But when Harry saw some of the contents of the box, he knew he couldn’t take the risk of leaving it here for Davis to destroy on his return.
Because this was more than just secrets: this looked to Harry like evidence.
*
Kat finished the last morsel of cheese and cucumber sandwich and pushed her plate to one side.
“The tension is killing me, Harry,” she said, staring at the metal box which sat between them on the kitchen table of the Dower House.
Harry had insisted on them both grabbing some late lunch – even though time was running out, he’d said they had to eat. “If we’re right about this,” he’d said, “we’ve got a long day, and maybe night, ahead of us.”
Maggie had made up a stack of sandwiches and a big pot of tea, while she and Harry caught up with what they had each learned.
The metal box though, could only be properly inspected when they were wearing gloves. Removing it from its hiding place might have weakened its strength as evidence, but there would be no doubt about fingerprints – and she and Harry both doubted Davis had worn gloves every time he’d opened it.
So now, gloves on, she waited as Harry reached across and opened the lid of the box.
“Soon as I saw these,” said Harry, lifting out some wooden stamps and a print pad and ink, “I knew we were dealing with a pro.”
Kat examined the stamps: each one bearing the name of a different insurance company.
“So Consolidated isn’t the only insurance scam our Mr Davis has worked,” she said.
“Not just insurance,” said Harry. “Some of these rubber stamps are government issue. But look at the rest of this stuff.”
Harry took out jewellery boxes, opened them. Kat saw rings, necklaces, bracelets, brooches. She picked one up.
“Gold. Diamonds. Rubies. This lot must be worth hundreds of pounds.”
“I’ll say. Look at this one,” said Harry, showing her a ring with an elaborate crest.
She could see the name “Urquhart”.
“This must be Jeremiah’s signet ring,” she said.
“I’m thinking, if he and Connie are courting, it’s very likely he’s been a regular visitor to Blackmead Farm,” said Harry. “Lots of opportunities to pilfer whatever treasures old Jeremiah had left.”
“And maybe, somehow, he got on the wrong side of Ben?” said Kat.
“Or felt that Ben was onto him,” said Harry. “Hence, Ben had to go. Bit of a motive there?”
Kat reached into the box and started carefully pulling out objects herself.
“Hey. Look at this,” she said. “A roll of US dollars.”
She saw Harry place a pile of letters on the table next to them. “Love letters – from Connie.” Then he placed a pill box on the table. She picked it up – and read the label: “Luminal. Sleeping tablets, yes?”
“Yes. Powerful ones, at that,” said Harry. “Either Davis has a problem sleeping, or—”
“He uses them to put people out,” said Kat. “Wait – remember Ollie said he couldn’t remember what happened, you know, after he left the pub?”
“You’re right. Like he was drugged,” said Harry. “But there’s more. Look at the label. It’s a prescription from a pharmacy in Manchester – to a Mr William Pace. Not Davis – but close.”
“So, he uses different identities – maybe always keeping the name Will.”
“Makes sense,” said Harry, sitting back now the box was empty. “Question is – what do we do now? And how does any of this tie into the murder of Ben Carter?”
“Well, we know Davis is a con artist and thief. If he’s also a murderer – perhaps this isn’t the first time?”
“The job done on Ben Carter... not the work of a first-timer I’d say. So, if we can find out who the hell he is – and if he’s got a violent background – it just might be enough for a judge to grant Ollie a stay of execution.”
“That’s a mighty ‘if’ though, Harry. And without a motive for killing Ben, there’s nothing to build a case on.”
“And then there’s the damn time... running out!”
Kat looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. Four o’clock – and already getting dark outside.
The execution at dawn tomorrow...
“We have to find out who Davis really is,” she said. “What if we go to Timms? There’s enough evidence here, surely, to have him arrested?”
“There is. But once we set those wheels in motion, they run slowly, Kat. Too slowly to save Ollie.”
“You’re right.”
“But we do need access to police records so we can see if there’s a match somewhere with Davis’s MO,” said Harry. “Enough to give us his real identity.”
“I can’t see Timms giving us that kind of access,” said Kat.
Then she had a thought. “But you know – there is somebody who might.”
15. The Long Arm of the Law
Harry sat in the back office of Mydworth Police Station, listening as Kat explained the situation to young Constable Loxley – Timms fortuitously out on a case.
On the table between them – the tin box, its contents laid out. The rings, jewellery, cash, letters.
“So then, you want me to arrest this Davis character?” said Loxley, sitting back, arms folded.
“Right,” said Kat. “We know he has stolen things from Jeremiah Urquhart. Once in custody, we might be able to find out who he is. And if he killed Ben Carter.”
“It’s a big ‘if’,” said Loxley. “You suggest Carter might have uncovered Davis’s stealing – but apart from that, you don’t have a motive.”
Harry saw Kat nod at that, choosing her next words carefully.
“We don’t. And we don’t have any time either. But unless we investigate Davis, his past, his possible guilt, before dawn tomorrow—”
Loxley finished the thought: “An innocent man will have been hanged?”
