Hardcastle's Frustration (10 page)

‘I wouldn't be too sure, Gordon,' said Catto pessimistically.

‘It's Friday morning already, Marriott, and we're no further forward with this damned murder.'

‘No, sir.' In fact, Marriott thought that they had made quite significant progress with what he called background enquiries. ‘But we do know that Ronald Parker was in a relationship with Daisy Benson, sir. And as she's probably a prostitute, he might've paid her for his pleasure. We also know that Mavis Parker was not above meeting men at the skating rink. And Mrs Middleton thought that Mavis and her husband weren't getting on too well.'

‘That's as maybe, Marriott, but we still don't know who murdered the man. And talking of Mavis Parker meeting men at the skating rink, have Catto and Lipton found out anything about this here Gilbert Stroud?'

‘Yes, sir. They're in the office now.'

‘Well, fetch 'em in, Marriott, fetch 'em in,' said Hardcastle impatiently.

‘You wanted us, sir?' said Catto, as he and Lipton lined up in front of the DDI's desk.

‘Of course I want you,' barked Hardcastle. ‘Why haven't you reported yet about your observation last evening?'

‘I thought you were busy, sir,' muttered Catto.

‘I'm always busy. Now then, what happened?'

‘We followed Gilbert Stroud, sir, and—'

‘How did you know it was Stroud?' demanded Hardcastle.

‘I spoke to him, sir,' said Lipton.

‘You did
what
?' roared the DDI.

‘Well, sir, we didn't know if the man who'd come out of the skating rink was actually Stroud, so I went up to him and suggested he was an old friend of mine called Tom Pickford. But he said he wasn't, and he told me that his name was Gilbert Stroud.'

‘My God, Marriott, I've never heard the like of it. If you've compromised this business, Lipton, you'll have me to answer to.' Secretly, Hardcastle was quite impressed by Lipton's initiative, but had no intention of telling him as much. It was the sort of ploy he might have used himself in his younger days, but now, as a DDI, he had to take a more responsible and overall view. ‘Anyway, what did you find out?'

‘We followed Stroud, sir,' said Catto hesitantly, ‘and er—'

‘I should hope so. Spit it out, man. I haven't got all day.'

‘No, sir. We followed him and he eventually entered a house in Caversham Road, Kingston, sir. I've written down the details and given them to Sergeant Marriott.'

‘And did you check the voters' list?'

‘Er, no, sir. I thought—'

‘You should never think, Catto, you're not equipped for it. Right, get about your duties, both of you.'

‘I told you he'd find fault, Gordon,' whispered Catto as the two DCs returned to their office opposite the DDI's.

‘What did you say, Catto?' demanded Hardcastle.

‘Er, nothing, sir,' replied Catto.

‘Well, Marriott, at least we know where this Stroud lives,' said Hardcastle.

‘I thought they did a good job, sir,' said Marriott, who was always keen to defend his charges, especially Catto, when they had been successful.

‘I suppose so,' admitted Hardcastle grudgingly. ‘I just hope they weren't spotted.'

‘Do we pay him a visit, sir?'

‘Not yet, Marriott. I want to know a bit more about him first. I'll put Wood on it. He's good at keeping observation. Is he here?'

‘Yes, sir. I'll fetch him in.'

‘Ah, Wood,' said Hardcastle, when Detective Sergeant Herbert Wood appeared in his office. ‘I've got a job for you.' He explained about Gilbert Stroud and his apparent association with Mavis Parker. ‘I want you to find out where this here Stroud works, Wood, but discreet mind.'

‘Very good, sir,' said Wood.

‘Start tomorrow morning.'

‘He might not work on a Saturday, sir.'

‘Everyone works on a Saturday, Wood,' said Hardcastle, ‘but if he don't, then you'll have to take up the observation again on Monday.'

‘Very good, sir.'

‘And now, Marriott,' said Hardcastle, glancing at his watch, ‘we'd better get our own skates on or we'll be late for the inquest.'

