Roger Jennings took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled into the stuffy air of his mahogany-panelled office. ‘So, Miss Vale, you say the smell you detected on Horace Fender’s corpse was chloroform, but you only realised what it was last night while you were working in your uncle’s laboratory?’
‘Actually, it was this morning I remembered, when I was working through what I did last night. But I don’t suppose the timing matters.’
‘Well, it does a bit,’ said Jennings. ‘Inspector Davidson might wonder why you didn’t mention it in the police interview on Saturday. He might wonder if you were hiding something.’
Clara gave the solicitor a startled look. ‘Why on earth would he think that?’
Jennings tapped a tail of ash into an onyx ash tray on his desk. ‘Well, as you are a trained research scientist, he might wonder why you didn’t know immediately and tell him there and then.’
Clara cleared her throat, more from incredulity than the smoke that was settling around her. ‘I’m a scientist, not a bloodhound, Mr Jennings. And besides, I’m not currently working in the field. I can’t remember every single chemical at the drop of a hat. But as soon as I did, I noted it down.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Jennings, his fingernail scraping along the top of the cigarette. ‘I’m just trying to consider what Davidson’s response might be and to prepare you in advance. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t.’
‘And that’s fair enough too,’ said Clara, relaxing back into her chair. ‘And why I thought you might help me consider how to move forward.’ She didn’t add that she would have far preferred it to be his kindly father who would help her move forward, and cursed the fact that Jennings Snr was out of town. But she had to play the hand she’d been dealt. She turned her attention back to Jennings Jnr, whom she had to admit seemed to have a very astute legal mind. ‘The bottom line, Mr Jennings, is that I now have a considerable amount of evidence suggesting that Fender might have set the fire that killed Will Spencer. That means his testimony – which pointed the finger of blame at Will – will surely be undermined. What do you think?’
Jennings dragged and exhaled again, careful not to blow in Clara’s direction, but adding to the general fug in the closed office. ‘I’m not a criminal barrister, Miss Vale, I’m a solicitor, so this isn’t really my area of expertise. However, it certainly sounds like you have unearthed some interesting material that could potentially lead the case in a new direction. That, though will be for the police to decide. What isn’t clear though, is Fender’s motivation. Why would he do it? Do you have any idea?’
Clara nodded. ‘Well, I don’t have much to back this up yet, but my theory is that he was paid to set the fire – the one at the Paradise and the one in May at the Carousel.’
Jennings’ eyebrows met above the bridge of his nose. ‘Paid by whom?’
Clara shrugged. ‘That I don’t know for sure. It could be someone at Balshard – the insurance company or the cinema chain – or even Humphrey Balshard himself. And I also believe Horace Fender was killed before he could speak to me and Alice Whittaker, and that the person who did it might have done so to stop the Balshard connection from coming out. Because who has the most to lose if the Carousel case is reopened, or it’s proven that Will didn’t lock the door at the Paradise? Balshard Insurance, that’s who. They might then have to pay up. Even if they weren’t actually involved in setting the fires, they would still lose money.’
Jennings leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘That’s quite a string of accusations, Miss Vale, and unless you have air-tight evidence I don’t suggest you voice your suspicions outside of this room.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because, speaking as your legal representative here, you will be in danger of opening yourself up to a defamation suit. You’re making a very serious allegation against a very powerful man, and Humphrey Balshard will not let that pass.’
Clara pursed her lips. She had been hoping for a bit more support from Roger Jennings and wished instead she were talking to his fussy but kindly father. But she wasn’t, so she ploughed ahead, trying to get the information she needed. ‘But what if the accusation is true? Shouldn’t I be passing on what I know to the police?’
Jennings nodded. ‘Yes, you should, when you have something more concrete. Do you have anything more tangible?’
Clara shook her head. ‘I don’t, no.’
‘Then I suggest you delay speaking to Davidson about it until you do. You don’t want the police to dismiss you out of hand, do you?’
