Tallis issued a challenge. ‘Then interest me.’
The sergeant gave his report. Colbeck had taught him to keep a written account of every interview that he conducted so that it could be referred back to at a future date. Leeming had memorised what he had put down on paper yet – unsettled by the basilisk stare of the superintendent – he still stumbled over some of the words. When the report reached the point where Leeming had departed from Wood Street the night before, Tallis wanted to clarify one point.
‘And you’re sure that you warned Mr Voke that the duplicate set of keys had been stolen?’
‘Inspector Colbeck sent me there for that express purpose.’
‘Did you examine the premises before you left?’
‘No, sir,’ said Leeming.
‘It never occurred to you to advise him about the security of his premises?’
‘I didn’t think it was my place to do so. Mr Voke has had that shop for many years. He knows how to guard his stock. A silversmith would not remain in business if he didn’t lock all his doors at night.’
‘Locks can be opened,’ said Tallis.
‘Only by the right keys, sir,’ Leeming pointed out.
‘Someone appears to have had them.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘According to this,’ said Tallis, picking up a sheet of paper, ‘a Mr Leonard Voke reported a burglary at his premises during the night. It appears that his safe was completely emptied.’
‘I did tell him to be on his guard.’
‘You obviously didn’t tell him loudly enough. Nor did you have the sense to check every door to the premises to see if they could in any way be made more secure. Our task,’ he went on, sententiously, ‘is not merely to solve crime. We also exist to prevent it.’
Leeming was abashed. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Since you chose to act on your own initiative this morning, the very least you could have done was to return to Mr Voke’s shop to check if anything untoward had happened during the night.’
‘I thought it was more important to visit Mrs Jennings.’
‘Was she Mr Kellow’s landlady?’
‘Yes, Superintendent,’ said Leeming. ‘She showed me his room.’
He gave an account of his visit to the house, hoping to receive at least a hint of praise for what he had learnt. Tallis, however, was unimpressed. Stroking his moustache, he pondered.
‘Mrs Jennings has told you little of practical use,’ he announced at length. ‘Your visit there was hardly productive.’
‘I learnt much about the murder victim’s character, sir.’
‘That brings us no closer to identifying his killer.’
‘I believe it does,’ argued Leeming. ‘It seems clear to me that the prime suspect is Mr Stephen Voke. He was fired by revenge. From what I can gather, Mr Kellow not only supplanted him as a silversmith, he also took young Mr Voke’s place in his father’s affections. That must have rankled with him.’
‘Yes,’ conceded Tallis, ‘I can detect a plausible motive there.’
‘Stephen Voke would also have known to whom that coffee pot locomotive was being delivered and had a very good idea as to when work on it would be completed. More to the point,’ said Leeming, ‘he would know his way around the premises in the dark.’
‘Then he needs to be brought in for questioning.’
‘That may be difficult, sir.’
‘Why – Mr Voke told you where his son worked.’
‘I called on the proprietor, Mr Solomon Stern. He didn’t speak well of Stephen Voke. Apparently, his work was very satisfactory at first but he became lax. Also, his timekeeping was poor. He began to arrive late and leave early. What annoyed Mr Stern,’ he remembered, ‘was that a young lady was always loitering outside the shop in the evening. As soon as he saw her, Stephen Voke left.’
‘Are you telling me that you never actually met Voke?’
‘He no longer works in Hatton Garden.’
‘Did his employer give him the sack?’
‘Mr Stern never had the chance to do so,’ replied Leeming. ‘He has not seen hide nor hair of Stephen Voke for a week. The young man has terminated his employment there without warning.’
‘Then you should have sought him at his lodgings.’
‘I did, sir. I went to the address given to me by Mr Stern.’
‘Was Stephen Voke there?’
‘No, sir,’ said Leeming, ‘and he never has been. He gave a false address to his employer. Nobody seems to know where he is. Stephen Voke – and, presumably, the young lady – has vanished into thin air.’
Tegwyn Rees was a tall, angular, emaciated man who looked as if he should be lying on the slab beside the corpses he dissected. When he was introduced to Colbeck by Jeremiah Stockdale, he regarded the inspector through cold, almost colourless eyes.
‘Why do we need detectives from London?’ he said with undisguised resentment. ‘The crime was committed on Welsh soil. I’m sure the superintendent could have solved it without interference.’
‘I came to help, Dr Rees,’ said Colbeck, ‘and not to interfere. In any case, Superintendent Stockdale is very much involved in the investigation. His officers are making enquiries about the source of that sulphuric acid even as we speak.’
‘Yet they are under the direction of a complete stranger.’
‘Don’t be so territorial, Tegwyn,’ said Stockdale, jovially. ‘The inspector is no stranger to me. And if you think a Welsh murder can only be tackled by Welsh policeman, it rules me out. I’m as English as Cheddar cheese – and just as delicious. Now tell us what the post-mortem revealed.’
They were in Rees’s surgery, a room as neat, chilly and sterile as the man himself. He consulted a sheet of paper before speaking.
‘The cause of death,’ he began, ‘was heart failure brought on by a massive dose of sulphuric acid. Its corrosive properties can be seen in the disfigurement around the mouth and in several internal organs. The wound on the scalp and the bruising were caused before death.’
‘I realised that when I saw the blood,’ said Colbeck. ‘As soon as the heart stops, so does the circulation.’
‘Let me finish, please,’ said Rees, tetchily. ‘There were also bruises on the chest and arms of the victim, suggesting that someone may have been kneeling on him.’
‘That disposes of your idea that the killer was a female,’ said Stockdale to Colbeck. ‘No woman would have been strong enough to hold him down.’
‘She wouldn’t have needed strength if he’d willingly submitted to being tied up,’ returned Colbeck before giving Rees an apologetic smile. ‘Do go on, sir.’
Rees clicked his tongue. ‘Thank you,’ he said with sarcasm. ‘Need I remind you that I was the one who conducted the autopsy? All that you saw were the more obvious external signs. As it happens, Inspector, your wild guess has some foundation. The victim’s wrists were tied tightly enough to leave a mark and there were similar weals on his ankles. In other words, he was spread-eagled on the bed.’
‘That’s what Inspector Colbeck suggested,’ said Stockdale. ‘He felt that Mr Kellow may have been seduced by a woman and that being tied up was part of some ritual.’
‘There is some supportive evidence for that theory,’ said Rees, glancing at his notes. ‘There was a discharge of semen in the victim’s underwear, consistent with high sexual excitement. It may even be the case that some of the bruising was a deliberate part of any ritual. There are – believe it or not – people who actually derive pleasure from pain and who pay others to administer it.’
Stockdale grinned. ‘You don’t need to tell me that, Tegwyn,’ he said. ‘When we raided a house in Charlotte Street last month, we found a man hanging naked from the rafters while a woman in a black mask flayed him with a cat o’nine tails.’ He pulled a face. ‘I don’t mind telling you that it’s not my idea of pleasure.’