The crystal crypt, p.20
The Crystal Crypt, page 20
Poppy shook her head. “No. But I do not believe she imagined it. And, I can tell you, neither do the police. I have just spoken to the Chief Constable.”
The single raised eyebrow was joined by a second. “That’s the first I’ve heard.”
Poppy nodded, pursing her lips. She decided not, at this stage, to tell him about the attack on Sophie. She didn’t want the conversation to be diverted. He would find out soon enough, but for now, she wanted to keep him focused on Gertrude Fuller. “So, were you on duty last night when Dr Fuller was attacked?”
“For my sins, yes. I normally don’t work nights – not when I’m working the next day – but the fellow I share duties with has a touch of the flu.”
“That’s unfortunate. I’m sure you must be quite tired.”
The man sat up straight. “Not tired enough not to do my job, Miss Denby.”
“Of course not! I wasn’t suggesting you were, Mr—”
“Cooper.”
“Thank you, Mr Cooper. So, did you see anyone?”
Cooper shook his head. “Not out of the ordinary. It’s quiet at the moment, what with Trinity term not starting until next week. There are not many students about so it’s mainly just the academics.”
“And town folk? You’re not separate from the town here.”
“That’s right, we’re not. But at that time of night – it was nearly eleven, I believe – there’s not many townies passing the college neither.”
Poppy nodded. “All right, no one passing the college. What about coming in?”
“What? At that hour? No, there were no visitors. They would have to be prearranged if there were. And there’s nothing in the book.” He pushed a logbook towards Poppy, then pulled it back again. From where she was standing, Poppy was unable to read anything that was written. And she had no right to ask to see it. Perhaps the police might now do so.
“So, you didn’t see Dr Fuller and no one passed by or came in. Which is very curious, as I have been told that an intruder has been into Dr Fuller’s rooms – possibly after she was attacked, possibly before. But definitely last night while she wasn’t there.”
Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”
“Dr Fuller’s graduate student. She was in earlier to collect some notes for Dr Fuller to work on in the hospital. She said someone had definitely been into the rooms.”
Cooper sat back, his arms folding over his chest. “Well, if that’s the case, Miss Denby, the Beadle will have to be called.”
“The Beadle?”
“University security. I’ll have to call them. They already know about Dr Fuller’s accident, but this is new information. And there’ll have to be an investigation.”
Cooper’s eyes flicked down to the logbook and back up again. Hmm, thought Poppy, is that a tell? Is there someone in the book that he’s not telling me about? There was no way she could find out, but she would certainly be telling Chief Constable Fenchurch about it when she next saw him.
“Well, thank you, Mr Cooper. You’ve been very helpful. And I’m sure you’ll be just as helpful to the Beadles and the police now that you know this is more than just an unfortunate accident. However, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask: yesterday, when I left my bicycle here, did anyone come in and tamper with it?”
Cooper’s arms were still over his chest. “Tamper with it? Of course not! Who would do that?”
“I don’t know, Mr Cooper; that’s what I’m trying to find out. Because I had an accident yesterday, after I’d been here. Someone had partially sawn through my brake rod.”
Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it wasn’t here. I would have seen.”
“Yes, I’m sure you would have. You have a full view of the whole vestibule from where you are seated.”
“Aye, that’s right.” He sat, unmoved, with his arms folded.
Poppy thanked him and left but was not able to shake the feeling that the porter knew more than he was telling. And she couldn’t help noticing that he had not shown the slightest bit of concern when she told him she’d had an accident.
Time was getting on, and she wanted to get back to the hotel to catch Rollo before the end of the afternoon. She thought for a moment of phoning him from the Post Office, which was a little closer, but not that much. Still, it was a bit of a trek to the hotel, and she wished she had not shunned the use of a bicycle after her accident. She turned into St Giles Street and down to the Martyrs’ Memorial, slipping into the fork in the road between the sun-soaked limestone walls of Balliol College and the gothic shadow of St Mary Magdalen’s Church. But as she turned the corner into Broad Street, she noticed a man in a flat tweed cap who appeared to be following her. Was she imagining it, or had she seen him outside Somerville College too? Well, she reminded herself as she turned the corner, it’s no crime to be walking in the same direction. However, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing more than that. A chill went down her spine and she hastened her pace, thanking God that it was still daylight and that there were people out and about. At each turn left or right, she checked over her shoulder, and there he was, not even trying to hide the fact that he was following her.
