After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery) (22 page)

‘Bigamy’s a crime, all right.’

‘A real crime?’ asked Jack dubiously. ‘I can imagine, if you’ve managed to acquire more wives than are usually thought desirable, it’s not something you’d want talked about, but are we talking about a ticking-off from a magistrate or chokey?’

‘It’s chokey. Jail, prison, incarceration, detention at His Majesty’s pleasure or however else you want to phrase it. Under the Offences Against The Person Act of 1861, it’s penal servitude for not less than five years. I read up on it before I tackled Mr Askern.’

‘Five years?’ Jack whistled. ‘As much as that? That’s pretty serious. Isn’t there any way of wriggling out of it?’

Bill swirled his whisky round in his glass. ‘Yes, but I’m not sure if it applies. If the bigamist in question acted in good faith, then there isn’t any offence. By “good faith” the law means that the first husband or wife made themselves scarce for seven years before the second marriage and – this is the rub – the abandoned husband or wife didn’t know their spouse was alive during that period.’

‘How are you meant to prove what the abandoned did or didn’t know?’

Bill shrugged. ‘By investigation. Letters, diary entries, newspaper clippings or dated photographs that have been preserved, for instance. I’ll tell you something. Mrs Daphne Askern-as-was is blistering. She’s more than happy for us to dig away in John Askern’s papers to see what we can turn up. She’s suffering from a massive sense of injustice and, I must say, I have a lot of sympathy for her. Before she married Askern she was a widow and, by all accounts, was left very well-off by her first husband. She’s been, particularly where John Askern’s concerned, very generous with her money.’

‘I can see why she’d feel hard done by.’

‘Absolutely. Our Mr Askern was feeling the pinch a bit before she came along – admittedly, this is what Mrs Askern says – but not only does she feel as if she’s been made to look like a gullible fool, Signora Bianchi added some pretty deadly insults to her feeling of injury. D’you know Daphne Askern thought John Askern and Signora Bianchi were having an affair? She was prepared to overlook that, as long as it came to an end, but she has no intention of letting this be swept under the carpet.’

‘I imagine it’s out of her hands anyway.’

‘Legally speaking, yes it is. This seven-year rule is a beggar, though. If Mrs Askern has a change of heart and decides to hunt through Askern’s papers and destroy anything that’s incriminating, I doubt we’ll ever be able to prove a charge of bigamy.’

‘You’d better not let Colin Askern know that. I can imagine him destroying his father’s papers without turning a hair in order to get him out of trouble.’

‘So can I. He’s a very determined character altogether. And, Jack, the law is the law. Colin Askern is perfectly capable of finding out how things stand for his father without us telling him.’

‘Mmm, yes.’ Jack pulled the tobacco jar across the table and, reaming out his pipe into the ashtray, stuffed in fresh tobacco. ‘Forgetting about what can or can’t be proved for the moment, you’ve seen Mr Askern. Do you think he knew the Bianchi was still alive? For seven years before he married Mrs Daphne, I mean? And when was the date of the marriage?’

‘It was the fourteenth of May, 1921, which takes us back to the fourteenth of May 1914. As far as what I believe is concerned, well …’ Bill pulled a face. ‘It’s difficult to get him to make any sort of statement, he’s so rambling and disconnected. I honestly do wonder about his mental state. He’s drinking heavily as well, which doesn’t help matters.’

Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘So it’s not a case of
in vino veritas
?’

‘It’s a case of
in vino
making him talk a load of old rubbish, as it often does. Half the time I couldn’t make out if he was talking about now or when Carlotta Bianchi left him, years ago. She clearly wanted money – a lot of money – then, just as much as she does now. John Askern kept maundering on about old Lythewell’s treasure.’

Jack put a match to his pipe. ‘He talked about old Lythewell’s treasure that day we saw him at his club. That’s before we knew old man Lythewell had been part of the Great Museum Scandal and was in a position to have enough dosh for it to be described as treasure. I’ve thought about what he said.
They were after him. It drove him mad.
It didn’t seem to make much sense at the time, but surely he has to be talking about old Lythewell and his fear that the little gang of forgers would come after him once they’d got out of prison.’

He pulled his notebook out of his pocket. ‘I copied down the inscriptions from the chantry flagstones, as you know. There’s frequent references to
My son
in those inscriptions. I think Lythewell wanted his son, Daniel, to have the treasure and so hid it from the gang to keep it safe.’