‘Of course not, no. But surely the sooner they know what I’ve got on Fender the better.’
Jennings stubbed his cigarette out and leaned back in his chair, his thumbs hooking into the pockets of his waistcoat. ‘I agree with you, but I don’t suggest you mention anything about Balshard unless you have a lot more than you have now. That’s what your uncle would have done. Bob was a master of gathering evidence. By the time he finally handed over what he had to the police, the case was all but served up to them on a silver platter. Are you anywhere near that level of competence?’
Clara flushed in anger. ‘Of course not! Bob was a professional detective, and I’m not.’
Jennings shrugged apologetically. ‘And that, Miss Vale, is the problem here. You are taking on a very serious case involving arson and possibly murder, without any experience whatsoever.’ He leaned forward, his face awash with sympathy. ‘I’m not trying to be critical here, I’m just looking out for your best interests. My father would do exactly the same. And your uncle would expect nothing less of us.’
Clara’s fingers were drumming the arm of her chair. ‘My uncle thought enough of my potential to leave his detection business to me.’
‘Potential, yes, I do not doubt it. But this is something you will need to grow into if you decide to stick with it.’
‘And why wouldn’t I stick with it?’ snapped Clara.
Jennings let out a long sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Vale, we seem to be at odds here. I promise you that was not my intention. I’m just looking out for your best interests.’
‘And Balshard’s?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Humphrey Balshard is one of your clients, isn’t he? I recall your father being called back to the office on the first day we met to deal with him. Am I correct?’
Jennings raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed you are. We have been doing some conveyancing work for them. But we are just one of a number of legal firms they use.’
Clara raised an eyebrow in return. ‘So, your advice to one client is not to protect another client?’
‘Of course not! Listen, Miss Vale, Jennings & Jennings has a fine reputation in this town. We represent dozens of clients, big and small. I can assure you this is not the first time there has been a potential conflict between two clients we represent. We never play one off against the other. Never! If there is a genuine conflict of interest, we will pass it on to another firm – our reputation depends upon it. But this is not one of those cases. As I said, we are not criminal lawyers, but I can tell you now that I don’t think you have enough to pursue a case against Balshard. And if you do, without corroborating evidence, you could be in legal trouble. That’s why I’m advising you the way I am, not to protect another client. If that evidence is forthcoming, then you should go to the police with it, but not before. For your own sake, not just Balshard’s.’ Then his voice softened and he leaned forward. ‘Please, Miss Vale, listen to what I’m telling you. If Bob were alive he would tell you the same thing.’
Clara nodded, taking it all in, allowing her breathing to steady. ‘All right, point taken. I don’t have enough on Balshard yet. But if I did, what would my legal standing be then? What legal protections does a private investigator or an enquiry agent have in cases like this? Am I able to question people the same way the police are?’
Jennings shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. In this country – unlike some others – you do not need a special licence to open a detection agency. As a result, you are just a private citizen with the same rights, responsibilities and prohibitions as any Joe Soap on the street. Or in this case, Josephine.’ He smiled briefly at his own joke and carried on. ‘So, you could very easily be arrested for trespassing on the scene of a crime – as you very nearly were yesterday, although the fact that Mrs Whittaker still owned the building would have protected you from that. But if you were to seek entry into another place in the course of your investigation, that would be trespassing. And you cannot compel any witnesses to speak to you, although they may do so willingly if they so choose. You are, though, in danger of interfering with a police investigation and withholding evidence, so I suggest you tread carefully here if you intend to continue.’
Clara stopped drumming her fingers. ‘Oh, I intend to continue, all right. And I do not intend to withhold evidence. You are the one suggesting I do that, not me.’
Jennings threw up his hands and let out an exasperated sigh. ‘That is not what I’m saying! I’m just saying be careful what you tell the police if you cannot substantiate it. If you cannot back up your theories then the police may not look as favourably on the other evidence you do have. They might consider you a time-waster. Bob told me many times that he had to make sure all his ducks were in a row before bringing the police into it. All I’m doing here is suggesting you do the same. Is that understood?’
