Clara and Alice stood outside the offices of Balshard Insurance and readied themselves to go in. On the train ride from Newcastle to Tynemouth, Alice had told Clara as much as she knew about Humphrey Balshard. Some of it fact and some of it, she admitted, unsubstantiated gossip. He was known as the Tyneside Tycoon and had made his money in armaments during the war, then in insurance. Up until fairly recently, the cinema business had been a sideline, a hobby he’d picked up after a glorious sunshine vacation in California back in ’25. Although never short of money, Balshard’s businesses – first armaments, then insurance – had always been short on glamour. The holiday to California gave the Balshards a touch of stardust, so when they returned home, Balshard decided he would try to recreate some of that on his doorstep.
Now his ‘little picture house hobby’, as he was said to refer to it, was a chain of a dozen Majestic Cinemas across the North East of England, screening the latest Hollywood releases. With the development of the talkies and box office sales doubling in the last year, it was turning into a very lucrative business.
‘He’s renowned for shutting down the competition,’ said Alice. ‘He’s tried to buy out a number of small theatres like ours, and when that’s failed, well, I’ve heard he doesn’t mind playing dirty.’
‘You have proof of this?’ asked Clara.
‘Other than my two burned-down picture houses? No. But hopefully we can get that proof, Clara.’ And as the women walked into Balshard’s office, lined with framed and autographed faces of Hollywood legends, they hoped that the key they had found in Fender’s flat would literally be the key to finding the proof they needed.
‘So, Mrs Whittaker,’ he said, as the ladies took seats in front of his desk, ‘how may I help you this fine day?’
Clara noted his Savile Row suit, amply filled by a well-fed torso, and his bald head, polished to a sheen. She nodded to Alice to take the lead.
Alice folded her gloved hands over her handbag on her lap. The key was in the handbag. ‘I am not here for help, Mr Balshard. I am here to tell you that you will be hearing from my solicitor soon who will demand you pay out on my claim – on both picture houses.’
Balshard smirked. ‘Since when have you had a solicitor, Mrs Whittaker?’
‘I don’t, yet, but Miss Vale here has offered to put me in touch with hers.’
Balshard appraised Clara. ‘Miss Vale? You are Bob Wallace’s niece?’
‘I am.’
‘I see. I’d heard you were in town.’
‘You have? And who might have told you that?’
He smirked again. ‘I have many people who are loyal to me, Miss Vale. Many agents and many employees.’
‘And why would your “agents” – a strange choice of word – think it relevant to inform you of my movements?’
Balshard shrugged. ‘Knowledge is power, Miss Vale. Now, may I ask why you think Mrs Whittaker needs a solicitor?’
‘Because,’ said Clara coolly, tiring of the pussyfooting, ‘we have a substantial dossier of evidence that proves that Will Spencer was not responsible for the fire at the Paradise, nor was he responsible for locking the back door.’
Balshard’s lip curled under his moustache. ‘Do you now? And where is this dossier?’
‘You’ll see it in due course. We are going through the correct channels first.’
‘And those are?’
‘A solicitor and the police.’
Balshard laughed. ‘The police have already closed the case. It’s time to move on. I’m sorry, Mrs Whittaker, as I’ve told you before, there is unfortunately nothing more I can do for you. So I bid you ladies good day.’
Alice looked at Clara, waiting to get a cue. Eventually Clara unfurled her legs and stood up. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mr Balshard. However, I have a question before I go: did you know that your employee, Horace Fender, was found hanged in the Paradise Picture House on Saturday?’
Balshard snapped his head towards her. ‘I have been informed, yes.’
Clara nodded. ‘Then I assume, too, that you were informed that it was Mrs Whittaker and I who found the body.’
Balshard nodded tersely.
Clara smiled. ‘Good. Then, just as a courtesy, I’m here to inform you that Wallace Enquiry Agency has formally reopened the investigation into the suspicious fires at both of Mrs Whittaker’s picture houses. And as a result of Mr Fender’s unfortunate death, a whole lot of evidence has now come to light – evidence that strongly suggests arson. You’ll be hearing from Mrs Whittaker’s solicitor very soon.’
‘Get out,’ growled Balshard.
‘With pleasure,’ said Clara.
An hour later, and Clara and Alice were sitting outside Inspector Davidson’s office at the Whitley Bay police station. Clara had been in two minds about coming. She was mindful of what Roger Jennings had said about getting all her ducks in a row before presenting her evidence that might implicate a very powerful man. It was very likely, with the speed that both fires had been investigated and the cases closed, that Balshard had someone on the inside of the investigation. Whether or not that person was Davidson himself, she wasn’t as sure.
