By now, the business of running Thirklewood Hall in a manner able to cope with the VIP visitor was slipping into a routine. Of the seven doors, six were kept locked and all comers were obliged to use the front door, the main entrance to the Hall. A desk had been established there with a constable permanently on duty to check passes, enter names into a register and generally supervise all the comings and goings. Everyone working in the Hall had to inform the duty constable of his or her whereabouts, whether in or out of the building, so that messages could be passed without delay.
A new set of dedicated telephone lines had already been installed, with lines to the Americans, the Diplomatic Protection Group, Special Branch officers, Pemberton’s teams, the reception desk, the Vice-President’s suite, the Potting Shed and other places. Quite suddenly, Thirklewood Hall had been transformed into a busy but secure building. Mark was asked to attend a meeting with Lieutenant Shorhein, one of the White house officers, to discuss mutual security arrangements while the estate had been asked to padlock all perimeter gates, with the exception of the main entrance.
Meanwhile, the Americans began to establish their office system; a map of the area appeared on a wall, photographs of tourist attractions followed, a list of restaurants and village inns was displayed along with other local services like garages, churches, shops, supermarkets and so forth. The noise made by the Americans was unbelievable; all seemed to shout at one another and they seemed to be terribly busy, doing very little but making a tremendous fuss about it. Mark had not yet identified them all by name.
All had, however, been issued with passes and by the end of their short stay, he would know most of them. Many were loud and large, with booming voices and strong accents, hardly the sort to be overlooked. Mark’s officers, by contrast, worked quietly and steadily among their computers, fax machines and extra telephone lines. In spite of the activity, Mark did find time to study the Hartley murder file.
His first priority was to establish the character of the deceased. James Hartley seemed to have been very popular with everyone, but he was not a ladies’ man. There was no reference to any women friends and it did appear that he preferred to stay at home and live with his parents. Mark’s first impression was that James Hartley was a wimp, a mother’s boy.
For such a man, conscription to the army, followed by a posting to the front line in the trenches of the Somme, would have been terrible. It was enough to make a sensitive young man commit suicide. But in those days, suicide was considered a dreadful thing to do; it resulted in a terrible family stigma and in fact it was a crime, known as felo de se. In the so-called good old days, the bodies of those who committed suicide were not even allowed a church funeral but were buried at the crossroads. Thankfully, those days were long past, long before James’s death in fact. But an additional factor was that James was a Catholic — and for a Catholic to commit suicide was unthinkable.
Then a curious thought struck Pemberton. Might someone have tried to disguise James’s suicide as a murder? That was a real twist! Could someone have disguised it as a hero’s death when in fact he’d been a whimpering coward? To fake a suicide so that it appeared to be murder was a very dangerous thing to do — the successful perpetrator might well lay himself open to a conviction for murder, a crime which carried the death penalty in 1916.
If that scenario was correct, who would go to such trouble to conceal the act of suicide? A member of the deceased’s family, perhaps?
It was a thought that Pemberton could not ignore.
Chapter Six
‘Have you managed to produce anything like a victim profile yet?’ Mark asked Detective Inspector Paul Larkin during their coffee break.
‘I’ve concentrated on him for starters, sir. My first impressions are that James Hartley was a mother’s boy. He wrote every day during his training. Detective Inspector Dawson seized the letters — the mother kept every one of his, and he’d kept every one he got from her. He’d carried her letters home with him; they were among his belongings when he was shot. The police seized them as evidence, but they were returned to the family once they’d been examined. We don’t have copies, but we do have Inspector Dawson’s interpretation of them. I’m sure James never wanted to join up, although to be fair, he did not appeal to the tribunal. Local tribunals were held so that men could appeal against conscription. His brothers were excused for various reasons — medical grounds, farming requirements and claims that they were running their own businesses. James was the only one of the Wolversdale Hartleys to be called up for the 1914-18 war. I can imagine the tears from his mother when she learned he was heading for the trenches in France. Awful rumours about conditions and the cruelty of the Germans had reached the UK — things were in a pretty desperate state, that’s why conscription was started.’
