In the Lion's Den Read online

  His voice broke the silence. ‘I think we blend well together Irina, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. We’re a good match.’

  She swivelled her eyes up to his, and a small laugh broke through. ‘My sister was right.’ She laughed again.

  ‘What do you mean?’ He was obviously puzzled.

  ‘Natalie said we were made for each other and predicted we would end up here in your bed.’

  ‘And didn’t you think that?’ he asked, sounding surprised.

  ‘I wasn’t sure about you. I hoped you wanted this relationship as much as I did.’

  James put his arms around her, held her close, thinking what a lovely person she was. And as sensual and erotic as himself. It’s a good match, he thought, and yet again, he realized how much she reminded him of Georgiana Ward. Now Irina had replaced her and then he knew that was why he felt the absence of pain. He was no longer alone.

  TWENTY

  Detective Inspector Crawford had gone to Mrs Culpepper’s house in Camden Town twice. On both occasions he had found the house locked up and the street of terraced houses deserted.

  Well, what did he expect, he chastised himself. Every person who lived there went to work or would be out shopping.

  Now on this Thursday evening, his third trip, his spirits lifted. Mrs Culpepper was obviously home at last. Gas lamps shone through the window of her house.

  Telling the hansom cab driver to wait for him, he went and knocked on the door of the small house. Almost immediately it was opened, and he found himself face to face with a middle-aged woman. She was neatly dressed in a navy dress with a white collar and cuffs.

  He spoke at once before she could say a word. ‘Good evening, Mrs Culpepper … you are Mrs Culpepper, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  He put out his hand, said, ‘I’m Detective Inspector Crawford of Scotland Yard. I need to have a word or two with you, if you could spare a few minutes.’

  For a moment she did not answer, a worried look on her face. Then she said swiftly, ‘Could I see your badge, please? I mean, I’d like to confirm that you are who you say you are, sir?’

  ‘Of course.’ He took out his police badge and a printed business card. Second-guessing her, he hurried on. ‘I actually want to speak to your daughter Milly regarding the period she worked at Tango Rose.’

  She took the card and badge from him and then, after studying them, returned his badge and kept the card. ‘This is for me, isn’t it, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes. Could I come in for a few minutes?’

  Immediately she stepped back, opened the door and ushered him inside. ‘I don’t want the neighbours gossiping. They’re no doubt peeping out from behind their lace curtains already.’

  He found himself in a comfortable room, with a large alcove at the far side. It was a kitchen, well equipped and as clean as the room they were in.

  She now looked at Crawford intently and asked, ‘Why do you want to see Milly after all this time? It’s a long time since she worked at that bar.’

  ‘Something has come up regarding the attack on James Falconer and Dennis Holden, and I need to check a few facts with her.’

  ‘She’s been interviewed before and has told everything she knows, which is virtually nothing. I’ll go and get her, though. She’s upstairs. But don’t upset her, Inspector. Please.’ She gave him a hard stare.

  ‘I won’t, Mrs Culpepper, and thank you.’

  The woman nodded and walked through a door which revealed a narrow staircase. Within seconds, she returned. Behind her was her daughter, Milly, a pretty girl with light-brown hair and wide blue eyes. Crawford could see why she’d been popular in the bar.

  After greeting her and shaking her hand, Crawford explained why he was there and about the second attack on James Falconer last Sunday night in Soho.

  She was instantly taken aback and stood gaping at him, obviously at a loss for words.

  He said, ‘I hope this last attack is not connected to the other one, but I can’t be sure. I need to ask you about a couple of things, Miss Culpepper.’

  Milly nodded. ‘All right.’

  Her mother said, ‘Please sit down, Inspector, and you, too, Milly.’ They all settled themselves in chairs.

  Crawford found it curious that Milly was dressed exactly like her mother, and it struck him that the navy dresses might be uniforms. They obviously worked together.

  As if reading his mind, Mrs Culpepper remarked, ‘Milly and I work for a young couple, Mr and Mrs Gordon Aspinall. We’re nannies to their five children.’ A smile touched her lips. ‘And quite a handful they are. This is our time off because they’ve gone to the country today.’