Uncle Bob’s file on what he’d uncovered so far on the Carousel Picture House fire suggested the fire inspector had not been very thorough in his investigation, not even mentioning the presence of kerosene at the scene. And it was the fire inspector’s report that ruled the blaze accidental, not arson. She was not aware that the final report had been made on the Paradise, but neither she nor Alice expected it would be any different. Another accident would imply repeated negligence on the part of the Whittakers, which would immediately nullify Alice’s insurance claim. So yes, as far as Clara could see, the fire inspector was very likely implicated.
But was Inspector Davidson? The only thing of consequence she could see was that he had taken Horace Fender’s word that he’d seen Will Spencer locking the door and pocketing the key. But he had not then gone on to query the absence of that key. Was that deliberate or just an oversight? Clara did not get the impression from her dealings with Davidson so far that he was an unobservant man. He had seemed very astute at their last meeting. So, could he be trusted? And if not, what should her course of action be?
Alice had been very keen that they turn the key in. As far as she could see, it was the evidence that exonerated Will. However, Clara worried that if they handed the key over, and Davidson was indeed in Balshard’s pay, it might be the last they saw of it. She had, of course, taken a photograph of the key in situ in Fender’s bathroom, with Alice in the frame pointing to it, but this might not be enough if the physical evidence was to ‘disappear’. So, she convinced Alice not to mention it for now. But if they couldn’t trust the police, who could they trust? Who was more powerful than the police? The answer, as far as she could tell, was the courts. She decided that once she had one more piece of evidence – evidence she hoped she would get this evening – she would write up a comprehensive report, along the lines of what she would present to summarise the findings of scientific research, and give it to a judge. She would ask Roger Jennings or his father to make the introductions, and she would also ask them to take on Alice Whittaker as a legal client. If they demanded payment up front, she herself would foot the bill until the insurance payment was forthcoming. With the agreement she’d made earlier that morning with the bank manager, she now had the financial wherewithal to do that.
If it had been entirely up to her, she would not have come to see Davidson at all today. However, as Alice pointed out, Clara had evidence that suggested Fender might have been murdered, and that meant there was a killer on the loose. Might he strike again?
‘You have to at least tell him about the chemical you smelt, Clara,’ said Alice. ‘The substance you said could knock a man unconscious. If they’re not already looking for whoever killed Horace, they should be. I’m still worried about why they killed him in the Paradise when we were there. Was it to scare us away? To stop us asking any more questions? Did they think that because we are women we’d be too frightened to continue?’
‘Yes,’ said Clara, ‘I think that might very well be what they’re thinking. They’re trying to scare us off.’ She thought about the bag-snatching incident at Exhibition Park, the break-in to her uncle’s office, then most terrifying of all, the man in her hotel room. But there was something else that had been worrying her. Up until now she had put it down to the heebie-jeebies after seeing Horace Fender’s hanging corpse. But from the time she and Alice first arrived in Whitley Bay on Saturday, through their visit to Tynemouth today, she had had the feeling they were being followed.
There was that man she’d seen at the station today. She’d been thinking about it, and was almost certain it was the same man who, on Saturday, had got on the same train as them from Newcastle to Whitley Bay – and then she’d seen him on the way back again. Now, there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. It was a public train and a well-frequented route. There was nothing to say this man had not, simply by coincidence, been travelling to and from Whitley Bay and Newcastle, on two separate days. And he wasn’t even in the same carriage as Clara. She’d just spotted him, from a distance, on the platform on Saturday. She wasn’t even sure why she’d noticed him.
Clara told all this to Alice. ‘I didn’t get a very good look at him, really. But I’m sure it was the same man. He had the posture of a younger man, how young I can’t say. He was wearing a dark blue overcoat and charcoal-grey hat, low over his forehead, so I couldn’t see his face.’
‘But you think he was following us?’
‘I do.’
‘Then please, Clara, let’s go to the police. Let’s get the next train to Whitley Bay. I hear what you’re saying about not giving them the key just yet, not wanting the evidence to be lost or covered up, but this man following us, and that chemical – what did you call it?’
‘Chloroform.’
‘Aye, that’s right, the chloroform. Let’s at least tell them about that.’
Clara had agreed. So here they were, waiting to speak to Detective Inspector Davidson. However, an hour later they were still waiting. Eventually, Clara flagged down a sergeant and asked if the inspector was ready to see them yet.
The man looked curiously at Alice and Clara. ‘I’m sorry, ladies, didn’t anyone tell you? DI Davidson has left town for a few days.’
‘When did he leave?’ asked Clara.
The sergeant looked at his pocket watch. ‘About half an hour ago. He’s off to a conference in York.’
‘But he knew we were here!’
The sergeant gave a sheepish shrug. ‘I’m sorry, ladies, someone should have told you. Is there something I can help you with?’
Clara looked at Alice. Alice shook her head. It was the answer Clara had wanted. ‘No, thank you,’ she said to the sergeant, gathering her things. ‘There’s nothing you can do to help.’