By the time she got to Magdalen Bridge she was almost jogging – and so was her shadow. When she slowed, he slowed; when she speeded up, so did he. A few times she thought of turning into a shop and asking for help, but she wondered how she would explain herself, knowing that as soon as she did, he would disappear. Then, who knew when he would reappear again? No, as long as she could see him, as long as it was daylight, and as long as there were still people on the streets, she felt safe enough to go straight back to the hotel.
Sure enough, as she turned into Cowley Place and past St Hilda’s College, there he was still behind her. She ploughed on, breathless, with a stitch piercing her side, until she reached the gates of the Cherwell Hotel. As soon as she stepped across the threshold, noting that the man who looked after the bicycles had seen she was there, she turned around and shouted at her pursuer, “Who are you and why are you following me?”
The man nonchalantly stopped and positioned himself on the opposite pavement, leaning against a lamp post, and lit a cigarette. He stared at Poppy but did not answer.
Poppy’s rage was bubbling over. “I say! If you don’t leave me alone, I shall call the police!”
The man – who Poppy noted was perhaps in his late twenties – again said nothing and drew on his cigarette.
“Are you all right, miss?” asked the bicycle man, approaching her.
She turned to him and blurted out that she was being followed. But when she turned to point out her pursuer, the man in the flat cap was gone.
CHAPTER 26
Poppy was still fuming when she walked into the foyer of the hotel – too angry to be fearful. She stomped across the parquet floor towards the reception desk, ready to report the man in the flat cap. And then she saw Ike Garfield sitting in the corner with a suitcase at his side. She wanted to run to him and let him embrace her in a huge bear hug, to tell him what had just happened, and to pour out her anger and fear; but naturally, that would not be an appropriate thing for a lady to do. Poppy was getting very annoyed with ideas of what was or was not appropriate for a lady. She wished at times she could be more like Delilah. Delilah would not have given two hoots about embracing the West Indian journalist. Or anyone – male or female.
Poppy hurried over to greet him as he stood and raised his hat. “Poppy! I’m so glad to see you.”
“Not as much as I am to see you, Ike! Good gracious, what happened to you? Mavis said you left London sometime this morning. It should only have taken you a couple of hours if you’ve got a good tailwind. I was expecting you at lunchtime.”
“Sorry, Poppy. Blame Rollo for not getting a new motor. The old Model T broke down. Again.”
“Oh no!” said Poppy, taking a seat as Ike returned to his.
“Oh yes. Just outside High Wycombe. I managed to walk to a nearby pub and they called a mechanic. But when he got there, he took one look at my face and drove off. I eventually got someone from the pub to go with me and tow the Ford back. It’s still stuck there in the car park. I’ll have to arrange to get it repaired. But the most important thing was getting here to see you. I had to order a taxi to bring me the rest of the way. But the first fellow wouldn’t take me. Second time lucky though.” He gave a gentle smile.
Poppy pursed her lips, then let out an exasperated sigh, her anger growing ever deeper. “Oh, for Pete’s sake! What is wrong with people?”
Ike shrugged ruefully. “Tell that to the manager here.”
Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s he said?”
Ike, his voice admirably calm, pointed to his suitcase. “He said they don’t have any available rooms and I’ll have to go elsewhere. I asked him if I could at least wait for you to return, to tell you where I’m going, and he said yes.”
“Well, that’s absolute poppycock!” said Poppy. “The breakfast room was only half-full this morning, and I know for a fact that there are spare rooms on my floor.” She stood up. “I’m going to talk to him.”
Before Ike could stop her, she stalked across the foyer to the reception desk and demanded to see the manager. He arrived, all silk cravat and onyx cufflinks. “Ah, Miss Denby. I trust you’ve had a fruitful day. Will you be staying for dinner?”
