It was four o’clock by the time Alice left Clara’s office. After seeing her out, Clara cast a glance into the Levines’ costume shop and saw both Juju and her brother busy with some customers. She tried to catch Juju’s eye but didn’t succeed. Instead, she went back upstairs and locked the door behind her. There was something she wanted to do.
After reading the investigators’ handbook back at the house, she had figured out how to document fingerprints – first dusting them with the aluminium powder to make them visible, then photographing them. As there was a darkroom in the laboratory she had rushed down and developed the images immediately. Well, not immediately; the whole process took a good hour, as she first had to find everything she needed, but it was worth it as she now had some clear images of Jane Hobson’s fingerprints. Now she needed to find some prints in the office. She didn’t think the intruder had been Hobson – Juju had been clear that it was a man – but Clara did not believe the housekeeper when she said she didn’t have keys. Might Hobson have let the man in? Or might Hobson have been searching for a copy of Bob’s will? Fortunately, she had changed the locks, but she would be interested to find out if Hobson’s fingerprints were actually here. And if not hers, whose were. Clara realised that she was acting like a child on Christmas morning, playing with her latest toy, but why not?
The doorknobs had been handled multiple times since the break-in so there was nothing useful there; however, the filing cabinet offered better options. There were a number of prints on different parts of the cabinet, including the bottom ‘W’ drawer. Some of them she realised would be hers, and perhaps Juju Levine’s. She would need to get prints of her own and Juju’s to eliminate them. Who else’s might legitimately be there? Uncle Bob’s? She had thought that fingerprints would fade after a few days or weeks, but not according to Professor Gross. Apparently, if not interfered with, they could remain intact for a good few years. So, she would need to eliminate Uncle Bob’s too. The only place she could think of finding a match would be in the basement laboratory as the bathroom had been cleaned since his death. She’d have to go back later and see what she could find. But for now, she would dust and photograph the prints that were on the cabinet.
Half an hour later she had taken six photographs of dusted prints. Whether they belonged to the same or different hands she wouldn’t know until she developed the photographs. She checked her watch. It was twenty to five. She pondered what to do next. She still needed to pop down to the Levines’ shop to get Juju’s prints and to tell her about her encounter with Mrs Hobson – and the latest developments with the fire investigation. By the time she’d finished there it would be getting on for dinner time (or teatime as Clara had discovered it was called in these parts). She should probably go back to the hotel for that. Would it be too late after that to return to the house, dust for Uncle Bob’s prints and then develop the photographs? Did she want to be alone in the house at night?
Not really. But neither did she want to be cowed. She’d had a few scares already, but she was damned if she was going to be a Nervous Nellie about it. No, she would return to the house this evening after her meal. But she would not be unprepared. She got up, opened the cloakroom cupboard and accessed the safe. There was only one thing she wanted: the revolver. Professor Gross had a chapter on dealing with firearms and ballistics, but she already knew how to shoot. Both her parents were avid pheasant shooters and her father had an extensive gun collection. She and her sister, in the hope of improving their chances at snaffling an aristocrat, had been trained in weaponry and aristocratic country pursuits. Clara had joked that she would use her skill to see off any unwelcome aristocratic attention if it ever came her way. Her parents were not amused.
Clara picked up the weapon and weighed it in her hand. It was a .320 Webley Bulldog and designed to fit in a gentleman’s jacket pocket. Would it fit into a lady’s handbag? Clara gave it a try, but discovered it wouldn’t unless she took out her make-up compact and purse. She would have to get herself a bigger bag. For now though, she wrapped it in a tea towel from the kitchenette and placed it, along with a box of bullets, into the erstwhile shopping bag. After that, she changed the combination on the safe, and committed it to memory.
Juju and Jonny Levine were just locking up when Clara came downstairs. Jonny was a small, bald gentleman with a neat black moustache and spectacles. He wore an immaculately cut grey three-piece suit and white shirt, but instead of a tie he sported a paisley cravat with a matching handkerchief in his pocket.
‘Ah, Miss Vale, I assume? My sister has told me all about you.’ He presented his hand to shake. Clara took it and shook it warmly.
