House of Lies

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  Chapter 17

  Thomas and DCI Kent returned to the constabulary to find a group of men gathered around Sergeant Jeffers’s desk, which was now covered with a large piece of butcher paper, nearly filled with handwritten notes.

  ‘What’s this?’ DCI Kent asked.

  ‘We’ve got our timeline pinned down, sir,’ Sergeant Jeffers said. Using a pen as a pointer, he went down a list of dates and times. ‘On October 6th, Lucy Bardwell was seen by a number of people at the Dance Palace in Hendleigh. She left at 11.30 a.m. by herself. Apparently she stayed in a hotel across the street. I’ve got a constable checking on that right now. Then she was seen on the morning of October 7th at the bus stop on the Rivenby high street. I’m assuming she took the bus from Hendleigh, but still need to verify that.’

  ‘Dancing?’ Thomas said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Jeffers coughed. ‘Apparently she sneaks out of Saint Monica’s on a regular basis. Two witnesses saw her at the bus stop, sir. She wasn’t seen again until approximately 3 p.m., or thereabouts, when Emmeline Hinch-Billings saw her get out of a car in front of the school.’

  ‘What kind of a car?’ DCI Kent asked.

  ‘Don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Go on,’ DCI Kent said.

  ‘The two lads who were playing in the woods discovered her body at four-thirty, sir. Which means she was in all likelihood walking back to Saint Monica’s when she was ambushed in the woods.’ Sergeant Jeffers picked up the photographs of the woods, some of them depicting Lucy’s body in situ. ‘It looks like someone waited for her to walk by, hit her hard enough to stun her, and then hit her a second time, which finished her. And then they turned her onto her back.’

  ‘To make sure she was dead?’ DCI Kent asked.

  ‘Don’t know, sir.’

  ‘To hide the wound on the back of her head, maybe,’ Thomas said. ‘Maybe he saw the bloody mess and felt disgusted by it.’ He took the timeline from Sergeant Jeffers and studied it.

  ‘Good work, Jeffers,’ DCI Kent said. ‘We have an hour and a half of unaccounted time. Go back to the person who saw her in the car, find out exactly where they saw Lucy. Interview shopkeepers, anyone who may have seen her after she got out of that car.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Jeffers said. He hurried away, nodding at two constables as he went. They jumped up and followed him.

  ‘You do realise the implication here, sir?’ Thomas said. ‘Lucy wasn’t murdered in the morning. This clears George Hinks. He was in the office on the afternoon of Lucy’s murder. We are his alibi. We are back to the beginning.’

  ‘I know.’ DCI Kent rubbed his hand over his face. ‘Go home, Thomas. Get some rest. I need to call the Superintendent and tell him we no longer have a suspect.’

  Thomas grabbed his hat and was heading out the door, when a constable hurried over to them, waving a telephone message in his hand. ‘Bede Turner just called. There’s been an incident, sir. Michael Grenville tried to attack Mrs Carlisle at Saint Monica’s. No one’s been hurt, but they’re a bit shaken.’

  The sound of pounding blood thrummed in Thomas’s ears as DCI Kent barked out orders. Around him, men jumped into action. Thomas burst out of the building and sprinted to the car.

  DCI Kent grabbed his arm. ‘Thomas, stop.’

  Without thinking, Thomas pushed Kent’s hand away. In a surprising show of strength, DCI Kent grabbed him once again, pulling him to a stop.

  ‘Look at me, damn you.’

  Thomas met DCI Kent’s level gaze.

  ‘If you’re going to act irrationally, I’ll leave you here. The constable said the women are not injured, just shaken.’ He reached out for the keys. ‘I’ll drive. We can discuss how to proceed on the way.’

  Behind them, two cars screeched out of the parking area, leaving clouds of dust in their wake. Thomas eyed the car.

  ‘Tom, give me the keys.’

  Thomas knew DCI Kent represented the voice of reason. Where Cat was concerned, he tended to take on the role of warrior knight with his sword unsheathed. Rational thought told him this behaviour wouldn’t do. Not now. ‘Sorry, sir.’ He handed DCI Kent the keys.