  Crawford nodded, and noticing that Milly was growing nervous, he addressed her. ‘You were friendly with Denny and James, that much I know. Were they close to anyone else at Tango Rose? What about the owner?’

  Milly shook her head. ‘Oh, no, Rose didn’t bother with them. She paid all her attention to the older men, the big spenders – men of the world, she called them. Denny and James didn’t drink; they only had a pint.’

  ‘I understand. So I suppose they came to see you, or perhaps I should say Denny came to see you, and James tagged along.’

  ‘That’s true. Denny and I liked each other, and we started to meet on my free evenings.’

  ‘Didn’t anyone talk to them, other customers?’

  ‘Oh no, the other customers were too posh, and older. I don’t think they noticed them.’

  ‘I see. So no one at all ever asked you any questions about them. What they did? Where they went?’

  Milly stared at Crawford, her brows drawn together in a frown. After a reflective pause, she said slowly, ‘Well, Sadie did sometimes.’

  ‘Who is Sadie?’ he asked, his interest apparent. ‘Tell me about her, would you?’

  Milly said, ‘She’s just another girl like me, lives around here. She went out a few times with Denny, but they broke up.’

  ‘Were there any hard feelings between them? Did either of them bear a grudge?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, a’ course not. They were still friends.’

  ‘What’s her surname?’

  ‘Long. Sadie Long.’

  ‘Did you ever tell her anything about the two boys?’ Crawford asked, almost nonchalantly, not wishing to scare her off.

  ‘No, not really.’ Milly shrugged. ‘Sometimes she asked me where they went, how they spent their evenings, and she wanted to know if I was serious about Denny. That’s it, not much at all.’

  Crawford knew she was wrong. Sadie Long was probably the conduit to … who?

  Mrs Culpepper said, ‘Didn’t Sadie have a new boyfriend, Milly? I’m sure you told me that.’

  Crawford’s attention now focused on the mother, his eyes riveted on her.

  Milly said, ‘Oh, yeah, I forgot. She started going with Patrick Paiseley, that’s right.’

  ‘And does he live in the vicinity?’ Crawford asked, his focus now centred on Milly again.

  ‘The Paiseleys live round here, and Pat knew James and Denny, but not all that well … acquaintances, I’d call them.’ Milly shrugged her shoulders. ‘He was sort of … standoffish,’ she confided. ‘I didn’t really like him.’

  ‘And he never asked about James and Denny?’ Crawford’s stare was intense.

  ‘No … but now I remember something …’ Milly began and her voice trailed off. Then a moment later, she said, ‘Sadie asked me if the boys would be at Tango Rose one Friday night. I told her no, and she asked me about the next night. I said that they would be at the supper Matthew Falconer always gave in the summer. The Special Saturday Supper, they called it, because the whole family attended. Some folks thought they were getting above themselves. Sadie was surprised when I said Denny had been invited. I knew how excited he was, because his father had bought him an off-the-peg suit.’

  Crawford remained perfectly still, kept his face expressionless, when he said, ‘I might be mistaken, but w
asn’t that particular Saturday the night the boys were attacked on Chalk Farm Road?’

  Milly stared back at him, and pursed her lips. ‘Why yes, I think it was. Why? Is that important?’

  Crawford said noncommittally, ‘Not sure. Now just tell me a bit more about Patrick Paiseley.’

  ‘I don’t know much. As I told you, he wasn’t a favourite of mine. Sadie was crazy about him. And she tried to comfort him.’

  ‘Oh, why was that? Did something happen to upset him, Miss Culpepper?’

  ‘Well, Denny told me that Mr Paiseley – Patrick’s dad, that is – was handy with his fists. From what I remember, one night Mrs Paiseley turned up on Denny’s parents’ doorstep, who lived nearby. She had been hit by her husband and was battered up something terrible. She went to get their help. Denny’s parents were so shocked by how bad she was, they weren’t sure they could help her. So Denny’s dad, Jack Holden, got her into a hansom cab, and they took her to the hospital. Denny told me that his mother knew a bit about nursing, but they were scared by her injuries, they were so bad.’

