A Donation of Murder (10 page)

The taxi pulled up at De Keyser's, once the largest hotel in London. Even by the standards of 1913 it was an imposing six-storeyed structure curving gracefully for about two hundred yards along the line of the embankment.

After paying the driver, Dody and Pike were forced to run an obstacle course across building debris and potholes related to the construction of the electric tramline along the riverfront. Their boots were thick with mud by the time they reached the front steps of the hotel, a fact that did not impress the top-hatted doorman. They did their best to scrape off their footwear before Pike requested entrance. On being asked for his letter of introduction, he presented his police warrant card and the door was swiftly opened.

An elaborate Christmas tree dominated the hotel foyer with decorations like none Dody had seen before. Crystal droplets gleamed; strings of pearls and glass baubles shimmered; coloured gems caught the light and the draughts, and sparked off the marble floor like kaleidoscopes. She caught her breath and glanced at Pike. He too looked amazed, though his gaze seemed focused less on the tree, and more on the man in hotel livery standing next to it in the manner of a Buckingham Palace guard, minus the rifle.

‘Are those decorations made from genuine jewels?' Dody whispered as they passed the tree.

‘They must be, hence the armed guard.'

‘Armed? I can't see a gun.'

‘Pistol, inside jacket pocket.'

‘Trust you to notice.'

They found a cloakroom and deposited their outerwear. At the front desk Pike enquired as to the whereabouts of Mr Sachs and they were directed to the smoking room. Apart from a waiter behind the bar, Mr Sachs was the sole occupant of the wood-panelled hide-away, a hunched, wizened figure wearing a skullcap and a loose but well-cut black suit. He did not seem to notice their approach, and only looked up when Pike cleared his throat.

‘Mr Sachs, my name is Pike and I'm with the police. This is my colleague, Doctor McCleland.'

In the dim light of the room the old man looked dazed. One side of his face was bruised and swollen where he had been pistol-whipped by the thieves. The undamaged side of his face was pale and splashed with age spots, like the markings of a quail egg, Dody thought. He gave a little jolt like one who has been abruptly woken, then attempted to lever himself up from the leather chair.

Pike put his hand on the old man's shoulder. ‘Please, sir, stay where you are. May we take a seat?'

Sachs nodded and fell back into his chair.

‘You have our condolences, sir,' Dody began as she and Pike settled on the sofa opposite him.

‘Thank you, but I don't understand why you are here. I have already spoken to the police.' His English was good, with a subtle Yiddish accent.

‘Sometimes shock can do strange things to our memories,' Pike said. ‘I appreciate how difficult this must be, but I need you to tell me again what happened to you yesterday morning.'

The old man clasped his bony hands and took a deep breath. ‘I went to open up shop with my niece as usual, and there the robbers were, in the strong room, waiting for us. I noticed a big hole in the wall connecting to the shop next door. The other policeman told me the thieves had rented the empty shop premises and occupied it for over a month, spying on me and making note of my routine.'

No gang other than the Anchor Men would have the financial resources or organisational skills to plan such a heist, Pike thought. Surely it must have been them.

‘Did you arrive at your usual time?'
Pike asked the jeweller.

‘No, I was a bit earlier than usual. I had much paperwork to attend to and a busy day ahead. Ursula wanted to take the afternoon off to buy a new dress for our appointment with His Majesty and the Duke of Abercorn. His Majesty wanted to examine the repairs to the Wanderer himself.'

‘The Wanderer?' Dody queried.

‘Excuse me, that is what my colleagues and I like to call the pearl. It has been wandering around the world since first owned by Spanish royalty in the fifteenth century. Its most recent wanderings took it to behind a sofa at Windsor Castle, after
having dropped off its setting. That is where His Majesty first laid eyes on it and why he insisted on repairs being made before he purchased it.'

‘How long had the necklace been in your shop?' Pike asked.

‘I'd been working on it for about two weeks.'

‘And did its owner, the Duke, deliver it to you in person?'

