A Shadowed Livery

by Charlie Garratt

  ‘So how can I help you?’

  ‘There are some things I need to check in relation to where you said you were when each of the shootings took place.’

  He said he’d be happy to help in any way he could and we quickly went through the main statements he’d made in his letter. We then went into more detail but he had to admit no one could confirm where he was when the killings occurred.

  ‘So, in fact, you could have been anywhere?’

  ‘I could, Inspector, but I wasn’t. I was definitely in the library and I’m afraid you’ll have to take my word for it.’

  I decided not to press the point because I knew I’d have to ask a favour of him later. All the time he was speaking his eyes darted around the buffet. At one point he tensed when a bearded man in a dark suit came through the door, and then he relaxed again when the man turned and left.

  ‘Let’s leave that there for now and look at some of the other things you recall. You reported that in your conversation with Tom the night before he died he said “certain issues have come to light”. He didn’t elaborate on what they were? No inkling at all?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I’ve thought a lot since it happened. It’s kept me awake at night, wondering should I have noticed if something even more serious was amiss than him cancelling the wedding. But, try as I might, I can’t think of anything else he said and, as I told you, he seemed almost back to normal next morning.’

  ‘But you also overheard him arguing with his mother after breakfast, telling her the wedding was off and that this should make her very happy. Why would he want to taunt Lady Isabelle in such a way?’

  ‘I think she’d been putting Tom under pressure for a long time. It was no secret she’d become dead set against the marriage. Tom was probably just trying to get his own back.’

  ‘Was she always against it then?’

  ‘Well, she was never happy about it, as I said in my letter; she thought Jenny was just after Tom’s money. But over the last few weeks her attitude seemed to have become more hardened the closer the actual day came. She seemed to be trying all sorts of illogical arguments to put Tom off his plans.’

  ‘Did you get the impression she was angered by what her son had said to her or just shocked? Angry enough to take his life?’

  ‘I couldn’t truthfully say how she felt. I only overheard the conversation and didn’t see her face. I know she was almost obsessively fond of Tom but what had gone on in the previous few weeks had plainly put a strain on the two of them. It’s hard to see how finally getting what she wanted would have prompted her to shoot the one person in the world she loved above everyone else. Quite the opposite, don’t you think, Inspector?’

  A look which I couldn’t quite fathom flitted across Haleson’s face as he said this. I was having difficulty seeing him as being involved but he didn’t have anyone to confirm where he was when the shootings took place. It’s been said before that innocent men don’t need alibis and possibly it’s true, but that doesn’t mean that having no alibi is a proof of innocence. I’d need to cross-check with the other statements which had been taken. Would it have been possible for him to get between the library and other parts of the building without being seen and in the required time? Even if it looked unlikely, it still wouldn’t prove he was in the library when he claimed he was.

  ‘There’s something in what you say there, Mr Haleson, and it’s why I’m still investigating, but I believe we can leave it there for now. You’ve been most helpful, though I may have to come back to you later.’

  ‘There is one other thing, Inspector. I can’t believe it’s relevant but I do think you should know.’ He paused. ‘Even though Tom was in a wheelchair and devoted to Jenny, he still had a way with the ladies. Women of any age would melt when he spoke to them. Quite the envy of his friends, you know.’

  ‘I can’t quite see what that has to do with his death, Mr Haleson.’

  ‘Sorry, Inspector, I’m not making myself clear. The nurse, Trudi Collinge, for example, was one who fell under his spell. I don’t think he intended it, but he told me she’d become convinced he was going to throw Jenny over and marry her. We had a good laugh over it until Lady Isabelle found out. She immediately gave Nurse Collinge her notice so she was to leave straight after the wedding. Tom showed me a note the nurse sent to him, full of anger and pain. She’d said something like “you’d best get rid of Jenny now, or I will do it myself.”’

  On the table next to us, a newly married couple put their arms around each other and smiled at a friend taking a photograph. The flash made the husband and wife giggle, and threw the cherubs on the ceiling into stark relief. Haleson blinked as the camera popped again. I drained my tea and suggested we leave.

