David Dickinson - Death Called to the Bar

‘Would you like to have been to Oxford, Edward?’ asked Sarah, staring at a group of undergraduates about to go into Hall. She thought Edward would look nice in one of those gowns.

‘I don’t think so, Sarah. I’m not sure I would fit in. Most of these people are very rich.’

It was only in the train back to Paddington that Sarah raised her fears about Queen’s Inn. They were alone in their compartment and Edward was polishing off the remains of the sandwiches and the apples from the picnic.

‘How long do you think it will be, Edward,’ she said rather sadly, ‘before they catch this murderer?’

‘Oh dear,’ said Edward, ‘I hoped a day in Oxford would take your mind off it all. I know it’s easy for me to say it, but you mustn’t worry. Nobody’s going to want to harm you. Lord Powerscourt is one of the best investigators in the country and that policeman is very sharp. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’

‘It’s not me I’m that worried about so much, Edward,’ said Sarah, her eyes large and bright as she looked across at him. ‘Who worked very closely with Mr Dauntsey? Who worked closely with Mr Stewart? Who must know a lot of the secrets they knew? Who is the best-informed person in the Inn about that huge fraud case? In every case, Edward, the answer is you. I’m so worried you’re next on their list.’

‘That’s ridiculous, Sarah,’ said Edward, secretly touched by the amount of her concern – surely she must care for him, maybe he should hold her hand. ‘I’m not going to be on anybody’s list. It’s absurd. I’m in more danger crossing the road.’

But all of Edward’s protests came to nothing. Sarah remained convinced he was in great danger. An offer by Edward to come and meet her mother the following week did something to calm her. He may not like being interrogated by my mother, she thought, but at least he won’t get killed.

It was no longer enjoying the pride of place it had occupied at the time of Powerscourt’s last visit to his brother-in-law William Burke, but it still took a fairly prominent position. It sat in the centre of the lowest row of bookshelves to the left of Burke’s fireplace. It was taller than the others and its black cover gave the Book of Numbers an air of great authority. Powerscourt wondered if the benchers of Queen’s Inn had a similar volume, a financial Holy of Holies, the Ark of the Covenant of the Inn’s accounts.

‘Alexander Dauntsey, William,’ Powerscourt began, ‘the chap who got poisoned, was apparently very worried about the accounts before he died.’

Burke’s reply was the same as Powerscourt’s had been down in Calne. ‘Which ones, Francis? Estate? Personal? Chambers? Queen’s Inn?’

‘Exactly the same question that I asked. Two were more or less eliminated, his chambers’ because their clerk is so efficient, and the personal ones because they were usually in good health. So that leaves us with the estate and the Inn. Mrs Dauntsey couldn’t remember which one it was.’

‘Strange how even very intelligent women often get a mental blank about money, Francis. Take your sister, my beloved wife, highly intelligent woman, not the slightest idea about money.’

‘Some of them must be good at it, William. Women, I mean. Exceptions that prove the rule. Anyway, the reason I am here is to ask you which of those two you think more likely and what kind of irregularities we might be talking about that would worry a cool and experienced barrister like Dauntsey. The estate accounts or the accounts of the Inn?’

William Burke took a careful sip of his white port. ‘This really is guessing in the dark, Francis. But I think it is less likely to do with the estate accounts. They will follow the same sort of pattern year after year. There may be some exceptional event like a bad harvest. But even then they work like a see-saw.’

‘See-saw, William?’ Powerscourt had a mental image of his daughter going up and down on one. The twins, when their time came, could have an end each.

‘Sorry, see-saw in the sense that a bad harvest is bad for the people whose crops fail, but very good for those whose don’t because the prices go through the roof. I don’t think there have been any natural disasters that could have affected things . You didn’t see any sign of natural catastrophe down there in Kent, Francis? Vesuvius-type eruptions? Fire and brimstone consuming the cities of the plain? Death of the firstborn?’

‘It all looked fairly peaceful to me, William. Deer running about, spring flowers everywhere, the vast hinterland of that house smothered in dust jackets and sheeting. So, it must be the Inn, or perhaps I should say it is more likely to be the Inn. What could be going on there?’

Burke rose from his chair and wandered over to the window. He looked out into the square below, a couple of pedestrians going home, a lone policeman plodding along the opposite side. He came back and sat on his sofa.

‘I can’t say I know very much about how an Inn of Court organizes its finances, Francis. They must have somebody, I presume, to arrange the collection of all those rents for the various chambers. I doubt if anything fishy could be going on there. If they pitched the rents too high, presumably the barristers might decamp to Gray’s Inn or the Middle Temple.’

Burke paused. ‘Let me ask you a question, Francis. Presumably you think this worry about money might have been important. Do you think it might have led to the two deaths? Because if you do think that, then it must have been some enormous financial crime for somebody to have murdered these two fellows.’

Now it was Powerscourt’s turn to pause. ‘I simply don’t know. It might be nothing at all. But just give me a list, if you would, of the kinds of money crimes that could lead to murder.’

‘The actual crime might not that be all that huge, Francis. But suppose there was blackmail. Suppose Dauntsey and Stewart were operating some kind of blackmailing ring down there in Queen’s. A worm turns. Poisons one and shoots the other. In terms of the big financial crimes, they’re almost all related to theft in one form or another, theft from fellow shareholders like Mr Puncknowle, theft from banks, theft from the public by fraud and deception. What makes life so difficult with the Inn, Francis, is that they will all keep silent on you. They may all have been paying Danegeld to some blackmailer or other for years and years but they’re not going to tell you about it. Any attempt to get a look at the accounts of individual chambers isn’t going to be greeted with birthday cake and balloons, and any attempt to look at the accounts of the Inn itself will be running into a blank wall. “Terribly sorry, Powerscourt,” they will say, “Inn is a closed body, under no obligation to show our accounts to anybody, even if we wanted to, which we don’t.”’

‘I’m very grateful, William. You’ve raised a whole host of possibilities.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Burke, ‘that I haven’t got the right one. Let me give you a word of advice. I do not know how many other possible theories you have for the motive for these murders, quite a few, I suspect. But let’s suppose it does have to do with the money. Let’s suppose that supposition holds good. If you get anywhere near the truth, Francis, you won’t live to tell the tale. These people have killed twice already. No reason to doubt they will do it again. I don’t mind going to the funerals of very aged and decrepit customers of my bank, but I’m damned if I’m going to go to yours.’

A rather sombre council of war took place later that evening in the Powerscourt drawing room in Manchester Square. Johnny Fitzgerald had returned from talking to the fringes of London’s underworld about the deaths in Queen’s Inn. Lady Lucy had returned from another mission round the outer fringes of her relations for any fresh intelligence of Mr and Mrs Dauntsey. Powerscourt told them first about Mrs Dauntsey and her reaction to the fairy tale. Lady Lucy was fascinated.