  By the time they reached Saint Monica’s, Thomas’s jaw was sore from grinding his teeth. At this rate, he’d wear them down to nubs by dinnertime. Ignoring DCI Kent’s protestations, Thomas jumped out of the car and hurried in the front door. He found Cat in the kitchen, sitting with a blanket around her shoulders, with Bede Turner clucking over her like a mother hen. When she saw Thomas, relief washed over her face.

  ‘Thank god you’re here,’ she said.

  ‘Cat,’ Thomas said.

  She stood up and faced him, the blanket falling to the floor. Her eyes looked haunted in her pale face. ‘Oh, Tom. He scared me.’

  He pulled her into his arms. ‘You’re safe now.’ Over Cat’s head, Thomas looked at Bede. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was upstairs, stripping the beds when I happened to look out the window and saw him come at her. When I saw him, I grabbed my husband’s rifle – I always keep it under my bed, in case the Germans come – and ran downstairs. I was afraid for Mrs Carlisle. I wouldn’t let no harm come to her. Would have shot him first. But she handled herself. Pushed him down on his bum.’ Her look became serious. ‘He said he’d be back.’

  Cat wriggled out of Thomas’s grasp. ‘I believe him. He wants to find Alice. Bede, where’s Margaret? I just realised she’s missing. Been so preoccupied with Michael Grenville …’

  ‘She’s gone,’ Bede said. ‘Nowhere in this house. I searched after I called the police. Her handbag is gone, so is her coat and her holdall. I think she was planning on leaving anyway.’

  ‘Margaret?’ DCI Kent asked.

  ‘A new boarder. Allegedly she fled a rather abusive situation. I’m betting she ran when the police showed up,’ Cat said.

  Bede snorted. ‘Good riddance.’

  ‘Should we try to find her?’ DCI Kent asked.

  ‘I’m not worried about her. I have a feeling Margaret Smith is capable of taking care of herself,’ Cat said.

  ‘Very well. We need to decide what to do here,’ DCI Kent said. ‘I don’t like the idea of you two here by yourselves. I’ll have constables outside, but I’d feel much better—’

  ‘I’m taking Cat to my house,’ Thomas said. ‘You too, Bede. I’ve got plenty of room. You’re both welcome.’

  ‘Wait,’ Cat said. ‘I have an idea.’ She walked to the window and stood with her back to them, overlooking the sloping lawn behind Saint Monica’s, and the pastures beyond, now filled with bales of hay that would sustain the livestock over the winter. ‘I think I know how we can catch Michael Grenville.’

  Bede coughed. ‘I’d rather go to my sister’s. I could do with a break, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  ‘Very well. And I’ll go to Thomas’s.’ She turned her eyes to DCI Kent. ‘What do you think about not having a constable outside the house. Let’s make it look as though Saint Monica’s is empty, as though we fled out of fear. But it won’t be. You can have men inside. Keep the curtains closed and the lights out. When Michael Grenville comes back to search for information about his wife – I’m betting he’ll go straight to my office to see if I keep records – you can nab him.’

  DCI Kent leaned against the kitchen worktop, his eyes closed. Thomas knew he was dissecting Cat’s plan, looking for flaws, playing out the worst-case scenario.

  ‘It makes sense, sir,’ Thomas said. ‘If there’s going to be a confrontation with Michael Grenville and his men, best have it here, away from the village.’

  ‘Agreed. In fact, knowing Grenville the way I do, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had men watching the house now.’ DCI Kent turned to Cat and Bede. ‘Why don’t you ladies pack what you need to take with you.’

  Once Cat and Bede were upstairs, DCI Kent explained the plan to the three constables who had followed them into the house. Half an hour later, the half-dozen constables who were charged with searching the premises, along with DC
I Kent, Thomas, Bede Turner, and Cat, made a very deliberate show of leaving Saint Monica’s. Although the house now looked empty, the three constables remained. As they pulled out of the drive, Thomas turned and stared out the back window of the car, searching the woods and surrounding premises for any signs of Michael Grenville or his men.