‘Is there any hint of a suicidal frame of mind in James? Do his own letters show that he was upset?’
‘Dawson doesn’t make that too clear, sir, but there is no direct reference to suicide in James’s letters. If he hinted at it in any other way, no one mentioned it. I did see one statement from his CO which said he did well at training; he was always smartly turned out and was very capable with firearms. His instructors reckoned he would make a good soldier.’
‘Girlfriends? Any sign of a romance? Was he knocking off somebody else’s wife? Did someone in the village have a grievance against him?’
‘Dawson went into that aspect pretty thoroughly, sir, but never found anything to suggest it was a motive.’
‘So James had no enemies? Is that what we’re saying?’
‘That was the conclusion reached by Detective Inspector Dawson, sir. In and around Wolversdale, James was universally liked. He never got into bother; he was a regular church-goer, a devout Catholic, an altar server, and he helped the priest to look after St Monica’s and its grounds, purely voluntarily. Mowed the grass between the graves, painted the exterior of the church, that sort of thing. Men and women liked him. He was a sensitive chap. Artistic in many ways but a good farmer at the same time; he was very skilled at working a sheep-dog and did win several local sheep-dog trials.’
‘There’s a photo of him with a sheepdog,’ Mark recalled. ‘It’s in the file. So he was a happy man, Paul? What’s your gut feeling about his general state of mind?’
‘I think he was happy, at least until he got his call-up papers. His mother’s statement says he was miserable at home from the day the papers arrived until the day he left to join the Green Howards, that was 1st August 1916. His parents never saw him alive again. His mother was devastated. I think she blamed Luke for James’s death — if Luke hadn’t been late arriving to meet James’s train, James might have lived. That seems to have been her reasoning.’
‘The reason for that late arrival was analysed, was it? By Dawson?’
‘Yes. James went to the Gents after getting off the train; the station master, who doubled as porter and ticket collector, remembered him. Because Luke hadn’t arrived, James started to walk home, but somewhere along the way, he and Luke missed each other. Luke did arrive later with a pony and trap, and he waited around the station, but James had already left for home. James was later found dead.’
‘That means Luke had an opportunity to kill his brother. We must check timings, Paul. How is Duncan coping with programming this lot into HOLMES?’
‘He’s working steadily away, sir — he’s not getting many interruptions, fortunately. It’s a slow job but worthwhile because HOLMES might throw up something.’
‘Good. Well, Paul, the sort of things we must check are: the time of arrival of the train — who saw James get off it? The time of Luke’s arrival at the station — who saw him there? Who saw James walking to meet Luke? Who saw Luke with his pony and trap heading for the station?’
‘Fine, I can do all that.’
‘Good. Now, meanwhile our proper job continues! How are things going security-wise in this place?’
‘We had one ripple of uncertainty from the US Embassy men, s
ir; one of them had found a skylight open on the upper storey and it seems the light shone through it into the sky. He thought we ought to close it and cover it with black-out material, just in case the Iranians flew overhead with helicopters and dropped bombs!’
‘You’re joking, Paul!’
‘No, sir, I’m not. They seriously discussed putting black-outs against all the windows at night. Dunnock rejected that idea — he said it would only draw attention to the Hall if it appeared unlit during the hours of darkness. I tried to explain that the Iranians shouldn’t know Hartley was living here anyway, but — well, they insisted. So we’ve blacked it out, just to keep him happy. Everyone’s content now.’
‘Any more wrinkles?’
‘A minor one. We discovered one of the advance party hadn’t been issued with a pass. There are two men with very similar names — one’s a Wilbur Richards and the other’s a Wilbur Rickard. That’s been sorted as well.’
‘What about our lads who are working nights? Are they getting enough sleep? Is the place quiet enough for them?’
‘It’s very early days, sir, but no complaints yet. Those with time on their hands are helping us with HOLMES and statement reading.’
‘OK, that’s a good sign, but we mustn’t let the Hartley murder enquiry jeopardise the Hartley security arrangements!’
