Mydworth Mysteries--The Wrong Man

by Matthew Costello

  “Where’s Davis gone?” said Connie, looking around anxiously. “Where is that monster?”

  Kat pointed down the dim hallway, just catching sight of Davis at the other end, disappearing into... well, what exactly?

  “Wait – is there another staircase along there?” said Harry, urgently. “Another way down?”

  “No,” said Connie. “That’s the way up. To the attic. To the roof.”

  “The roof?” said Harry. “Oh well. I’d better, as they say, give chase.”

  To which Kat said simply, “You go. I’ll head outside, see if I can see him. Cut him off if he tries to get down.”

  And leaving Connie to look after the old man, she took one quick last look at Harry and raced to the stairs.

  17. An Unlikely Exit

  Harry entered the attic, dust motes dancing in the scant moonlight that seeped in through smeared windows set into the sharply peaked roof.

  He saw Davis at one of the windows at the far end, opening it.

  And actually, climbing out.

  “Davis,” Harry said, “what the hell are you doing? Game’s up.”

  But the words did nothing to slow Davis, and Harry guessed the man must know something about this attic that Harry didn’t.

  Harry dodged the boxes and dingy muslin cloths covering who knew what, to get to the window. The air shooting in, frigid, and the sill outside glistening with an icy sheen.

  Harry leaned out. Davis had started navigating the sharply angled roof, one hand still grimly holding the metal box, the other digging into the tiles, as he crab-clawed away.

  Which to Harry seemed like a completely insane idea – but then, in the cold moonlight he saw the top of a narrow metal ladder poking out of the snow at the end of the roof, and he understood Davis’s plan.

  A fire escape – probably leading down to where Davis had his car. The man clearly just minutes from a successful getaway.

  Harry shook his head. The prospect of climbing out onto the roof... madness in the day, let alone at night. All of the tiles coated with ice that glistened treacherously. The frozen stonework probably so slick. And a terrifying fall to the ground three storeys below.

  Despite his lack of enthusiasm (and tightened stomach muscles) he mumbled: “Well, in for a penny—”

  And he climbed out.

  *

  Harry followed Davis’s path, who only looked back a couple of times, focused on securing his footholds.

  At any other time, this clear, bright night would have been one to enjoy: Harry could see so many sparkling stars in the blackness above, and in the distance, across shimmering white fields, the slumbering town of Mydworth, the street gas lights giving it an orange glow.

  But Harry wasn’t here for the view. This was a deadly challenge. The slate roof – so icy, his feet slipped even as his fingers dug into the edge of the tiles.

  Madness indeed, he thought. One false move, and he’d go sliding down to the frozen ground below.

  He looked at Davis, who was halfway to the simple metal ladder. Below, Harry spied a car, the Austin that Davis had mentioned in the pub. Nothing flashy to catch anyone’s attention.

  He wondered if Kat had figured out the escape route. If Davis got to that ladder before them, he’d be in the car in seconds, then away.

  But Harry knew the danger of hurrying, and forced himself to make sure that each foothold and handhold was as secure as possible, even at the cost of closing the distance between him and Will Davis.

  Then he spotted a gap in the roof just ahead where the tiles had chipped and broken away entirely, revealing exposed wood. It was a place where – with a big step – he could get closer to the fleeing Davis, who still was amazingly using only one hand to make his getaway.

  Harry edged towards that bare spot, feeling the sole of his shoe connect with the rough edge where bare wood met the still intact stone tiles surrounding it. His eyes scanned the darkness – if he could just grab a stone tile, and it held, he should be able to slide over...

  So, he thought, here goes.

  *

  Amazingly, he managed to slide over the jagged gap, as if somehow his imagining the manoeuvre was enough information for his body to then carry it out.

  This time, he thought.

  Davis was now a few yards closer. But so was the ladder.

  He saw Davis start to do his own next slide over. One that would put the top curved bars of the ladder easily within striking distance.

  Davis moved.

