Read Online After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery) by Dolores Gordon-Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dolores Gordon-Smith
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commit a murder, wouldn’t it, Bill? Wait until the intended victim has announced she’s going away for an indefinite period, bump her off, hide the body, and it could be weeks before anyone raises the alarm.’
‘M’yes,’ said Bill. ‘Signora Bianchi would have to come back to the cottage, of course.’
‘There might be any number of reasons why she’d do that. She could’ve received a message saying there was some crisis or other, or someone could’ve arranged to meet her there. The person who sent the message would have to know where she was, of course, but if he – I say he for convenience – was planning a murder, that’s not too far-fetched. There is another explanation, of course. Rather than being the victim, Signora Bianchi could be the murderer. She could’ve asked an unsuspecting victim into her cottage easily enough’
‘Blimey, Jack, isn’t this complicated enough for you as it is? The trouble, as I see it, is that Askern didn’t believe anything untoward had happened, and neither, by the sound of things, did this Constable Shaw. The result is that he wouldn’t have made a proper investigation and so what we’re left with is Miss Wingate’s story.’
‘You believe me, Mr Rackham, don’t you?’ asked Betty urgently.
‘Oh yes,’ said Bill heartily. Just a shade too heartily to be absolutely convincing to someone who knew him well, thought Jack. ‘Absolutely, I do.’ However it reassured Betty Wingate, who looked relieved.
‘And can you do something about it? The local police won’t lift a finger, but you’re Scotland Yard, aren’t you? I mean, you’re in a different league. I’ve told you what happened and if you investigate it properly, then I’m sure you’ll find something, something to prove this poor woman has been murdered.’
Bill rubbed the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Miss Wingate, I don’t know if I can. It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid.’
Betty Wingate’s brows drew together. There was a flash of anger in her blue eyes. ‘You don’t believe me! You said you did and I thought you would, but it’s just like talking to Colin and Aunt Maud and everyone else.’
‘It’s not a question of belief,’ said Jack, hastily throwing some metaphorical oil on these troubled waters. ‘As you said, Bill is part of Scotland Yard. But Scotland Yard can’t just roll up off their own bat. What happens is the local police force have to be faced with a crime that the Chief Constable decides they need specialist help with. That usually means something big, like murder, which the local chaps have probably never dealt with before and where the solution isn’t obvious. So they call in the experts, who are the Scotland Yard detectives, to conduct the investigation. A lot of Chief Constables don’t like calling in the Yard as they see it as an admission of failure.’ He grinned disarmingly. ‘They have to be convinced that a crime has occurred, of course, and it isn’t just, if you’ll excuse the phrase, a mare’s nest.’
Betty was visibly mollified. ‘I didn’t know that’s how it worked. In the films, Scotland Yard just come and catch the crook.’
‘That’s films for you,’ commented Jack wryly. ‘Real life with the awkward bits left out.’
‘I can’t believe this red tape!’ said Betty passionately. ‘Signora Bianchi has been murdered! I didn’t know her well and I didn’t like her much, but
she’s been murdered
!
I’ve told everyone who I can think of telling, but no one wants to do a thing to help.’
‘We didn’t say that, exactly,’ murmured Jack. ‘Bill brought you to see me, Miss Wingate.’ He put his head on one side and lifted an eyebrow at his friend. ‘I rather think there was a reason for that.’
Bill grinned in embarrassment. ‘It’s an awful cheek. It’s just that …’ He broke off, glanced at Betty, then looked away. ‘I can’t do anything, Jack, but you’re a free agent. Sorry.
‘M’yes,’ said Bill. ‘Signora Bianchi would have to come back to the cottage, of course.’
‘There might be any number of reasons why she’d do that. She could’ve received a message saying there was some crisis or other, or someone could’ve arranged to meet her there. The person who sent the message would have to know where she was, of course, but if he – I say he for convenience – was planning a murder, that’s not too far-fetched. There is another explanation, of course. Rather than being the victim, Signora Bianchi could be the murderer. She could’ve asked an unsuspecting victim into her cottage easily enough’
‘Blimey, Jack, isn’t this complicated enough for you as it is? The trouble, as I see it, is that Askern didn’t believe anything untoward had happened, and neither, by the sound of things, did this Constable Shaw. The result is that he wouldn’t have made a proper investigation and so what we’re left with is Miss Wingate’s story.’
‘You believe me, Mr Rackham, don’t you?’ asked Betty urgently.
‘Oh yes,’ said Bill heartily. Just a shade too heartily to be absolutely convincing to someone who knew him well, thought Jack. ‘Absolutely, I do.’ However it reassured Betty Wingate, who looked relieved.
‘And can you do something about it? The local police won’t lift a finger, but you’re Scotland Yard, aren’t you? I mean, you’re in a different league. I’ve told you what happened and if you investigate it properly, then I’m sure you’ll find something, something to prove this poor woman has been murdered.’
Bill rubbed the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Miss Wingate, I don’t know if I can. It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid.’
Betty Wingate’s brows drew together. There was a flash of anger in her blue eyes. ‘You don’t believe me! You said you did and I thought you would, but it’s just like talking to Colin and Aunt Maud and everyone else.’
‘It’s not a question of belief,’ said Jack, hastily throwing some metaphorical oil on these troubled waters. ‘As you said, Bill is part of Scotland Yard. But Scotland Yard can’t just roll up off their own bat. What happens is the local police force have to be faced with a crime that the Chief Constable decides they need specialist help with. That usually means something big, like murder, which the local chaps have probably never dealt with before and where the solution isn’t obvious. So they call in the experts, who are the Scotland Yard detectives, to conduct the investigation. A lot of Chief Constables don’t like calling in the Yard as they see it as an admission of failure.’ He grinned disarmingly. ‘They have to be convinced that a crime has occurred, of course, and it isn’t just, if you’ll excuse the phrase, a mare’s nest.’
Betty was visibly mollified. ‘I didn’t know that’s how it worked. In the films, Scotland Yard just come and catch the crook.’
‘That’s films for you,’ commented Jack wryly. ‘Real life with the awkward bits left out.’
‘I can’t believe this red tape!’ said Betty passionately. ‘Signora Bianchi has been murdered! I didn’t know her well and I didn’t like her much, but
she’s been murdered
!
I’ve told everyone who I can think of telling, but no one wants to do a thing to help.’
‘We didn’t say that, exactly,’ murmured Jack. ‘Bill brought you to see me, Miss Wingate.’ He put his head on one side and lifted an eyebrow at his friend. ‘I rather think there was a reason for that.’
Bill grinned in embarrassment. ‘It’s an awful cheek. It’s just that …’ He broke off, glanced at Betty, then looked away. ‘I can’t do anything, Jack, but you’re a free agent. Sorry.
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