The Lost Empress (12 page)

Tayte swallowed dryly and looked back at the photograph. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he said, keen to move on. He pointed to another figure—this time to a man in a sharp business suit on the left side of the photograph. ‘And what about this man here?’

‘My husband told me his name was Frank Saxby,’ Davina said. ‘He was a friend of the family with connections to the Metcalfe family through a failed partnership with my husband’s great-grandfather, Oscar Scanlon.’ She paused and stared into space for a moment. ‘I do know that one of Frank Saxby’s descendants lives locally—a young man called Dean Saxby.’

Tayte was writing names into his notepad. He looked up. ‘How do you know him?’

‘I don’t. I went to the workshop to collect something for a client about a month ago, and I almost bumped into him as he was coming out. Lionel told me who he was.’

‘Do you know how your husband knew him?’

‘I’m not sure he really knew him. At least, he’d never mentioned him. I was running late, and I was in such a hurry that I didn’t think to ask why he was there. I’d forgotten all about him until now. Come to think of it,’ she added, ‘he seemed a far cry from the sort of people we usually do business with.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, they’re typically older and well heeled. Dean Saxby can’t have been more than twenty-five, and he was wearing sportswear—shabby with it, too.’

‘Maybe he’d been jogging,’ Tayte said, wondering why Dean Saxby had gone to see Lionel Scanlon. He thought it would be good to pay him a visit, both to find out and to see if he knew anything that might prove useful about his ancestors and about Frank Saxby’s connection to the Metcalfe family. ‘Do you have his address? Maybe it’s on file somewhere.’

‘I’ll check for you,’ Davina said. ‘Lionel might have written it down. We keep business contacts and customer details in books, the old-fashioned way.’

‘Great,’ Tayte said, and then he turned his thoughts back to Alice. He gazed at the image of the young girl again, and then he took the photograph of his client’s grandmother out from his briefcase. He set the two images side by side, and he could see little resemblance between them—not that he’d really expected to see much of a likeness. The photographs were old and faded, and there were clearly a few decades between the two Alices when the photographs were taken. As expected as it was, Tayte’s disappointment must have been written all over his face.

‘No good?’ Davina said.

Tayte shook his head and slid both photographs across so that Davina could get a better look. ‘It’s possible to see how the young Alice might have grown up to look like the older Alice, but it’s hardly conclusive, is it?’

‘No, it’s not conclusive at all. I’m sorry. When I saw the photo and knew the girl must be Alice, I really thought it would help.’

‘That’s okay,’ Tayte said. ‘It’s still a great photo. I’ll just have to keep looking. Lord Reginald Metcalfe’s reaction when I showed him the locket and this photo of Alice Dixon was certainly enough to keep me going for now. I’m sure that proving they’re the same person is only going to be a matter of time.’

Davina showed Tayte a few more photographs. They were largely of her late husband’s ancestors and were too recent to hold any significance to Tayte’s assignment.

‘Does all your research concern the Scanlon line?’

‘Most of it,’ Davina said. ‘I’m sure you’re not interested in that, though, are you? I started with my own line of course, but I soon got stuck, so I switched to Lionel’s family, then I started hitting brick walls there, too.’

‘Is your husband’s father or grandfather still alive?’

‘No, my Lionel was the last of his line.’

‘That’s too bad,’ Tayte said, considering that it looked as though Davina’s research was going to prove less valuable than he’d hoped. He went back to the only photograph she’d been able to show him from the time when Alice was around, and his eyes drifted to the man Davina had called Frank Saxby. ‘You said this man was a friend of the family, connected to your husband’s ancestor, Oscar Scanlon, through business.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Davina went through her folders and pulled out a few documents. ‘I was particularly interested in the various businesses my husband’s ancestors had been involved in over the years. I researched quite a few at The National Archives, and the British Library was a good source of information, too. Going further back to the time period you’re interested in, I came across one of those rewarding family history finds that gives you goose bumps.’

‘The connection to Oscar Scanlon?’

