Delilah double-parked the yellow Rolls outside the Pilgrim Street police station and helped Poppy get Aunt Dot out of the car and into her wheelchair. Dot was far too worried to be her usual genial self, and chided the two younger women to hurry their horses. They ignored the police constable who demanded they move the motor car “at once” and carried Dot, with a great deal of effort, up the steps. The constable repeated his demand from behind them, threatening to confiscate the vehicle.
“Young man,” said Dot, when Poppy and Delilah had finally managed to get the wheelchair onto an even keel, “if you had just taken the trouble to help us instead of being such a jobsworth, we could have got this done much earlier. You, sir, are not a gentleman!”
“No, you’re not,” said Delilah, flouncing past him and climbing into the vehicle. “I’ll be back in two ticks!” she called out to the two women at the top of the steps and then started the engine.
Poppy pushed Dot into the police station and approached the front desk. Dot made up for her low vantage point by calling out in a loud voice: “I demand to see Grace Wilson!”
The desk sergeant looked first to Poppy, then down at Dot. “You demand what, madam?”
“I demand to see Grace Wilson. She was falsely arrested about an hour ago. I was told they were going to bring her here to be charged.”
The sergeant scratched his head with the end of a pencil. “Falsely arrested, was she? Then she won’t be here, madam; we only do things by the book.”
Poppy stepped forward, exuding her most conciliatory air. “Of course you do, sergeant. My aunt is a little upset. Please, accept our apologies. However, we would like to see Mrs Wilson. Mrs Grace Wilson. DI Hawkes brought her in, I believe.”
The sergeant narrowed his eyes and appraised Poppy. “Weren’t you in here earlier this week to see DI Hawkes? About an attempted mugging?”
Poppy smiled. “Yes, that was me. And DI Hawkes was very helpful. Is he here?”
The sergeant shook his head. “He isn’t, miss. He brought in the prisoner – Mrs Wilson, that is – and left her to be processed. He’s out again interviewing other witnesses.”
“The – the – prisoner?” spouted Dot.
Poppy shushed her with a firm hand on her shoulder. “Ah, I see. May we see Mrs Wilson then, please? We will need to help her arrange legal counsel.”
The sergeant poked at the same spot on his head with the nub of the pencil. “I could let one of you in. Just one.”
“Then it should be me!” Dot insisted.
The sergeant leaned over and assessed Dot’s wheelchair. “Don’t think that’ll get down the stairs, madam. The holding cells are in the basement. Best the young lady goes.”
“Yes, but –”
“It’s fine, Aunt Dot. I’ll go. I’ll pass on your love to Grace. Look, here’s Delilah; she can sit with you.” Poppy caught Delilah’s eye as she stepped into the charge office. “Over here, Delilah. They’re letting me see Grace. But only one of us can go. Can you and Dot stay here?”
“Of course, Pops, I’ll stay as long as you need.”
Grace was as pale as a grave shroud. She sat, unshackled, on a rickety chair in an interview room. She had not, yet, been taken to a cell, but the police sergeant standing outside the door said she would be as soon as Poppy left. The women were told they had fifteen minutes to talk – and not a moment longer. Poppy sat down on the chair opposite with a scarred and grime-streaked table between them. The room was airless, with no window, lit only by a bare electric lightbulb that gave off a crackly hum and was reflected in a large mirror.
Poppy took Grace’s cold, bony hands in hers. “Oh Grace, I’m so sorry. Dot is here, but they wouldn’t let her down. Delilah is with her. They both send their love.”
Grace nodded.
“Look,” said Poppy, “we don’t have long. Have you called anyone yet? A lawyer? The sergeant said if you can’t get anyone yourself they can arrange one for you. You don’t have a solicitor up here, do you?”
Grace shook her head.
“What about the fellow who dealt with Aunt Mabel’s estate? He could put you in touch with someone, couldn’t he?”
Grace considered this for a moment and said, very quietly, “I don’t think he’d be much help. He was as old as Marley. What I really need is someone like Yasmin. I wonder if she knows someone up here? Do you think you can call her, Poppy?”
“Of course!” said Poppy. “I’ll do it as soon as I leave you. If anyone can help, it will be Yasmin. Don’t worry, Grace – I’m sure she’ll get you the very best counsel possible. Can I tell her what the actual charge is?”