Bill looked at him quizzically. ‘Which is all very interesting, Jack, but hardly helps with trying to decide if there’s enough proof to proceed against Mr Askern for bigamy.’

‘No, but I was wondering if there was another crime hidden in Mr Askern’s ramblings. Do you remember what he said?
I did it for Carlotta
.
She never knew what I’d done
,
and so on?’

‘I can’t say I do, but he’s certainly said words to that effect since. Goodness knows what he’s talking about.’

‘Can’t you guess?’ asked Jack quietly.

Bill put his hands wide. ‘Search me. I tell you, the man’s got a bottle of whisky beside him and he seems half-seas over most of the time. I haven’t a clue what he’s going on about.’

Jack sat upright and put his pipe and glass on the table with a sharp click. ‘Okay, let me tell you what I’ve got in mind.’ He leaned forward and ticked the points off on his fingers. ‘Point one. Old Lythewell, as we now know, had money. How much money is anyone’s guess but let’s say it was a lot. It sounds as if it was a lot. Point two. In order to keep the money out of the hands of his former gang, he hid it. Point three. He hid it, so it’s believed, in the chantry.’

‘So what?’

‘Where, Bill, it could be discovered and stolen, yes?’

‘I suppose so, if anyone knew where it was,’ said Bill with a shrug. ‘We didn’t get a sniff of it and you can’t say we didn’t look. You can’t tell me Mr Askern discovered and stole it. I told you, he’s never been well off and, what’s more, before he married Daphne Banks, as she was then, in 1921, he was even less well off.’

‘Agreed.’

‘Besides that, if John Askern did find the treasure, old Lythewell would kick up a dickens of a fuss about it. He wouldn’t just calmly sit back and let his young assistant, as John Askern was then, walk off with the loot.’

‘Exactly,’ said Jack with a grin. ‘Unless – and this is point four – what happened?’

Bill looked at him blankly. ‘Unless old Mr Lythewell was dead.’

‘Exactly,’ repeated Jack. ‘And, to quote Mr Askern once more,
I did it for Carlotta.
She never knew what I’d done.
Doesn’t that sound like a guilty conscience to you?’

Bill gaped at him. ‘Hold on. A guilty conscience? Are you telling me you suspect John Askern of
murder
?’

Jack nodded. ‘Of murdering old Mr Lythewell, yes.’

Bill shook his head and gave a dismissive laugh. ‘Come off it, Jack. You haven’t got a shred of proof. Old Mr Lythewell could’ve died of anything. Heart disease or TB or pneumonia or something.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Jack. ‘So I paid a visit to the Newspaper Library and looked up Josiah Lythewell’s obituary. He made it into
The Times
, you know. He died as a result of a fall down the stairs.’

Bill hesitated, then picked up his glass. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said slowly. ‘Where was John Askern when old Lythewell died? I don’t suppose that was in
The Times
was it?’

‘No, but there was a very full account in the local paper,
The
Whimbrell Heath and Broomwater Intelligencer.
Josiah Lythewell’s body was discovered by none other than our old pal, Henry Cadwallader, but John Askern was in the house all right. It said as much in the local paper.’

‘That’s very interesting, but it doesn’t prove anything.’

‘No, but it could explain things. Look at it this way. I think John Askern was driven nearly demented by Carlotta Bianchi. She would come back to him, so he thought, if he had money. That’s a pretty powerful motive. What’s more, it makes sense of John Askern’s ramblings, doesn’t it? He’s knows he’s guilty, but he doesn’t really think he’s guilty of bigamy. What he knows he’s guilty of is murder; a totally pointless murder, carried out in desperation to allow him to get his hands on Lythewell’s treasure. He believed in that treasure. Virtually no one else did. Two dead crooks did and Henry Cadwallader does, but who’d listen to Henry Cadwallader? Daniel Lythewell can return from New York, inherit his father’s estate, and John Askern can hang on to the loot without anyone being any the wiser.’

‘So why isn’t John Askern rich?’ demanded Bill.

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ said Jack, picking up his pipe once more. ‘He didn’t find the treasure, any more than we did.’ He looked at his friend’s expression and smiled. ‘C’mon, Bill. Stop being so cautious. I can’t prove anything but it does make sense.’

