The Orchard Murders

by Robert Gott

  ‘The court martial has happened?’

  ‘Yes. What? Did you think you’d be kept personally informed of the procedures?’

  ‘Well, you must be very happy, Chafer.’

  ‘I’m happy to have been proved right. I’m not happy that they didn’t hang the bastard. They went soft on him. Someone pulled some strings.’

  ‘Maybe they thought one letter did not a traitor make.’

  Chafer’s face turned red, but his voice remained measured.

  ‘When the war’s over he’ll be dishonourably discharged, and he won’t be able to hare off to Japan, and his wife won’t be able to come here. I don’t know what sort of work he’ll be able to do. Who’ll hire a traitor?’

  ‘His parents have money.’

  Chafer’s face assumed an ugly sneer.

  ‘I detest people like Fazackerly.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s not having a very nice time in prison. Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘That’s classified. I can guarantee you, though, that he’s not enjoying himself. He’s not getting special treatment.’ Chafer produced a harsh little laugh. ‘Although in lots of ways he is getting special treatment, if you get my drift.’

  Chafer left Tom’s office, and Tom decided that he wouldn’t include this final piece of information when he told Maude that Winslow had been tried and sentenced.

  IT WAS AN unpleasantly cold day. The disadvantage of living in a house the size of the house in Kew was that its rooms were impossible to heat. All of the bedrooms had fireplaces, but the shortage and the expense of fuel led Ros and Helen to heat just one room — the library. It was the most used area, and in winter it doubled often as the dining room. Both Helen and Joe were due home at 6.00 pm, and she wasn’t sure, but she thought that Tom Mackenzie might be coming for dinner. At any rate, Joe had said on his way out that morning that he might invite him. Ros always cooked for an extra person. She’d done this all her adult life. The meal was mainly leftovers from the previous night’s meal, but she was quite happy with the resultant thick barley stew, loaded with turnips, potatoes, lamb broth, and a few scraps of lamb meat. It was hearty and filling.

  When there was a knock on the door at 5.30, she supposed it was Tom. The thought of chatting to him as she set the table was delightful. She liked Tom Mackenzie, despite his having not been entirely honest with her on his previous visit. It was a shame that Clara wasn’t coming tonight. Ros wasn’t a natural matchmaker, and she’d never actively attempt it, but if Clara and Tom saw more of each other, well, who knew what might follow? They’d make an attractive couple, as the Hollywood magazines would say.

  Ros wiped her hands on her apron, and turned on the outside light. She opened the door, and there was a man standing there, smiling. He had a satchel slung across one shoulder, and he removed his hat politely so that Ros could see his face plainly. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was cut very short. It was neatly done, probably by a good barber. He held his hat in one hand and a book in the other. Ros knew immediately that he was a Bible salesman. He smiled at her benignly and said, ‘Good evening. I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time to call.’

  Ros had turned away Bible salesmen before. They hadn’t all been as polite as this man. She had some sympathy for them. Jobs were hard to come by, and this man looked to be in his early sixties. For many of these men, the Bible was a product, no different from a cutlery set or a garden tool. It was something to sell.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but it is rather an inconvenient time. I’m just in the middle of getting dinner ready.’

  The salesman didn’t betray any annoyance.

  ‘Perhaps I could make an appointment to come back at a more convenient time, or is there someone in the house I could talk to instead?’

  He held the Bible out to Ros, and she took it automatically.

  ‘It’s very best quality,’ the salesman said. ‘Leather bound. Is there perhaps someone at home who might be interested?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry. There’s just me home at the moment. I’m expecting my daughter and her friend any minute, but I’m afraid we’re not a religious household.’

  ‘I understand perfectly.’ Again he smiled, and Ros moved to give the Bible back to him. He reached to take it, but instead his hand shot out towards Ros’s throat and closed around it. The Bible fell onto the step, and the weight of the man’s body propelled Ros back into the house. She clawed at the fingers pressing into her throat, lost her balance, and dropped to her knees. He let go of her. Ros, gasping for air, tried to stand.