Grace looked towards the door where the burly sergeant was waiting and lowered her voice. “Murder, Poppy: they’re actually charging me with murder.”
Even though Poppy had suspected this was the case, the words fell like bricks between them. “Oh Grace, that’s dreadful. On what grounds? Have they told you?”
Grace nodded. “Yes, some of it. Apparently there was a witness.”
“But there couldn’t have been! You didn’t do it!”
Grace squeezed Poppy’s hands. “Of course I didn’t. But they have a witness who saw me in the stables around the time Agnes died.”
Poppy shook her head in confusion. “But Agnes didn’t die in the stables. So how can that be?”
“Because I lied, Poppy. They caught me in a lie.”
“Why? How?”
“I told DI Hawkes that I was in one of the other galleries: Gallery C. But I wasn’t. I was in the stables.”
“B-but – why? Why did you say that?”
Grace shrugged, her bony shoulders jutting through her grey felt jacket. “Because – ironically – I thought that if I’d told them where I really was they would have suspected me of being involved.” She gave a hollow, little laugh, which failed to light up her eyes. “How very, very, silly of me.”
Poppy scrunched up her forehead, trying to understand Grace’s motivation. “But why?”
“Because, Poppy, I am probably the only person there last night with a criminal conviction, who has previously been the suspect in a murder.”
“But you were cleared of that!”
“Of murder, yes, but we all know that my actions contributed to Gloria’s death, don’t we? I was worried if DI Hawkes found out about that – which, apparently he has – I would be top of his list of suspects. So I decided to pretend I was just one of the crowd in the gallery. There were so many people, I thought it would be difficult for him to prove that I wasn’t. But, I hadn’t realized someone had actually seen me in the stables. I was convinced that – apart from the horses – I was alone.”
Poppy checked her watch; they had five minutes left. She needed to get as much information from Grace to give to Yasmin as possible. “Why were you in the stables? Briefly, we don’t have much time.”
Grace nodded and straightened up, adopting her familiar no-nonsense demeanour. “Because I don’t like crowds. You know that. And even though Agnes and I were in the process of burying the hatchet, we weren’t quite there yet. I just needed to get away for a bit. So when I noticed the door at the back of the gallery was open a touch, I went out.”
“Did you not consider going up to the roof?”
“No, not at all. I wanted to see the horses.”
Poppy nodded. “All right, that makes sense. So, really, all Sandy – DI Hawkes – has on you is that you lied about where you were and that you were in the stables. He hasn’t placed you on the roof at all. Good, I’m sure that’s enough for whoever Yasmin suggests to represent you, to work on. In my experience of murder cases, that is all very circumstantial. He’ll need a lot more than that.”
Grace pursed her lips and looked away.
“What?” said Poppy. “Is there more?”
Grace let out a long, painful sigh. “Yes. Firstly, Hawkes knows that Agnes and I had some history together –”
Poppy tensed. Yes, and she had been the one to tell Sandy… Well, to clarify, after Gus and Gerald mentioned it.
“But beyond that, he claims that he has found the murder weapon, in the stables, and that it belongs to me.”
“What the deuce?”
But before Grace could answer, the sergeant marched up to the table and announced in a no-arguments-will-be-tolerated voice: “That’s it ladies, time is up.”
“B-but Mrs Wilson hasn’t finished telling me –”
The sergeant gripped Poppy’s arm firmly. “She can tell it to her barrister.”
While Aunt Dot and Delilah waited for her in the car, Poppy went to the post office and put in a call to Yasmin’s office in London. Fortunately the barrister was in and listened, intently, to Poppy’s story about Agnes’ murder and Grace’s arrest. Yasmin was an art collector and owned some of Agnes’ paintings. She was shocked to hear of the artist’s death, but less so about Grace’s suspected involvement. “Unfortunately, she has form with this sort of thing, Poppy. I would have been surprised if the Newcastle police didn’t think she were a suspect. But what’s this about the murder weapon? Do you know what it is?”
Poppy said she didn’t. “So, can you recommend anyone up here?”
“I could make some calls. But actually, I think it will be best if I come up. What’s the time to Newcastle on the Scotsman? Six hours?”
