said he’d pay a bounty. But I didn’t. I spent most of my time looking for Lowenstein in the East End, but I happened to be at the Autonomie Club yesterday morning when I overheard…people…talking about what had happened in the Tottenham Street house.”

  Truegood stuck his head out of the carriage and told the driver to take us to Covent Garden. Then he turned back to O’Donnell. “They were asking Grigor Lischinsky what had happened?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said O’Donnell, extremely agitated.

  “Yeah, you do. Seeing as O’Donnell seems to have developed a temporary case of amnesia, allow me to explain for him, Major. Moser, O’Donnell’s employer, works for the French police, keeping track of our anarchist community here. The Russian anarchists, and their nihilist pals, are an especially difficult group to infiltrate, but of particular concern to our French colleagues. O’Donnell is the only one of Moser’s agents provocateurs that brings him reliable intelligence on the Russians, because he speaks Russian fluently. He also speaks French like a native and the bloody Russians think he’s a Frog, don’t they?”

  “I have some small talent for languages, but I don’t know any Lischinsky,” said O’Donnell.

  “You know just as well as I do that Ilyin is really Lischinsky, and you also know he’s an Okhrana agent.”

  “Are there actually any anarchists in these subversive groups?” I asked.

  Truegood grinned. “Not many, despite what the Frogs think. But I bet that’s because you and Moser are feeding them plenty of bollocks about the place swarming with mad bombers so you keep getting paid. Yeah, O’Donnell, we know all about it. Now, if you don’t want me to turn this growler around, you really need to convince me it wasn’t you who got rid of Lowenstein.”

  “But I don’t do the rough stuff, I’ve got too much upstairs for that. I’m a sneak, you know I am, Mr Truegood. I ask questions, I keep my ear to the ground, and that’s all. Everybody knows that.”

  “How do I know you didn’t find Lowenstein and pass it on to Moser?”

  “You don’t, but I didn’t.”

  “You’re not filling me with confidence, O’Donnell. I think it’s time we changed direction.” He put his head out the window again.

  “Mr Truegood!” squeaked O’Donnell. “Look, Mr Moser hired me to find this Lowenstein feller. He didn’t tell me why, and he didn’t tell me who he was working for. He never does, although I know the Paris traps pay him good coin. All he said was that Lowenstein was probably in hiding and probably using a false name. I’ve never been to Tottenham Street, and I had no idea Lowenstein was there. As soon as I found out I told Mr Moser, and as soon as I told him, he put me onto this Drayton feller, staying at Devonshire House.”

  “What are your orders regarding Drayton?” I asked.

  “Just like I said. I’m to follow him until he leaves London and take note of where he goes — nothing else. I told you I don’t do rough stuff, it’s not worth the worries.”

  Truegood caught my eye, and I wasn’t sure what he was getting at until he asked, “Does the name Armstrong mean anything to you?”

  “Yer, I know two gents by that name. A Jock feller that works at the docks in Little Barbary, and an Irish ponce in Lambeth. What about them?”

  “Never mind.” Truegood turned back to me and I shook my head. I didn’t think O’Donnell was lying. “You’re still not much good to me,” said Truegood, addressing O’Donnell.

  Truegood moved to call the driver again, but O’Donnell lurched forward, “Wait, Mr Truegood, wait!”

  “What?”

  “I’ll give you something useful, so I will. I’ll tell you who did it.”

  “Who did what?” Truegood said.

  “I’ll tell you who killed Lowenstein, who the feller in the wideawake hat was.”

  Truegood and I exchanged glances again before he said, “Get on with it.”

  “It was the Russians.”

  “Grigor Lischinsky?�
�� Truegood laughed. “Now you really are wasting my time.”

  “Hold on, Mr Truegood, hold on. I don’t know if it was Ilyin that actually beat Lowenstein to death, but he set it up. I know he’s involved, because he was very nervous at the club when they asked him about it. And it makes perfect sense. Have you heard of a feller called Carey?”

  “Yeah, is that — ”

  “Lieutenant Francis Carey, the big game hunter?” I interrupted.

  “And not just big game, but the ladies too. Do you know about that, sir?” O’Donnell asked me.