  ‘I don’t like hurting women, but if you don’t do exactly as I say, I will hurt you very badly. Do you understand?’

  Ros nodded, her pain and shock rendering her unable to make any sense of what was happening.

  ‘I want you to get up, and I want you to take me into a comfortable room where we can wait.’

  Ros tried to speak, but her throat produced little more than a gurgle. She stood up and took the intruder into the library, where a fire was burning and where the table was partly set for dinner. The man indicated that Ros should sit in one of the armchairs, and he withdrew into a darkened corner and simply stood there. Ros massaged her throat and in a whisper asked, ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

  ‘I want justice and I want retribution.’

  ‘Why?’

  The man walked across to Ros and crouched down in front of her. Light fell full on his face. It was, Ros thought, the face of a disciplined man. It wasn’t an ugly face. It was lean, with no hint of jowls. The eyes didn’t seem to her to be unkind. Was he a disgruntled husband, the victim of one of Helen’s or Joe’s investigations? No. Helen Lord and Associates didn’t do divorce work.

  ‘All flesh is grass, missus,’ he said, ‘and tonight Joe Sable will be gathered to the Lord. No one else needs to die. I am Abraham, and I’ve come to make this sacrifice. The Master is persecuted and imprisoned because of this man’s actions. And he is a Jew.’

  Ros was astonished that Abraham’s face retained its air of calm as he said these words. It was as if he believed there was nothing unusual in what he was saying. At least she now knew who this man was.

  ‘Are you a Christian, Abraham?’

  ‘I am a chosen Christian.’

  ‘Jesus was a Jew.’

  ‘Jesus stopped being a Jew when he rose on the third day.’

  ‘Why do you think that Joe lives here?’

  ‘This address was in his wallet. I read it. I’ve been watching the house. I know he lives here.’

  Ros’s eyes left his face and looked to either side of him. He noticed.

  ‘Are you looking for something to strike me with, missus?’

  He reached into his satchel and pulled out a revolver.

  ‘I use it to kill vermin on the farm. It will be just as effective killing vermin in Kew.’

  Ros could smell the gun oil as Abraham moved it about in the air. She recognised it. Her husband had had the same gun. She hated it. It was American, a Colt .45 calibre pistol.

  Abraham stood up and resumed his position in the deeply shadowed corner. He wasn’t well hidden by any means, but if anyone walked into the library and wasn’t expecting him to be there, that person might not immediately see him.

  ‘Joe comes home at night with a woman. Who is she?’

  ‘She’s my daughter.’

  ‘Is she his wife?’

  ‘No. She’s his employer.’

  Abraham laughed.

  ‘He takes instructions from a woman. Yes, of course he does.’

  They both heard the car as it drove into the garage.

  ‘When they come in here, say nothing.’ He raised the Colt. ‘If you make a single sound, I will shoot your daughter, and then I will shoot you. Understand?’

  Ros nodded. She ought to have been terrified, but all she felt was a so
rt of numbness as if all this was an anaesthetic dream. This man standing opposite her, holding a gun, it couldn’t possibly be real, could it? Nothing like this could happen in such a beautiful room. There was the sound at the rear of the house of Joe and Helen entering through the back door. The reassuring smells of cooking would be in their nostrils.

  ‘We’re home, Mum,’ Helen called, and not waiting for a reply, both she and Joe went upstairs to change. Abraham and Ros stared at each other. The wait for them to come downstairs seemed interminable.

  When they came into the library, Helen saw Ros in the chair and moved across to her, while Joe stood near the dining table. They were talking to each other, and didn’t register Ros’s silence. Helen leant down to kiss her on the cheek. She froze when she saw her mother’s staring, unblinking eyes, and her heart seized as she thought that Ros might have had a stroke and died.

  ‘Mum?’

  Ros blinked, and Helen followed her gaze. Abraham stepped into the light. He didn’t point the gun at Helen or Joe. He pointed it at Ros.

  ‘Stand back over there, near Judas. I will shoot your mother if either you or he does anything foolish, and you know already that as an instrument of the Lord’s vengeance I am not afraid to take a life and condemn its soul to eternal damnation.’

