The Whitby Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery)

by J. R. Ellis

  ‘We kept it. I knew you wouldn’t necessarily expect to find it at the bottom of a muddy harbour. I thought by the time the body was recovered from the sea, the forensic evidence would be poor and it wouldn’t be possible to tell that he’d been dead for a few days. There would not be much water in his lungs, but that would be consistent with him shooting himself first and being dead just as he fell into the water.’

  ‘You were right about that but it was a mistake not to put his mobile phone into his pocket; that made us suspicious. Surely he would have had his phone with him?’

  ‘I realised that later but it was too late.’

  ‘And that was it. There was a couple who had a history of having arguments. The man went crazy and stabbed his partner, probably not meaning to kill her. He ran off into hiding but his guilt and his instability led him to kill himself a few days later. All you had to do was volunteer to identify Holgate’s body. This earned you more sympathy with the group and you were already in high esteem with them because you’d apparently tried to save Andrea’s life.’

  ‘Yes . . . how ironic is that? But it worked beautifully in my favour. They were so sympathetic to me and put my tiredness down to the trauma I’d been through, whereas it was really because I had to sneak out in the night to meet Elaine and complete important tasks like getting rid of bodies and going over to Leeds.’

  ‘With Andrea and Dominic out of the way, you were clear to remove the painting and nobody would miss it,’ said Granger.

  ‘Yes. I got the keys from their room at the Whitby flat. I’d made sure she had a set with her. I’d asked her if I could have another look at the paintings in the flat while we were up here. The plan was for us to call in Leeds before going back to London. So I went over in the night and got the painting.’

  He stopped and let out a deep breath. At that point, thought Oldroyd, he must have felt the plan had succeeded.

  Morton looked at Oldroyd with an expression which combined anger and admiration. ‘I don’t know how you got onto me. If it wasn’t for you . . .’ he said again and then put his hands up to his face. The reality of his position had reasserted itself.

  Oldroyd was under no obligation to explain his thinking in the case, but as Morton had been so open about his plan he felt a professional urge to explain how he had responded. With ruthless criminals like this it was like playing a deadly game of chess and they always had the first moves.

  ‘I was never convinced by the story we were meant to believe. Neither was Louise, although she never thought you were responsible. It seemed unlikely that Holgate would kill Barnes in a row as everyone spoke of them as basically happy together even though they had arguments. Holgate apparently had a knife with him, which suggested he had premeditated his attack and not just lost his temper in the moment. Discovering the trick sarcophagus and Holgate’s blood inside it led to more doubts. We were meant to think that Holgate had just blundered out of the building, but if he was hiding in the sarcophagus he must have known about it beforehand and planned to use it. Furthermore, he must also have known it was a trick, because we found his blood in the compartment that was concealed from view. We thought he must have used the mechanism to turn it but in reality he didn’t know that the sarcophagus had two compartments; in fact, that was part of the way he was duped. On the face of it there seemed to have been a degree of planning on his part, which was very odd if this was indeed a crime of passion. If he wanted to kill Barnes, why choose a strange, overly dramatic method like this? It also suggested that other people were involved. When I saw the CCTV, I thought it seemed unreal. They looked like actors in a film. It was this sense that everything didn’t quite ring true that was at the heart of Louise’s refusal to accept what we were presented with.

  ‘However, I have to hand it to you, the apparent facts we were still faced with – that he stabbed her in front of everybody; that there was blood; that he went out of the emergency exit door into that storeroom and that poor Andrea Barnes was dead – were seemingly inescapable whatever we felt about it all.