Clara sighed. ‘Yes, that is understood. I’m sorry, Mr Jennings, I’m just feeling my way here.’
Jennings gave a sympathetic nod. ‘And I understand that, Miss Vale. I’m sorry if I haven’t been more helpful.’
‘No, that’s not true. You have been helpful. I now know where I stand legally with all this. I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do now, but at least I know the parameters within which I’m working. Thank you for your time.’
Jennings smiled at her and stood. As he showed her out of the office, Andrew Ridpath walked into the reception area, looking flustered. ‘Jennings! Miss Vale! Perfect timing! You’re both here. Listen, I’ve just had a telephone call from London from your brother Antony.’ He looked Clara in the eyes, his face awash with sympathy. ‘I’m afraid it’s not good news. He’s decided to contest the will.’
‘What the deuce?’ spat Jennings.
Clara just rolled her eyes.
Jennings ushered Clara and Andrew back into his office and asked his secretary to bring in a pot of coffee. ‘Make it a strong one please, Mrs Armitage.’
‘So what exactly did Mr Vale say?’ asked Jennings, returning to his seat behind the desk. Clara returned to the seat she’d just vacated, with Andrew taking the seat next to her.
‘He said to tell you, Clara – and your solicitor – that as the firstborn son, your older brother and Bob Wallace’s only nephew and closest living male relative, he should be the rightful heir.’
‘Well, that’s just poppycock!’ said Clara. ‘Isn’t it?’ she asked Jennings.
Jennings nodded. ‘It is. The law of primogeniture was abolished in 1925. So your brother is four years out of date here. Besides, the law only really applied in cases where there was no will. This is not one of those. However, Antony may contest the will on other grounds. I would need to see what they are before making a judgement on their validity. Did he give any other reasons?’ he asked Andrew.
‘Not directly, but he did say he is having his solicitor draw up papers, and that – and I quote – “I can’t remember all the legal rigmarole but my fellow thinks I might have a case.”’
Jennings made a low growling noise in his throat. ‘Well, I very much doubt that if he’s been advised that he’s the rightful heir simply by being the closest male relative. Still, I can’t dismiss it out of hand. I’ll have to see what the petition says. Did he say when the papers would be arriving?’
Andrew shook his head. ‘He didn’t. But he was asking for your contact details. Mine were the only ones he had, passed on to him by the bank when I transferred the money to him. I asked them to do that so he could acknowledge receipt.’
‘And did he? Did he acknowledge that he’d taken the money?’ asked Clara, seething.
‘He did,’ said Andrew. ‘All two hundred pounds of it.’
‘The little snake!’
But a slow smile crept across Roger Jennings’ face. ‘Did he now? Well, well, that might prove very useful for us.’
‘How?’ snapped Clara. ‘My wretch of a brother has taken – no, stolen – my money on top of trying to steal Uncle Bob’s estate away from me. They couldn’t stand each other! Antony thought Bob an eccentric fool, and Bob thought him a feckless rake. And he was right! He is a feckless rake! And now a back-stabbing one, too.’
Jennings raised his hands placatingly. ‘Calm down, Miss Vale, all is not lost. Nowhere near it. Firstly, as I said, male primogeniture no longer applies in English law. Secondly, whatever other challenges to the will he may have, they have not yet been disclosed. Frankly, I can’t think there could be many. Antony is not Bob’s son, just a nephew. If this was your father’s will and he left everything to you, then your brother – and sister for that matter – might have a case to challenge, but this is not that. Your uncle could very well have chosen to bequeath his entire estate to a donkey sanctuary, and a judge would not likely overturn it unless it could be proven that your uncle was not in his right mind when he drew up the will. That is not very likely to happen. But beyond that, if what Ridpath here says is correct, and Antony took the money offered to him for services rendered – that is to help you secure your inheritance – then that will very much go against him. Did you make it clear, Miss Vale, in your conversation with him, that the purpose of the money was so that he would write a letter declaring you competent to run your own financial affairs and hence be a fit person to receive a transfer of your uncle’s bank account into your name?’
