Now, he asked, “Who was it that he was going to show? Was there anyone in particular that he was angry with?”
She shook her head. “Someone different every week. Everyone he ever worked for, as far as I could tell, and everyone who had more than Josh.”
“And his schemes and deals? Was it robbing, blackmailing? We know his history.”
“If I had any details, I’d give them to you, Inspector. Anything that would get my nephew back to his mam…of course I would.
There’s only one thing I can come up with. He let slip the name Denis a time or two and that Denis’s parents were still alive and lived in the area. He just mentioned it an odd time, that’s all.
That Denis had gone back to see his parents, that sort of thing.”
“No idea, where this Denis worked, whether he worked with your brother, for instance?”
She shook her head. “He talked about Denis up to fairly recently; a few months ago. He spoke about the two of them going into business together. This Denis was good with the combustion engine and I got the impression that he was either a chauffeur or a mechanic. That sort of thing.”
So, they were getting somewhere. A flash of something inside him told Brown that the trailing around the country was, against his own judgement, actually going to yield some sort of result. He glanced at the Inspector, who was much more of a seasoned operator than himself, and was unlikely to betray any signs of excitement. There was a tightening in the jaw that told he hadn’t missed the significance of this.
“You have an address for your brother?”
They could have found that out by telephone, probably.
“I’ve looked it out because I knew you’d want it.”
She went to the mantlepiece. Tucked behind one of the cream coloured Staffordshire china dogs was an envelope. She handed it to the inspector who glanced at it before handing it to Brown with the instruction to make a note of the address: The Lodge
Brambleberry House
Staffield
Near Penrith
A trip to Cumbria, then. So, Braithwaite had landed on his feet if he was living in the lodge. A single man, too. He had either made a good impression or he was more than a gamekeeper on the estate.
It was all tumbling into place in Brown’s mind. Braithwaite and this Denis character had got together and engaged themselves in criminal activities. Braithwaite had clearly found another one like himself. He had offended or double-crossed Denis and in revenge or as an effort to get something out of Josh Braithwaite, Denis had lured John away.
Still, something niggled at him. It was something that young Freddie Earnshaw had said and maybe all of this was falling into place too neatly. Although, how he could say that when the lad was still missing and his father was now dead?
Chapter Thirteen
John
He had never been so frightened in his life. There had been another time when he’d been in danger and his sister had been almost killed but the thing was he hadn’t known about that. His father had been at the bottom of that too. He hated thinking like that about his father and kept trying to push the thoughts away but whatever he did, they kept coming back. He was in a shed and completely unsafe. The only good thing was that the shed was a little away from the cottage at the bottom of a long strip of garden.
He was pathetic. All his planning and his big escape and he was only yards away from the man quite capable of killing him.
He had slept and it must have been suddenly. It happened like that sometimes, as though your mind and body take matters into their own hands and take a break. He woke with a start and believed he was in his bed at home. The realisation that he wasn’t came through the smell of the air and the feel of the house. His mother would smile when he’d tell her that his own house had a particular smell and that the noises you heard at night, of the wood and walls settling down made him safe. Now, with the realisation of his position came the bitter regret. What had he been thinking of?
It was quiet though, now and he was certain that if he was to go, now was the time to do it.
He swung out of bed, putting his feet gently on the floor, almost not breathing. He needed to have an idea what sort of time it was and he couldn’t see his watch. He walked to the window and parted the flowery, thin curtain. It was beautiful, the sky shot with streaks and daubs of violet and pink. One of the most beautiful sunrises he had ever seen. What if he got caught? Surely that man wouldn’t kill him. Denis. Surely he wasn’t a killer. Wouldn’t go that far.
What had been his reason for getting John to go with him? Beyond knowing that it had something to do with his father, he couldn’t work it out and anyway why was he wasting valuable time trying to figure this out now. Now was when he needed to get away from here. Once he was far enough away he could get help. There would be a house or a passing car. This might be the only chance he’d get.
He was sure that he made no noise as he opened the door. Loud snores came from the bedroom opposite and he knew that the old couple slept in the bedroom at the end of the landing. It had to be Denis. This was good. He was heavily asleep and also if he stopped snoring, John could…actually, he hadn’t a clue what he’d do, pretend he needed a drink or something.
It was surprising that he hadn’t been locked in. Now, Denis had returned, he would be. Whatever had happened to upset the man had been enough for him to take his eye off the ball. Maybe it didn’t
cross his mind that John would dream of trying to escape. He hadn’t exactly given any trouble to him so far.
He made himself stand on the landing for a few minutes and he carried his shoes in his hand. In an unspoken gesture of something he couldn’t fathom, his shoes had been outside his door. Yesterday. Maybe the old couple had decided to trust him or maybe they thought he didn’t have the bottle to run away.
He made his way down the stairs, testing each of the twelve steps first. A longing to be home struck him, hot at the back of his throat. He could smell the kitchen and baking and hear the wireless and his mother and Cathy’s voices. His mother said about not missing something until it was taken away. She was right and if he managed to get away from here, he would never forget it.