‘No, it came from France. It was originally sent to a French jeweller who, when he saw it, decided he didn't want to touch it due to the loss of carat that would inevitably occur when the pearl was re-drilled. He referred the repair to me.' A spark of pride temporarily ignited the old eyes. ‘Why the pearl was not referred to me in the first place, who knows? You'd think the Duke would've preferred it to be worked on by an Englishman.'

Not English enough, Dody thought, conscious of the employment problems of her Jewish colleague, Rachel.

‘The Duke finally agreed that I was the most qualified person for the job and organised for the Wanderer to be sent to my shop in Hatton Gardens via the postal service.'

At Dody's look of surprise, Pike turned to her. ‘Experience has shown that jewels from the continent are often safest sent by the postal services. Couriers are far more vulnerable to attack or open to corruption. Is that not right, Mr Sachs?'

‘Yes, the less fuss made the better.'

He lifted his head and flicked his hand at the waiter and ordered Madeira for himself. Dody and Pike opted for tea.

‘How many knew the necklace was being stored in your shop safe?'

‘No one, Chief Inspector, except my niece and myself.'

Pike raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Really?'

‘I repeat, no one. Ursula and I hatched a clever plan; well, we thought we were being clever at the time. I put together a counterfeit replica of the necklace after I had repaired the original, and stored it here in the hotel safe-room — as a decoy, if you will. This hotel is a meeting place for jewellers from all over the world and the hotel safe-room is excellent, it has to be. I made no secret of the fact that I was keeping the necklace here. I even showed it to some of my colleagues on Friday, pointing out the repairs I'd made. It was a fleeting glance, I might add. Any jeweller worth his salt would have recognised it as a fake if he'd been given the chance of a careful examination.'

‘And where is the replica necklace now?' Pike asked.

‘In the safe, of course.'

‘You have checked?'

‘Why, what is the point? That necklace is nothing but paste.'

Conversation ceased when the waiter arrived with their refreshments. Sachs swallowed his Madeira in one gulp then pushed the cigar box on the table towards Pike who declined the offer. Dody poured the tea while Sachs went through the ritual of preparing his cigar.

‘When you've finished, sir, I'd like us to check the hotel safe together.' Pike lit a match on his vesta case and held it out to Sachs. The old man puffed and mouthed at his cigar, withdrawing it from the flame when he was satisfied with its glow.

‘As you wish, Chief Inspector,' he said with a smoky sigh.

‘Mr Sachs,' Dody said. ‘Would you be so kind as to permit me to ask some questions too?'

‘If you think it's necessary, Doctor. But if you don't mind my asking, in exactly what capacity are you involved in the investigation?'

‘Doctor McCleland is a forensic scientist,' Pike explained.

In response to Sachs's blank look, Dody added, ‘Forensic science, broadly speaking, is the application of scientific techniques and principles to legal investigations. We work closely with the police.'

‘Doctor McCleland uses science to analyse evidence, as opposed to deduction, a technique more commonly used by the police,' Pike said. ‘Over the last few years we have found the combination of disciplines to be invaluable, and soon it will be
de rigueur
. Paris has a police laboratory already devoted to the subject of forensic science.'

‘And they say London will follow suit — eventually,' Dody added.

Sachs perked up. ‘I have always been enthusiastic about anything that might provide stimulating opportunities for women. I had high hopes for Ursula; I was training her in the business, you know. Women often see details with greater clarity than us mere males. Ursula could spot a fleck of carbon in a diamond which most men . . .'

He slumped back into his seat and abandoned the unfinished cigar in the ashtray. ‘But I would rather not talk about Ursula. Later maybe, but not now, I am sorry. This
is my fault, not yours, I should not have turned the conversation back to her. But I was so proud of her you see . . .'

Dody glanced at Pike with concern. He met her eyes briefly then turned back to the jeweller. ‘Shall we take a look in that safe now, Mr Sachs?'

Sachs nodded, adjusted his skullcap, and allowed Dody to help him from the chair. He was a small man, about the same height as Dody, and she had no trouble steering him from the smoking room.

