Blood on the Cards

by Chris O'Donoghue

  ‘Killing him stills seems rather drastic.’

  ‘Again, I can only suggest that emotions took over and he had no control over his actions.’

  ‘Fair enough. I can’t argue with that. But what about Stern, the fisherman?’

  ‘Now that wasn’t the same at all. I doubt we’ll ever know what actually happened but I’m prepared to accept that it was an accident. For a start, it was nothing like the other deaths – a knife wasn’t used.’

  ‘But what about the Tarot card that was found with him?’

  ‘Well that was different too. The two clairvoyants had cards stuffed in their mouths. His was wedged in the boat.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Crooks suddenly sat up. ‘Oh, I forgot. I found this clenched in the strongman’s hand.’ He pulled an envelope from out of his inside jacket pocket. Everyone leaned in. Like a conjuror he carefully extracted a piece of crumpled card. He leaned forward, placed it on the nearby desk and gently smoothed it out.

  ‘Is that what I think it is, John?’

  ‘If you mean another Tarot card, Sonny, then yes. I understand that it’s known as The Tower, but I’ve no idea of its significance.’

  ‘It is a belief of mine that you know someone who could ’elp.’ Bruissement had been quietly listening while he remained in the background. Heads turned towards him.

  ‘Who do you suggest, Guillaume?’ Russell asked.

  ‘Someone you know very well, Sonny. Your friend, Isobel.’

  ‘Of course. I never did get to hear what she had to say the other evening. Perhaps we’d better pay her a visit when we’ve done here.’

  -0-

  Stout’s beloved single malt still wasn’t going to make an appearance for a while. As soon as Russell had returned from Appledore he had telephoned the Super to tell him what had happened. At first Stout was extremely irritated – he was ready to go out to an old pals’ reunion dinner and didn’t like his plans to be disturbed. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing ringing me at home?’

  ‘We’ve caught the murderer, Sir.’

  ‘What? You can’t have done.’

  ‘We have,’ Russell said emphatically.

  ‘Not possible. Parker has got him in custody.’

  ‘As I’ve maintained all along,’ Russell continued, his voice even, ‘he’s got the wrong man.’

  ‘And I suppose you’ve got the right one?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Most definitely.’ Before Stout could interject he quickly outlined the events of the afternoon.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ the Superintendent said when Russell had finished. ‘This puts a whole different complexion on it.’

  ‘And there’s something else you should know about Parker.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘It was something the desk sergeant said. Something rather serious.’

  ‘Can you tell me what it is?’

  ‘I think I’ll leave Wickstead to tell you himself.’

  There was silence on the other end of the line, then a huge sigh. ‘Right. I’m coming in. Make sure the sergeant is there to talk to me. Oh, and don’t let DI Parker leave the office.’

  -0-

  The party continued, but at a slighter more subdued level when Stout arrived. They were used to seeing him in his full dress uniform on occasion. But this was a very different looking Superintendent. A crisp white wing collar pushed up against his substantial double chin and his ample girth strained against the silk cummerbund round his waist. They had little time to gawp though, as he sailed through to his office calling: ‘Send Wickstead in please.’

  They were closeted for no more than ten minutes before the desk sergeant came out. Russell looked questioningly at him but Wickstead’s face remained non-committal. He spoke quietly. ‘Do you know where Parker is?’

  Since returning from the burnt out caravans Parker had remained holed up in his office with his sidekick, Clyde Barrow. The door was firmly closed. He hadn’t been invited to the party and, if he had, wouldn’t have wanted to take part. He knew the rough details of what had happened and couldn’t face the others. Wickstead banged on the door.

  ‘Yes?’

  The desk sergeant pushed the door open and a pall of grey smoke drifted out. He could have be jubilant – many would have revelled in the dressing down he knew the DI was going to get but instead he spoke in a measured tone. ‘The Super would like to see you.’ Barrow started rising. ‘No just you.’ He pointed at the DI. The room went quiet while Parker, hands thrust in pockets and head lowered, came out of his office and slouched down the corridor. A condemned man couldn’t have looked more wretched.

  Stout sat back in his chair, his hands linked across his stomach. His eyes were narrowed, his gaze steady. He stayed like this for some time while Parker twitched and fidgeted. Finally he spoke. ‘Have you got anything to tell me, Inspector?’

  Parker frowned, perplexity clouding his features. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, man. You’ve had a suspect banged up for more than two days for a crime he didn’t commit.’

  ‘But the evidence, Sir…’

  ‘Don’t give me that rubbish. We both know there was no evidence.’ Stout’s colour was rising at the same rate as his temper.

  Parker continued playing the innocent. ‘Not sure what you’re suggesting, Sir.’

  Just managing to keep his voice under control the Super said: ‘Sergeant Wickstead has suggested that you falsified evidence to get a conviction. What do you say about that?’

  ‘I don’t know what he means, Sir.’

  Stout sat up straight and hit the desk with the flat of his hand. The noise made the DI jump. ‘You planted the neckerchief. Didn’t you!’

  Parker realise he’d been backed into a corner. ‘Umm…’

  ‘Didn’t you!’ Stout repeated.

