Chapter 9
Alec gave the fatal stairs a cursory examination. Though he learnt nothing new, he wanted to look again after seeing Tom’s photographs, so he left the sentries on guard.
He learnt much more as he walked with Webster to the Officers’ Quarters building.
The Resident Governor’s adjutant was able to answer every query unless it pertained solely to the garrison.
After a few minutes, he warmed up enough to actually volunteer information instead of having it prised from him by a direct question.
“The soldiers are ultimately under General Carradine’s command,” he explained, “but he doesn’t interfere in the day-to-day running of the garrison.
The lieutenant colonel in charge of whichever battalion of whichever Guards regiment is currently posted here requests the governor’s permission for any unusual activity. ”
“The battalions come and go? So the soldiers haven’t time to develop an intimate acquaintance with the Yeoman Warders.”
“On the whole, no. They don’t mix much. However, our warders served in many different regiments and may have known members of the garrison before they left the regular army.”
“I assume you have records of where each warder came from.”
“Certainly. Their last postings at least. I believe there was considerable reassignment during the late War.”
Which meant that though, en masse, the Hotspur Guards and the Yeoman Warders were not on familiar terms, any particular one might have known any other for many years.
Unless an obvious suspect turned up soon, the victim’s service history would have to be delved into.
Contemplating the possible network of connections leading from it, Alec blenched.
By this time, he and Webster were crossing the Parade Ground.
On their left stretched the vast Waterloo Barracks, a curious hybrid typical of Victorian architecture, classically symmetrical but sporting Gothic towers and battlements and oriel windows.
On their right loomed the massive Norman White Tower.
“What business would a yeoman have going this way at ten o’clock at night?” Alec asked.
Webster frowned. “None. Someone was seen here last night? In costume, presumably, or he’d not likely be recognized. Very odd. They all change out of it as soon as possible when they get off duty.”
“You’d expect the Chief Warder to change as soon as he’d handed over the keys?”
“Definitely.”
Crabtree’s behaviour was not the least puzzling aspect of this case. Supposing he had gone out to meet someone by appointment, why had he not changed into civvies first?
They reached the Officers’ Quarters, a smaller version of the barracks.
“Police,” said Alec to the sentry, and started up the steps.
Webster hung back. “You won’t want me in there with you,” he said gruffly. “If you need me again, I’ll be at the King’s House.” He turned and stumped off before Alec could thank him.
“Froggy hopped it in a hurry,” observed a grinning Hotspur officer, a captain in khakis, who was leaning against the doorpost, cigarette in hand.
Alec’s face must have showed his distaste for the jibe, for the captain added, though with only the slightest diminution of the grin, “Sorry! Friend of yours, is he? He can’t help his face, I suppose. ”
Recognizing Eton and Sandhurst in his voice, Alec wondered about the relationship between this mocking scion of the upper classes and his risen-from-the-ranks colonel.
Himself at a disadvantage halfway down the steps, Alec continued upward as he announced himself.
“Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, Scotland Yard.”
“Oho, police!” The captain’s grin vanished and he straightened. “The Beefeater’s unexpected demise, I presume. Joking aside, what a rotten business! The poor old fellow had earned a bit of peace and quiet. I’m Devereux. What can I do for you, Chief Inspector?”
“I’m looking for Colonel Duggan.”
“He’s at the barracks. I’ll show you the way.”
“Thanks. But I might as well speak to Mrs. Duggan while I’m here. Do you know if she’s in?”
“I believe so. Word is that you chaps have stopped up all the rat holes and confined us to the Tower,” Devereux drawled.
He eyed Alec’s RFC tie but didn’t comment.
“In the absence of the lady’s husband and my commanding officer, ought I to insist on being present to protect her from police misconduct? ”
Ignoring the persiflage, Alec responded with professional blandness, “If Mrs. Duggan desires a witness, I shall wait until the colonel is available. However, given her acquaintance with my wife, I doubt—”
“Don’t tell me you’re the other half of the formidable Mrs. Fletcher!” The captain laughed. “What a team you must make. Right-oh, I’ll hang about till you’re done with the colonel’s lady and then provide a military escort to the barracks.” He pointed out the way to the Duggans’ rooms.
Daisy formidable? Alec wondered what on earth she had said to the brash Guardsman.
And was mockery his normal manner, or was it a shield to hide his thoughts?