  ‘I understand.’ Detective Inspector Crawford now stole a glance at Mrs Culpepper. ‘No doubt you heard about this.’

  ‘I did indeed, Inspector. Most of us around here knew that Finn Paiseley was abusive. Meg was always being bashed up. I for one will never understand why she stayed with him.’

  Mrs Culpepper glanced at Milly. Then her eyes went back to Crawford. ‘The sad thing is, Meg Paiseley didn’t survive that beating. Anyway, it was her last. She died in hospital a few days later. And the hospital had to report her death to the police. After that, the police arrested Finn Paiseley. And he went to jail.’

  Crawford made another note then addressed Mrs Culpepper, ‘Anything else you can remember?’

  ‘No, that’s about it.’ The older woman shook her head.

  ‘At least that poor woman’s at peace,’ Milly said. ‘Sadie told me that Patrick was real upset about his mother’s death. Stricken, James said.’

  ‘And when was it that Mrs Paiseley passed away? Was it about three years ago?’

  ‘I think so. I know it was the summer,’ Milly murmured.

  Inspector Crawford stood up, retrieved his hat, and thanked Mrs Culpepper and Milly.

  ‘I hope something I’ve said has helped, Inspector,’ Milly stated, her expression quizzical. ‘But I haven’t told you much.’

  ‘Every little helps, Milly. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle, in a sense. It all comes together to make a whole. Eventually.’

  Detective Inspector Crawford went straight back to his office at Scotland Yard. Once at his desk, he went through the set of folders from the closed case file which Mick Owen had given him. He realized at once that the attack on James and Denny had been in late July. Tomorrow he would check on exactly when Mrs Meg Paiseley had died in hospital.

  Perhaps a couple of weeks before, perhaps even a month. But he had a feeling the attack had been arranged by Patrick Paiseley. And that it had been directed solely at Dennis Holden. It was his parents who had sent Patrick’s mother to the hospital, where she had subsequently died. And then the police had arrested Patrick’s father, who had gone to jail.

  James Falconer had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had not been targeted. It was Denny that Patrick had wanted to hurt in order to punish Jack Holden.

  Revenge. That had been the motive.

  Coming to this conclusion, Roger Crawford made some notes. He could see no way that the attack on Falconer and Keller could have had any connection to the earlier incident.

  It must have been Patrick Paiseley who had hired those three bruisers to beat up Falconer and Dennis Holden. Hard to prove but Crawford was planning to try. At least one good thing would come of this.

  As for the two men in jail at the moment, they would be grilled by him tomorrow.

  With a little luck he might get them to open up and talk. Who had paid them to track and assault Falconer and Keller?

  Or had it been a random attack by petty thieves, seizing the moment at the sight of two well-dressed young men? Young men who looked like dandies, which to petty criminals spelled money in their pockets, not to mention watches on their waistcoats and rings on their fingers. Crawford wanted to be sure.

  TWENTY-ONE

  When he walked into the beautiful large walled garden of Francesca Lorne’s house in Chelsea, James had mixed emotions. Instantly happy to see Irina, he was also saddened that her aunt looked so tired and strained.

  He went straight to Mrs Lorne, bent over her chair, and kissed her on the cheek.

  Looking up at him, Francesca Lorne clasped his hand. Her eyes were weary. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ she said. ‘I’m so happy you could come to tea.’

  ‘So am I,’ he answered, his tone affectionate. He then went over to Irina, who was standing near the table set up for afternoon tea. She was wearing a fashionable coffee-coloured day dress of the lightest silk. It showed her figure off to advantage, and suited her colouring beautifully. She and her sister were always beautifully turned out, their Russian ancestry giving their style a touch of the exotic.

  They greeted each other, and she said in a low voice, ‘I’ve really missed you.’

  ‘Me too,’ he answered.

  Turning, he returned to the chair next to her aunt and sat down. Francesca got straight to the point. ‘I know Irina and Natalie have spoken to you about my situation – my husband’s decision to leave me – and I want you to know I’m determined to get over it. I’m not a sissy. And I will avoid a scandal.’