‘How do you do, Mr Levine. I am very pleased to meet you.’
‘Please, call me Jonny.’
‘Then I am Clara.’
Juju clapped her hands. ‘And now we’re all friends!’ She looked at the shopping bag that was becoming so heavy with files, books, stationery, a fingerprinting kit, a camera, flash bulbs, a framed photograph and a revolver, that Clara had to rest it on the ground. ‘Have you been shopping, Clara?’
Clara chuckled. ‘In a manner of speaking. I know you’re locking up, but do you mind if we go back inside for a while? I have something I’d like to do – and I have an awful lot to tell you.’
At the back of the shop, through a curtain, was a workshop area with two sewing machines, a family of dressmaker’s dummies and a rainbow of fabric rolls. On the walls were sketches of theatre and pantomime costumes. Three of the dummies were wearing garish, overblown gowns.
‘Cinderella’s stepmother and the ugly sisters,’ explained Juju. ‘That’s what they’re doing at the Theatre Royal this Christmas. We’re trying to get a head start.’
‘They look, er, spectacular …’ offered Clara, not being a frequenter of pantomime herself.
‘They’re hideous,’ said Jonny, then smiled at Clara, ‘but thank you for trying to be diplomatic. Your uncle was quite forthright himself. He had to work very hard to bite his tongue. However, he realised that diplomacy was a useful skill to have in his business, as I’m sure you’ll find out. Please, take a seat.’
Clara sat down opposite Jonny while Juju busied herself with extracting three glasses and a decanter from a cupboard. ‘Port?’ asked Juju. ‘It’s after five o’clock. We prefer it to sherry.’
‘Oh, go on, why not?’ said Clara, and accepted a glass. ‘However, before I get too squiffy, would you mind if I took your fingerprints?’
The brother and sister were taken aback, but listened to Clara as she explained why she wanted them. They readily agreed and watched with interest as she took out an ink pad, roller and waxed paper from her uncle’s fingerprinting kit, and then followed the instructions in the investigation handbook.
‘I already have Jane Hobson’s,’ explained Clara and then went on to tell the brother and sister what had happened at the house.
‘Heavens above! I cannot believe that’s true!’ exclaimed Juju.
Clara bristled. ‘I can assure you, that’s exactly what happened.’
‘No, not what you’ve told us, my dear – I’m sure you have been scrupulously honest in your account. I cannot believe that Bob wrote that letter to her! Can you, Jonny?’
Jonny shrugged, got up and washed the ink off his fingers at a basin. ‘Well, Bob didn’t tell us everything about his personal life, Juju.’
‘I know, but well, you know, he was homosexual … don’t give me that look, Jonny, you know I’ve already told Clara that. So tell me, why would he write a letter like that?’
‘Perhaps he didn’t,’ said Jonny.
‘I was wondering the same myself,’ said Clara.
‘Can you confirm that it was your uncle’s handwriting?’ Jonny continued.
Clara shook her head. ‘I was hoping to do a comparison between the letter and another sample, but Hobson snatched it away before I could. From what I recall of Bob’s writing – from his letters and also in his laboratory notebooks – it certainly looked like the same handwriting. But I have not done a formal analysis.’
‘Are you suggesting it’s a forgery? That Mrs Hobson forged the letter?’ asked Juju.
‘It’s something to seriously consider,’ said Jonny.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Clara. ‘Or she could have intercepted the letter to someone else and put it in an old envelope, addressed to her, to imply it was written to her. I can’t say whether the writing on the envelope was the same as the letter. I didn’t get a close enough look. And of course I don’t have it anymore, or else I could have done some proper handwriting analysis.’
Jonny nodded thoughtfully. ‘I wonder who it could have been written to if not Hobson? It certainly sounded like there was a degree of intimacy between them.’
Juju offered Clara a second glass of port. Clara accepted and Juju poured another for herself and her brother. After having a sip Clara said: ‘A degree of intimacy, yes. But it didn’t actually say “I love you”. It suggested they’d spent some time together at a hotel on Holy Island. Now while that certainly implies a sexual encounter, it’s quite possible they had separate rooms. They might have just been there as friends and Hobson misinterpreted it.’