“I shall. A table for two, please. And a room as well for my colleague Mr Garfield. I believe you have just spoken to him.”
An onyx cufflink was adjusted. “Ah yes, the negro gentleman. We unfortunately do not have any rooms available.”
Poppy leaned in, fixing her bluebell eyes on the man’s steel grey. She forced every bit of anger into that stare. Anger at the police for not believing Gertrude. Anger at the fellows at the Crystal Crypt for treating June so appallingly. Anger at Chief Constable Fenchurch for quashing Rosie Winter’s ambition. Anger at Bill Raines for his aggression on the dance floor. Anger at the scoundrel who sabotaged her bicycle – and, finally, sheer rage at the monster who attacked poor Sophie and left her for dead. “We both know that’s a barefaced lie, sir, so if you don’t want unpleasant headlines in both my newspaper and The Oxford Gazette – because, I’m not sure if you’re aware, I am on very good terms with George Lewis, the editor – then I suggest you find a room, a good room, for my colleague. Now, he and I are going to have a cup of tea, which will give you time to find something appropriate. Earl Grey please, and we’ll take it on the terrace.”
Poppy spun on her heel and stalked off, ignoring the stares of the hotel guests who had overheard her conversation. Ike was waiting for her, his jaw hanging agog. “Good grief, Poppy, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Poppy’s heart was pounding nineteen to the dozen. “Neither did I, Ike, neither did I.”
Twenty minutes later and Poppy was feeling much calmer. She felt proud of herself, but also a little embarrassed. The waiter had refused to meet her eye when he brought the tea, and she did not like to think that she would now be considered a diva by the hotel staff. She was always so pleasant and amiable and personally despised people who did what she had just done: using her position of power to bully others to do her will. But, she reminded herself, she had done it in defence of someone else who was being bullied. Who had spent his life being unjustly treated simply because of the shade of his complexion. So no, she would not apologize.
Besides, there was work to be done. Ike had brought along the file that Ivan Molanov had put together. He first explained to her that it was a second attempt at compiling the file, and then told her how he had found Rollo knocked-out in his office that morning.
“Good Lord!” said Poppy, after finding out that Rollo was no worse for wear, despite a sore head. “Who do you think did it?”
Ike splayed his large hands. “We don’t know for sure. Rollo went to see Lionel Saunders yesterday morning and Richard Easling in the afternoon. It could have been instigated by either of them. They both have a track record. But what it does indicate is that there’s definitely a connection between Sophie Blackburn and June Leighton. Rollo asked Lionel about Sophie and did not mention June Leighton at all, yet it was the file on the Sanforths – which, as you’ll soon see, also establishes a link between them and the Leightons – that was stolen. What the attacker didn’t realize is that Ivan could put together another file of roughly the same material.”
Poppy furiously took notes, then went on to tell Ike about what she’d discovered during her time in Oxford, then about the attacks on Gertrude Fuller and Sophie Blackburn. The West Indian journalist was stunned. “Good God, Poppy, this is serious. Rollo got a good whack on the head, but I don’t think his attacker intended to kill him. But what happened to Sophie, particularly, is attempted murder.”
Poppy nodded, her hand shaking slightly as she poured herself and Ike another cup of tea. “Yes, it was. Do you think it’s the same person who did it? Who attacked Rollo and then Gertrude and Sophie?”
“It’s possible. Rollo was attacked around seven last night, and from what you tell me, Gertrude Fuller sometime after ten. It is feasible that Rollo’s attacker drove straight from Fleet Street to Oxford. What time was Sophie attacked?”
“I don’t know. It could have been around the same time as Gertrude – she only lives a block away – but that doesn’t account for why Sophie didn’t meet me at five o’clock yesterday afternoon as we’d agreed. If it was the assault that prevented her from coming to see me, then that means the attacker assaulted her here in Oxford in the afternoon, then drove to London to attack Rollo and steal the Sanforth file, then back to Oxford to attack Gertrude Fuller. While they could have done it within the time frame given, why on earth would they? No, Ike, I think it’s more realistic that there are people in London and Oxford working in cahoots.”