  And then Harry heard a crack. The stone tile Davis had grabbed split in two, pieces flying away, and all Harry could do was watch as Davis began a terrible slide down the sharply sloped roof.

  For a second, Davis’s feet seemed to catch some kind of protrusion, momentarily slowing him.

  But then those tiles gave way too, and Davis slid to the very edge of the roof, his legs suddenly dangling in space.

  One hand locked on a last tile, somehow miraculously holding him in place. But the situation – hopeless. Harry only feet away, knowing the life of Oliver Brown depended on keeping Will Davis alive.

  And instead of continuing to the ladder and escaping this crazily dangerous rooftop, Harry started lowering himself down to the fleeing man.

  *

  “Davis. Let the damn box go. And here – grab my hand, man. Before it’s too late.”

  Harry extended his hand down, inches away from Davis’s left hand which was still locked onto the metal box.

  “Drop the box. Take my hand. Let’s get off this damn roof!”

  Then Davis looked up.

  And Harry could see the answer in the man’s wild eyes even before the slightest of head shakes – no.

  Harry’s hand still extended – but in a moment, all that became useless as Davis’s fingers gave up the impossible challenge.

  And Harry watched the man slip over the side of the house.

  For a second, all Harry did was watch Davis fall into space.

  But then, down below, he saw another figure standing in the deep snow at the back of the house.

  Kat.

  Harry let himself watch Davis’s terrible landing, just feet from his wife, and only then – knowing a similar fate awaited him with a single misstep – started towards the ladder again, even more slowly.

  Wondering: Is Davis dead?

  And, if so, just how much that would hurt their chances of ever finding out the answer to the one question that would save Oliver Brown’s life.

  Was Will Davis the killer?

  18. A Long Night

  Kat watched Davis land in the snow, on his side, and for a moment the man didn’t move, and she feared the worst.

  But then Davis looked up, moaned, and raised his head.

  Alive.

  Saved by the deep snow.

  She walked over to him and picked up the small metal box which had fallen in the snow by his side.

  “We’ll get you some help, Davis. Back in Mydworth.” Then to make things perfectly clear. “Back at the jail. But think we’d best wait until Sir Harry gets down here, eh?”

  In Davis’s eyes, Kat saw something that was – even now, with the man crumpled before her – chilling. A look in those eyes that seemed to say only one thing: I’d kill you if I could.

  Kat looked over to the old fire escape ladder that ran from the ground to the rooftop.

  As Harry hit the ground and raced over.

  “Ah, still alive,” he said, peering down at Davis. “Well, that’s rather amazing. Saved by the snow, I imagine.”

  She went to him. “Harry, you okay?”

  “Me? Bit chilled. Fingers a little achy, you know. Otherwise, never better.”

  She saw him look up at the rooftop. “Though I think I shall avoid any roof climbing in the near future.”

  Then, she watched him lean down.

  “Mr Davis, it turns out you are one very lucky fellow. Now, if you don’t mind waiting here just a few more minutes I’ll see if I can rustle up some rope
. Tie you up, just to be sure? Won’t be a moment.”

  Harry stood up and looked at his watch.

  “I know,” Kat said. “Time running out.”

  And Harry nodded as he hurried back into Blackmead Farm.

  Kat turned back to look at Davis, now propped up on one arm.

  “I say, Lady Mortimer,” he said, his voice wheezy. “Help me up, would you? Leg’s killing me.”

  “I think – no. Sorry.”

  “Please – I’m begging you,” he said, pushing himself up further, wincing from the pain. “I mean – come on. Arm’s broken for sure, leg’s shot – I’m hardly going to run, now, am I?”

  Kat looked at his pleading face, his eyes so sincere.

  So deceptive.

  “Guess you’re used to fooling people, right Davis? Not this time, I’m afraid.”

  She watched him sink back onto his uninjured arm. And now it was clear to him that she wasn’t intending to help – that open, charming face darkened, as if a switch had been turned. The eyes suddenly empty.