Harry saw Kat nod at that. For a few moments, silence. Then:
“Okay,” said Loxley, pushing his chair back and standing. “I’ll have my head handed to me on a plate, that’s for sure. But let’s go find Davis.”
*
Harry had barely reached the top of the stone steps, before Mrs Pinder had the front door of the lodging house open.
No need for a key this time, not with a police car outside and a constable by his side.
He let Loxley explain.
“Mrs Pinder, I’m here to see your lodger, William Davis, on a very serious police—”
“Oh – come on in,” said Mrs Pinder, shaking her head. “But, I’ll tell you now, he’s not here. Not half an hour ago, came flying right in here, he did! Running up to his room. Made a terrible racket up there. Shouts! Curses! Words I can’t repeat. Proper temper on him!”
Harry felt Kat shoot him a look, the reason for Davis’s quick departure clear.
“Mind if we take a look?” Harry said.
“Be my guest.”
And Harry started up the stairs, Kat by his side.
He wondered if she felt the way he did: that Davis had just outplayed them.
And was now gone.
“And another thing,” the old woman said from the bottom of the stairs, “he had his bags. All packed, he was.”
Leaving Harry with the thought: I know exactly what we’re about to find in Davis’s room.
*
Kat quickly took in the obvious as they entered and flicked on the electric light switch. The room, which Harry had described as “spartan” – now empty. The only thing of interest – the hidey-hole for the metal box.
The chest of drawers had been dragged away, that hole left open.
Davis had clearly come back here, alarmed by what she and Harry had been doing, the questions, the digging into things.
Had he spotted them watching him in the Green Man with his secret paramour, the unlikely Connie?
“Gone,” Loxley said. “Done a runner. I’ll get out an alert – nearby stations. Though Serg
eant Timms will need to sign off on that.”
Kat tried to guess Davis’s train of thought coming back here.
First, realising that his fraud and thievery had been discovered. Then, arrest suddenly looming. And finally seeing his treasure trove, missing from its hiding place. Leaving Davis with...
Well, with what exactly?
All these months since Ben’s death, Davis had stayed with Connie, still – in the parlance of a con man – “working” her. Taking her out for drinks at the Green Man; probably visiting her at the farm.
There had to be a reason. Something she and Harry had missed.
Kat knew there was only one place that “reason” might be hiding.
“We have to go to Blackmead Farm.”
Harry turned to her, his face quizzical.
“What Davis was doing there, with Connie, the old man, that place – can’t just be about what we found in the tin box. And if he’s leaving, his name to be abandoned, some new identity to be created... Then he has unfinished business at Blackmead.”
She took a breath.
“Harry – we got to go now.”
“I’d better come too,” said Loxley. “If he’s there—”
But Harry turned to the constable.
“Loxley, I rather think we must ask you to let us go alone—”
“But you have no authority, Sir Harry. And Davis could—”
Harry put up his hand. “I know. But if all we get this Davis character for is petty theft – and we miss whatever else he was doing – an innocent man will swing.”
Loxley’s eyes were fixed on Harry. Young, inexperienced, but, Kat knew, smart. And now, listening with all ears.
“There’s an important job back at the station that only you can do, old chap,” said Harry. “Starting with scouring the records for any crimes with the same MO as our con man Davis. False names, false jobs, the gaining of confidences, the stealing – and also, I suspect – the midnight flit. And more importantly – are there any other murders where the method matches that of Carter? Murders where the killer escaped.”
Kat added, “Whoever killed Carter knew how to handle a knife. That was no random stabbing.”
“Unsolved murders?” said Loxley. “You think Davis not only killed Carter – but he’s killed before?”
“Yes,” said Kat. She knew they had to be going. Minutes counted here.
“Let us handle Davis,” said Harry. “If he’s there, we’ll stop him.”
“And if he is the killer?” Loxley said. “If he is dangerous?”
Kat turned to Harry.
“Wouldn’t be the first time – for either of us,” she said.
“All right,” said Loxley, finally. “I’ll do what I can – with or without Sergeant Timms’ help.”
“Good man,” said Harry, a hand on the constable’s shoulder.
And together they turned from the now empty room, and went fast down the dim stairs.
At the now-open front door, Mrs Pinder – shaken by all the activity – stood as if watching some terribly suspenseful play.
As Kat passed, she gave her a smile and a simple “thank you”.
“If you find him,” called the landlady after them, “you tell ’im he owes me a month’s rent!”
16. The Truth About Blackmead Farm
Kat gave Harry directions as he hurled the Alvis through the snow-covered country lanes that led to Blackmead Farm, the car sliding then recovering, engine racing.
The snow had finally stopped falling, and, in the clearing night sky, a sharp moon cast harsh shadows across the frozen fields.
Finally, they slithered to a halt outside the front door, the big old building heavy with drifted snow, only a couple of lights visible within.
In the moonlight, she didn’t see any sign of Davis’s car – and there were no tell-tale tyre tracks in the snow either. Could they already be too late? But she knew he could easily have driven up one of the farm tracks, parked his Austin over by the abandoned barn, or even in the back.
“No telling what we’re walking into here,” Harry said, killing the engine and turning to her.
