‘What are those-apart from things she couldn’t go into?’
Lottie gave him a level look. ‘As well as being his assistant, she would act as receptionist. And she would bring a woman’s delicacy to the retouching and tinting processes.’
‘Smart,’ said Cribb. ‘You have to hand it to her. There she was, installed in the studio with all day to work her charms on Julian, while Miriam sat at home fretting.’
She shook her head. ‘No, Sergeant. Give Miriam credit for more gumption than that. If Julian was taking on an assistant, he would be free to delegate much of the humdrum work making negatives, or whatever they do, and devote more time to photography. Fashionable photographers, as you know, like to put notices in their windows to proclaim the prizes they have won. Julian’s business was expanding, and it was time he started entering for photographic competitions. Of course he would require a model.’
‘Ah.’ Cribb understood. ‘While Judith was in the darkroom, Miriam and Julian would be out with a camera and a picnic basket.’
‘That’s it. He was always saying she was photogenic, so she offered to pose for him, all very decently, I hasten to add. His Greek art phase was a thing of the past now that he was becoming respectable. Miriam persuaded him to buy her new hats and parasols and strings of beads to assist the photography. She was triumphant-and she had the relish of knowing poor Judith would be developing the pictures. Personally, I would have poured acid on them. Miriam convinced Julian that she was his inspiration. He stopped everything he was doing whenever she visited the studio. I don’t know what excuses she made at home, but she was there two or three times a week.’
Cribb listened, remembering Howard Cromer had given the impression Miriam had not entered his life before he came to Kew.
‘You would think Judith had been eclipsed,’ Lottie went on, ‘but not yet. I saw her one Thursday morning in Hampstead High Street. Feeling for the poor girl, I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen her, but she crossed the road and, to my amazement, her face was pink with excitement. She took me into a teashop and told me she was engaged to be married to Julian! It took my breath away. The whole thing, she said, was secret until they had bought the ring. I was the first to know, because she was bursting to tell someone how happy she was. She had not told her father yet, but she was sure he would not object. Yes, they intended to break the news to Miriam that evening. Judith was certain she would share in their joy. I told her frankly not to be so sanguine about that. Miriam would be incensed. I warned her not to make it a long engagement because I was sure Miriam was too single-minded to give up. She laughed and said she had no fear of losing Julian.’
It was the girlish talk you could hear any day of the week on buses and trains, except that this was life and death.
‘She said a strange thing. Had I never noticed the way Julian looked at Miriam? It was not the way a man looked at a girl he really cared for. Julian didn’t see Miriam as a person at all, but a face. A face to be photographed, not kissed. She was meant to be looked at through a camera. I said perhaps he saw all women with a photographer’s eye. Judith laughed again and said she was sure he did not. She was carrying the proof.’
‘His child?’
Lottie nodded.
Cribb stared at her a moment. ‘You didn’t tell the coroner this.’
She lowered her eyes. ‘I know. It seemed kinder to say nothing. By that time, Judith was dead. I couldn’t alter that. Julian was up to his ears in trouble, with the suicide in his studio and the poison not being kept in a cupboard and everything. In his evidence he said nothing about the engagement, or Judith being pregnant, and nor did I. I didn’t say anything untrue, just kept silent about what she had told me. If I had spoken up, it would not have changed the verdict, but it would have ruined Julian’s reputation for ever.’
‘Tell me this,’ said Cribb, and there was an edge to his voice. ‘How did you account to yourself for Judith’s death?’
Her eyes reacted with tiny darting movements. ‘Sergeant, I couldn’t account for it. What I told the coroner was true. The day before she died, she had been so jubilant, not worried in the least about being pregnant. The next thing I heard was that she was dead. All I could suppose was that Julian had changed his mind, and when he told her, she took poison. A woman in that condition may be subject to erratic behaviour if she gets a sudden shock.’
‘Do you still believe that?’
