Curse of the Poppy (Penny Green Series Book 5) Read online

  “I’m sure there’s no need to worry about Blakely. He can look after himself.”

  “But why have I not heard from him?”

  “Why should you have heard from him? He’s clearly busy with his detective work, and something unexpected must have cropped up. Isn’t that what happens with detectives? There’s always something unexpected.”

  “I suppose that’s the nature of his work.”

  “Perhaps he has arrested Mr Mawson.”

  “Yes, that’s a good point, perhaps he has. Something needs to be done about the man. He’s clearly more dangerous than he first appeared.”

  Discussing the matter with Francis had convinced me that Mawson was behind the murders, and that the theft of Alfred Holland’s diaries was an attempt to cover up any further revelations.

  “Might your conversation be carried out elsewhere?” a man with large ears sitting nearby whispered. “I’d have thought a clerk of the reading room would know better than to chatter away and disturb the work of others.”

  Ordinarily, Francis would have apologised to the man, but instead he glared at him. “I hope to see you again soon, Penny,” he said before returning to his work.

  I also glared at the man, then looked down at my notes, but my mind refused to concentrate. I knew Francis was probably right in saying that James hadn’t been in touch because he was so busy with the case, but I couldn’t help but wonder what was happening. Had Mawson been arrested? Had the Holborn police recognised the significance of the burglary at Emma Holland’s home?

  I gave up trying to work and packed the papers into my carpet bag. It was no use trying to stay away; I would have to go down to Scotland Yard. My mind would find no rest until I knew exactly what was taking place.

  I hailed a cab on Great Russell Street. It was a brisk twenty-minute walk down Charing Cross Road to Whitehall, but a cab could manage the journey in ten. When we reached Trafalgar Square the traffic became heavier and I could hear my cab driver hollering to those around him, a sure sign that they were getting in one another’s way.

  As the cab tried to push its way through Trafalgar Square I began to feel sorry for the poor horse being urged to barge its way into the narrow gaps between vehicles. After a few minutes it shook its head and refused to budge, causing the cabman to lose his temper.

  I pushed open the hatch in the roof. “I’ll walk from here!” I called up to him.

  Once I had paid my fare I stepped out of the cab and tried my best to avoid the mass of hooves and wheels as I scampered toward Northumberland Avenue. The traffic wasn’t usually so bad and I began to wonder whether something had occurred. Was this why James had yet to make contact with me?

  I was about to walk down Northumberland Avenue to Scotland Yard when I saw a group of people in earnest discussion outside the bank on the corner. By this stage I had a strong sense that something wasn’t quite right.

  “Excuse me,” I said to a man in a top hat, “has something happened? It seems unusually busy around here.”

  “I heard there’s been a murder,” he replied.

  I felt a lurch in my chest. “Where?”

  “Down that way, apparently,” he said, pointing in the direction of Whitehall. “I hope it’s nobody important; all the government buildings are down there. It might have been an assassination!”

  “I shall go and find out,” I said.

  The traffic stood still at the top of Whitehall and crowds filled the pavement. I pushed my way through, shouting out that I was a press reporter. James was somewhere within the crowd, I felt sure of it.

  Then a terrible thought struck me and the image of a severed finger came to mind. Could James have been the victim of a fatal attack?

  Chapter 44

  I pushed through the Whitehall crowds with a renewed sense of urgency. I felt nauseous and tried to slow my quick, shallow breathing as I reassured myself that James could not have come to any harm. The crowds were even thicker around Downing Street, where enterprising street hawkers were trying to sell watercress, apples and song sheets. I was pushed and shoved in all directions.

  “Let me through!” I shouted. “Press!”

  Most people moved aside when I asked, though a few were upset by my shouting in their ears.

  Just beyond Downing Street were the enormous stone buildings housing the Colonial Office, Foreign Office, Home Office and India Office, but before I could reach them a line of police constables blocked my way.

  “Miss Green, Morning Express!” I called to them, brandishing my card. “I need to speak to Inspector Blakely of Scotland Yard!” I had learned that offering constables a specific name was more likely to give me a passage through, but on this occasion I received only blank expressions in reply.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  There was no response from the constables.

  “Someone’s been murdered!” a woman said to me.

  “But who?” I asked.

  She shrugged.

  I managed to shove my way along the police line, hoping I might find a constable who was more receptive. This time I decided to shout out the name of a more senior officer.

  “I’m here to see Chief Inspector Cullen!” I shouted at a constable, thrusting my card at him. To my surprise, he let me straight through.

  There was an eerie lull beyond the police cordon. The government buildings loomed in front of me and I realised I had no idea where I was going. I strode purposefully along Charles Street, wary that if I appeared vague in my intentions I would be asked to leave.

  Where was Chief Inspector Cullen? And more importantly, where was James?

  As I walked toward the side entrance to the building I grew increasingly convinced that this incident had something to do with Mr Mawson. Had something gone wrong when James attempted to arrest him? I shuddered at the thought. My breath felt shaky as I reached the entrance.