  Helen heard this as a blather of words without meaning, but there was clarity in the steel of the gun. Joe wasn’t able to identify the intruder until he spoke. He looked nothing like the man Joe had met at Prescott’s orchard, but his voice was unmistakable.

  ‘Walter Pinshott,’ he said.

  ‘My name is Abraham, and your name is Judas. Judas Iscariot, the traitor Jew.’

  Joe took two steps forward.

  ‘And who have I betrayed?’

  ‘The Master.’

  Joe’s instinct was to keep Pinshott talking.

  ‘Why doesn’t the Master throw open his cell door and walk free?’

  ‘Why didn’t Christ climb down from the cross and turn the people who nailed him there to stone?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why didn’t he?’

  ‘Because it was his father’s will that he should come through suffering before entering into his glory.’

  Helen knew that if she spoke, it would be a mistake. A woman’s voice was not what this deranged man wanted to hear. She stood perfectly still so that nothing would distract Pinshott from his focus on Joe.

  ‘I sent your friend to his judgement. I stuck him with three darts, like his namesake. He suffered, oh, he suffered.’

  Joe clenched his teeth, aware that Pinshott would shoot Ros Lord without batting an eyelid.

  ‘Come closer to me,’ Pinshott said. ‘I like to see into a man’s eyes before I kill him.’

  ‘What did you see in Emilio Barbero’s eyes?’

  ‘I took him from behind and broke his filthy neck, but I saw the final fade to death, and then I strung him up like a side of pork, to warn the apostate Wilson that he’d be next.’

  ‘And was he?’

  ‘No, although perhaps the sight of Barbero hanging there drove him to commit his barbarous acts.’

  Pinshott’s eyes left Joe’s face and moved to Helen’s. They remained there only briefly. She was of no interest to him, but something occurred to him, and he asked, ‘Do you have any rope?’

  ‘Yes. In the garage, I think.’

  ‘Judas hanged himself,’ Pinshott said. ‘It would be a sight, wouldn’t it, if you hanged yourself, here in this room, in front of us? Would you do that to save the lives of these women?’

  Helen’s hand covered her mouth, and her eyes widened.

  ‘Go and get the rope. I’ll give you exactly one minute. If you’re not back in one minute, when you do return, you’ll find your mother dead.’

  Keeping control of her voice, Helen said, ‘It might take longer than that to find the rope.’

  ‘Ninety seconds then. Go!’

  Feeling sick, and bereft of options, Helen ran out of the room and down to the back door. Perhaps, she thought, she could find some kind of weapon to bring back with her. In the garage, she turned on the light, and immediately saw the rope. There was no time to hunt for anything else. She raced back into the house, so desperately afraid that the ninety seconds was ticking over that she didn’t go into the kitchen to get a knife. Had she done so, she was certain she’d have heard the hideous explosion of the gun being fired.

  When she returned to the library, Pinshott said, ‘That was closer to two minutes. Fortunately, I’m a merciful man. Give Judas the rope.’

  Helen, her hand trembling, gave Joe the coil of rope. He took it from her, and she saw that his face was composed.

  ‘Make a noose. A loop will do.’

  Pinshott looked around the room.

  ‘There’s nowhere to hang yourself in here. But there’s a staircase. You can climb the stairs, tie the rope to the banister, jump over and dangle at the end of it.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Ros whispered.

  Pinshott was startled by her voice, but his gun never wavered.

  ‘Me? My conscience is clear. Judas will take his own life. Put the loop around your neck.’

  Helen began to shake. Why was Joe so calm and still? Did he have some sort of plan, or was he going to do this? Joe raised the rope and slipped the loop end over his head. He let the rest of the rope drop to the floor. He stared at Pinshott defiantly, and for a moment Pinshott wondered if he was about to rush at him. He placed the gun barrel against Ros’s temple. She gasped.

  ‘I think we’re ready. You should ask forgiveness of God for what you are about to do.’