Davina nodded. ‘I got my lead from the Historical Directories of England and Wales—specifically from an entry in Kelly’s Directory of Kent, covering the period from 1900 to 1909.
Here it is.’

Davina slid a sheet of paper in front of Tayte that looked as if it had been printed from an online scan. It showed a page full of names and businesses, complete with addresses. Tayte’s eyes shot straight to the line that had been highlighted.

‘Oscar Scanlon and Frank Saxby,’ Tayte said.

‘They co-owned a shoe factory in Dartford. I found out that they began their business partnership in 1908, and it was only when I began looking into what became of the business that things started getting interesting.’

Davina placed another sheet of paper in front of Tayte. This time it was a copy of a newspaper archive dated 11 June 1912, taken from the
Kent Messenger
.

Tayte read the headline aloud. ‘Factory Blaze Kills Six.’

‘Now look at this.’ Davina showed Tayte another newspaper archive copy, this one from
The Times
. It was dated two months later.

‘ “Insurance fraud,” ’ Tayte read out.

He went on to read the verdict that had followed the inquest into the shoe factory fire in Dartford, which reported that the company was in financial difficulty at the time of the fire and that arson was suspected. Further down he read that no proof against the owners could be produced and that subsequently no charges were brought against them.

‘That’s a great piece of research,’ Tayte said, ‘and it certainly leaves suspicion hanging over your husband’s great-grandfather and his business partner.’

‘Yes, it does. It’s a shame I couldn’t find out any more about it. If it’s true, it doesn’t say much for the character of either of them, does it?’

Tayte agreed. ‘If it’s true.’ he repeated. ‘As nothing was proved, then as far as my assignment goes, we can’t draw any more conclusion from it other than that Oscar Scanlon and Frank Saxby were once business partners.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Davina went to pour more wine and found the bottle all but empty. ‘Shall I open another one?’

‘That sounds good, but I’ve got my car.’

‘You could always get a taxi.’

‘Yes, I could, but you’ve given me some research ideas. I’d like to follow up while they’re fresh.’

‘I could help,’ Davina said, and Tayte could see the eagerness in her eyes. He was about to give her his usual line about preferring to work alone, when she added, ‘If there’s any chance your assignment could help to find my husband’s killer, I need to be a part of it. You can understand that, can’t you?’

Tayte understood all too well. He’d felt exactly the same way when his good friend Marcus Brown was murdered. Understanding why had meant everything to him. He smiled at Davina and gave a small nod. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I don’t see why not.’

Davina’s eyes lit up. ‘Thank you. I won’t get in the way.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s go up to my apartment. It’s a little cramped in here, and I’ve got a laptop and a fast Internet connection. Two laptops might be better than one.’

Chapter Thirteen

Davina’s apartment was located in one of six conjoined units that formed a crescent rising in tiers amid landscaped gardens facing the moorings and the River Medway. Tayte followed Davina into a lift that was in one of the taller sections of the building and watched her press the button for the top floor.

‘We splashed out and were lucky enough to get one of the penthouses,’ she said. ‘Oh, dear. You probably think I’m rich now, don’t you? New boat and a second property on the river.’ She laughed. ‘I wish.’

‘You can’t take it with you,’ Tayte said, and he immediately regretted it. ‘Sorry,’ he offered, thinking about her husband. Davina seemed to be handling Lionel’s death so well on the outside that Tayte had forgotten to be careful with this choice of words. ‘I’m afraid I’m always putting my foot in it. Can’t seem to help myself.’

‘That’s okay,’ Davina said as the lift door opened. ‘I like that about you. What you see is what you get. No pretence.’

‘I never really thought about it.’

‘No, you wouldn’t, would you? That’s what I mean.’

They stepped out onto a bright, sunlit landing, and Tayte began to think about his next line of research.

‘I think I’d like to find out some more about Lord Charles Metcalfe,’ he said as they walked. ‘He seems pivotal to everyone I’m interested in from the time before Alice Stilwell supposedly died. We can go over what we already know about him first. Then see what else we can find.’