  “By the way,” he said. “Now it’s just the two of us – you must tell me how you did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “Oh – you know – snared Sir Harry there? Quite the catch—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Have to give it to you. Common girl from the Bronx, no money – no proper vowels even – snags a proper English lord of the manor, still with money to his name? Why, I imagine when the dear old aunty pegs it there’ll be a few million coming your way, eh?”

  His grin turned even more slimy.

  “Well played... Yank.”

  Kat couldn’t quite believe this garbage Davis was spouting. In a flash, she felt angry.

  But she didn’t rise to it. That would be exactly what he wanted...

  Instead, she played along.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, really? I must say – I’m full of admiration. One hell of a line you must have thrown him – and he took the bait, hook, line and sinker.” Then, as if the taunts could go even lower... “I’m guessing you might have some other... talents... as well.”

  Kat took a quiet breath. Steady, she thought. And then it was her turn.

  “You mean – same way you snagged Connie?” said Kat with a shrug, using his own words back on him.

  “Connie? That one? Oh, she was so easy. Sweet little thing, but hardly the best goods left on the shelf. ‘On the shelf’, being the operative words, of course.”

  Kat wished Davis was – in fact – standing. Would be so gratifying to punch him hard in the gut.

  “Guess she must have been grateful when you showed an interest?”

  “What do you think? Couldn’t believe her bloody luck. Good looking, thoughtful chap like ‘Will Davis’.”

  “Right. But not sure I follow. What I don’t get is why,” said Kat. “Why her?”

  “Ha! Nice try. I’m not going to tell you that.”

  “You played her, though, didn’t you? Must be a really good reason.”

  “Everybody plays everybody. You of all people must know that – Kat Reilly.”

  Kat smiled, hiding how she really felt about this lowlife.

  “I imagine that Connie wasn’t the first?” she said.

  “Of course not. Takes time—”at this he tapped his skull “—to acquire the necessary skills. Though I was rather hoping she’d be the last.”

  What did that mean? thought Kat. What was so special about Connie Price?

  She saw him glance across at the farm, perhaps realising he was running out of time.

  “Come on, let me up,” he said, smiling again, turning on the charm. “What harm can it do?” Then a tease: “Maybe I’ll tell you more about why poor, drab Connie Price...”

  But before she could answer, Harry emerged from the farmhouse, carrying a coil of rope.

  “All right,” said Harry as he approached. “Afraid you’ll be tied up for a while, Davis.”

  “Damn you,” said Davis, his voice now harsh again, staring straight into Kat, his game about to fail. A man so used to tricking and trapping women.

  Not this time...

  “This rotter cause you any trouble, Lady Mortimer?” said Harry, coming near.

  “Him? Not a bit,” said Kat, not wanting to repeat the conversation. “Let’s get him tied up, nice and tight, and then—” she grinned at this, looking right at Davis “—throw him into the car.”

  *

  Kat stood beside Harry near Sergeant Timms’ desk, Constable Loxley off to one side, while Timms passed them a sheaf of papers.

  The doctor was still with Davis, tending to him in his cell. The worst of his injuries as it turned out, no more than a broken arm.

  “Loxley here, um, has done some good work, Sir Harry, Lady Mortimer. These crime reports are just the open Sussex investigations – fraud, extortion, larceny – got Mr Davis’s fingerprints all over them if I’m not mistaken.”

  “The notebook?” Harry said, as if reminding Timms of something overlooked.

  “Ah, yes. Right. That does seem to confirm just about all of them, names, dates, places. Yup, so very little doubt. All good for the county clear-up rate, no doubt about that!”

  Kat looked up at the big Genalux clock on the wall, the second hand ticking onwards...

  2am. Just six hours until dawn.

  And Timms seeming to have missed the bigger picture – the imminent execution. She looked across at Loxley who took his cue and cleared his throat.

  “Sergeant,” he said. “The other matter?”

