‘By the time he left prison in 1917, Dr Jackson had probably been forgotten by most people. Britain was in the grip of war. Times had changed drastically. It was the perfect time for Dr Jackson to reinvent himself into someone new. Daniel Collins had become Dr Jackson. Then Dr Jackson became Anthony Ramsden.’
He threw his head back and gave a loud laugh. ‘So this is where it’s all been leading! Me?’ He jabbed his thumb at his chest. ‘Me? Mrs Peel? You think I was Dr Jackson?’
‘And Daniel Collins. You were born in the same year.’
He laughed again. ‘Oh I see. I must be him then. How do you know what year I was born in?’
‘I paid a visit to Somerset House yesterday to look at some public records. Not only were you born in the same year as Daniel Collins, but you were both born in Finchley. You changed your name, but you failed to change some of the other essential details.’
‘Just a coincidence, Mrs Peel.’
‘You incorporated Hodgson Medicines in 1917, which was the year you left prison. And having had such success with Jackson’s Blood Purifier before the war, you emulated it by creating more medicines. But this time you manufactured proper medicines. The British Medical Association brought in new regulations for medicines shortly before the war. Pharmaceutical companies now have to follow certain rules and standards. Over the past four years, you’ve had a lot of success with a perfectly legitimate company. You married in 1918—’
‘You leave my wife out of this!’
‘Your marriage certificate states you were a bachelor at the time of your marriage. It’s quite unusual to be married for the first time at the age of sixty-four. And as much as I searched, I couldn’t find any records for Anthony Ramsden before 1917. Not even a birth certificate.’
‘How do you know when and where I was born?’
‘I got that information from the records held by Companies House. Now, can you explain what happened with Jane Stanton?’
‘Who?’
‘She was Alexander Miller’s sister. I’m sure you would have known her because Robert Stanton invested in your company.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t think he did.’
‘Let me clarify. While you were pretending to be Dr Jackson, Mr Stanton invested in Jackson’s Blood Purifier.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘It will be interesting to see what Robert Stanton says about that then,’ said Philip.
Mr Ramsden gave him a sharp glance. Then he stroked his chin as if deliberating whether to admit knowing the Stantons or not. It was evident he would soon look foolish when Robert Stanton told a story different from his.
‘What did you do with Alexander Miller’s body, Mr Ramsden?’ asked Philip.
Mr Ramsden sat back, startled by the directness of the question.
‘I know nothing about him.’
‘You must have panicked when it happened. You paid off his young companion and threatened her not to say a word. But what did you do with Alexander’s body? Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to tell us his final resting place.’
Mr Ramsden said nothing.
‘Then you’re less of a man than I thought you were, Ramsden,’ said Philip. ‘To cause that suffering and still not reveal where you put him.’
‘Now look here!’ Mr Ramsden leant forward and jabbed his finger into the table. ‘You have no evidence!’
‘We’re in the process of gathering it.’
‘And can you assure us it’s just coincidence you asked Mr Fisher to follow your wife shortly after the news of the long-lost letter was published?’ said Augusta.
‘Of course.’
‘I don’t believe you. Once you read I was a private detective who had discovered the letter, you decided to keep an eye on me. That’s why you asked Mr Fisher to do some work for you. It gave you an excuse to visit him each week and buy some books in my shop. Mr Fisher found no evidence of your wife’s affair because she wasn’t having an affair, was she? You knew that. But you wanted Mr Fisher to follow her around anyway. The time he spent working for you was less time spent helping me with the investigation. And then you had the nerve to ask me to carry out the work when Mr Fisher stopped it!’
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Philip give her a glance. She realised she had forgotten to mention that to him.
‘And then I made a mistake,’ said Augusta. ‘When you visited my shop the second time, Mr Ramsden, I was just about to leave to visit Louisa Bradshaw. I wanted to ask her if she had known Jemima Campbell. Just before I departed, I told my colleague that. And I think you must have overheard. You must have known Jemima was the young woman who had witnessed Alexander Miller’s collapse.’
Despite all his denials, Augusta noticed a slight smile in the corners of his mouth.
‘I shouldn’t have said her name,’ said Augusta. ‘Because then she wouldn’t have been threatened by you a second time.’
‘You like threatening people, don’t you, Mr Ramsden?’ said Philip. ‘Especially in the form of typewritten letters. You sent one to Mrs Bradshaw and another to Mrs Campbell. You also sent a letter to Jane Stanton pretending to be her brother. You hoped your clumsy effort would fool people into believing Alexander Miller had willingly taken himself off to start a new life.’
‘As I’ve said, Fisher. You have no evidence.’
‘I’ll ask my men to seize all the typewriters in this building,’ said Detective Sergeant Joyce. ‘And any which are in your home too, Mr Ramsden.’
Mr Ramsden sneered. ‘Typewriters? Is that all the evidence you can come up with?’
Augusta pulled an envelope out of her bag. She opened it and tipped a silver cufflink onto the table. ‘Do you recognise this, Mr Ramsden?’
He shook his head but she still noticed the flicker of recognition in his expression.
‘It’s a cufflink which my assistant, Fred, found on the floor of my shop. It has the initials D. C. on it. Daniel Collins.’