  ***

  Although she claimed to be fine, Thomas couldn’t help but notice the way Cat’s hand shook as she took a sip of water. When the missus accidentally slammed a door in the kitchen, Cat yelped and looked at Thomas with frightened eyes. It didn’t take much to cajole her into a hot bath, scented with the bath salts he knew she preferred. He left her alone, while Beck patrolled the house with his gun and the missus fussed in the kitchen, preparing a meal guaranteed to ‘put some meat on that woman’s bones.’ DCI Kent had personally agreed to drive Bede Turner directly to her sister’s. Since Thomas hadn’t heard anything to the contrary, he assumed all went well and Bede was safely tucked away at her sister’s farm. There was no reason for Michael Grenville to go after Bede. Motivated by a desire to find the wife who had taken her money and abandoned him, any attempts at retribution, Thomas felt certain, would be directed at Cat.

  ‘Sir, why don’t you go out for a walk. The cold air and sunshine will do you a world of good. I’ll see to Mrs Carlisle. Not that she isn’t capable of taking care of herself,’ Beck said.

  Thomas didn’t have to be asked twice. He dashed up the stairs to tell Cat he was going out. The missus had put Cat in the room next to his. He found her lying on the bed, wrapped in his dressing gown, snoring gently. After covering her with the heavy counterpane, he kissed her forehead and whispered, ‘Back soon, my love.’

  Thomas filled his lungs with the country air and immediately felt better. The leaves crunched under his feet as he took the familiar walking path towards the woods. He walked with a sure stride up the footpath, stopping to enjoy the sweeping view of the pastures where the sheep grazed in the summer. His mind wandered, as it often did when he was alone, to his upcoming marriage and how country life agreed with him, when something hit the back of his knees, sweeping his feet out from under him. Landing flat on his back, the sudden fall knocked the wind out of him. As he struggled for breath, he saw Stephen Templeton’s fraudulent driver standing over him.

  The imposter guard who had arrived with the chalice, hovered over Thomas, looking down on him. Today he wore a soldier’s uniform and carried a cane, playing the injured hero.

  ‘Sorry for the ambush,’ the man said. ‘I need to talk to you. No disrespect intended, sir, but I’m younger and faster, so don’t think of trying anything.’

  After a few seconds, Thomas found he could breathe again. Alex held out his hand. ‘Here. Let me help you up. I’m not here to harm you. In fact, I’m here to give you a warning.’

  Thomas took the man’s hand, resisting the urge to overpower the little git and teach him a lesson.

  ‘You stole the chalice,’ Thomas said, brushing debris from the seat of his trousers. ‘Why did you return it?’

  Alex shook his head. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. Why are you here? What do you want? Tell me quickly before I grab you and give you a beating.’

  If the man was afraid of Thomas, he didn’t let on. ‘You’re not a stupid man, Mr Charles. Surely you’ve sensed there are things in play, about the chalice and about you.’

  Something in this man’s demeanour gave Thomas pause. ‘About me?’

  ‘Your sister. Margaret.’

  ‘Margaret?’ The word came out as an incredulous question. Margaret. Blood thrummed in his ears, as images of the sister he had adored and loathed in equal measure ran through his mind. He had spent years of his adult life searching for Margaret after his parents died. They had sent her to an asylum which had burned to the ground, along with all of its patient records. Over the years, he had hired numerous private investigators to take over the search. In 1924 one of them had traced his sister to a winery in the south of France. By the time Thomas had arrived at the small village she called home, Margaret had vanished, along with a very fine painting, which she stole from her lover. After years of fruitless efforts, Thomas had given up the search for his sister.

  ‘Is she all right? Can you take me to her?’

  ‘I don’t recommend that,’ Alex said.

  ‘That’s not for you to decide. She’s my sister—’

  ‘Whom you haven’t seen in decades. Do you know anything about her? I didn’t think so. She’s not healthy.’

  ‘Is she in hospital?’

  Alex held up his hand. ‘Please. Let me explain. I met your sister at a dinner party in Scotland. She wasn’t terribly forthcoming about her situation. She seduced me, inveigled herself into my life. I’ve since discovered she blackmailed someone into financial ruin. The man ended up killing himself. I’m sorry about the chalice. Margaret should not have been involved in that. My problem, and I’m dealing with it. But she’s after you. Says she’s got an inheritance coming.’

  ‘If you’ll tell me where she is …’ Enervated now, feeling the burden of his years, especially when compared to this younger and stronger man, Thomas pushed away the overwhelming sense of loss and shame. Would he have been able to change Margaret’s life if he had found her sooner?