Lottie Piper slowly shook her head. ‘Since I read in the newspapers what happened in Kew, I do not. I believe Judith was murdered.’
‘By Miriam?’
‘She confessed to the murder in Kew, didn’t she?’ Lottie searched Cribb’s features for some sign that he shared her conclusion. ‘Her name was not mentioned once at the inquest, but she could easily have done it. She was used to visiting the studio two or three times a week. If Julian had broken the news of the engagement to Miriam that Thursday evening, she could have gone to the house on Friday knowing he was going to be out and Judith would be alone. It would be natural for them to make tea if, as I suspect, Miriam came giving the impression she wanted to congratulate Judith. She could have created an opportunity of adding the poison to Judith’s cup, and then watched her die. Yes, it’s a hateful thing to say about someone you have known since you were ten years old, but what other explanation is there?’
If Cribb had one, he was not revealing it. He thanked Lottie Piper for seeing him. When he got downstairs, he called in at the box office and bought two upper circle tickets for The Mascotte. For the Monday performance.
Chief Inspector Jowett’s thin fingers drummed the edge of his desk. His eyes roved round the walls of his office, taking in the portrait of Sir Robert Peel, the stag’s head, the volumes of Archbold, Stone and the rest, anything but Sergeant Cribb, seated opposite him.
‘To have come here, in broad daylight,’ he said for the third time.
‘Not possessing a telephone-set,’ said Cribb, eyeing the instrument on the desk, ‘I had no option but to come in person, sir.’
‘You could have left a message downstairs.’
‘Requesting you to come and see me? I doubt if you would have liked that, sir, so soon after yesterday. The matter requires a decision this evening, sir.’
Jowett was too upset even to light his pipe. He unscrewed the mouthpiece and peered through it at Peel. ‘By Heaven, you had better be right, Sergeant. Nothing you have told me so far has altered my opinion of the case. Miss Charlotte Piper’s tittle-tattle is what I would expect from a low comedy actress.’
‘The daughter of a member of the Stock Exchange, sir.’
‘He has my sympathy. What is this decision, for God’s sake?’
‘I want permission to question Miriam Cromer, sir.’
Jowett swung round in his chair, eyes blazing. ‘Damn you, Sergeant, we went into this before! It can’t be done. Do you understand plain English?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I asked you for a written report on your investigations. That was all I asked for, not a rambling account of your adventures at the Haymarket. Where is that report, eh? You haven’t got it, have you? Yet you have the neck to come to Scotland Yard-’
‘There’s something else I should tell you, sir,’ said Cribb in an even tone. ‘There has been a development.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Howard Cromer, alias Julian Ducane, has disappeared from his home. I have reason to believe he is making for one of the Channel ports.’
‘Good Lord!’ A glazed look spread over Jowett’s eyes. ‘Why on earth should he do that?’
‘No fault of mine, sir,’ said Cribb. ‘After my interview with Miss Piper, I took a train to Kew with the intention of putting certain questions to Cromer. I felt I had enough information to get the truth from him this time. I wanted to find out why he had concealed from me the fact that he was on close terms with Miriam Cromer before he ever came to Kew, why he had withheld vital information at the inquest on the late Judith Honeycutt and what he was doing on the morning of the day Josiah Perceval was murdered. When I got to Park Lodge I was informed by a servant that Mr Cromer was not available. I put some further questions to the maid and then effected an entry into the house. From the appearance of Mr Cromer’s bedroom it was clear that he had packed a number of his clothes and personal possessions and taken them with him. This the servant confirmed under questioning. It appears that Mr Cromer left the house at about one o’clock. This morning he had visited his wife in Newgate. He returned, packed a small portmanteau and left within a few minutes without taking lunch or speaking to the servants. I obtained a description, which I have telegraphed to Dover, Newhaven, Folkestone, Holyhead, Harwich and Southampton, with instructions to detain him. There was a copy of Bradshaw on his bed, sir.’