  On the platform Haleson continued to look around as if he was expecting someone.

  ‘Do you have another meeting here, sir? Am I keeping you?’

  ‘No, no, Inspector, I’m just a little nervous in crowded places. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?’

  ‘Actually, sir, there might be.’

  I filled him in on the situation with my Uncle Gideon and asked if there was anything he might be able to suggest. He grimaced and thought for a moment or two before responding. Throughout our interview Haleson’s speech had been measured, as if rehearsed. Something beyond the clipped inflection of the well-educated. Perhaps the diplomacy and inevitable secrecy surrounding the Munich discussions had rubbed off on him and become a habit.

  ‘You seem to be holding something back, Mr Haleson.’

  ‘Not at all, Inspector. At least no more than is prudent. You must appreciate our position with the German leadership is still very difficult. It wouldn’t do at all for me to give too much away of what we do and don’t know about what’s happening. What I can tell you is it’s getting terribly bad out there, and I don’t think anyone’s going to be safe if they’re not on the Fuhrer’s side. He has very decided views on who to blame for his country’s problems. You leave it with me and I’ll ask a few questions around my colleagues. See if we can come up with anything.’

  I thanked him and passed over a note containing the details of Uncle Gideon and his family. He read the handwritten sheet and clarified the address with me before folding it up and placing it into his jacket pocket. As he headed off for his train he turned and shouted over his shoulder that he’d get back to me in a few days. All I could hope, not for the first time, was that he was a man of his word.

  The compartment was busier than when I’d travelled into the city so I was wedged between an elderly couple and two young boys looking out of the window. Their chatter and fascination with all that was going on around them in the station couldn’t fail to amuse. The younger of them asked me if I travelled on the train often and he explained they were on their way to their aunt’s in Coventry, where they’d be staying ‘for a whole week’.

  I leaned over to the window to point to an enormous double-header pulling out on the start of its journey to Edinburgh, the smoke and steam enveloping the entire station. As we shunted away from the platform ourselves, a patch cleared momentarily by our carriage and I glimpsed a face I thought I recognised and hadn’t seen for many years. To the astonishment of my fellow travellers I flung myself at the window but he’d gone, cloaked in the filth swirling all around.

  I let the phone ring three times then hung up. I counted to five then dialled again. This time I let it ring twice before hanging up and redialling.

  ‘Gerry Costello, locksmith and hardware, what can I do for you today?’

  ‘Morning Mr Costello, I’m having trouble with some continental fittings and wondered if you could help?’

  The man on the other end chuckled.

  ‘Morning James, I thought it must be you. You do love your cloak and dagger stuff, don’t you? I was going to try to call you sometime this week in any case.’

  I’d known Gerry for years, more or less since I’d returned to England. He was Irish, from Galway, and had o
riginally been apprenticed as a locksmith. His aptitude for his chosen trade, plus his intimidating physique, soon found him in demand amongst the petty criminal gangs of his home in London’s East End. He could unpick any lock in seconds and be away with any vehicle in only a few moments more. As a result of a couple of mistakes he’d spent a year or so in jail and didn’t fancy returning. When I met him he was eking out a living more or less honestly during the winter before getting drunk, losing his job, carrying out a profitable burglary or two and then heading for the fruit fields of Kent. He’d work there until the heat, literally and figuratively, died down, then begin the whole cycle again.

  It was Gerry who had introduced me to Heather. I don’t know if they’d ever gone as far as being lovers but they were definitely close. Gerry’s mammoth fists had loosened more than one set of teeth belonging to men who tried taking liberties with her. Despite his physical presence, and his predilection for thievery, Gerry was a hard man not to like. He had a gentle voice, a ribald sense of humour and once he was in your corner he stayed there. Gerry, Heather and I struck up a friendship almost immediately, working together whenever we could, then laughing and drinking long into the night. They were good days. He’d stayed in Kent to be nearer to London when Heather and I followed the harvest northwards to Worcestershire.