Pike continued to question him as they made their way to the front desk. ‘How many men were involved in the robbery?'

‘Five, if one includes the driver of the getaway car,' Sachs replied.

‘You are absolutely sure? Five people, and all of them men?'

‘That's what I keep saying. It was the driver of the car who shot my niece. I saw him do it, as if Ursula was a dog in the street.'

‘Did you manage a look at him?' Pike asked.

‘A glimpse: crooked nose, heavy face and flat cap. Obviously very confident with his pistol.'

Dody had not examined the murdered niece; her body had been sent to another mortuary. It would be interesting to compare the bullet extracted from her body to those Dody had pulled from the thieves.

‘I've already had that bullet sent to our ballistic expert for comparison with the others,' Pike muttered out of the jeweller's hearing, as if he'd read her mind.

Three young men in morning suits stood behind the mahogany counter of the reception area and greeted the jeweller by name. Sachs introduced the tallest man as Mr Cassidy. Mr Cassidy handed an ink-stained logbook to Sachs to sign and then led them through two locked doors behind the front desk and into the strong room, after having turned a huge steering wheel of a thing. The walls were lined with the type of strong boxes one might find in a bank.

Would you like me to leave, sir?' Cassidy asked.

‘No, you may as well stay,' said Sachs. ‘This is hardly a private moment.'

Under Cassidy's watchful eye, Sachs slid the box from its pigeonhole and placed it on a table. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and removed a key on a red ribbon.

‘How many keys do you have?' Pike asked Cassidy as Sachs slipped the key into the safety box's lock.

‘There are no duplicate keys, Chief Inspector. Each key is the renter's responsibility.'

Sachs opened the lid of the box. ‘Empty — this cannot be!' With a sharp cry he collapsed into a nearby chair.

Cassidy's jaw looked as if it might unhinge.

‘Check the log book immediately, please,' Pike said to the panic-stricken receptionist. ‘We need to see who else has accessed the strong box in the last forty-eight hours.'

Dody ran her fingers over the smooth interior of the empty box as if she might find the necklace secreted in a hidden compartment. ‘Search your memory, please, sir,' she said to the jeweller. ‘Are you certain you replaced the counterfeit necklace after you showed it to your colleagues on Friday afternoon?'

‘I am sometimes forgetful, but my niece was with me the whole time. Yes, I am sure I replaced it.'

‘And the key, is it always on your person?'

‘Sometimes my niece looks . . . looked after it,' he corrected himself. ‘The imitation necklace was not the only thing we ever stored in the box. We often used it for sundry valuables.'

Mr Cassidy returned with the logbook, already opened at the correct date. He put it on the table and pointed out some scrawled details. ‘This didn't happen when I was on duty,' he said, straightening his posture. ‘I didn't work that night. It says here that Miss Sachs was escorted to the safe room to access the box early on Saturday morning, at five minutes past midnight.'

‘My niece would do no such thing without asking me first,' Mr Sachs sobbed.

‘I need the name and address of the man on duty,' Pike said to the receptionist. Cassidy scribbled the details in Pike's notebook with shaking fingers.

‘And I demand to see the hotel manager,' Mr Sachs said.

Pike put his hand on the old man's shoulder. His pale complexion had turned puce; he was almost incandescent with rage. Dody feared he might have an apoplectic fit.

Pike shook his head. ‘Not until we see him first, sir. You see it was the assistant manager, Mr Chapman, who was on duty that night.'

Behind her, Dody heard the telephone on the counter ringing, and then answered by one of the well-dressed receptionists. While she was wondering if any of the staff
could be assigned to care for Mr Sachs, Pike was summoned to the telephone. After a brief conversation, he beckoned to Dody.

‘That was Singh. The body that arrived while we were together at the mortuary is believed to be that of Tommy “the Tadpole” Beauchamp.'

Dody glanced at the stricken Sachs. ‘I'd better go then,' she said, loath to leave the old man who appeared to be deteriorating before her eyes.

‘Call the hotel doctor, please, Matthew,' Dody said under her breath.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the old man groaned, clasped his chest, and collapsed to the marble floor.