  The constable standing guard had clearly decided there was no need to trouble me as I had already been allowed through the cordon. I explained who I was, regardless, and he nodded me on through the archway which led to the quadrant at the centre of the building. As I emerged from the archway I saw a group of figures in the middle of the sunlit, gravelled courtyard.

  I stopped sharply when I saw a dark blanket covering something on the ground.

  Where was James? My heart thudded heavily in my chest. I glanced at each man in turn but there was no sign of him. I looked again at the bundle on the ground. I felt sure it was the body of a man. But it couldn’t be James. Surely it wasn’t James.

  A sudden panic seized me, and I struggled to breathe. I wanted to run over to them shouting for him. Was he dead? Why had no one noticed me?

  A dreadful sickening sensation rose up from my stomach and I began to feel faint. For a moment I felt doomed to stand there for the rest of my days just watching and waiting, never quite certain whether the most unimaginable tragedy had struck or not.

  “James!” His name left my lips before I had time to think about what I was saying. The men turned to stare at me, but James’ face wasn’t among them. A man began walking toward me, and I could see from the thick grey moustache and spectacles that it was Chief Inspector Cullen.

  “Miss Green.” His voice seemed distant.

  My eyes were drawn to the bundle again.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as he reached my side. “How did you even get in here?”

  “I came to see James,” I said, still staring at the dreadful tableau in front of me.

  “He’s not here,” he replied.

  I turned to look at him, not yet able to feel relief.

  “It’s your chap Mawson beneath that blanket,” he said.

  “And James?”

  “He’s not here, Miss Green! But Mawson is dead; someone’s taken a knife to him. Such a messy business.”

  He seemed bemused by my confused state. “Get your notebook out and write down the details. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”


  I nodded and did as he suggested.

  Chapter 45

  “There isn’t much I can say about the assailant,” said the uniformed man who usually guarded the door at the India Office. His name was Mr Finch, and Mr Mawson’s attacker had spoken to him shortly before the stabbing.

  “He was a young, smart-looking man wearing a dark suit and a bowler hat,” he continued. “He was presentable and reasonably well-spoken. I had no idea he was carrying a weapon; none at all! If only I’d known I could have stopped him. We check for weapons when it’s someone important they come to see, but on this occasion there was nothing to rouse my suspicions. To think I could have done something to prevent this!”

  “What happened when Mr Mawson arrived?” I asked.

  “The young man suggested they walk for a short while outside because there was something he wished to speak to Mawson about.”

  “Do you think Mr Mawson knew the man?”

  “He didn’t seem to from what I could glean.”

  “Chief Inspector Cullen tells me the man left a card with you, but he suspects that it bears a false name.”

  “That’s correct. The card contains the name Edward Brown and there’s an address on it, too. I’ve no doubt police officers are visiting the address as we speak, but it may be false. A murderer is hardly likely to leave his personal details at the scene of a crime, is he?”

  “Did you hear any of the conversation between the two men?”

  “None whatsoever. My impression is that it was a professional conversation rather than a personal one. A short while after they walked through that door over there I heard a cry from outside. Usually it’s quite peaceful here, so I was quick to step outside and that’s when I saw the attacker landing the last of his blows and running away. Poor Mr Mawson was lying on the ground, and initially I thought he had been struck by the man’s fist. As I got closer I saw the blood and realised a weapon must have been used. Mr Mawson was still conscious at that time and I was torn between tending to him and chasing after the culprit.

  “I called out for help and as soon as my colleague Mr Haynes joined me I ran out onto Charles Street. There was no sign of the man by then. He may have turned right and run into St James’s Park or left and out onto Whitehall. Either way would have been a decent escape route, and I regret that I was unable to catch him. I ran into the park first, surmising at the time that he would choose that path as it would offer him more places to hide. Unfortunately, there was no sign of him. He had either successfully hidden or made his getaway.

  “I summoned the park keeper at his lodge on Birdcage Walk and he helped search for the man in the park, entreating a few other men to do the same. We summoned officers down at King Street police station as well as several inspectors at Scotland Yard. To think that this terrible attack took place only a short distance from the Yard! And there’s a police station just over the road!”

  The mention of the Yard reminded me of James. I still hadn’t been able to ascertain where he was.

  “Thank you, Mr Finch,” I said, “you’ve been most helpful. Please accept my condolences on the sad death of your colleague.”

  “Thank you, Miss Green. I’ve worked here for twelve years and never have I encountered anything like this. It’s truly dreadful.”

  I returned to the quadrant, where Mr Mawson’s body had been placed into a removal shell and was being loaded into a carriage to be taken away to the mortuary. I approached Chief Inspector Cullen, who was overseeing the proceedings.

  “This is something to do with the murder of the Forsters, isn’t it?” I said. “And the murder of Mr Holland. James and I spoke to Mr Mawson just yesterday, and he admitted to knowing Mr Holland. In fact, I had wondered whether he was the murderer himself. Then Alfred Holland’s diaries were stolen last night and I was convinced Mr Mawson was behind that as well. Perhaps he was.”