Ike pulled out a cigarette case and selected one, asking if Poppy minded. She said that she didn’t. “Yes,” he said as he lit up, “I agree with you. That also ties into what Richard Easling told Rollo about the Oxford City Police being concerned that you were snooping around. He already knew you were here before Rollo told him.”
“Are you suggesting the Oxford police might be involved in this?”
Ike shook his head. “No, not the police per se, but perhaps a rogue element in it. Perhaps just a single man.”
Poppy thought about that for a moment, then gave Ike a summary of her dealings to date with the Oxford police. “So, in my estimation, WPC Winter is a good egg. The Chief Constable is a pompous so-and-so, but I’m not convinced he’s dirty. Neither is George Lewis, the editor of The Oxford Gazette. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone else on the force involved in this.” She then explained to Ike what she’d learned about June Leighton’s death not being properly investigated and that George Lewis had set up a meeting with the medical examiner. “And after all that’s been going on – and that fellow who was following me earlier – I’m glad you’re going to be with me when we go out tonight. Now, let’s have a look at that file. You said there’s something on the Leightons in there? That’ll probably be the engagement of June and Edward.”
Ike shook his head. “No, that’s not it. Nothing in there about an engagement. But there is something else. Have a look for yourself…”
Poppy opened the file and read through Ivan’s summary, then flicked through the clippings. Sanforth Foundation Donates to Oxford Lab; Sanforth Industries in MOD Wrangle; Sanforth Industries Wins Big Defence Contract; Sanforth Industries Criticized for Weimar Investments; Sanforth Foundation Withdraws Funding from Cambridge – Pacifists to Blame; Sanforth Industries in Hostile Takeover of Diamond Mine in German South West Africa…
Poppy extracted the last article from the file and read it in detail. She could hardly believe what she was reading: Sanforth Industries – of whom the now incarcerated Lord Melvyn Dorchester was a former board member and still a substantial shareholder – had bought a South West African diamond mine in what was described as a “hostile takeover”. The deal, according to the article, had been brokered by a London jeweller: Roger Leighton.
“Oh my hat! Surely this isn’t—”
“June Leighton’s father? I’m afraid it is, Poppy. June’s father Roger not only knows the Sanforths but is in business with them. And it’s also connected in some way to Melvyn Dorchester, who we all know was, and perhaps still is, Lionel Saunders’ paymaster – and was once the paymaster of Richard Easling too. So, all the dots are beginning to connect. Did Edward Sanforth tell you about any of this? Of his family’s connection with the Leightons?”
Poppy shook her head vigorously. “Not a word of it! He gave the impression he and June had met here in Oxford and kept their romance quiet from their families. He said he told his family about it after June’s death – and I assume Mr and Mrs Leighton too – but he gave absolutely no indication that the families knew one another. All right, I never asked directly, but I think the context of the conversation should have prompted him to tell me.”
“And Professor Sinclair? Did he mention it?”
Poppy shook her head. “Not a word of it. But that might explain the diamond…”
“What diamond?”
Poppy told Ike that June Leighton had been X-raying a diamond before she died and that no one could explain why. “Sophie found it odd. But she assured me it had nothing to do with jewellery theft, which was my first thought. She said it was probably an industrial diamond and not worth that much. But still, it’s got to have some significance, surely? What with June’s family’s connection to Sanforth Industries and this diamond mine… But what, I’m not really sure. Perhaps June’s lab notes will tell us – the notes that can’t be found. But it seems that the attacker is searching for them.”
Poppy downed the last of her tea and then stood up. “Ike, would you mind telephoning Rollo and filling him in on all this? And then ask him to go to the Leighton house to enquire about June’s notes? Both Edward Sanforth and Gertrude Fuller think they were sent on to her family. Oh, and if he hasn’t already, ask Ivan to see what he can dig up on the Melvyn Dorchester connection. And also if he can find anything about a” – she flicked open her notebook and found the name she was looking for – “a Chief Inspector Teddy Birch of the Oxford City Police. He apparently was the fellow who declared June’s death an open-and-shut case. He’s on holiday at the moment, or I’d try to speak to him myself.”