Bill took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. ‘You’re right,’ he said eventually. ‘It does make sense. I’ve just been going over in my mind what John Askern’s actually said to me and yes, it makes sense.’ He relapsed into thought once more. ‘I’m not sure what to do, and that’s a fact. I can hardly charge John Askern with a crime no one suspected and, granted how long ago it was, can’t even prove happened. In fact,’ he added, with a cynical smile, ‘this bigamy business is a relief. At least we know that
has
happened, unlike Signora Bianchi’s murder and your idea about Josiah Lythewell’s untimely end. What do you want me to do about it?’

‘Keep it in mind,’ said Jack, relighting his pipe. ‘I know there isn’t any proof and, I agree, after all this time I doubt if there ever will be any, but as long as you’ve got it in mind, it might help you to piece together what John Askern’s talking about. You could just try asking him,’ he added brightly.

‘Not unless I want to be accused of bullying a suspect,’ said Bill. ‘There are rules.’ He sipped his whisky broodingly. ‘I’ll tell you something that unsettles me, though,’ he added after a time. ‘A man who’s committed a murder and got away with it, a man who has, to all intents and purposes, gone on to lead a successful life – I’d say that man was dangerous. You think Joan McAllister was murdered in Signora Bianchi’s cottage, don’t you?’

‘I think it’s possible,’ said Jack.

Bill grinned. ‘Now who’s being cautious?’

‘All right, I think it’s more than possible. I think it’s likely.’

‘And John Askern knew Signora Bianchi was away and therefore her cottage would be untenanted.’

Bill finished his whisky, got up from his chair and, going over to the sideboard, poured himself another drink. ‘I’ve been after him for bigamy,’ he said. ‘You think he could’ve bumped off Josiah Lythewell. However, we
know
– really
know
– that something untoward happened in Signora Bianchi’s cottage that night and both of us think it’s murder. John Askern was there when Joan McAllister fainted outside the exhibition. You think that’s because she recognised someone. I wonder if it was John Askern. He’s clearly guilty of something. He’s told me that, if he’s told me nothing else. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a much more recent murder than that of Josiah Lythewell’s on his conscience and I’ve been asking him the wrong questions.’

Jack looked at Bill. His friend was suddenly grimly determined. ‘So what are you going to do, Bill?’

‘In the first instance, have a word with Sir Douglas. And then, perhaps, start asking the right questions.’

Three days later Colin Askern called into Scotland Yard to see Bill Rackham. ‘I want this police persecution of my father to stop,’ he said without preamble. ‘For heaven’s sake, it’s driving him mad.’

Colin Askern’s handsome face was so strained, he obviously wasn’t the only member of the Askern family feeling the pressure.

‘I’d hardly call it persecution,’ said Bill. ‘When I’ve called in to ask him a few questions, you’ve been present, his solicitor was there on one occasion, and yesterday Mr Lythewell turned up.’

‘But damnit, Rackham, what are you looking for? You know as well as I do there was nothing in that stupid story of Betty’s. My mother’s alive, for heaven’s sake.’

‘There is the question of bigamy,’ said Bill, ignoring Colin Askern’s snort of disbelief.

‘But that’s nonsense! I asked the solicitor and he explained how the law stood. When he married my stepmother, Dad thought my mother was dead.’

‘Did he? After all, your mother knew exactly where your father was living. She obviously knew he wasn’t dead.’

‘That doesn’t prove my father knew she was alive. Askern’s not a common name and my father hasn’t been in hiding. I didn’t know my mother was alive until she turned up in Whimbrell Heath.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Certain.’ Colin Askern met his gaze squarely, then his mouth quivered and he buried his face in his hands. ‘Just leave us alone, will you? Ever since Betty came to you with that fanciful tale, you’ve been determined to prove there’s been a murder. When it became obvious my mother wasn’t the victim, you’ve been trying to prove some unknown woman was murdered instead. For some extraordinary reason of her own, Betty believes it’s that woman who keeled over outside the art exhibition. We’ve all tried to reason with her, but she just won’t have it. Can’t you see what this is doing to my father? It’s as if you think
he
might be a murderer.’

Bill said nothing.

‘This is ridiculous!’ Colin broke out. ‘If my father was going to murder anyone, he’d have murdered my mother, not a complete stranger. You know he didn’t murder my mother, but at least you can see there’d be a reason for it. But this? This is complete and utter nonsense from beginning to end. I’ve told Betty so, but I don’t know what’s got into her recently.’

Bill traced an abstract pattern on the desk with his forefinger. ‘Can you think of any reason why Miss Wingate should make up such a story?’