  ‘The next stage was less convincing. Nobody got a clear view of Holgate either up at the church or by the pub when he apparently went mad and fired off his gun. He stayed at a distance from his friends in the churchyard that night and ran off before anybody could get near. He left a watch to prove it was him and garlic to confuse people and confirm the idea that he’d lost it. Of course we now know it was Pesku. She could easily impersonate Holgate when dressed in a goth costume and she did the same thing the night Holgate apparently committed suicide, concealing her features with a hood and mask. I wondered how Holgate had managed to conceal himself during this three-day period, from the murder of Andrea Barnes on the Wednesday through to the Saturday, especially given that he didn’t know Whitby well. We now know that he was killed immediately after Barnes. Also he’d acquired a gun. You cleverly placed the gun holster in his room at the flat but no one had any recollection of seeing Holgate with a gun before, or a knife for that matter. But again: there were the text messages, his body in the harbour and that he’d been seen firing a gun. The obvious explanation for his behaviour after he’d killed Andrea was that the guilt had sent him mad. The whole thing was apparently clear.’

  Morton fidgeted restlessly and scowled as these flaws in his plans were exposed by Oldroyd. He wasn’t so impressed with the detective now.

  ‘Our investigations in London had not revealed very much but when we discovered Hugh Preston’s body, I was pretty sure the whole story we were meant to believe was bogus,’ continued Oldroyd.

  ‘That was just luck,’ blurted Morton. ‘It was those damned kids. I wish I could—’

  ‘Maybe,’ continued Oldroyd, interrupting. ‘But I couldn’t imagine that Holgate had got the information about the sarcophagus from Preston and then murdered him. We still had no firm leads on anyone else. The missing painting had somehow resonated with me from the beginning but I had nothing more to go on. It was Louise who found out more from Mrs Adams about the painting and then she found out from her friend that you had been to the flat. She knew you were a person with a knowledge of art who might recognise the painting and how valuable it was.’

  Oldroyd paused before he went on. ‘You were fortunate that she didn’t tell us anything at that point because she was trying to protect you.’ He stopped and swallowed. He was finding this difficult. Granger looked at him but let him continue for the moment. ‘She was fond of you and it blinded her to having any idea of what you were really like. The worst she thought was that you had stolen the painting after Andrea’s death and she was right. But she’d no idea that you had orchestrated the whole thing.’

  ‘I knew she liked me,’ said Morton casually. ‘And I liked her, but I had much more important things on my mind. I played up my attraction to her because I knew she was less likely to suspect me if she felt there was something developing between us but she turned out to be a nuisance. She wouldn’t accept what I wanted everybody to believe and she encouraged you to doubt it. When she texted me to say she wanted to talk to me about the missing picture, I knew I had to silence her for good.’

  Oldroyd looked away from Morton and struggled again for self-control. He indicated to Granger that she should continue.

  ‘What were you planning to do?’ Granger said.

  Morton shrugged again. ‘I didn’t have time to plan in any detail. I was pretty sure that she wouldn’t have told anybody else we were meeting so I could kill her at the flat, put her body in the back of her car and drive off. I would dispose of the body and abandon the car. There would be nothing to link me to what had happened. The assumption would be that she’d been abducted and murdered by some random killer.’

  Oldroyd got up and lurched out of the room.

  Granger cast him a worried glance as he left, but continued with her questioning of Morton. ‘You must have known that it was unlikely you would get away with that,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe, but things were looking desperate. Sh
e could have unravelled the whole plan. I had to do something and quickly. I didn’t know that sergeant was monitoring things.’

  Granger gave him a searching look. ‘Did you have no feelings for any of these people who were your friends?’

  A strange expression came onto Morton’s face. ‘I did. I was sorry I had to do it, but it was necessary for my art. I had to have the space to develop my art so it could be acknowledged.’ His eyes had a faraway look. ‘There is a genius in me; I can feel it and I can’t ignore it. It must be fulfilled. This opportunity came and it would have been a crime not to have taken it. Have you read Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Granger.

  ‘Raskolnikov, the poor student, murders an old woman to get her money because he thinks his need justifies it. I felt the same. These people would all have died for a good cause if . . .’ His voice trailed off and he shrugged again. His dream was dead.

  Granger said nothing. She continued to gaze into Morton’s face as if looking for further answers but there were none. Mystified, she shook her head.

  Oldroyd came back into the room and sat down.