Hardcastle strode out to Whitehall and was confronted by a disabled ex-soldier playing a barrel organ. The man wore a grotesque skin-coloured mask, complete with a false moustache and dark glasses, and his free hand held a white stick. The mask was the latest example of an attempt by military hospitals to disguise appalling facial disfigurement from a sensitive public. Pausing only to drop a couple of coins into the man's cap, Hardcastle waved his umbrella at a passing cab and instructed the cab driver to take him and Marriott to the coroner's court in Horseferry Road.

An attendant pulled open the heavy door of the courtroom for Hardcastle and gave him a nod of recognition.

A couple of reporters from local papers lounged in the press box. The public gallery was occupied by a few individuals who seemingly had no interest in the proceedings, but who by their rough appearance were only concerned to find somewhere warm to languish on this cold March day.

There was a rustle of movement as the coroner entered and those in the body of the court scrambled to their feet.

The coroner spent a few moments in whispered conversation with his clerk, and then looked up.

‘In the matter of Ronald Parker, deceased,' he said in a strained voice, glancing at the courtroom clock, and making a note in his ledger.

‘Inspector Hardcastle,' cried the clerk in tones loud enough to have been heard by the DDI if he had been outside in the street.

‘You are Divisional Detective Inspector Ernest Hardcastle of the A or Whitehall Division of the Metropolitan Police,' said the coroner. ‘Is that correct?'

‘It is, sir.'

‘And are you the officer in charge of the investigation into the death of Ronald Parker?'

‘I am, sir.'

‘Perhaps you would afford the court the brief facts, Mr Hardcastle.'

‘The body of Ronald Parker was recovered from the River Thames near Westminster Bridge at approximately eight forty a.m. on Monday the fourth of March this year, sir. It was secured in a sack and the deceased had been shot in the head. The body was later identified by Mr Harold Parker as that of his brother Ronald Parker.'

‘Have your enquiries led you to discover the identity of any person or persons who might have been responsible for this death?'

‘Not at this stage, sir.'

The coroner made a few more notes in his ledger. ‘I shall adjourn this inquest until such time as the police have furthered their enquiries.'

An elderly man stood up behind the table reserved for counsel. ‘I appear on behalf of the Parker family, sir, and make application for the release of the deceased's body.'

‘Do the police have any objections, Mr Hardcastle?' asked the coroner.

‘No objections, sir,' said Hardcastle, and sat down.

‘I so order that the body be released,' said the coroner.

The solicitor gathered up his papers and left the court.

‘Catch up with that solicitor, Marriott,' said Hardcastle, ‘find out who briefed him to attend, and ask him to let us know the date of the funeral.'

‘Yes, sir,' acknowledged Marriott, and when, minutes later, he was joined by Hardcastle on the pavement outside the court, he said, ‘He was briefed by Harold Parker, Ronald's brother, sir, and he'll let us know when the funeral is to take place.'

‘Good,' said Hardcastle, and hailing a cab said to the driver, ‘Scotland Yard, cabbie.' He turned to Marriott. ‘Tell 'em Cannon Row and half the time you'll finish up at Cannon Street in the City.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Marriott wearily.

D
etective Sergeant Wood was indeed a resourceful officer, and skilled at keeping a discreet observation. He arrived in Caversham Road, Kingston, at seven o'clock on the Saturday morning and conducted a preliminary survey of the street. Having concluded that it was not the easiest of areas in which to remain inconspicuous, he decided that a fixed observation post would be the only way in which he could safely keep a watch on Stroud's property.

He made his way to the nearby Kingston police station to enquire what, if anything, was known about the occupants of the houses immediately opposite Stroud's dwelling.

The constable on duty ran a hand round his chin. ‘We know the man living at that one, Sergeant,' he said, pointing a pencil at one of the addresses in Wood's pocket book.

‘D'you mean he's a villain?' asked Wood.

‘Oh no, he's a respectable gent, Skip. A retired army officer by the name of Darke, Major Joseph Darke.'

It was eight o'clock by the time that Wood knocked at Major Darke's house. An elderly man came to the door, but before he could say anything, Wood produced his warrant card.

‘Good morning, sir, I'm a police officer. Am I right in thinking that you are Major Darke?'

‘That's correct,' said Darke.

‘In that case, I wonder if you could assist me, sir.'

‘Well, of course, Officer. You'd better come in.'