  Chief Inspector Cullen scowled. “Your mind runs along at a great pace, Miss Green. I can’t really keep track of what you’re saying.”

  “But don’t you see how all of this links together?”

  “I believe so, but I’ll need to have a proper read of the case file to understand the ins and outs of it all.”

  “The burglary at the home of Alfred Holland’s sister Emma needs to be properly investigated,” I said. “It sounds as though the police at Holborn aren’t taking it seriously because they don’t understand the wider implications. The man or men who burgled her home must be linked to those who murdered her brother. Otherwise, why would they steal his diaries? Barely anyone knew she was in possession of them, so that will narrow down the suspects considerably.”

  “You’ve lost me once again, Miss Green. I shall have to return to the Yard and read everything through before reaching any conclusions.”

  “But it’s important to move quickly! Who knows when these men will strike again, Chief Inspector? I thought a number of them were already in custody as James was due to speak to them at Marylebone Lane station yesterday. Yet there has been a burglary and a murder since then! So who is behind this, and why?”

  “It’s a complicated case, Miss Green,” the senior officer said, refusing to comment further as he lit his pipe.

  We watched as the carriage left the quadrant and some members of staff from the India Office came out with buckets and mops to clean the ground.

  “Where’s James?” I asked. “He should be here.”

  “I don’t know. He’s clearly been detained with another aspect of the case. It’s quite frustrating, really, as we could have done with having him here.”

  “Have you seen him at all today?”

  “No.”

  “It’s important that he’s told what has happened as soon as possible. As I’ve said, we met with Mr Mawson only yesterday and this turn of events changes everything. He must also be informed of the burglary.”

  “I shall update him as soon as he returns to the Yard.”

  As Chief Inspector Cullen puffed on his pipe again his lack of urgency concerned me. Beyond the walls of the government offices and the police cordon hundreds of people were clamouring for news of the murder. It was my job to return to the Morning Express offices and write the story for tomorrow’s edition, but instead I was detained here, trying to compel the man to act. It seemed an odd situation to find myself in. Did he really plan to update James when he returned? I felt sure he would, but his lackadaisical manner was cause for concern.

  “You will tell James everything when he returns later, won’t you?” I asked. “I should be happy to do so myself. If I only knew where he was I’d go and find him this very instant.”

  “Haven’t you a news article to write, Miss Green?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “If I were you I’d go and get on with that.”

  Chapter 46

  The thick-set form of Inspector Bowles strode into the wood-panelled waiting room at Marylebone Lane police station.

  “Hello again, Miss Green.”

  I asked him about the gang and his left eye drifted over my shoulder as he told me he was confident all of its members had been arrested and would be up at Marylebone Police Court the following day.

  “Did Inspector Blakely meet with them yesterday?” I asked.

  “Yes, he assisted me with some of the interviews.”

  “And today?”

  “No, not today.”

  “Have you seen him today?”

  “I haven’t, no.”

  I felt a cold sensation grip my heart. Something wasn’t right.

  “I’ve been trying to make contact with Inspector Blakely all day and have been unable to find him,” I said shakily. “I assumed he was here with you.”

  “I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.”

  “Did he tell you what his plans were once you had concluded the interviews?”

  “Not in any great detail. He explained to me about the chap who knew the Forsters and the unfortunate individual who was shot inside the opium den
.”

  “Did you realise that first chap was murdered today?”

  “Was he indeed? I heard there had been a murder in Whitehall but I wasn’t aware of the fellow’s identity. Goodness! That’s rather perturbing.”

  “I don’t know whether Inspector Blakely knows about it yet. He seems to have completely vanished.”

  “He explained something to me about diaries. They belonged to the opium den fellow, is that right?”

  “Yes, and they’ve been stolen, but I’m not sure Inspector Blakely knows about that yet either. So much has happened and he’s the only one who can pull all these strands together, but he’s nowhere to be found! I’m beginning to worry.”

  “I’m sure there’s no need, Miss Green.”

  “But he received a threat! Did he not mention that to you?”

  “No, he didn’t, but a threat isn’t unusual in our line of work.”

  “This one was… Perhaps he’ll tell you more about it himself. These men you’ve arrested were hired by someone to burgle the Forsters’ home and then kill them, weren’t they?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Who could it be?”

  “They haven’t been forthcoming, but we’ll get it out of them before long.”

  “For a short while I wondered whether it could have been Mr Mawson, but now that he’s been murdered I’m beginning to doubt it.”

  “Perhaps it was and someone has exacted their revenge on him. We’ll get to the bottom of it, just you wait.”

  “I hope so, but it’s difficult to see how at the moment. Your division is working on the murder of Mrs Forster, C Division is investigating Mr Forster’s murder, K Division is looking after the Holland investigation and A Division is now involved in the murder of Mr Mawson. Not to mention E Division, which is looking into the theft of Alfred Holland’s diaries. It’s becoming incredibly complicated!”