Page 56 of Murder on the Brighton Express
Chapter12
“He’s a journalist.” My voice held a touch of wonder in it, which Harry picked up.
“You shouldn’t judge a man by his face,” he said with an admonishing arch of his brows. It was an echo from the days when I’d pegged him to be too handsome to be clever.
“It was our other witnesses who called him a thuggish type with his flattened nose and workingman’s clothes.” I stood and picked up the newspaper. “May I hold onto this?”
“Only if I can come with you.”
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your important work of solving dastardly crimes.”
He collected his hat and jacket from the coat stand by the door. He seemed to assume I would let him accompany me to question Thomas Salter. “I’m sure justice can wait a little longer. I doubt the horse in question will form a criminal gang over the next few hours.”
As we walked to Fleet Street, I told Harry about my discovery that Mrs. Scoop was in fact Mrs. Blaine, and was married to Clement Blaine, also known as Beecroft. He was surprised by the revelation, but not surprised at the cruel nature of their relationship.
“He treats her abominably by carrying on with other women right under her nose,” he said. “It’s a surprise they haven’t divorced if their marriage is so bitter.”
I’d wondered about that, too. What did either of them gain by staying together? “They have a long history, having met when they were both living in the slums as children. Perhaps they know too many secrets about each other to trust they could separate amicably, without those secrets coming to light.”
The London Tattlerhad an office just off Fleet Street, not far from its larger rival,The Evening Bulletin.The smaller newspaper felt like a calmer place to work, with more space between the desks, and fewer typists and journalists rushing about. It also didn’t have a stentorian editor like Finlayson.
We spoke to Thomas Salter at his desk, tucked away in the corner. Just as the witnesses had described him, he wore ill-fitting clothes over a bullish frame. His jacket and cap hung on a coat stand nearby, and he’d rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows, revealing forearms more typical of a navvy than a journalist. His wide, flat nose suited the rest of his blunt features, although I doubted it was like that from birth.
I introduced Harry and myself as private detectives. “We’re investigating the death of Ruth Price.” I’d been prepared to launch into the reasons why I’d taken on the case, but he didn’t give me an opportunity.
A look of relief came over him. “I’m pleased someone is taking her death seriously. Scotland Yard aren’t interested. I’ve tried to investigate, but I’m not getting anywhere.” He grabbed spare chairs and moved them to his desk. “Please, sit. Tell me what you know.”
If he’d killed Ruth, he was a better actor than Clement Beecroft. He seemed like a concerned friend, eager to find her killer.
“First of all,” I began, “why did you go to Scotland Yard and try to encourage them to change their verdict? You and Ruth work for different newspapers. Wasn’t she a rival?”
“We were friends.” Mr. Salter rubbed a hand over his face and jaw. When it came away, he looked like a changed man with all the vitality gone. I suspected he hadn’t slept properly for days.
I felt awkward confronting this man about his relationship with Ruth, but fortunately Harry had no such qualms. “You were more than friends, weren’t you? You were lovers.”
“Ruth and I were courting. We were going to be married, but hadn’t told anyone yet. We needed to think of a diplomatic way to announce it. She introduced me to her brother when we first started courting, you see, but he reacted badly so she told him she ended it.”
“What do you mean by badly?” I asked.
“He lost his temper and ordered her to never see me again. Enoch didn’t like me, because I’m not particularly religious. I don’t go to church. I don’t even think I believe in God.” He shrugged boulder-sized shoulders. “Enoch wanted Ruth to marry someone from their church community, someone of deep faith, like him.”
“Ruth didn’t want that, too? It’s my understanding she was very religious herself.”
“More than me, yes, but not as devout as her brother. She pretended to be, to keep the peace at home. Enoch could be a bully to her. That’s why she told him she’d ended our courtship. She was worried he’d spy on her if he thought we were still together.”
“Spying is a little drastic, isn’t it?”
“Have you met their housekeeper, Miss Fox? Ruth was certain she’d seen that woman follow her one day.” He cracked his knuckles. His fingers were gnarled, as if they’d been broken and not healed properly. “Enoch Price didn’t deserve such a kind, thoughtful sister.”
Would Enoch do something terrible if he discovered Ruth lied and was still being courted by Salter? Would rage fueled by religious zealotry drive him to end the life of the sister who’d strayed from her beliefs?
Enoch hadn’t been on that train, however, so my theory didn’t hold water.
Mr. Salter continued. “We didn’t tell her employer atThe Evening Bulletineither. Mrs. Scoop would have dismissed her. She would accuse Ruth of feeding information to me, even if she wasn’t.”
“Did she ever feed information to you?” I asked.
“Sometimes, usually only when Mrs. Scoop wasn’t interested in what Ruth uncovered.”