The catch on the back door was stiff, so stiff that he thought he would have to leave it and creep back upstairs.
His hand was slippery and the sound of his blood rushed in his ears. Maybe he was not meant to do this. Maybe he was making a bad situation worse. It moved a fraction, then easily, catching his finger and making him wince. He edged the door open and slipped out. There was a dull light now, the earlier beauty of the sky clouded over. Instinct made him cleave to the side of the hedge bordering the garden. A clothes line still had washing on and it partly blocked his view but all he wanted to do was to reach the end of the garden because beyond that was fields and if he could just reach the fields, then he knew he could find his way to help or at least, escape.
Something changed and he knew it instantly. He looked back to the cottage and saw that there was a light. A feeling of sickness flooded his mouth with spit and he stood still, backed against the hedge. He could run now, or try to get back without being seen. Stupid. There was no chance he could get back into the house and upstairs. What could he do apart from wait? Then he saw the shed. Was it the most stupid ever idea? But, he could creep round the side and get in it, if the door was unlocked. It would give him a bit of time. Just a little bit of time. Maybe the man would not discover that he was gone for a while. Maybe he was just getting up and it wasn’t because he had heard anything? John went towards the shed.
Yorkshire
“I’m going to put a match to this fire. I know it’s July but I feel chilled today. I’m not sorry to see the back of that heat, though, Jules.”
She topped up Julia’s coffee cup and passed across the plate of little cakes she’d baked this morning. Walking Max and baking
cakes; two things that usually worked when she was suffering from tension. Not so sure about their effecti
veness this time, though.
“So, you’re not sure when Henry will be back now that clergyman has been found dead. It’s hard to believe. One vicar attacked and another killed.” She glanced at Edith’s face and winced. “Oh, lord, I’m sorry, Edith. Talk about foot in mouth. As if you’re not worried enough.”
“It’s all right, Jules. I don’t think there’s much you could say that would make things anymore worrying. I’ve spent so much time with Hannah and I suppose that’s distracted me a bit, ironic as that sounds.”
She walked across the room and poked the fire, sending orange and violet flame shooting through the ash log. Restlessness besieged her from time to time, a legacy from her breakdown, perhaps.
“One thing, Edie. The retreat house will be filled to the rafters with police. It will be one of the safest places to be in the country.”
She looked at Edith who had returned to her armchair on the opposite side of the fire. Edith managed a half-smile.
“Maybe. In answer to your question, I expect him back in three days’ time or so. He can’t be definite but thinks that’s about as long as the police can reasonably keep them holed up there. The conference which was to come at the end of the retreat has been cancelled of course.”
“I should have called before now. I did call, as it happens but you were over at Hannah’s. I called on Archie and he told me where you were. Brought me up to date on that. Now, Josh is dead.
There won’t be too many tears shed, I don’t suppose. I shouldn’t say, but…”
“There won’t be; not around here anyway but as he was the one lead the police have to where John is, the fact that he’s gone where he can’t be questioned has just about proved the last straw for Hannah.”
“So, what happens now, in that case?”
“Inspector Greene and the young sergeant have gone to question Josh’s sister and hopefully get an address from her of where Josh was last working. I don’t know how Hannah or Cathy are dealing with the frustration of this...it looked like it was going to be resolved, that Josh was doing the right thing for once in his life and was going to get the lad back.”
They sat in silence, the only noise, the ticking of the old clock in the corner. Edith could just smell the freesias she’d put shoved quickly in a jug this morning. It had seemed like an
important task to restore some beauty to the world which had gone haywire.
“Did you see Archie?” Julia raised her eyebrows and Edith smiled.
“Don’t be silly. I know that boat has sailed a long time ago. No, I wondered if he mentioned anything to you about Canada. It seems to have gone quiet. I don’t want to bring it up because the last thing I want is for my brother to go thousands of miles away.
But, he did seem keen.”
“He did mention it, actually, and still spoke as though it was on the cards.”
“Damn.” Julia cleared her throat and looked into the small fire, held her hands out to it. “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you, Edith. I don’t think Archie will be going anywhere.”
“Why?” Edith’s heart jumped and her mind went to illness. Archie had a funny turn a couple of years back and there had never been a completely satisfactory explanation.
“Because there will probably be another war. Have you been following the news, Edith?”
She thought. Snatches of the news came back to her. Germany…
aggression. Italy. It had bothered her momentarily then her own concerns would take over. Henry, on the other hand, listened to the wireless with his full attention and read the newspaper diligently.
“Do you think so? Honestly? Does Peter think so?”
“Yes, he especially thinks so.”
Another war. Edith’s mind flew to London, hospital wards, France.
Trench warfare. Surely nobody would be so mad as to plunge the world into anything like that again. In their lifetimes? Surely not.
Staffordshire
Henry finished shaving and stared at himself in the small, spotted mirror in the large and cold bathroom. Even at this time of year it wasn’t warm. Goodness knows what it must be like in winter.
He dreaded going downstairs. Every day spent at St Chad’s was one too many at the moment. Thinking like this was no good, either.