Yet what possible quarrel could Captain Devereux of the Hotspur Guards have had with the unfortunate Chief Warder, by all accounts a kindly and mild-mannered man?
Crabtree had been Regimental Sergeant Major, though. No man rose to that position without being as tough as the Iron Duke himself.
Alec knocked on the door.
A slightly nervous female voice enquired, “Who is it?”
Identifying himself, he heard bolts being drawn back as he continued speaking. “Mrs. Duggan? I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Do come in, Mr. Fletcher.” She twiddled a bolt, as if uncertain whether to shoot it closed again.
“Sorry about all this. I’m not usually nervy, but Sidney—my husband—told me to lock the door when he left, and I started thinking .
. . You see, no one could have had any reason to kill poor Crabtree, which means someone did it without reason.
And since he killed Crabtree, he might go after anyone at all. Do sit down.”
They sat, she with her hands clasped tight in her lap.
“You were acquainted with Crabtree?”
“He came to the Tower about the same time we did.”
“When was that?”
“When my brother-in-law Arthur came home from Mesopotamia—he served there during the War—and was appointed Resident Governor. You see, my younger sister and Crabtree’s wife both died in the influenza epidemic, such a horrible time, just when the War was finished at last and we thought all the dying was over.
He and I used to talk sometimes. He became a bit obsessed with trying to work out why God had sent such a .
. . a scourge—that was the word he used—upon the world after the horrors of the War, and whether it was a punishment for the War.
As if the War wasn’t punishment enough in itself! ”
“ ‘Obsessed’?” Alec queried with interest. Obsession was a not uncommon factor in murder, in either killer or victim.
“Not in a mad sort of way,” Mrs. Duggan hurried to assure him. “He didn’t go around preaching fire and brimstone, or even talk about it to anyone but me, I think.”
“Do you know what church he belonged to?”
“None, not then. He called himself a ‘Seeker,’ and he went to Quaker meetings sometimes, because, he said, they understood about ‘seeking.’ But he went to the Tower Chapel, St. Peter ad Vincula, without any qualms when his duty required it.”
Not the picture of a religious fanatic, so probably unconnected with his death. “Did he join some group later?”
“I don’t know.” She blushed. “I’m afraid we didn’t really chat anymore after Sidney’s battalion was sent here and I got to know him. Then we were married, and the battalion moved to other duties. Since we came back, I haven’t done more than pass the time of day with poor Crabtree.”
“You have greatly illuminated his character for me. Now I’d like to get to specifics. Last night, you attended the Ceremony of the Keys with my wife and your nieces?”
“Yes. It was such a nasty night, I thought Mrs. Fletcher would like some company.”
“Kind of you. I don’t need a description of the ceremony, but if you could tell me what happened after you parted from Daisy?”
“All right. I thought I wouldn’t go as far as the King’s House, and I was perfectly happy to walk home alone, in spite of the fog.
” Mrs. Duggan shuddered. “I wouldn’t do it now, not for anything.
In any case, the dear girls insisted on coming with me, as Crabtree had to go to the King’s House with the keys and was happy to accompany Mrs. Fletcher.
It wasn’t then that he was attacked, though, was it? ” she faltered.
“No, no, thank heaven! It was later. You and the girls—sorry, that’s a very informal way of referring to your nieces, but I’ve picked it up from Daisy.”
“Oh, please, it doesn’t matter in the least. We couldn’t see even as far as the barracks, just across the Parade Ground, so we stayed close to the White Tower.”
Alec was fairly sure the girls hadn’t invented the “frightful fiend,” but he had to avoid suggesting his existence to Mrs. Duggan. “Did anything happen on the way?” he asked.
“Happen? Not to say happen.”
Eyebrows raised, Alec gave her a look of enquiry.
“It wasn’t anything really. On a less eerie night, we wouldn’t even have noticed. We heard footsteps behind us and Fay—or was it Brenda?—one of them looked back. Fay, it was. She said one of the yeomen was coming along our way. So, you see, it was nothing.”
“Did you notice where he went?”
“I didn’t see him at all. I didn’t look round. And what with the girls’ chatter, and once we passed the White Tower we could hear the river shipping whistling and hooting, if he made any sound, I didn’t hear it. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
“Have you any idea where he might have been heading for?”
“No.” She gave a helpless shrug. “Certainly not here. The Hotspurs and the Yeoman Warders don’t mix much, and there wasn’t any reason for Arthur to send Sidney a message. Oh, but . . . No.”