Jonny laughed. ‘Not very likely. Why on earth would Bob take his housekeeper on a jolly to Holy Island? I know he was fond of her, but I never got the idea they had much in common and that he’d like to spend any kind of recreational time with her – either physically or intellectually. No, I’ll still plump for the forgery option.’
Clara was taking it all in. She considered what Jonny had said about Bob and Jane Hobson not having much in common. That rang true with her impression of the woman she’d just met. Perhaps she was being unfair, but the housekeeper had not struck her as an intellectual polymath like her Uncle Bob. However, there were other qualities that drew people together and, as was often said, opposites sometimes did attract. After a while she said, ‘There is still the possibility that Bob was attracted to both men and women. Some people are, I believe.’
Jonny shook his head vehemently. ‘Not Bob. He and I were never lovers, but I knew we were very similar like that. I have never been attracted to a woman. Not ever. And I don’t think Bob was either.’
‘All right,’ said Clara, ‘I accept that you knew him better than I did. But you are the first to admit that you didn’t know everything about him. And now that he’s gone, we may never know. What I would like to know though, is why Jane Hobson believes Bob was in love with her. Is it just her fevered imagination, or did she have genuine grounds to base it on?’
‘Are you saying you will consider her claim to part of his estate?’ asked Juju, sipping eagerly at her port.
‘No, not that. I still contend that Bob would have made his will clear if that was the case. But it might impact on the way I treat her. I threw her out of the house because of the way she behaved towards me. That has enraged her. She might come back again. I might have to take further action against her.’ Clara thought for a moment of the revolver in her shopping bag. Might she have cause to actually use it to defend herself? She hoped not. However … ‘If she is deluded,’ she continued, ‘she might be dangerous. If she has genuine grounds, then perhaps she can still be reasoned with, as she is ultimately a victim in this affair. In which case I should not be too harsh with her. But there’s another possibility …’
‘What’s that?’ asked Jonny, swilling the last of his port around the bottom of the glass.
‘That she is lying about the whole thing. That she has made it all up. That your first instinct, Jonny, is correct. That she forged the letter. If that’s the case, who knows what else she might be willing to do to get her hands on Bob’s estate?’
Juju’s eyes were wide. ‘You think she might try to do you harm?’
Clara shrugged. ‘I don’t want to be melodramatic about it, but I’m not going to discount that possibility. I have had a number of unsettling incidents since I arrived here. I wonder if she has been in Bob’s office since he died. And if so, why? There’s every possibility she may be the one who tried to get the Whittaker file. Perhaps someone paid her to do it. Or paid her to open the door for someone else to search for it. She seems awfully keen on getting her hands on some money.’
Jonny looked at Clara curiously. ‘Why would someone want the Whittaker file? What’s going on here, Clara, that you haven’t told us?’
Clara looked from brother to sister, took a deep breath, then proceeded to tell them about her suspicions around the Whittaker case and the second fire in Whitley Bay, which neither had yet read about in the paper.
The twins stared at her, pale-faced. ‘Goodness me,’ said Juju. ‘Poor, poor Alice. As if she doesn’t have enough to worry about with the death of her husband. And now this poor young man has died too! And those children! Thank God they are all right. But it could very easily have been a triple tragedy. And you think Hobson might be involved in some way?’
Clara took a sip of her port. ‘I don’t know. You said it was a man who pushed you over. Perhaps Hobson just let him in. I’m only suspicious because of her seeming so desperate for money today and her anger that Bob has not left her more than two hundred pounds. But it’s all pure speculation at this stage. And perhaps I am being unfair to her because she annoyed me. So I will not be making any formal accusations against her – or anyone else – unless I have proof.’
‘I think that’s very wise,’ said Jonny, and raised his glass to her. ‘And that’s exactly what your uncle would have done, too.’
‘I believe so,’ said Clara, finishing her port and packing away her fingerprint case. She picked up the shopping bag, its strap groaning under the weight of the accumulated detection paraphernalia. Clara looked expectantly at Juju and Jonny. ‘Do you perhaps have a satchel I could borrow?’