  ‘I think we’re done here,’ said Granger.

  Oldroyd studied Morton for the last time. ‘Would you have been able to sell that picture in the end?’ he asked at last.

  ‘It would have been hard, but I would have made the sacrifice.’

  Oldroyd took a deep breath and then signalled to the officer. ‘Take him out.’

  ‘Well, sir,’ said Granger, grinning as she met with Oldroyd in her office for the last time. ‘I see you haven’t lost your touch. We lesser mortals can only look on in awe.’

  ‘Oh, don’t exaggerate. I was very late getting there on this one and it nearly cost me, well . . .’ He frowned and shook his head, remembering how close Morton had come to killing Louise. ‘And don’t be too hard on yourself for going with the evidence. It was a very skilful plot and had me taken in too for a while. In fact, I think I would have bought it too if it hadn’t been for Louise being so insistent that she felt something was not right. She pushed us on to crack it, but she nearly paid with her life.’

  It was a sombre thought and one of many ironies of the case.

  ‘Try not to dwell on it, sir,’ said Granger, and then she changed the subject. ‘I thought you’d like to know we’ve tied up most of the loose ends. Your sergeant sent me a report. The painting was found undamaged in Morton’s room in his shared house in London. I’m not sure yet what’s going to happen to it.’

  ‘Let’s hope it finds its way to one of the public galleries.’

  ‘Yes. He also found a knife which was probably the one which Morton used to stab Barnes. That’s at the lab. There was also the trick knife with a retracting blade as you predicted. As you know we’ve got the gun which proves that Pesku, as we call her, shot Holgate. There’s not much forensic evidence to link either of them to the murder of Hugh Preston, but plenty of circumstantial stuff. The thing is though, as they’ve both confessed, a lot of the evidence probably won’t be needed. It’ll be a judgement by the court as to whether Morton controlled Pesku. They’re not denying that they’re guilty. Oh, and by the way, the game’s up for the Withingtons, too. I’ve got another team investigating their activities and they’ve uncovered a whole network of fraudulent goings on in the world of fake jewellery. I’m expecting some arrests soon.’

  ‘Good, well, you don’t need me anymore then.’

  ‘No,’ replied Granger rather sadly. ‘It’s been great working with you again, sir.’

  Oldroyd smiled as they shook hands. ‘The feeling’s mutual. Although I can’t say I’ve enjoyed it in the circumstances; far too personal.’

  ‘I can appreciate that. Please pass on my best wishes to your daughter.’

  ‘And mine to yours. Is she okay?’

  ‘Yes, she’ll be fine. To tell you the truth a bit of a shock might do her good and make her take life a bit more seriously. I’m hoping she’ll knuckle down to her studies now. The fact is she’s bright but she’s just been coasting for a while. As Bill’s not around a lot of the time, the responsibility for cracking the whip falls to me.’

  Oldroyd laughed. ‘It’s only teenage angst. If it’s any consolation, Louise went through a similar phase at the same age and she got over it. And I have to confess I left most of it to my wife because we were separated by then. We men still have a lot to learn, but it’s not that we don’t care.’ He paused, thinking about Louise again. ‘Anyway, keep up the good work here in Whitby. I’m proud when I see people brought up at Harrogate HQ being so successful.’

  ‘Thank you, sir and give my best wishes to everyone back at Harrogate. I have a lot of fond memories.’

  Andy got back to Leeds in the late morning. He’d already spoken to Oldroyd and Steph about what had happened.

  ‘Where’s the hero of the moment?’ he called out as he entered their apartment overlooking the River Aire in Leeds.

  ‘In here,’ Steph replied from the living room where she was watching television.

  Andy took off his coat and went in. Steph, still in her dressing gown, got up from the sofa.

  ‘Hey, well done,’ said Andy as they embraced. ‘You were brilliant.’

  ‘Maybe,’ replied Steph, who was feeling drained after the excitement of the day before. ‘I’m relieved it came out right in the end.’