‘It won’t. It is a good idea, having this enquiry to keep us busy, it’s going to be bloody boring just hanging about this house with nothing to do. How the hell anybody could be a security guard all day and every day beats me.’
‘Thank God we’re not! Now, we must remember this is a real murder enquiry even if it’s doubtful whether the killer is still alive. So the next actions are to check those events at or near Rosenthorpe station. Tie in the victim with anyone who saw him. Trace, Interrogate and Eliminate!’
‘Will do, sir — except the interrogate bit!’
‘Right, but you’ll know the sort of questions that should have been asked. Now, while that’s being done, I’ll see if we can determine where the other family members were that day. We know Luke went to the station, but where were Dad and Mum, and any other brothers and sisters? Do we know that?’
‘That’s something to keep you quiet for the next few hours,’ laughed Paul Larkin.
And so Mark Pemberton settled down to study the statements. Detective Inspector Dawson had done exactly the same thing in 1916 and Mark discovered a table of timings in the file. James’s father, Caleb Hartley, who was then aged sixty-four had been working all that day on the farm. It was a threshing day. Teams of men had mown the wheat and on that Monday in September 1916 it was time for it to be threshed. Some twenty men were working on that task at Pike Hill Farm. This was corroborated by his wife Sarah, whose maiden name was Hodgson; she was then aged sixty-two and she had been working all day, with other women, keeping the threshers supplied with food and drink. Neither she nor Caleb had left the premises.
Luke, who was then aged thirty-seven, had left the farm in the pony and trap at 2.30pm with a shopping list from his mother. She had requested that, while collecting James from Rosenthorpe station, he should call at the general stores to collect some provisions. With further days of threshing ahead, a lot of food was required. She would be baking and cooking and needed more ingredients. On that trip, Luke had obtained her shopping requirements — both his mother and the shop-keeper had confirmed that. The train from York via Drakenedge was due in at 3.35pm, giving Luke an hour and five minutes to cover the five miles between Pike Hill Farm and Rosenthorpe. That was ample time for a pony drawing a light trap.
Luke was married to Edith (née Brown) and they had two sons, Caleb James (eleven) and Paul (nine), and one daughter, Sarah (thirteen); they lived at the farm with their parents, a common family practice in the hill farms at that time.
As Mark scanned the statements from the family, which were numbered and indexed for quick reference, he discovered that another brother, George Stanley, aged thirty-five, also worked on the farm. He and his wife, Mary, lived rent free in a hind’s cottage with their three children. The children had been off school, helping with the threshing. Mary had been helping her mother-in-law cope with the influx of hungry threshers while George had been working with the other men.
Samuel, aged thirty-four, had moved away from home upon marriage, and he ran a butcher’s shop at Spelton, a market town some twenty miles from Rosenthorpe. Twins Thomas and Sophie, aged thirty-two had opened a furniture and carpet shop in Hull; Thomas was married with a family and lived in Hull while Sophie, then married to a man called Aiden Harland, had been unable to have children. Thomas and Sophie had named their shop Hartleys of Hull and Mark knew that it was still prospering. From those small beginnings, it had developed into a major department store.
The deceased, James, was next in the line of descent, while Matthew, aged twenty-eight, had become a Marist priest in 1913, being posted to Manchester. Jessica, aged twenty-six, had married a man called Henry Latimer and they had moved to Lincoln in 1913, while the youngest, Robert Alan, aged twenty-four, had been married in the April of 1916, and had moved to Newcastle with his wife. Her name was Freda, née Plews. Robert ran a haulage business in Newcastle.
Thus, thought Mark to himself, the only member of the family who was ‘in the frame’, as modern detectives would say, was Luke. Luke’s movements must therefore be subjected to very close scrutiny; Pemberton realised that Inspector Dawson must have closely investigated Luke’s movements, but how thorough had he been? Pemberton would repeat that action with the aid of HOLMES — after all, Luke seemed to be the only suspect.