  Timms looked up to his new constable, no sign of pleasure at whatever Loxley was reminding him about.

  “Oh, yes. Sir Harry, er, I gather you asked my constable to make some... telephone calls... to other county police forces?”

  “I did, sergeant,” said Harry. “You were unavailable, you see. It’s our belief that Davis may be responsible for Ben Carter’s death, and if that’s true, it’s highly likely he has killed before. Using the same methods.”

  Kat added: “And the same weapon.”

  “Yes, Constable Loxley told me your ‘theory’.”

  Kat watched the portly policeman wrestle with this unorthodox situation, before finally settling on an answer.

  “The constable has – so he tells me – found two cases of murder where the modus operandi seems to match what happened to poor Ben Carter.”

  Kat couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “Then you can call Pentonville? Get the hanging postponed? At least—”

  But Timms was already shaking his head.

  “M’lady, I’m afraid we simply have nothing here that warrants interfering with the due process of justice. No evidence at all that Davis is a killer. Simply some coincidental – and unsolved – crimes.”

  Then Loxley – Bless him, Kat thought – turned to Harry and her and said a key word.

  “Yet. One of the murders, sir... in Newcastle. There was a suspect who was arrested, but then somehow escaped custody.”

  “Arrested?” said Harry. “But that must mean they have a photograph.”

  “They do indeed, sir,” said Loxley.

  Kat looked to Harry, understanding the implication of this immediately.

  “Hang on! If we can prove that Will Davis and this suspect are one and the same, surely that would be enough to warrant a stay of execution?” she said, looking to Timms.

  “I can’t be certain,” Timms finally said with a shrug. “But I imagine... yes, it would.”

  She watched him sit back in his chair, take a sip from his mug of tea.

  “But with just,” a glance at the clock, “a few hours before the hanging, how are we to magic a photo of the suspect from Newcastle to Mydworth, may I ask?”

  “Telephotography,” said Loxley.

  Kat spun round to look at him. In her last posting, the embassy had the newly invented device which miraculously could send pictures over the phone lines.


  “Wait. You’ve got a machine here?” she said, scarcely able to believe it.

  Timms cleared his throat.

  “Well, yes. It was delivered a few months ago. Though, to be honest, we’ve not had a single reason to use it. Or to set the darned thing up.”

  “Till now,” Loxley said, risking the wrathful glance of Timms again.

  “Well, come on – what are we waiting for?” said Harry. “Be a feather in your cap, Timms, if you solve a murder using the very latest weapon in the police armoury, eh?”

  Kat caught Harry’s eye – trusting this flattery might work better with Timms than a kick in the—

  And sure enough, Timms responded in fashion.

  “Come on Loxley,” said the sergeant. “You heard Sir Harry! Get that damn machine out of its crate – and start reading the bloody manual!”

  As Loxley gave her a discreet smile and disappeared into the back office, Kat saw the doctor emerge from the cells with Constable Thomas.

  “I’ve bandaged him up as best I can,” said the doctor, taking his coat from the stand and putting it on. “But he’ll need to have that arm properly set in the morning.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” said Timms.

  “Is he in a fit state to talk?” said Harry.

  The doctor grinned. “Oh, his mouth seems to be working just fine. Rather garrulous, actually. Yes, so medically there’s no reason why not.” The doctor snapped closed his medical bag. “By all means – have at him...”

  The doctor left, and Kat looked at Harry.

  While they were waiting for Loxley to get the machine running, the only hope of any other breakthrough was via Davis himself.

  “All right with you if we have a little chat with our suspect?” said Harry to Timms.

  Timms shrugged: “Help yourself. But I wouldn’t raise your hopes, Sir Harry. I know that type. Too clever by half. He’ll be all zipped up. Not a peep, I imagine, least with you two asking questions.”

  Kat got up and joined Harry as Constable Thomas unlocked the door to the cells.

  She suspected – based on her chat with Davis earlier – that Timms might be right.

  Davis wasn’t going to give anything away.