‘Thank you, sir.' Wood removed the cloth cap he was wearing and followed the man into the hall.

‘Is there some trouble, Officer?' Major Darke asked, once he had closed his front door.

‘Not as far as you're concerned, sir.' Wood stuffed his cap into one of the pockets of the old raincoat he was wearing. ‘Perhaps I'd better introduce myself: I'm Detective Sergeant Wood of the Whitehall Division.'

‘Whitehall, eh? You're a long way from home, Sergeant. What's this all about?'

‘A matter of national security, sir,' said Wood. ‘I'm sure you'll appreciate that I'm not at liberty to say any more than that.'

‘Ah, to do with the war effort, eh?'

‘In a manner of speaking, sir. We have received information of a vital nature that requires me to keep a watch on one of the houses opposite. But I'm afraid I can't reveal which one. Neither can I tell you any more about it.' Wood was very good at making up stories to cover his enquiries.

‘No, of course not, Sergeant. I quite understand. I was in the Boer War, you know, but unfortunately the chaps at the War House told me that I was too old for this one. I do know a bit about national security and I worked in intelligence in South Africa, sniffing out the Boer commandos, don't you know.' Darke fingered a striped necktie that Wood, had he been familiar with such things, would have recognized as the regimental tie of the East Surrey Regiment. ‘So, what can I do to help?'

‘If it wouldn't be an inconvenience, sir, I'd like to keep observation from your front room. It should only be for a short period.'

‘No trouble at all, my dear fellow,' said Darke warmly, secretly glad to be involved in what he imagined as assisting in the defeat of the Hun. ‘Come this way.' He showed Wood into the parlour where a fire was crackling in the grate. He saw Wood glance at an assegai mounted above the fireplace. ‘That was a trophy I picked up at Spion Kop, Sergeant.'

‘Very good, sir,' said Wood, although from what little he had heard about the South African conflict, he doubted that the Boers had used spears in their fight against the British.

‘You'll notice that Mrs Darke insists on net curtains, so you'll be able to see without being seen, what?'

‘That's splendid, sir, but I don't want to cause you or your good lady any trouble.'

‘Good heavens, Sergeant, it's no trouble. Only too pleased to be able to do something to help. I'll get Mrs Darke to make you a cup of tea. Let me move this chair for you, so you can sit down and keep watch.'

‘That's very kind, sir, and thank you.' Wood slipped off his raincoat and settled down for what he hoped would not be too long a period of time.

Ten minutes later the parlour door opened and a slender grey-haired woman entered.

‘Good morning, Sergeant, I'm Felicity Darke. I've brought you some tea. If you'd be so good as to move that small table nearer the window, I can put the tray down next to you.'

Wood leaped up and moved the table that Mrs Darke had indicated, and took the tray from her.

‘I've put a piece of fruit cake on there, too,' said Mrs Darke. ‘I'm sure you could do with it.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Darke, that's most kind,' said Wood.

For the next hour, Wood maintained a close watch on the house occupied by Gilbert Stroud. He was just beginning to wonder if his quarry did not go to work on a Saturday when he was rewarded by the sight of a man emerging from the house. The man, who fitted the description of Stroud furnished by Catto, began to walk slowly down Caversham Road reading the newspaper that Wood had earlier seen delivered.

Grabbing his raincoat, Wood moved quickly from his observation point into the hall. Major Darke appeared almost at once.

‘I'm off, sir. Please thank Mrs Darke for the tea and cake.'

‘It's a pleasure, Sergeant,' said Darke. ‘I hope that you have a successful conclusion to your enquiries, whatever they are, and do make use of our parlour again if you need to.'

Putting on his raincoat and cap, Wood emerged from Major Darke's house just in time to see Stroud turn into London Road.

Following at a discreet distance, he eventually saw Stroud turn into Richmond Road and finally to Kingston railway station.

Fortunately there was no queue, and Wood risked moving close enough to hear Stroud ask for a return to Waterloo. Having had the foresight to buy a return ticket when he left London earlier that morning, Wood was able to follow Stroud on to the up-platform without wasting time at the ticket office. He watched his quarry enter a third-class carriage, and got into the compartment next to him, secure in the knowledge that Stroud would not alight at any of the intermediate stations.