“We’ll be careful then. As always.”
And at that Harry smiled, “As always.”
Almost in unison, they popped open the car’s doors, and hurried, bent double, through the swirling snow to the front door, hoping that their hunches had been right, and inside they’d find Will Davis.
*
Inside the house, all sort of alarm bells went off in Kat’s head. She had done some scary things in some very intimidating places, not knowing what lay ahead.
But this? Knowing what was at stake and what they might face, was right up there with the scariest of them.
The first thing she saw was Connie huddled against a hallway wall.
Crying loudly.
Has she been hit? Kat wondered.
All she had to say was: “Is he here?”
And Connie freed one arm and pointed up the stairs, lit so dimly by the meagre wall lights.
“What’s up there?” said Harry.
“Jeremiah’s rooms,” said Kat. “The old man can’t come down – he must be up there, now with Davis.”
Kat saw Harry pause at the foot of the stairs.
“Go,” she said. “Be right behind you. Want to make sure Connie here is okay.”
Harry nodded, and she saw him take the stairs two at a time while she went to the sobbing woman.
Kat crouched down, looking to see if there was any wound, any sign of violence.
“Are you hurt?” she said.
“I’ll live,” said Connie, wiping her eyes and pushing herself back onto her feet. And then she uttered words that Kat had heard more than once from women who had been used: “I’m such a fool.”
*
Harry reached the top of the stairs, and stopped. From down the dark hallway to his right he heard voices. One of them strong, forceful, demanding.
The other, more like the croak of a wounded creature.
Harry couldn’t wait – not if Davis was in there with Urquhart. So, he ran straight down the hallway and into what he guessed must be the old man’s room, to see something that sickened him.
The crumpled figure of an old man was sprawled on the floor – obviously having been dumped out of a chair – stranded on the faded carpet.
Jeremiah Urquhart.
Standing over him threateningly, his horn-rimmed glasses gone, clearly a prop, stood Will Davis.
In Davis’s hand, another metal box; but this one small, ancient.
“Davis. What the hell—?”
Seeing Harry arrive, Davis acted in a surprising way. No sense of alarm or worry. Instead, an actual hint of a smile. Those eyes widening.
“You. Just couldn’t let things go, could you? Only hours away, and—” he gestured at Urquhart using his foot, a kick to the man’s side “—none of this would have happened. Well, you see, I could really use the key to this box. I mean, I already know what’s in here. But the old man doesn’t seem inclined to give it to me.”
Another kick to Urquhart. Harry took a step.
But Urquhart had enough wind in his lungs to say: “Nothing in there. Nothing.”
Harry doubted that. But clearly, Will Davis – in his rooting around Urquhart’s possessions – had found out what was there.
“Put the box down, Davis,” he said.
Davis laughed.
“Ha! You know, I have got rather fond of that name. Will Davis! Quite the thoughtful character. But, as to your request...”
Harry watched – he had expected this – as Davis slid out his long folding knife, and, with one hand, flipped the blade open.
“... I must decline,” Davis said. “Or—”
As Harry stood there he reminded himself, if what they suspected was true, Davis knew how to use that knife. He moved slowly to the side, as if compliant with Davis’s order.
Another smile and nod from the man holding the open knife.
“Who needs the damn key anyway,” Davis said as he stepped over Urquhart’s body, with the old man muttering into the carpet.
“You won’t get away with this,” said Harry.
To which Davis, his eyes on Harry with each careful step, said, “Oh, I think I will.”
Until Davis was nearly at the door – knife in one outstretched hand, box tucked under the other arm.
Where he got an unpleasant surprise.
For Harry could see something that Davis could not.
Kat.
Standing in the hallway, just outside the doorway.
And as Davis turned to make his getaway, he had no chance, as Kat sent her left forearm flying up against Davis’s right hand holding the knife, hitting it hard, just at the wrist, and smacking his hand against the wooden doorframe with an audible thwack.
The knife went tumbling to the floor.
Harry raced to the door as well, Davis momentarily stunned, staggering backwards into the hallway.
*
Kat saw the knife fall as she knew it would, having learned that move years ago from an old city cop who came in to her father’s bar.
Telling her: “You never know, Kat. Someday you might need this.”
As it turned out, she’d used the move more than once in the years since.
And so far, it had never failed.
Now she watched Davis recover his balance, push off from the wall and take a step towards her, ready surely to charge her out of the way so he could reach the stairs behind her.
But then Harry appeared at her side – Davis’s route to the stairs effectively blocked.
And for a second Kat thought – we’ve got him.
But then Davis did something she didn’t understand.
He turned, and ran farther down the hallway, away from the stairs.
“Nice work with the knife,” said Harry. “Wish I could have seen Davis’s face.”
“Quite the picture,” said Kat.
“What’s happened?” came Connie’s voice from behind her.
Kat turned to see the housekeeper hurrying up the stairs.
“Mr Urquhart, is he—?”
“Connie – can you see to him?” said Harry. “He’s been badly roughed up.”
Mydworth Mysteries--The Wrong Man Page 9
