‘Mr Stern never had the chance to do so,’ replied Leeming. ‘He has not seen hide nor hair of Stephen Voke for a week. The young man has terminated his employment there without warning.’
‘Then you should have sought him at his lodgings.’
‘I did, sir. I went to the address given to me by Mr Stern.’
‘Was Stephen Voke there?’
‘No, sir,’ said Leeming, ‘and he never has been. He gave a false address to his employer. Nobody seems to know where he is. Stephen Voke – and, presumably, the young lady – has vanished into thin air.’
Tegwyn Rees was a tall, angular, emaciated man who looked as if he should be lying on the slab beside the corpses he dissected. When he was introduced to Colbeck by Jeremiah Stockdale, he regarded the inspector through cold, almost colourless eyes.
‘Why do we need detectives from London?’ he said with undisguised resentment. ‘The crime was committed on Welsh soil. I’m sure the superintendent could have solved it without interference.’
‘I came to help, Dr Rees,’ said Colbeck, ‘and not to interfere. In any case, Superintendent Stockdale is very much involved in the investigation. His officers are making enquiries about the source of that sulphuric acid even as we speak.’
‘Yet they are under the direction of a complete stranger.’
‘Don’t be so territorial, Tegwyn,’ said Stockdale, jovially. ‘The inspector is no stranger to me. And if you think a Welsh murder can only be tackled by Welsh policeman, it rules me out. I’m as English as Cheddar cheese – and just as delicious. Now tell us what the post-mortem revealed.’
They were in Rees’s surgery, a room as neat, chilly and sterile as the man himself. He consulted a sheet of paper before speaking.
‘The cause of death,’ he began, ‘was heart failure brought on by a massive dose of sulphuric acid. Its corrosive properties can be seen in the disfigurement around the mouth and in several internal organs. The wound on the scalp and the bruising were caused before death.’
‘I realised that when I saw the blood,’ said Colbeck. ‘As soon as the heart stops, so does the circulation.’
‘Let me finish, please,’ said Rees, tetchily. ‘There were also bruises on the chest and arms of the victim, suggesting that someone may have been kneeling on him.’
‘That disposes of your idea that the killer was a female,’ said Stockdale to Colbeck. ‘No woman would have been strong enough to hold him down.’
‘She wouldn’t have needed strength if he’d willingly submitted to being tied up,’ returned Colbeck before giving Rees an apologetic smile. ‘Do go on, sir.’
Rees clicked his tongue. ‘Thank you,’ he said with sarcasm. ‘Need I remind you that I was the one who conducted the autopsy? All that you saw were the more obvious external signs. As it happens, Inspector, your wild guess has some foundation. The victim’s wrists were tied tightly enough to leave a mark and there were similar weals on his ankles. In other words, he was spread-eagled on the bed.’
‘That’s what Inspector Colbeck suggested,’ said Stockdale. ‘He felt that Mr Kellow may have been seduced by a woman and that being tied up was part of some ritual.’
‘There is some supportive evidence for that theory,’ said Rees, glancing at his notes. ‘There was a discharge of semen in the victim’s underwear, consistent with high sexual excitement. It may even be the case that some of the bruising was a deliberate part of any ritual. There are – believe it or not – people who actually derive pleasure from pain and who pay others to administer it.’
Stockdale grinned. ‘You don’t need to tell me that, Tegwyn,’ he said. ‘When we raided a house in Charlotte Street last month, we found a man hanging naked from the rafters while a woman in a black mask flayed him with a cat o’nine tails.’ He pulled a face. ‘I don’t mind telling you that it’s not my idea of pleasure.’
‘We’re still working on assumptions,’ Colbeck reminded them. ‘It would be mistake to build too much on them. Explain one thing to us, Dr Rees, if you can,’ he went on. ‘Even someone who enjoyed pain to a certain point would surely have cried out when he was struck on the head with a blunt instrument that broke open the scalp.
‘You’re quite right, Inspector.’
‘Then why did nobody hear the noise?’
‘You should have been there when I examined the back of the victim’s neck,’ said Rees, loftily. ‘There were unmistakable marks of something having been tied very tightly against it. My considered opinion is that, before he was killed, the victim was bound and gagged. He could neither move nor speak. The gag was only removed when the acid was about to be poured down his throat.’
‘That would explain the cry for help,’ said Colbeck. ‘One of the guests heard it as she walked past and it was quickly stifled.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Whoever committed the murder did not simply wish to kill Hugh Kellow. They were determined to make him
CHAPTER SIX
Since he perceived the definite link between the murder in Cardiff and the burglary in Wood Street, Edward Tallis decided to accompany Leeming to the silversmith’s shop. They found Leonard Voke in a state of utter despair. Having closed his shop for the day, the old man was wandering around the premises in a daze. The visitors noticed that he had forgotten to shave that morning. Voke took them into the back room and flopped into a chair, his head in his hands.
‘I’m ruined,’ he kept saying. ‘I’m absolutely ruined.’
‘We’re very sorry that this has happened, Mr Voke,’ said Leeming with genuine pity, ‘but I did warn you that the keys had been stolen.’
‘I have three locks on some doors.’
‘They were not enough, sir.’
‘What exactly was taken?’ asked Tallis.
‘
‘Can’t you start work on them again?’
Voke looked forlornly up at him. ‘I could never do that on my own. It would take me years to replace everything. If I still had Hugh beside me, then there’s a chance I could rebuild. He worked quickly as well as meticulously. Without him, Superintendent,’ he said, ‘I’m lost. It’s like having a right hand cut off. Besides,’ he added, wincing as if a nail had just been driven into his body, ‘I kept all my tools in that safe. The burglar stole them as well. That really hurt me.’
‘This was no random crime, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘The only person who would steal your tools is either someone who knew how much they meant to you or someone who might have planned on using them himself. That leads us to one particular person.’
‘Don’t mention his name under my roof!’ snarled Voke, wagging a finger. ‘I told you, Sergeant, if you want to speak to that detestable young man, you must go to Hatton Garden.’
‘That’s what I did, sir, but the bird has flown.’
Voke winced again. ‘He’s run away?’
‘Yes,’ said Tallis, taking over, ‘and we have reason to believe that he was not alone. Was your son – this young man we’re talking about, that is – married?’
‘No, Superintendent, he was not. He claimed that I never paid him enough to support a wife.’
‘Did he have anyone in mind?’
‘Not that I know of,’ said Voke, sourly. ‘He never brought anyone home but I knew that he frequented places where young women could be found in abundance. That disgusted me more than I can say. I thank God that my wife died without knowing about his habits.’
‘We need to contact him as soon as possible,’ said Tallis. ‘Can you give us any advice on how to do that? Did he have male friends with whom we could talk?’ Voke shook his head. ‘Well, can you give us the name of the places where he went drinking?’
‘I wish I could, Superintendent. I want him caught as much as you do. But the truth of it is,’ he went on, ‘we