  “A little, but I better know more before this journey ends, or it won’t just be the inspector you have to contend with.”

  “I’ll tell you, sir, I’ll tell you. Carey has a bad reputation with the ladies, but it doesn’t keep them away from him. Lord Curzon hates his guts because he had an affair with Curzon’s missis before they were married. He even spread rumours that Carey was working for the Russians in Afghanistan, but that’s nonsense. The Russians hate Carey even more than Curzon does, because he’s supposed to have been involved with their empress. I know, I speak the lingo, remember? Carey had to leave Russia pretty damn quick a couple of years ago. But he’s got a thing for the Russian ladies because he’s been courting Countess Thécla —”

  “Sadly, O’Donnell, I’ve read News of the World. You’re not telling me anything new,” I said.

  “No, I am, just hear me out. The countess is Baron de Staal’s daughter — his only daughter — and whatever his feelings about Carey and the empress, he’s determined to make sure old Romeo never lays a finger on his Juliet or ruins her reputation. This baron has a name as a hard man in Russia — and that’s saying something. He wants Carey removed from the field of play, so he’s put the Okhrana on the job. The Ilyins realised that Lowenstein was someone of means and that he was in hiding, so they knew his murder would set the cat among the pigeons. They probably used another Okhrana agent to do the dirty work, but they set up the murder. They had Lowenstein killed to frame Carey.”

  “And how did they frame Carey, genius?” asked Truegood.

  O’Donnell frowned, confused. “The hat, Mr Truegood, the big hat.”

  “How the hell does that frame Carey?”

  “Because everybody knows he wears one all the time.”

  14. Intrigue at the Zoological Gardens

  We dropped off O’Donnell — sans darbies — in Shaftesbury Avenue. Truegood shouted to the driver to take us to Tottenham Street, then shook his head. “The last time I heard anything that ridiculous was when they put the finger on the Duke of Clarence for the Ripper murders. I should’ve collared him, shouldn’t I? Except there might — just might — be a grain of truth in amongst all that claptrap, which is why we’re off to pay the Lischinskys another visit. If they’re not at home, we’ll have another look in their rooms as well.”

  “You, not we,” I said. “I’m already late for an appointment, and I don’t fancy any more time in this bonesetter either. I’ll get off in Tottenham Court Road and find a cab.”

  Truegood grunted an ungracious reply. “I’ve heard a great deal about this Carey in the last few days. Soldier, hunter, lover, traitor… I’ve also heard rumours he hires his services as an assassin. Is that true?”

  “You mean,” asked Truegood, “as in, is he available for hire to kill inconvenient witnesses?”

  “Or Colonial Secretaries.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. I’ve no idea if he kills for money, but I can tell you this: if he was hiring himself out to every Tom, Dick, and Harry to do their dirty work, he wouldn’t be wearing his damned trademark hat, would he?”

  “You have a point there, but that wouldn’t stop the Russians from using it to impersonate him. I didn’t mention it before, but I happen to know he’s also the right size for the penang lawyer, in addition to Armstrong and Colonel Rhodes. We could do with finding out if he carries one.”

  Truegood ignored my observation. “It’s absolutely bloody ludicrous, but if you were an Okhrana agent and the word was out that Carey had to be kept away from this baron’s daughter — ”

  “And you realised there was a man of substance hiding from persecutors in your very own lodgings, then you might just take advantage of the situation. It’s possible, but the main point against it is what you initially said about the Russians: they’re trying to keep a low profile, so would they risk blowing their cover?”

  “Probably not. Depends how influential this ambassador is. Where are you going?”

  “It’s a private matter.”

  “Oh yeah, well make sure you check with your hotel; when I’ve finished in Fitzroy I’m going looking for Lamb and Aitken, and if they’ve found Rose I’ll need your help. Mr M won’t give me any more men with the coronation tomorrow.”

  I nodded my agreement.