He should be trying to do some good. About the only positive thing was that he was spending more time with Canon Richardson.
Once he had recognised that the man was suffering from some sort of mental infliction he had changed his attitude. Just like that, all his irritation had dropped away, though he cursed himself for
not recognising sooner that the old man was not just being a pest. Strange how your whole opinion of someone could soften and change almost overnight.
His attitude to Fiona Elliott had softened too since she’d shown some vulnerability. Maybe her hard veneer was a female characteristic, especially if you’ve been hurt. If much of life is skewed against you when it came to jobs and choices about how you lived, an edge of toughness was one of the few weapons you had.
It was apparent from the second he walked into the high-ceilinged, out-dated dining-room that something had happened.
Brother Malcolm was at the head of the table and the girl flitted in carrying bowls of porridge but at a gesture from Brother Malcolm she put the bowls down quickly and left the room.
“What’s happened?” Henry stopped, a few feet away from the table.
“Roland Weston has been arrested.” Henry’s first thought was that this couldn’t be right. Then he thought about the man’s outburst, the crying out in the night. Was it credible?
“You just missed it, Henry.” Larry came across to him and laid a hand on his arm.
“We’re all shocked. It was before breakfast, on our way in here, about fifteen minutes ago. There had been some activity, the police presence…the expressions on their faces and an air of urgency. They read the usual statement and took Roland away.”
“What happens now? Did anyone go with him? What about his family?” Larry sighed. “Brother Malcolm is…” Brother Malcolm stepped in.
“I’m going to the station as soon as they tell me that I can. We need to speak to his mother and organise a solicitor.”
Henry wondered whether he should offer to go to the station with Brother Malcolm. The diocese were leaving him to it, apparently, though maybe they hadn’t been informed of the arrest, not if it had only happened minutes ago.
Because he wasn’t sure what else to do, Henry sat. He wasn’t a fan of porridge. The texture reminded him too much of grim mornings with food as only sustenance, so he buttered a slice of toast.
The atmosphere at the table was of subdued shock. Atkinson and Parr from Derbyshire had hunkered themselves away even further from the rest of the group and Stephen Bird reminded Henry of his name—a wounded bird who had lost his sense of belonging in the world and was only still in St Chad’s dining-room because he couldn’t go anywhere else.
Stephen Bird’s words echoed Henry’s thoughts.
“Is this it, then? Are we allowed to disperse, go our own way?”
Brother Malcolm sighed as though the world rested on his brown linen-clad shoulders. “I’m expecting so but this arrest is out of the blue, as far as I’m concerned.”
Henry walked after his slice of toast and cup of tea. He had a strong need for exercise but also didn’t want to venture too far from St Chad’s. Brother Malcolm needed more support than he appeared to be getting from his church bosses. Maybe that was unfair and maybe, behind the scenes, they had stepped up to the mark.
Roland Weston. His pale, intense face appeared in front of Henry’s mind’s eye. It seemed highly unlikely in one respect. His anger was too unfocused, too inward-directed too. But, then, maybe…He was volatile. Mentally unstable, whatever that really meant. It covered a multitude. Who else could it be, if you excluded the women and Stephen Bird who hadn’t attacked himself?
You could exclude the women too, surely. Brother Malcolm? What possib
le motive would he have?
The day was damp, the soft rain having released the sweetness; the fragrance of the sweet peas and the lines…came into Henry’s mind. He hadn’t wanted any company at the moment, not even Larry’s. As though he was watching moving pictures and out of his control came sentences he had heard spoken during his time at St Chad’s and people’s faces.
Brother Malcolm came into his mind again—the air of helplessness, or was it a sort of resignation. Saint Gabriel’s in London. It was a clerical link maybe. It would be interesting to know whether Brother Malcolm had spent any time, there. He hadn’t paid attention to Atkinson or Parr and still found it difficult to distinguish them. It wasn’t easy because you didn’t see one without the other. Canon Richardson had found the body. That was a stupid thought. He wasn’t strong enough. How strong did you need to be to shoot someone?
And this is the way that madness lies. His thoughts were out of control and the feeling of unease was back with a vengeance. Of course it was bound to be a menacing atmosphere but it was more personal than that; this feeling Henry had.
“You’re having five minutes to yourself. I’m sorry for disturbing you.” Brother Malcolm had appeared. Henry hadn’t heard his approach, too caught up in his own thoughts.
The sun shot through the clouds, a pale yellowish light that gave Brother Malcolm an ethereal presence, just for a moment, as he stood there, his back to the stone building. He was tall and thin; impossible to put an age on him. How had he really ended up in a halfway position like this, neither working with
parishioners or involved in cathedral life. Was it the sort of post that people who couldn’t quite make the cut ended up in? An unkind thought perhaps.
“I’ve been told that I can go to the police station and see Roland. What I’m going to say to him, I don’t know. I just can’t understand how or why it happened. I have so many questions.
Henry, I can’t quite comprehend that a young man like that would harbour such a level of hatred. I mean what on earth could be behind it. Could the police have made a mistake?”
[Edith Horton 05] - Murder in Retreat Page 18