  ‘That’s an understatement. You saved his daughter’s life. You’ll be permanently in favour with him now.’

  ‘Andy! It’s not about that.’

  ‘You’ll be his blue-eyed girl even more than before!’ He loved to tease her about their long-running, light-hearted competition about who was most in favour with their boss.

  ‘Stop it, it’s serious. If we hadn’t been there Morton would have killed her.’

  ‘Okay, I know, I’m only teasing. I’m just jealous. The only important things we found were the knives in Morton’s flat and the painting. That bloke was creepy though. He has a giant ego and he’s a big vampire freak.’ He told her about the series of photographs and the paintings.

  ‘Yuck. Well, the painting was what the whole thing was about in the end, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, and I’ll tell you, it’s nothing to write home about. Just a picture of a woman biting a man; she’s supposed to be a vampire, I think. The thing that puzzles me is why something like that is worth so much money. I wouldn’t put it on my wall.’

  ‘It’s because it’s by a famous artist, Edvard Munch, and it’s been missing for a long time. That gets the art collectors excited, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so. Anyway, apart from finding that I’ve seen no real action down there, just a lot of interviews in offices.’ He smiled at her. ‘In fact, I’m ready for a bit of excitement myself.’

  ‘Look at him. He’s not been in the place two minutes but I’m so gorgeous he can’t resist me!’ she laughed.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You’d better be a good boy then and carry me in. I’m tired after all my outstanding efforts.’

  Andy scooped her up in his arms and she laughed again as he took her down to the bedroom.

  Louise was lying on the sofa in the darkened sitting room at her mother’s house in Chapel Allerton when Oldroyd came quietly into the room. He put his hand lightly on her shoulder and whispered ‘Lou?’ It had been his pet name for her when she was a little girl. He hadn’t called her that for years.

  She stirred. ‘Dad, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, love.’

  She sat up and held out her arms. She burst into tears as they hugged.

  ‘Oh, Dad!’

  He waited for a while as she sobbed on his shoulder. He winced when he saw the red mark round her neck. Then she lay down again and he sat on the floor beside the sofa. She propped herself up a little.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad, I feel such an idiot. You couldn’t get through to me because my phone was dead and I had no idea that . . .’ She couldn’t co
ntinue and cried again.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself. He took us all in for a long time.’

  ‘But I should have told you what I suspected: that he’d been to the flat and seen that picture and everything. I was going to keep his theft a secret.’ She put her hands up to her face. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. It was just wrong. You should arrest me.’

  He laughed. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary. You were trying to correct things in, let’s say, a private manner. You thought you could persuade him to act in the right way. It’s not as if you said, “I know you’ve got that picture, how about giving me some of the spoils?”’

  She smiled at this. ‘But why did I think that way? And why didn’t I suspect he was more involved than just stealing the picture?’

  ‘Because you had feelings for him. It’s well known, isn’t it, that those kinds of emotions can affect our judgment? What’s the old saying: “love is blind”?’

  ‘I didn’t love him though. I was only . . .’ She stopped and shook her head.

  ‘You were at the beginning of what could have been a romantic relationship, and at that point there’s often a bit of infatuation going on. You can’t see anything wrong with the person. Thank goodness you didn’t get in any deeper; it would be far worse now. But the feelings you had made you not really want to consider that he might have been responsible for murdering your friends. It was at a subconscious level.’

  She sighed and dried her eyes on a tissue. ‘I never even considered it.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. And lots of other people would have been the same in your position so you’re not an idiot. Often it’s far worse when this tendency to overlook becomes downright self-deception. I’ve known people who wouldn’t admit that their partners were criminals, even terrible serial killers, despite the evidence in front of them. It gets to the point where they just ignore what they don’t want to see.’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah, I can understand that. At the refuge we used to get women who blamed themselves and wanted to go back to their abuser despite the fact that he’d assaulted them. They made all sorts of excuses for them. It was often to do with their lack of self-worth, but some just didn’t want to believe that the man they cared about could do this to them.’