The Bohemian Girl

‘Where’s Lord Jarrold?’

‘There isn’t any Lord Jarrold; why would there be a Lord Jarrold?’ He sounded irritable.

‘You say she’s Lady something or other.’

‘Lady Emmeline. Because she’s the sister of the Duke of Edderton.’

‘Who’s her husband, then?’

‘Dead. He was Captain Jarrold.’

‘But-’

Munro leaned forward, his huge hands splayed on the desktop. He spoke slowly, as if to a backward child. ‘Duke’s daughters get called “Lady”. They marry commoners, the commoners stay common. Can we take that as read now?’ He wiped a hand down his face. ‘I’m too tired for this. Find yourself a Debrett’s.’

‘I’ll never understand this country.’

‘Nor me, and I’m Canadian.’ Munro produced a crumpled white paper from a drawer, then took a sugar bun, somewhat the worse for the night, from the paper. He munched. ‘Markson’s the officer of record, so he laid the charge, but I was there because I thought the legal gentry might make mincemeat of him. Also had somebody from the prosecutor’s shindig. In the event, Markson did all right.’ He finished the bun and dusted grains of sugar from his fingers. ‘However.’

‘I thought you might be leading up to that.’

‘Feeling of nameless dread? Yeah, I had it all through the arraignment. ’ He put his forearms on the desk again. ‘Here’s where we are: things are not ideal, but they’re passable. Markson laid a charge of breaking and entering at Mrs Denton’s, a charge of wilful destruction of property, and a charge of denial of quiet enjoyment. We laid no charges having to do with you, your house, or the house behind because we don’t have hard evidence and it’s better to wait until we do.

‘My super got the chief super out of the theatre last night to tell him that we’d arrested a relative of the Duke of Edderton. Chief Super’s immediate judgement — wise, I think — was that we go only with the things we can prove. Can always build a case on the circumstantials later, hope Jarrold gives us more in examination.

‘Jarrold’s counsel objected ten times — this is in police court! — and pled him not guilty on all counts. Magistrate let him out on bond of ten pounds and his recognizance.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘He’s got no record, Denton. We cited no crime against persons — the attack on you wasn’t in it — and you’re talking about a duke’s nephew, or whatever the hell he is, and invasion of two rooms in bloody Bethnal Green! The clothes were old and shabby. The damned piano is good only for firewood. It’s the sort of thing you call a prank if you’re counsel for the defence.’

‘He’s dangerous, Munro.’

Munro took another bun from the sack. He wet a finger and used it to lift loose grains of sugar, then licked it. ‘His lawyers will fight the fingerprint evidence as an untested theory. They said so. They were quite jolly about it — strong suggestion that it would be like a slice off the rare to them. Not quite honest of them — they know it would be the test case for fingerprints, so the police and the prosecutors would throw everything into it. In fact, I suspect they’d rather not go to court over it.’ He put his head on one hand. ‘However, Crown Prosecutor’s office had a message from the Home Secretary this a.m. that he doesn’t want to use this as the test case on fingerprints.’

‘But that’s the strongest evidence you have!’

‘His view — and looked at from his place, Denton, he’s right — his view is that when we go to court on fingerprint evidence for the first time ever, he wants a sure conviction. To him, that means a full hand of prints and corroborating evidence — that is, good enough that we could convict without the prints. From his viewpoint, it’s important to the whole future of the use of fingerprints. I mean, imagine what would happen if we went to court on Jarrold and lost.’

Denton broke off a piece of the sugar bun and chewed it. The currants on the outside had got hard; inside, they were still fairly good, unlike the bun itself. He said, ‘Tell me the worst.’

‘If he’ll plead guilty, we’ll reduce the charges to trespassing on the premises of another and disrespect of private property.’

‘No imprisonment.’

Munro shook his head. ‘Counsel hinted last night that they’ll go for such a thing. They’re putting it out this morning that Jarrold has been under strain, temporarily unbalanced. Prosecutor thinks they’ll be willing to accept some sort of house arrest under medical supervision, meaning in fact that young Struther will tiptoe off to Mummy’s castle in Sussex and be very quiet for a while.’

‘He’s dangerous!’

‘And there’s something more.’ Munro had sat back, now turned sideways in his chair. He was looking at the edge of the desk, not at Denton, picking at a splinter with a fingernail. ‘If they go to court, everything about you and Mrs Striker will be splattered over the papers brighter than the paint on her walls. No, let me speak. I don’t know what’s between the two of you — it isn’t my business — but it was plain yesterday there’s something. You lit up like a magic lantern when she came into your room.

‘These people will be ruthless, Denton. They’ll hire detectives by the long ton. They’ll find out everything, and then the papers will double that with half-truths and plain lies.’

‘I don’t give a damn.’

‘And everything will come out about her. I know who she is, Denton. Do you want to put her through that again? They’ll start up the old crap about her killing her husband. They’ll say she was insane. You and I know she didn’t kill him; he was a rotten bastard who treated her like shit, but that’s not the line they’ll take. He put her in a mental institution to tame her, but what’ll be said is that she was mad and he committed her because she was dangerous. Do you want her to go through that?’ Before Denton could answer — the question had been rhetorical, anyway — Munro said, ‘They’ll put Mrs Striker on the stand and ask her under oath if she’s been a prostitute. Their line will be that she still is and she lured Jarrold to her rooms and did something to make him angry — tricked him, mocked him. Do you want that?’

Denton breathed noisily. He said, ‘You’ll have to ask her.’

‘I thought you’d be in touch with her.’

‘It isn’t like that. She makes her own decisions.’

Munro stared at him, shrugged.

‘What’s the alternative to a trial?’ Denton said.

‘Let him plead him guilty to lesser charges. Wait.’

‘Until he does something worse?’

Munro picked at the bit of wood. ‘And then only if he leaves evidence.’

Denton wasn’t present when Struther Jarrold pled guilty to the reduced charges. He saw Jarrold outside the courtroom for an instant, got what he thought was a shy smile of recognition that was also a look of satisfaction. The pasty face was that, he thought, of the man he’d seen on the bench at New Scotland Yard days before.

The actual proceedings happened in chambers, to the disappointment of not only Denton but also a small crowd of journalists. Balked of Jarrold — his legal counsel took him down the judge’s private stairs and out a back way — the newspapermen crowded around Denton. He was prepared, however: his tale was that he was there looking over the courts for a new book; he knew nothing about Jarrold; it was all a mystery to him; why didn’t they go after Mr Jarrold?

‘Mr Denton, what’s your relationship with the Striker woman?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Woman whose rooms were vandalized. What’s the connection?’

‘No idea what you’re driving at.’ Where had he learned that expression? Guillam — the former CID man had said that to him. Useful line.

‘Isn’t the Striker woman the same one whose life you saved a year ago? Shot the eye out of the crazed killer that was holding her?’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Mr Denton, Mr Denton! There was a crime at your premises — any connection?’

‘My premises?’

‘Breakin at the house behind. What’s the connection with this Janet Striker?’