  I turned to Gerry when Heather was murdered.

  I’d asked Gerry to keep his eyes and ears open for any news of the Sicilians I suspected had killed her and for years he’d done so. I was convinced Benito and Pàulu Demma would gravitate towards the big cities, where they wouldn’t stand out in the mix of nationalities and where their particular brand of thuggery would find a steady market. Every few months he’d ring to say one of his contacts had told him foreigners had surfaced in this gang or that but by the time I’d followed it up they’d always disappeared again, fading into the shadows of the criminal underworld.

  ‘Gerry, how are you doing?’

  ‘Mustn’t grumble, mustn’t grumble — no one listens anyway, even if you do. My old back’s playing up again, but, you know, I can’t expect anything else at my age.’

  I reminded him he’d been about to call me.

  ‘So I was, James. I was out drinking with Dec Spode at the weekend, let’s call him a colleague of mine so to speak, said he wanted me to meet an Italian friend of his. Big brute of a man. Dec introduced him jokingly as Il Duce, but I’d be fairly sure it’s Benito Demma.’

  I could feel my throat tightening at the mention of his name.

  ‘Good God, Gerry, why didn’t you contact me earlier? Did you find out where he was staying? Who he’s with and what he’s up to?’

  I knew he was about to confirm what I’d seen from the train.

  ‘He was very cagey, James, I couldn’t get much out of him but one thing Dec told me was his mate was shortly heading up to your neck of the woods. To Birmingham.’

  My next call was to Terry Gleeson. Needless to say, he thought I was interfering again.

  ‘What can I do for you, Given? Checking up on me?’

  ‘Now, now, Terry, don’t be like that, I just have some news I thought you might find useful.’

  ‘Go on then, spit it out.’

  I told him about Gerry in London and how he passed information to me from time to time.

  ‘So what’s this Demma bloke got to do with me?’

  ‘He’s a known hard man and I’ve been keeping tabs on him for ages. My contact tells me he’s been mixed up with Fascist gangs down there over the last year and now he’s up in Birmingham. I just thought you’d like to know, in case he surfaces in relation to the beatings you’re supposed to be investigating.’

  ‘Don’t you think I’ve enough on my plate without following up every Tom, Dick and Guido you come up with, Given?’

  ‘Only trying to help, Terry. If you do happen to come across him, perhaps you’ll let me know. Unless it’s too much trouble, that is.’

  I put down the receiver before he could reply.

  Nine

  ‘How was your weekend, sir?’

  I told Sawyer it had been a pleasant enough break and that I’d managed to fit in a further interview with Alan Haleson. ‘What about yourself?’

  Sawyer grinned like a fool.

  ‘Aha? An encounter with a young lady, I assume?’

  ‘Just someone I met on my way home from the pub. She’s called Jane. We had a drink or two in her gran’s house. Nothing serious.’

  ‘Don’t be apologising; enjoy your time off while you can. Anyway, I presume nothing serious, as you put it, could have happened with her grannie on the scene.’

  ‘Actually, her gran wasn’t there, she died a while back and Jane is clearing out the house. In fact, we were talking about how her gran knew the Barleigh family. It might be worth you having her in for a chat.’

  ‘Not so Plain Jane’, as the lads at the pub called her, lived in Birmingham and had recently been left the house by her grandmother. Sawyer had been walking home when he’d seen a strange car outside and had taken a closer look. Jane had invited him in, and, several drinks and reminiscences later, she’d provided information which might be useful. I told him to invite her into the station; if nothing else it would give him a chance to show off his uniform.

  ‘Would you ever move to the city, Sawyer? There can’t be much chance of promotion out in the sticks.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir, I’m a country boy and, besides, I’ve my mum and dad to consider. Neither of them is getting any younger and, though he doesn’t say much, I know Dad’s grateful for the help I give him around the farm at the weekends. When I get the odd weekend off, that is.’