  ‘Mr Charles, you don’t know me. God knows, you’ve no reason to trust me. But your sister means you harm. She is unstable. I personally believe she would benefit from commitment to a psychiatric hospital. Medical intervention would help her. Although she claims she wants money from you, I believe that’s not true. I found a bag with a knife, a rope and belladonna tablets. She’s going to come for you. You’ll offer her a drink of some sort, and she’ll slip you something. Do not think for one minute she won’t hurt you. She will.’

  ‘She sounds irrational.’

  ‘She is. And her behaviour is escalating.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Michael Grenville hired me to steal the chalice from you. Actually, he blackmailed me, forced me to steal from you against my will. I don’t like being controlled. These circumstances made me sloppy. In any event, I lost the chalice. My sense is that Mr Grenville’s loyalty lies with money. My belief is that he is in bed with the Germans. This is an intuition, mind you. I could be wrong. I don’t know who stole the chalice and I have no idea why it was returned to you. But you need to know that Michael Grenville wants it. You also need to know your sister means you harm.’

  ‘I’ll ask again. Why are you telling me this?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Honour among thieves? I’ve a passion for justice and felt it only fair you should know. Michael Grenville is focused on his wife right now, but he may or may not turn his attention to the chalice and to you. But your sister will come for you. And she’ll claim her visit is about money. Do not be swayed by her. She needs to be committed. She needs medical help.’

  ‘I can’t do that without seeing Margaret for myself. What if she just needs a good rest?’

  Alex shook his head. ‘I am going to get Margaret the medical care she needs, with or without you.’

  ‘You can’t have my sister committed,’ Thomas said, more confident now. ‘You’re not related to her. You’re not married to her. Frankly, you’ve no authority in this matter.’

  ‘I have my ways, Mr Charles.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’ll see your sister gets the care she needs. I’ve said my piece. Good day, Mr Charles. Apologies for ambushing you. I realise it wasn’t the behaviour of a gentleman.’

  ‘Wait,’ Thomas called after him.

  The man stopped walking. He paused for a moment before he turned to face Thomas.

  ‘Where does my sister live?’

  ‘She finagled herself into some women’s boarding house. Saint Monica’s, I think it’s called.’ With that, the man turned to walk away.

  ***

  Timmer Ashcourt was born and raised in the slums of Bermondsey. His father earned his living shovelling coa
l, while his mother took in laundry. Both of Timmer’s parents worked themselves to the bone, but despite their efforts, there was never enough. Of anything. Timmer grew up hungry, dressed in rags and angry at the conditions his family and neighbours were forced to live in. He learned at an early age the only way out of poverty was through criminal enterprise, so after his mother died of influenza and his father drank himself to death, Timmer took to thieving. Like all tasks born of desperation, he was good at it. With his clever mind and a cadre of like-minded young men, he soon developed a sophisticated method for successfully passing on the things he stole. Soon Timmer discovered he had a knack for forgery. His passports and identification papers garnered him even more respect among the criminal elite. As time went on, Timmer learned to keep his identity and whereabouts secret to all but just a few choice friends. Alex was one of those friends. Now, he waited for Alex in a café in Hendleigh, dressed in a Savile Row suit, harmlessly flirting with the buxom waitress who brought tea.

  ‘Are you meeting your wife?’ The waitress set the teapot on the table and set about arranging the cups and cakes.

  Timmer wondered when women had become so forward. He liked a woman with the reserved sophistication that came with good breeding. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘No, ma’am. Just an old friend. And here he is.’ The girl hurried away as Alex came limping into the café, dressed in a soldier’s uniform. He poured the tea as Alex sat down.

  ‘Thank you for service to queen and country.’ He smiled as he handed Alex a cup of tea. ‘I’ll let you add your own milk and sugar.’ Timmer surveyed Alex, taking in the gaunt cheeks and the loose clothing. Despite his friend’s obvious hunger, his smooth veneer remained intact.

  ‘Did you do as I asked?’ Alex loaded his plate with two slices of cake and a sandwich.

  ‘Of course. You’re hot right now, Alex. You need to be careful. Grenville has a price on your head. He’s got men looking for you.’ He ran his eyes over his old friend, impressed with his disguise.

  ‘I no longer have the stomach for this work. I’m getting out,’ Alex said. He set his fork down and leaned back in his chair. Timmer noticed the exhaustion in his friend’s eyes.