Pike and the hotel staff shielded the stricken jeweller from the crowd of gawkers who gathered like flies around meat. Dody enlisted Pike's assistance to help her lay Mr Sachs on his back.

‘Your jacket, Pike, I need your jacket,' she said.

He ripped off his jacket and handed it to her. Dody bundled it into a ball and slipped it under her patient's back, tilting his chest upward. Then she took his arms and crossed them over his chest.

‘This draws the air into his lungs,' she muttered to Pike. She pulled the old man's arms over his head. ‘And this pushes the air out. It's vital that we keep his blood pumping to his brain until we can get him to a hospital.'

The routine played out for several minutes. When Dody began to tire, they exchanged places. While Pike worked, she felt for the pulse in the old man's neck. After some searching, she shook her head.

‘That's enough, Pike,' she said with a weary sigh, ‘he's gone.'

Pike rocked back on his feet and wiped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. He regarded the greying face of Mr Sachs. Poor old man, he thought. He was so much more concerned about the death of his niece than the theft of the necklace, and rightly so. Please, Lord, may he be in a better place.
And please let me catch the bastards who brought all this about
.

Pike glanced at Dody, still on her knees, gazing upon the body. She did not have the same religious beliefs as he did, but he had no doubt that she was, in her own way, wishing the old man peace.

Pike helped Dody up. She handed him his rumpled jacket. ‘I have to go now,' she said, pressing her palms to her eyes. ‘I wish I could stay.'

‘There is nothing more you can do. You did your best,' he said with feeling.

She nodded and turned towards the door. Pike did not take his eyes off her until she'd disappeared into the street. Two bellboys appeared with a canvas stretcher and a sheet to place over the body. A man who introduced himself as the assistant manager, Mr Chapman, apologised for the incident and encouraged the crowd to disperse.

Pike introduced himself and asked for a private word. The grim-faced man nodded and led him into a roomy office off the foyer.

‘Tragic,' Chapman said. ‘First his niece and then him. A lovely man, he will be missed.'

Pike declined the offer of a cup of tea. Mr Chapman indicated for Pike to sit in a buttoned leather chair on the other side of his desk, and sat down himself, hands clasped and resting on a blotter.

‘Actually, Mr Chapman, I was about to call on you anyway, even before Mr Sachs's tragic demise. My visit pertains to the theft of the La Peregrina necklace from Mr Sachs's jewellery shop in Hatton Gardens. I believe you assisted Miss Sachs in accessing her safety deposit box in the early hours of that morning?'

Chapman smoothed his tie. ‘Yes, I did. She had the key. This was not unusual. She's been a guest of this hotel for several months and has accessed the deposit box without her uncle before.'

‘Was anyone else with her?'

‘No, she was alone. And she accessed her box alone, according to regulations.'

Pike marked several seconds by counting the ticks of the carriage clock on the desk, giving the assistant manager time to double check his memory of the night.

‘The staff will all be devastated by Mr Sachs's death,' Chapman declared. ‘We got to know him and his niece well over the last few months. They will be missed.'

‘Tell me about Miss Ursula Levi.'

‘A sweet young woman, the daughter of his sister, he told me.'

Pike winced inwardly. ‘Sweet.' Dody and her sister would not be impressed by the paternalistic description. Dash it all — now he was even beginning to think like them.

‘Her character,' Pike reiterated. ‘Was she shy and retiring? Sociable, intelligent, a demanding guest, et-cetera?'

‘She was not particularly attractive. Her nose was on the large side, typically Jewish.'

Pike tensed his jaw and regarded the assistant manager.

Chapman began to fiddle with his watch chain. ‘Oh, I see what you mean,' he said with a nervous laugh. ‘She was very quiet at the beginning of their stay, but after a week or two she seemed to relax more and began to enjoy the hotel's excellent amenities. I know that on several occasions she stayed up dancing long after her
uncle had retired. She seemed to enjoy reacquainting herself with jewellers from the continent whom she had met on previous occasions during the course of her uncle's business.'