  ‘Well, you had this weekend off, and seem to have made good use of it if this Jane is anything to go by.’

  ‘I wasn’t complaining. I like it here and I love my job but the only disadvantage in a small place is you’re never really off duty. Like with Jane. I knew the house was empty so I had to investigate when I saw the car. Even our chat has led to me bringing stuff back to you. And there’s another thing I heard in the pub before meeting Jane.’

  ‘Something else about the Barleighs?’

  ‘Everyone’s still talking about the tragedy, all with their own theories, you know how it is in the countryside. Most of them are completely cock-eyed, though one I heard might be worth following up. Reggie Taylor works for Mr Sumner occasionally, gardening jobs and the like, and was saying he’d heard Mr Sumner and Tom Barleigh arguing one day when he was up near the house. Reggie said it got quite heated. Seems like Tom left with Sumner shouting “you’ll be sorry for this” after him.’

  Jane Newman was a good-looking young woman. She had a city girl’s pale complexion, sharply set off by her smear of crimson lipstick. She was wearing a well-tailored skirt and jacket, beige blouse and shoes more suited for urban streets than country lanes, looking every inch the personal secretary of a successful businessman. I’d have placed her at about twenty-two years of age and her smile lit up the room when Sawyer brought her in.

  ‘Sawyer, here, tells me you’re staying in your grandmother’s old house.’

  ‘That’s right, Inspector, it’s where John and I met.’ She glanced up at him and I could see she was perhaps closer than he’d suggested. ‘He thought I might be a burglar. Came to check me out, he did.’

  This time it was Sawyer’s cheeks that lit up the room.

  ‘So tell me about your grandmother — she’d lived in the village a while, I understand.’

  ‘Virtually all her adult life. She came to Priors Allenford soon after she married Granddad. He took over the post office, she found a nursing job and they lived above the shop until he died, then she moved in here. According to Mum, they were a totally devoted couple and she was devastated when he passed away at such an early age. It was only her friends and the village gossip got her through it. The time she’d spent behind the post office counter occasionally helping out Granddad meant she knew everyone and everything about them.’r />
  ‘And she knew a bit about Sir Arthur and Isabelle Barleigh?’

  ‘Well, yes. Gran always said Arthur and Isabelle had a fling long before they were married. She maintained Isabelle was a bit of a naughty girl and extremely fond of the boys in her younger days. She was, apparently, even seeing one of Arthur’s friends at the same time she was courting him.’

  I scanned through my notebook.

  ‘Would that be Harry Stenson or Graham Cox? Would you know?’

  ‘I’m afraid Gran never said, or if she did I’ve forgotten. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not to worry, I’m sure we can check it out.’

  ‘Gran did say that Isabelle shouldn’t have been going out with Arthur anyway but she’d never say why. It always seemed there were plenty of skeletons in the cupboard, but perhaps Gran was just spicing up the stories a bit.’

  ‘Perhaps. Is there anything else, Miss Newman?’

  She looked up at Sawyer again, this time with a little more concern. He nodded to her.

  ‘Well, not to do with my gran, Inspector, but John told me you were looking for someone who’d been seen up near Grovestock House, a man who looked like he might have been sleeping rough. I saw someone like that in the village on the day Tom Barleigh was shot. He was talking to a woman and they seemed very close; at least, she kissed him when they parted.’

  ‘Can you describe her?’

  ‘Pretty, I’d say, possibly late twenties. Tall with auburn hair, that’s about all I noticed.’

  There was little doubt in my mind. It was Elizabeth Parry.

  Ten

  I’d never had a clue how Elizabeth felt about me, though we’d got on well enough in the early days with tea, conversation and her all too rare smile. I’d been fairly well smitten from our first meeting but she just seemed to be lonely and filling a gap in her life. Looking after the needs of a country vicar didn’t provide much in the way of stimulating social contact for a young woman, so perhaps she’d only seen me as steady, safe.