Another good suspect was inevitably the person who found the body. In this case, it was a gamekeeper called Eddie Jackson, whose statement was in the file. Mark read it before going any further. Eddie Jackson had been a gamekeeper employed by Rosenthorpe Estate and on the night of Monday, 11th September 1916 had been setting his snares on waste land to the north of the village. The land was owned by the estate, but was treated as a common, the public having unrestricted access to walk, ride horses, have picnics or enjoy other legitimate activities, other than the playing of organised sports. The sports field opposite was for that purpose.
Jackson’s statement went on:
I’d been among the bushes for about an hour and decided to walk along the lane to my next setting of sniggles. Sniggle is our word for a rabbit snare. As I was leaving the bushes I decided to go out of a gap in the hedge near the pair of oaks. I saw somebody lying there, between a big rock and the oaks. At first, I thought it was somebody having a nap and then realised it was a soldier because he was in uniform. I went to have a look and shouted something like ‘Hey, wake up’ but there was no response. As I walked past his feet, I looked at the face. I realised it was Jimmy Hartley, I’ve known him since we were children at school. I saw blood on the face. It had come from a hole in his temple, on the left side of the head, near eye level. It was dark blood and was congealed. I bent down to touch him and realised he was dead. I noticed his service rifle near his side, the right side I think it was, and thought he must have shot himself. I ran straight away up to the village to get PC Marshall. It would be about half-past seven in the evening when I found Jimmy’s body and it was not quite dark. Other than touching his face and finding it cold, I did not touch anything else or move anything. I saw no one near the body. I then came back with PC Marshall to show him what I had found.
Attached to the statement was a further one from Detective Sergeant Ripley which stated that the gamekeeper’s movements that day had been checked and verified. He had been on the grouse moor four miles from the village during that afternoon; three other men had been with him. Thus a prime suspect, the finder of the body, had been speedily eliminated from any suspicion. But had Luke been eliminated in this way? Mark turned to his statement.
There was the usual heading beginning ‘Statement of Luke Caleb Hartley, born 10th March 1879, of Pike Hill Farm, Wolversdale, farmer.’ His statement said:<
br />
I am the eldest son of Caleb and Sarah Hartley of Pike Hill Farm, Wolversdale and on Monday, 11th September 1916 I left home to collect my younger brother, James, from Rosenthorpe railway station. James had been called up for the army and was serving with the 5th Battalion of Green Howards at Richmond. He had finished his training and was due to go to France but had come home on one day’s leave. He sent a telegram asking to be collected from the station at 3.35pm that Monday, 11th September. The tribunal exempted me from military service this time because of a heart condition; I was capable only of light farm work, so mother asked if I would collect James. She said it was a long walk home from the station, especially if he was carrying full kit, and because the others were busy threshing, I said I’d do it. I left home alone about half-past two with our pony and trap and went along the toll road which has a flat and well-kept surface. Half a mile on the far side of the toll bar the pony shed a shoe from her left foreleg and went lame.
I had to replace the shoe; I usually carry spare horseshoe nails with me on a long trip, and a hammer and other tools. I carry them in a hessian bag in the trap and so I replaced the same shoe. I’ve done farrier work before, so I knew what to do. It took about twenty minutes I reckon although I hadn’t a watch with me, so I didn’t really know. I continued and reached the station, but the clock said three fifty-five. I’d not seen James anywhere along the road, so I thought the train must be late, but Mr Maurice Proctor, the station master, told me it had come and gone. He’d seen James get off in his uniform and James had asked Proctor if I’d arrived. When Proctor said he hadn’t seen me, James said he’d start to walk towards Wolversdale, and hoped he’d meet me somewhere along the way. Proctor said he went to the Gents before setting off. I waited around the station area for about an hour in case James had popped into someone’s house and did my mother’s shopping while I was waiting. I left the pony and trap outside the station so James would see it if he turned up. He would know it was ours. But when James didn’t turn up, I set off home. I did not see him anywhere along the way. I got home about six, but James wasn’t there. We were all very worried, although Dad wondered if Mr Proctor had been mistaken about James getting off the train. He thought it might have been another soldier. Mother was in tears, worrying herself sick, but I had the milking to do so I went into the shippen and got started.
Family Ties (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 1) Page 6