“Five to six, depending. But you’ll come? Yourself?”
“Yes, I will. Grace is a good friend, as you know. And I’m already familiar with her past record, seeing as I represented her in her former bail hearing.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you Yasmin. Will you send a telegram to Dot’s to confirm when you’ve managed to get a ticket?” She gave Dot’s address.
“Got it. And I will. I’ll try to get there for tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, I’ll get a recommendation for a local lawyer to cover for me until I arrive. I’ll do that immediately. You say she’s still at the police station?”
“She is, yes. Pilgrim Street.”
“Jolly good. Someone should be there by the end of today. But until then, Poppy, I need you to get as much information for me as possible on Agnes, her associates, her family, who was at the exhibition, and so forth. Can you do that for me without getting yourself arrested for interfering in a murder investigation?”
Poppy grinned. “I shall do my best, Yasmin.”
Both Dot and Delilah were immensely relieved that Yasmin had offered to come up to represent Grace. “If anyone can get Grace out, Yasmin can,” said Dot, who agreed with Poppy’s suggestion that she go back to the town house to await further developments. Delilah said she would drop her home and then get to the theatre. The young actress was delighted to hear that Poppy still intended to come to the opening night show. “And so will I!” announced Dot. “I need something to take my mind off all this. And nothing can be done until Yasmin arrives here tomorrow.”
“Well, not entirely nothing,” said Poppy, who told her friends that she was going to do a bit of investigating on Yasmin’s behalf. After waving off the yellow Rolls, Poppy went into the Fenwick’s tearoom, ordered a pot of Earl Grey and a currant scone, and took out her notebook. With pencil poised she planned out her strategy to find out as much information as possible before Yasmin’s arrival. This was not her first murder case, but it was the first one she was investigating that was not linked to a journalistic story she was working on. In the past her investigations were always tied into the editorial needs of the newspaper and this both inhibited and enabled her. The inhibition came with needing to assess the information received for newsworthiness and not being able to devote as much time as she would like to leads that would not provide column inches. Yes, her primary motivation was always to find the ultimate truth and for justice to be done, but that always had to be coupled with the need to produce copy that would sell newspapers. However, the benefit of always being on the payroll of a paper was that she had a certain authority – and protections – as a representative of the press that would enable her to ask questions and gain entry to places which might otherwise be closed to her. Like the police press conference, for instance. Which got her thinking… She made her first note:
1.Go see Peter MacMahon at the Journal and find out what he knows. Can he help in any way? NB let him know I’m not there as a rival journalist, just a concerned friend.
2.Ditto Walter Foster in Morpeth.
Drat! Morpeth! It’s Father’s birthday tomorrow! And Yasmin’s coming! But she won’t be here until late afternoon. I could still get to Morpeth and back before she arrives. Father is having a lunch. Mother won’t be happy that I’m rushing off early, but that can’t be helped. Surely she’ll understand when I tell her the circumstances. If I get up to Morpeth early morning I can get to see Walter Foster before the birthday party… Actually, didn’t he say he was going to be at the lunch?
Poppy made another note beside point 2 and circled it: ring Morpeth Herald and arrange meeting with W.F.
She poured herself another cup of tea and looked up to see Gus North and Gerald Farmer arrive in the doorway. The room was busy and every table was occupied. She tried to wave them over, but they didn’t see her and turned around and left. Ah well, never mind, she’d try to see them later. She made another note:
3.Arrange interview with Gus and Gerald – staying at the Grand. Initial chat to find out more about Agnes’ business in London and how the exhibition was set up. NB Yasmin will want to speak to them too.
4.Get guest list of who was at exhibition, plus, if possible, a staff list. Go to Laing… speak to Dante Sherman… tell him I am acting on behalf of Grace’s legal counsel… might get me more access…
5.Arrange to speak to Agnes’ family in Ashington – will it be best to wait for Yasmin?
Poppy put a question mark in a circle next to this one. Then finally, after picking the last currant from her tea plate and popping it into her mouth, she wrote:
6.Find out about so-called murder weapon and who the witness was who saw Grace.
Poppy rolled her pencil between thumb and forefinger. How was she to get that information? She quickly wrote “Sandy” and underlined the name three times.