They arrived at the apartment, and Davina took out her key. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

She went to put her key into the lock, but as she did so, the door nudged open, and she froze. They stared at each other for a moment. Then Tayte put a finger to his lips and moved in front of her, noticing as he did so that the lock had been forced.

‘Is there another way out of the apartment besides this door?’ he whispered.

Davina shook her head. ‘Only the balcony, but it’s a long way down.’

Tayte eased the door further open and called through the gap.

‘Hello?’

He stepped back again, taking Davina aside with him. If anyone was still in the apartment, he thought he’d rather the intruder knew he was there. He also hoped the person would choose to bolt rather than stick around to fight it out, but no sound followed. Tayte called again, and this time he pushed the door fully open. What he saw made him feel for Davina all the more. He shook
his head.

‘You don’t want to see this,’ he said, but Davina was already beside him, her mouth agape.

‘Who did this?’ she said. She looked close to tears. ‘Why?’

The place was a mess. Tayte scanned the room, from the internal doors that led off to his left to the glass doors that looked out past the balcony over the river to his right. It seemed as if everything that could be knocked over or flipped upside down had been. The sofa and chair cushions were strewn across the wood flooring, and the dining table had been turned on its side. Even the pictures on the walls were either crooked or lying on the floor below their hooks. Tayte thought the place looked more like a chalk pastel abstract painting than a living space.

‘It looks like whoever did this has gone,’ he said, ‘but I should check the rooms, just to be sure. Do you mind?’

‘I’d feel safer if you did,’ Davina said, and Tayte could see that she was shaking.

‘Do you need to sit down?’

Davina looked around as if to ask where? ‘No, I’m okay. It’s just the realisation that someone probably was at my house last night, and that whoever it was must have been watching me this morning. He must have followed me here and waited for the opportunity to break in while we were on the boat.’ She shuddered. ‘It gives me the creeps.’

‘I’ll call Inspector Bishop,’ Tayte said, reaching for his phone as he began to pick his way through the debris. ‘We’d better not touch anything until he gets here.’

Soon after Tayte had called DI Bishop, the Inspector arrived at Davina’s apartment with a small forensics team. The Scenes of Crime Officers went straight to work, and after taking a look around the apartment for himself, Bishop led Tayte and Davina back outside.

‘I want to be thorough with this,’ Bishop said. ‘The break-in could be linked to your husband’s murder, Mrs Scanlon, so the team will be in there awhile. Shall we grab a coffee?’

They went to the Marina restaurant, which was quiet now, during that in-between time after lunch and before dinner. The tanned young restaurant manager Tayte had met when he first arrived at the marina seemed to be the only person on duty. He showed them to a table by a window that was like a large round porthole, looking out onto the marina.

‘Luca here makes the best coffee, don’t you, Luca?’ Davina said.

‘For you, Mrs Scanlon, always my very best,’ Luca said with a practiced smile and an exaggerated Italian accent that seemed to complement his slick persona.

As soon as Luca left with their order, Bishop got straight down to business. ‘This looks bad just now, but it gives me hope that we’ll catch your husband’s killer, Mrs Scanlon.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean he’s still active—assuming for now that what’s happened here is connected to the case, which I think is a pretty safe bet.’

‘He’s clearly looking for something,’ Tayte said.

Bishop nodded. ‘And that also tells me that your husband’s murder, Mrs Scanlon, wasn’t random. It wasn’t just some burglary attempt gone wrong, as we’d previously supposed. Your husband’s killer wanted something he thought your husband had, but he didn’t get it. He’s still looking.’

‘And now he thinks I have it,’ Davina said.

‘Seems that way. Do you have any idea what it could be?’

Davina drew a blank expression. ‘No, none at all. An antique of some kind perhaps? I suppose it would have to be something valuable to kill my husband over it.’

‘Given the nature of your business, that would seem to be the obvious answer,’ Bishop said. ‘Was anything of particular value or interest acquired by you or your husband recently?’

