Page 76 of Murder on the Brighton Express
“Speaking of Blaine, there’s a development on that front, too.” Fanning looked pleased with himself. “I did some research in our old files early this morning and found out that Clement Blaine was convicted of a robbery fifteen years ago, along with another member of his gang.”
“Jack West,” I said.
“JackWilson.” He sifted through the papers again and removed a photograph of a prisoner. It was a beardless Jack West. “He changed his name when he was released a few months ago, probably to hide his identity in case a potential employer dug too deeply into his past. He got a job as a conductor easily since he knew what to do. He was working as a conductor at the time of his arrest, you see. The Manchester police got him after a tip-off from Scotland Yard. Guess who told our boys where to find him.”
“Clement Blaine,” Harry said with a wry smile. “He grassed up his former friend. No wonder he was afraid of West when he saw him again after all these years. He suspected West would retaliate.”
“He’s lucky to be alive,” I added.
Fanning pointed at me. “I reckon there’s a reason why West didn’t kill him. You see, Blaine got a much shorter sentence from the judge after laying the blame for the robbery on his more senior partner, Wilson. But the stolen property was never recovered.”
He showed us a report on the original robbery, where a large sum of money had been stolen from a train. It was being transported to the Manchester branch of a London-based bank, but had never made it. Evidence led them to arrest Clement Blaine, but the police had always suspected he had the help of an insider from the railway. Blaine gave them Jack Wilson’s name during an interrogation.
“I’ve spent some time questioning Blaine this morning,” Fanning said. “He hasn’t told me where to find either the money or Wilson. I’ll keep trying.”
Harry told him it would do no good. “I doubt he knows where Wilson is. As to the money, it’s probably all spent.”
“It is,” I said. “The missing money is the key to everything. It’s why Jack West killed Ruth. He murdered her to protect Beecroft’s—Blaine’s—reputation, just as we suspected, Harry. But not out of a sense of loyalty or because Beecroft is, or was, his friend. He did it because Beecroft is the one who has all the money now. Beecroft spent what they stole after he got out of jail to reinvent himself as an actor and impresario.”
Fanning sat forward. “You mean he used it to put on plays?”
“It’s a costly endeavor. I’d never quite believed him when he said he simply worked hard as an actor and saved enough to convince the bank to give him a loan.”
“Banks want proof of identity,” Harry agreed. “If there’s any doubt, they hire private detectives to investigate. They also want collateral and a solid foundation already in place in which to grow their investment. They don’t loan money to just anybody.” It sounded like he was speaking from experience.
Fanning glanced over his shoulder to the corridor that led to the interview rooms. I suspected Beecroft was in one of them, or had been, earlier. “Wilson was blackmailing him?”
“In a way, yes,” I said. “He must have demanded money in some form or other from Beecroft. Either an outright payment, or proceeds from his plays, perhaps.”
Fanning nodded slowly. “So, if the story about Beecroft’s past got into the newspapers, his reputation would be ruined. Theater managers would refuse to house his plays, no one would work for him, and Wilson’s source of funds would vanish.”
“Precisely.” I removed my watch from my waistcoat pocket and checked the time. “I’m afraid I must go. Thank you for inviting us to hear your side of the investigation, Detective.”
Fanning stood and tugged on his jacket hem to straighten it. “My pleasure, Miss Fox. And may I say, good work.” This last part he said to Harry.
Harry pointed his hat at me. “It was all Miss Fox.” He placed his hat on his head. “And you know it, Detective. It’s time you admit she’s brilliant.”
Fanning turned pink as he peered along the corridor. “I believe I’m wanted in the interrogation room.”
We saw ourselves out.
It was a perfect day for a wedding, but I needed to get back to the hotel quickly to change my outfit. Harry signaled for a cab to wait as its passengers alighted onto the pavement. We climbed on board, and Harry gave the driver the name of the hotel.
I settled on the seat. “Thank you for defending me, but we both know it wasn’t all me. I couldn’t have done it without you, Harry.”
He nodded sagely. “True.”
I laughed.
“Does this mean you’re going to continue to work with me?” he asked. “There’ll be no more little tantrums in which you attempt to keep your distance?”
He could be very direct when he wanted to be. He knew me well enough to know it wouldn’t upset me. “If you want to work with me again, calling my very reasonable doubts tantrums won’t work.”
“Your doubts weren’t based on reason, Cleo. They were based on fear.”
“I’m not afraid of you, nor of my reputation as a detective being overshadowed by yours.”
“I know.”