  James reached out, took hold of her hand. ‘I am quite certain you will. You’re a strong woman, and whilst I am surprised he would do this in a bad way, apparently Irina and Natalie are not. They seem to think he is capable of anything.’

  Francesca smiled for the first time in days, and nodded. Suddenly there was a lighter expression on her face. ‘They’re correct. I think I would even add murder to the list. He’s a real rascal. I should’ve known he would depart one day. Greener fields and all that.’

  Irina had poured the tea and brought two cups over to her aunt and James, then returned to the table and carried over two plates of tea sandwiches. After they thanked her, she went to fetch her own.

  Settling down next to them, Irina explained, ‘My aunt’s husband is an opportunist, James, and he’s been involved for quite a long time with a married woman. Now she is suddenly a widow. Her elderly husband conveniently died. He left her rather rich.’

  ‘To my way of thinking, a man like that is best gone and forgotten,’ he said to Francesca, then glanced at Irina. ‘Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I do, very much so. But to be fair to Aunt Cheska, it does hurt a bit to be abandoned in such a nasty way.’

  Francesca raised her hand. ‘Let’s let him drop. Once I feel better we shall go abroad to somewhere really nice, travel and have a good time and enjoy ourselves. Get away from London until the chatter dies down.’

  ‘You must get better first, Aunt Cheska, recover your strength,’ Irina told her, and stood up, went to the tea table to avoid looking at James, whom she knew would be surprised by her aunt’s sudden announcement.

  Irina placed small cakes on a plate and fiddled at the table as she heard James say to her aunt, ‘And where will you be going? Do you know yet?’

  ‘I am considering going to see Olga in Russia. Her sister, Irina and Natalie’s mother, is married to my brother. She’s my oldest friend.’ Francesca laughed. ‘It was I who brought the Shuvalov girls into the Parkinson family.’

  Aware there was no way she could now avoid telling James she was going with her aunt, Irina went and sat down next to him. ‘Aunt Cheska is thinking about taking that trip, James, and she wants me to go with her.’

  James turned to find her expressive dark eyes studying him. Although he was startled, he realized that this was not the place to show it. He had no idea what Irina had told her aunt about them. And so he said quietly, ‘I think a change is a
s good as a rest – at least so my grandmother says.’

  ‘Why don’t you come with us, James?’ Francesca said, looking at him intently. ‘I invite you to be my guest. You would enjoy St Petersburg.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Lorne, but I’m afraid I have to see my project through. I can’t leave it all to your niece. We have to be in Hull.’

  Francesca stared at him and nodded, realizing Natalie would not agree to go either. She was diligent and would not neglect her work.

  After tea and a lot of conversation about other matters, Francesca excused herself and went into the house. Irina accompanied her, helped her to get undressed and into bed. Her aunt now rested for a while every afternoon; it seemed to be helping her to overcome her sorrow at this turn of events.

  When Irina returned to the garden, she found James wandering around, admiring the flowerbeds and fruit trees. ‘Your aunt did a really exquisite job here, didn’t she?’ he said, as she joined him. ‘She’s a talented gardener.’

  Irina nodded, realizing at once that he wasn’t angry. His face was relaxed and there was a smile in his eyes. She took hold of his hand, led him to a wrought-iron bench at the bottom of the garden.

  As they sat down, she said, ‘I want to explain something. My aunt only told me a short while before you arrived that she wanted to go and stay with Aunt Olga. I had no idea she would wish to go so far away and need me to accompany her.’

  ‘I guessed as much,’ James answered quickly, wishing to reassure her.

  ‘If you could come, it would be so lovely,’ Irina murmured.

  He released her hand. ‘No, it’s impossible, I’m not a man of leisure with a private income. I have to work. I hope you understand that, Irina.’

  ‘I do, yes, and I’m sure my aunt does as well. Hull has to come first.’

  ‘When do you think you’ll leave London?’ he now asked.

  Irina shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. Certain things have to be arranged. Probably next week.’