  ‘There is no God, Pinshott. Your existence and God’s existence are incompatible notions.’

  Pinshott smiled grimly.

  ‘Stand up, missus.’

  Ros was halfway to her feet when the large window behind Helen and Joe shattered with astonishing violence. Had Pinshott fired the gun? The noise was shocking. It was Ros who moved first. Without knowing what exactly had happened, she snatched the gun from the distracted Pinshott’s hand. She had it before he knew what she’d done, and she found its balance quickly and fired a bullet into Pinshott’s knee. His scream was barely heard over the crash of the gunshot, and he fell to the ground. Ros stood away from him, calculating whether or not to fire a second bullet into him.

  Helen’s first action was to grab the rope from around Joe’s neck and toss it from her as if it were a venomous snake. They all stood dazed and uncertain about had happened.

  Tom Mackenzie’s head appeared in the space where the window had been.

  ‘That seems to have worked,’ he said. ‘Sorry about your window, Ros.’

  They all turned to Ros and took in the sight of her, gun in hand, ready to fire again if Pinshott tried to stand. He didn’t. His body was going into shock, and he lost consciousness.

  ‘We need the police and an ambulance,’ Ros said. Helen went to her mother, and held her tightly. Joe went across and gently took the gun out of her hand.‘

  IT WAS THE Bible on the doorstep,’ Tom Mackenzie said. ‘It was lying open and face down, which I thought was peculiar. Just weirdly out of place. I was about to knock when I thought I’d just do a quick reccy of the house. I felt a bit like a peeping Tom, looking in the windows, but when I got to the library and saw what was going on, I knew I had to do something desperate. I mean, what I was watching was so bizarre. I couldn’t hear anything, but here was this man, holding a gun to Mrs Lord’s head, and Joe was putting a noose around his own neck. Smashing the window seemed like the only way to cause a major distraction. It could have gone badly wrong.’

  It was very late. Walter Pinshott had been taken under police guard to the Alfred Hospital; Ros and the others had been questioned separately, and statements had been made. Inspector Lambert had gone with Pinshott to the hospital. The hours th
at had passed since Pinshott’s arrival and removal had, with the help of brandy, allowed each of them to sit and calmly discuss what had happened. Helen sat close to her mother, who was amazingly sanguine for a woman who’d just shattered a man’s kneecap.

  ‘Where did you learn how to shoot, Mum?’

  ‘Oh, I recognised the gun. Your father had one in Broome. I hated the thing, but he taught me how to use it.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs Lord?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I’m fine, Tom. Really I am. I might sit bolt upright at three this morning, but for the moment I’m fine. I’m more worried about poor Joe and what that man forced him to do.’

  ‘I honestly don’t remember the action of putting that rope around my neck, Ros. All I could see was that Pinshott was pointing a pistol at your temple.’

  ‘You were so calm, Joe,’ Helen said. She couldn’t bear thinking about it.

  ‘I was struggling to think of a way out for us all. All I could think was that if I went along with it, maybe somehow he’d take that gun away from Ros’s head, and then I’d have a chance, or Helen would have a chance. And yet I was shocked to find I had a rope around my neck when it was all over.’

  Helen leaned across and kissed her mother on the cheek.

  ‘You deserve a medal, Mum. I don’t know if I’d have had the guts to take that gun out of Pinshott’s hands. If you hadn’t, Joe might …’ An image of Joe dropping over the balcony at the top of the stairs and snapping his neck at the end of that rope crashed into her mind, and she turned white.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m going to be sick.’

  She rushed from the room, and Ros followed her to the bathroom. Tom closed the library door to muffle the sound of her violent retching. This was for her sake, not his.

  ‘How bloody extraordinary all this is,’ Tom said.

  ‘I owe you my life, Tom,’ Joe said.

  ‘You owe Ros Lord your life.’

  ‘Would I have just meekly gone up those stairs and hanged myself, do you think?’

  ‘No, I don’t. There would have been a moment, even just a split second, when Pinshott would have moved that gun. Helen would have been watching for that moment, too.’