  When we reached Tottenham Court Road, I exchanged the four-wheeler for a hansom. It was a quarter past three when the driver turned from Upper Baker Street into Sussex Place. The road was a semi-circle facing the south-western side of Regent’s Park, with a terrace in the form of an immense block of white stucco adorned with gourd-shaped cupolas and belvederes. The view of the park and boating lake was awe-inspiring, and I wondered how much Ellen had paid for number twenty-seven. I knew the house and her African odyssey had accounted for most of the inheritance she’d received when she’d turned twenty-one, in ’ninety-eight.

  The purchase had been against my father’s will, consistent with so many of Ellen’s choices in life. He didn’t think property a wise investment and wanted her to rent, like most people did. When he’d moved to London in ’ninety-six, she’d stayed in Glasgow, living with our aunt while she attended the university. Thus, although she’d owned the house for four years when she died, Ellen had only made it her permanent residence last year, when she’d graduated and begun work at the Zoological Gardens. The house suited her perfectly, with the zoo in the north of the park and the Royal Botanic Gardens in the south, providing the fauna and flora of which she was so fond on her very doorstep. I dismissed the driver, entered the immaculate front garden, and lifted the knocker on the front door.

  It was opened before I could knock.

  “Mr Marshall — hello — I saw you from the window.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Paterson, I’m sorry I’m late.” She was enveloped in a figure-hugging, lacy, cream dress, which would have distracted me from my errand, had it not been so grave.

  “That’s quite all right, do come in.”

  She admitted me into the hall, where I was astonished to find six servants lined up. I was introduced to every one: butler, housekeeper, lady’s maid, cook, parlour maid and scullery maid. Once I’d met them and accepted their kind condolences, Miss Paterson ordered tea and coffee, and took me to the parlour. My heart seemed to stop beating for a second when I saw my own photograph on the mantelpiece, a hurriedly taken portrait in Bloemfontein showing me having received my award. I picked it up and examined it more closely.

  “Ellen was delighted when you sent that,” said Miss Paterson. I didn’t know what to say, and was relieved when she continued. “I was glad you wanted to meet me today, because I wanted to apologise for my conduct on Wednesday.”

  “Apologise?”

  “Please, do sit down. Yes, apologise. Although we’ve corresponded before, I realised afterwards that it must have been something of a shock to you when I launched into my ideas about what really happened to Ellen — not that I don’t stand by what I said, but I realise I was rather judgemental and regret if I offended you in any way.”

  I replaced the photograph and we each sat in a high-backed chair. “That’s very kind of you, but I didn’t take offence, and I have an ulterior motive for meeting you here. I’m afraid I hadn’t the courage to come on my own… ” I was embarrassed. “I couldn’t face the thought of blundering about Ellen’s house like a complete stranger, which I am — to her household, I mean. Though we didn’t see much of one another after
I emigrated, I always believed we were very close. We corresponded monthly, sometimes more often, and of course she spent four months with me before the war… I think what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to feel as if we were strangers, because I fear it was my fault that — to some extent — we were.”

  “I know how Ellen felt about you, and I’m flattered that you find my presence reassuring.”

  “I do. Ellen was the brave one in the family. It takes intelligence, moral courage, and devotion to stand up to society — and men like our father — and do what she did. She must have known that at the end of five years of hard work, she had very little chance of being admitted to the register.”

  “Yes, that’s right. There’s a lady called Miss Cust who graduated from Edinburgh the year before Ellen finished at Glasgow. The Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons wouldn’t allow her to take their examination, so Ellen knew what to expect. She was a remarkable woman. Not only a great friend to me, but an inspiration as well. I loved her dearly.”

  Williams, the butler, arrived with tea, coffee, and pastries, and I waited for him to leave before I asked, “Six servants, did Ellen employ them all?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I just thought it was a bit excessive, that’s all.”

  “What on earth makes you say that? My father has ten, although there are three of us living at home. I hope you don’t intend to get rid of any of them.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you move in. Oh.” She raised her hand to her mouth. “I do apologise, I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Ellen left you everything. She… well, I don’t wish to be indelicate, but we were intimate, and she told me that your father had disinherited you. So she left the house in Sussex Place and everything else to you in case something should happen to her.”

  My God.

  If I’d been blessed with the dearest sister in the world, I was cursed to have had her plucked from me so soon. A single tear rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away, but couldn’t think of anything to say.