Davina took a moment to think about it. Then she began to shake her head. ‘I can’t be sure whether Lionel had come across anything, of course, but we usually only buy to order, in which case I’d know about it. Our most valuable pieces tend to be items of furniture, but whoever broke into my apartment was clearly looking for something small, or why make such a mess?’

‘Perhaps it’s not something with an obvious face value,’ Tayte said.

Bishop nodded. ‘Whatever it is, it’s clearly valuable to someone for some reason. Was there anything in your apartment that might fit the bill, Mrs Scanlon? Anything that was taken there recently by you or your husband?’

Again Davina shook her head. ‘We’ve always kept the place quite minimalist. Nothing’s old or worth anything—just some seascape paintings by local artists and a few cheap sculptures, mainly of seabirds. We bought everything new when we bought the apartment.’

‘Good,’ Bishop said. ‘So it’s unlikely that whoever broke in got what he came for.’

‘I should say it’s highly unlikely,’ Davina said.

The coffee arrived, momentarily pausing the conversation. When it started up again, Bishop sipped his drink and thoughtfully said, ‘Why now?’ He turned to Tayte. ‘My investigation was in danger of stagnating before you arrived. Then someone runs you off the road.’ He paused and turned to Davina. ‘And now your apartment’s been ransacked, Mrs Scanlon. I mean, whoever did this could have done it weeks ago, so why now?’

‘It backs up the idea that all this has something to do with my assignment,’ Tayte said. ‘Something I might turn up if I keep digging.’

Bishop agreed. ‘But what does any of this have to do with your research into Alice Stilwell? Have you got any ideas yet? If you have, I’d love to hear them.’

Tayte quickly thought about what he had so far, and even more quickly concluded that he had next to nothing. ‘It’s too early to say, but there are some leads from Davina’s research I want to follow up on. I’d like to find out what I can about the people who were around Alice Stilwell before she boarded that ill-fated ship in 1914.’

‘Well, keep at it,’ Bishop said. ‘If whatever you’re looking for really is connected to what our killer’s looking for, maybe he’s worried your research will lead you to it first.’ He turned to Davina then and asked, ‘Is your apartment alarmed? Was it set?’

‘Yes, and no,’ Davina said. ‘It has one, but it wasn’t set. The marina has gated security. We never set the alarm while we’re here, only when we leave. That is, Lionel would set it. I’m hopeless when it comes to security. I’m sure there are security cameras, though. Perhaps you could check those.’

‘I will, Mrs Scanlon. Who else knows you own an apartment here? I mean, apart from various marina staff and the estate agency you bought it through.’

‘Very few people as far as I know,’ Davina said. ‘It was a private weekend retreat, and I wanted to keep it that way.’

‘And what about your husband?’ Bishop asked. ‘Do you think he could have told any friends or family members?’

‘He might have, I suppose, but not to my knowledge.’

Tayte was already thinking about Raife Metcalfe. ‘Did any of the Metcalfe family know about it?’

‘Not from me,’ Davina said. ‘I’ve told no one except my parents. That’s why I came here this morning after my scare last night.’

‘Ah, yes, your prowler,’ Bishop said. ‘I saw the report a few hours ago. You said you were woken at around four this morning and that when you went to your bedroom window, you saw someone running across your front lawn.’

‘I was beginning to think I’d imagined it until this happened,’ Davina said. ‘As I told JT before you arrived, Inspector, whoever was watching my house last night must have still been there this morning, and he must have followed me here.’ Davina looked suddenly alarmed. ‘Christ,’ she said, standing up. ‘My house . . . I need to go and make sure everything’s okay. Can you drive me there, Inspector?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Bishop said. ‘You have a house alarm, I suppose?’

Davina nodded, but there was something apologetic about it.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Bishop said. ‘It wasn’t set either.’

‘No, I’m sorry. Lionel was always telling me off for not setting it, and I was in such a hurry to come here this morning. I never gave it a thought until now.’

Bishop knocked his coffee back. To Tayte he said, ‘Do you want to come along?’

‘Sure,’ Tayte said. He wasn’t one to abandon people in their hour of need, however much he wanted to get on with the research.