‘Did she have any close friends or gentlemen admirers?'

The manager raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Now you mention it, I did see her quite often with the same gentleman. He was not a guest, however, I think he was a Londoner.' Mr Chapman clicked his fingers. ‘Ah yes, now I remember. This particular gentleman was waiting for Miss Sachs in the foyer after she had visited her security box.'

Pike's heart quickened. ‘Name, description?'

‘He wasn't a hotel guest, but everyone who wishes to enter the hotel has to have a letter of introduction. I'll see if I can find it.'

The manager left his seat and began to rummage through the contents of a filing cabinet. ‘Here it is,' he said waving a piece of paper. He returned to his desk and handed it over to Pike.

The letter was dated March last year and introduced a businessman named Malcolm James to the hotel. Pike's mouth dried when he saw that John Giblett had signed the letter as referee. It was common knowledge that Giblett did not believe in working under an alias; in his opinion he was too clever to be caught. Giblett might think he was too clever to be caught, Pike thought, gritting his teeth, but with enough patience and persistence he would be. This letter of introduction might well be the beginning of John Giblett's downfall.

He tried to hide the feeling of excitement building in his chest. ‘How well do you know John Giblett, Mr Chapman?'

‘He sometimes stays in the hotel to do business. He's well-mannered and pleasant, generous with the staff.'

‘What of his reputation?'

Chapman shrugged. ‘Mr Giblett is a diamond trader, like many of the hotel's guests. It is not unusual for those gentlemen to be suspicious of one another, but we don't pry into the private affairs of our guests.'

‘Has Giblett been a recent guest?'

‘I have not seen him for several months.'

‘And what can you tell me of his colleague, Mr Malcolm James?'

‘A lesser trader with fewer contacts, other than Mr Giblett, who, as you can see in his letter, describes James as his business partner. The fellow looks more like a boxer than a businessman. Nice clothes, but poorly spoken. Not so generous with the staff.'

The name Malcolm James was vaguely familiar to Pike — where had he seen it? One of the mugshot books he had been flicking through when trying to identify the bodies with Dody in the mortuary, perhaps? That must be it. But unless the man was as arrogant as John Giblett, the name Malcolm James was most likely an alias. If a villain was not in one of the police mugshot or fingerprint books, he was almost impossible to identify. Pike knew of one thief who, over several years, had appeared before the same magistrate under different names, with none of the authorities any the wiser to his true identity. But maybe there was a chance with this one.

Pike stood up. ‘Thank you, Mr Chapman.'

The assistant manager opened the door for Pike, then closed it again. ‘Good God, he's there, he's there — in the foyer, near the Christmas tree!'

‘Step away from the door, please, sir,' Pike ordered so he could peer through the crack. He saw a broad-shouldered man with slick, centre-parted black hair and a crooked nose, looking at the jewels adorning the tree. The face was as familiar as the name. Pike's hunch was correct, he had been in one of the mugshot albums. Pike made a mental note to get Singh onto it as soon as possible. James's hands were in his pockets, a habit that Pike's father had whipped out of him as soon as he was old enough to wear long trousers. Poor form indeed.

‘Are you going to arrest him?' Chapman asked. ‘If you do, please don't do it in the foyer. We've had enough public excitement for one day.'

‘I have nothing to arrest him for.'

‘Talk to him, then?'

‘No, not yet.' Pike continued to watch.

James said a few words to the guard near the tree and the guard replied. Then he disappeared in the direction of the cloakroom. He returned a few minutes later shrugging into a heavy overcoat and plonking a trilby on his head. Dressed for the cold, he swaggered towards the hotel's front entrance.

Having no time to retrieve his own hat and coat, Pike grabbed an umbrella from the hatstand.‘May I borrow this, please?' Without waiting for a reply, he took the umbrella and left the manager's office. After giving James a twenty-second start he stepped from the hotel. Some of the wind had died, but without his coat it was bitterly
cold. He opened the umbrella and began to follow the man who liked to be known as Malcolm James.