Clara thought back to her conversation with Antony. Yes, once she’d got him to focus long enough on what she was telling him – beyond that he was about to be paid two hundred pounds – that was the gist of what she had told him. She hadn’t mentioned the detection agency though – she didn’t want to give her brother any reason to mock her, more than he already did – so she had just mentioned the house and the bank account. ‘Yes, I did. I told him I had been named in Uncle Bob’s will and that I would be inheriting his estate, including the bank account. I didn’t tell him about the agency though, does that matter?’
Jennings shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t think so, no. The important thing was at the time of the conversation he understood you were going to inherit the estate – no matter what it entailed – and that he agreed to facilitate you in that process. Is that what happened?’
Clara gave a firm nod. ‘It is.’
Andrew chipped in: ‘Sorry to put a damper on things – and far be it for me to tell you your business, Jennings – but neither one of us was actually in the room when Miss Vale made that phone call, were we.’
Clara gave Andrew a worried look. ‘Why would that matter?’
‘Because,’ said Jennings, releasing a frustrated sigh, ‘your brother could contest your version of events and make up whatever he wants. There was no one else listening to corroborate. Ridpath’s right – that’s one potential scenario, but if it comes to it, it will be Antony’s reputation against yours. And from what you’ve told me of him, Miss Vale, he has left gambling debts across London in his wake. That will not go down well with a judge. I will certainly be mentioning that to his solicitor if and when he contacts me. However, in the meantime, it looks like your funds are still in limbo. You do not have the letter you need to convince the bank to transfer Bob’s account into your name.’
Clara lowered her chin to her chest. Oh dear. Just when I thought all my financial worries were over. She raised her head and looked at Jennings. ‘This doesn’t mean, though that the estate isn’t mine, does it? I still legally own the detection agency and the house? Is that correct?’
Jennings nodded. ‘It is. Unless the will is overturned – which does not seem likely, to be frank, but it’s an annoying complication that we will have to deal with – everything Bob left you is yours. The only issue right now is that you don’t have access to Bob’s capital. The bottom line, Miss Vale, is that for now you’re short of cash. Ridpath here will give you a better picture of that.’
Andrew leaned towards Clara. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t be living in penury. You still have two hundred pounds cash in the office safe, and that should go a long way. Do you think you can get your father to write the letter instead?’
Clara shook her head. ‘He won’t. He’ll back Antony on this. I know he will. His views on inheritance are traditional.’
‘And there is no one else?’
‘No.’
‘Then,’ said Jennings, ‘we’ll have to take it to a judge. Ridpath, can you let the bank know what’s going on? Tell them that if this is not resolved by the end of the week and Miss Vale’s funds released to her, then we will take court action. That might scare them into doing something. There is nothing actually in the law preventing a woman from holding an account, it’s simply convention. And as we all know, notable exceptions are sometimes made. Here is a woman who owns her own property, is thirty years old and able to vote, has an Oxford degree and has been running her own affairs for years. I think we have a good case. But it could take a while, Miss Vale, notwithstanding the added complication of your brother’s spurious contestation. I expect though – at least I hope – that the mere threat of it will be enough to bend the bank trustees to our will. What say you, Ridpath?’
‘I say you’re bang on the money there, Jennings. Leave it to me.’ He turned towards Clara. ‘Miss Vale, would you care to accompany me?’
Clara pursed her lips. ‘Oh yes, I shall most definitely accompany you. No offence, Mr Ridpath, I appreciate all you and Mr Jennings are doing, but I am a grown woman with a voice of my own. It’s time these bankers heard from me.’