  The DI couldn’t have looked more unhappy. ‘Yes, Sir,’ his voice barely a whisper.

  The DI twisted the knife. ‘Speak up man! What did you say?’

  ‘I said yes, Sir.’

  ‘And why the hell did you do that?’

  ‘I though the gyppo – I mean Boswell was guilty.’

  ‘But he wasn’t.’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Now we stand a good chance of being sued for wrongful arrest and false imprisonment.’

  Alarm filled Parker’s face. ‘Surely not?’

  ‘I bloody hope not! But if he does, it’s your neck on the line. As it is you’re suspended, pending an inquiry.’

  ‘When, Sir?’

  ‘As of this instant. Now get out of my sight.’

  Parker turned and slunk out of the office. The Super sat for several minutes, breathing heavily. How on earth had had he allowed himself to be taken in by the man? Just because he’d had some moderate success in the past it shouldn’t have lulled him into believing that Parker knew what he was doing this time – when patently he didn’t. He had grudgingly to admit that Russell had been right after all. He’d have to make it up to him. He sighed. Reaching across he opened the lower drawer of the filing cabinet and retrieved a bottle of Talisker he’d been saving.

  When he entered the main office a cheer went up. He smiled acknowledgement and brandished the bottle. The cheer grew louder. He handed the whisky to Russell. ‘Well done, Sonny. You were right all along.’

  Russell was momentarily stunned into silence – not because he’d been praised but because Stout had used his Christian name – for the first time. But also, he’d been wrong about the strongman at the outset. He stood grinning inanely for a few moments until he found his voice. ‘Thank you, Sir, but it wasn’t just me, it was a team effort.’

  ‘Come, inspector, you’re being too modest.’

  Russell held up his hand ‘No, if it hadn’t been for PC Gold and his bravery I don’t think we would have got the result we did. Then WPC Sharpe…’ He held out his arm signifying inclusion. ‘If she hadn’t dived in the muddy canal and got him out of the truck, PC Gold may not have been her
e. Unfortunately she was unable to save Atlas but, according to the pathologist…’ The arm was held out to Crooks, still sitting centre stage. ‘It was too late anyway.’

  A shadow of a doubt crept into Stout’s mind. He was still feeling cautious after Parker’s sordid folly. ‘I suppose you’re certain that Atlas was the murderer?’

  ‘No doubt at all,’ Russell said. ‘I’m pretty sure his confession to PC Gold would be enough on its own. It seems he wore gloves, most of the time, but now we know it was him, I’m certain that we’ll find more incriminating evidence. The caravan has been pulled out of the canal and Lewis and his assistant are currently going over it.’

  ‘Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. What about the gypsy, Boswell?’

  ‘He’s been released without charge. He wasn’t happy at first but when he was reminded of the assault on Parker he went quietly.’

  ‘And the other fairground worker?’

  ‘Pint-sized Charlie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He’s been released with an apology. And a tow truck has been sent to free his caravan.’

  ‘Oh, and the other man, Mills?’

  ‘He’s in the cells. He’ll be charged with receiving and selling stolen goods.’

  ‘Excellent. A satisfactory result all round.’ A spare glass was found, a good measure of the single malt was poured into it, and handed to the Super. He took a sip and smacked his lips. ‘What I don’t understand is the significance of these Tarot cards.’

  ‘Nor do I, Sir,’ Russell said. ‘But I know someone who does.’

  -0-

  Russell sneaked out of the party while it was in full swing. Only Bruissement saw him go but just smiled and gave him a wink. It was late when Isobel opened the door to her cottage. Her look of suspicion turned to one of delight when she saw who it was. She opened her arms wide and embraced him. ‘Sonny! What a wonderful surprise.’ Aggie rushed in and danced around their legs, wanting to join in. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  ‘I wanted to pick your brains,’ he said, smiling happily.

  ‘And I thought you just wanted me for my beauty.’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘First things first. What would you like to drink? Wine – beer?’

  ‘I’d love a cup of coffee, if possible.’

  ‘Certainly.’ She was just turning towards the kitchen when she said: ‘Oh, have you solved the case then?’

  ‘Yes, with a little help from my friends.’ He briefly outlined the events of the evening. ‘I’ll go into more detail later, if you’re interested.’

  ‘Of course I am. Let me organise the coffee first.’

  Russell sat down to wait. The room was charming. A warm glow came from a couple of table lamps and a coal fire burned in the hearth. Music was playing softly in the background. He recognised it as Debussy’s Clair de Lune, one his favourite piano pieces. Isobel brought the coffee in. When they were settled with their drinks and Aggie had made herself comfortable on the sofa Isobel said: ‘Right, what is it you want to know?’

  ‘What can you tell me about Tarot cards?’

  ‘Oh yes. The conversation we didn’t have when you rushed off the other evening.’ She had a cheeky grin.

  ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘It didn’t matter. Guillaume was very good company.’

  ‘Not too good, I hope?’ Russell asked.

  Isobel gave him a playful punch. ‘I do believe you’re jealous. Don’t worry, I didn’t succumb to his Gallic charm.’ She snuggled up close and tucked her legs under her. ‘I much prefer an English policeman.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ He kissed the top of her head. Her hair was soft and smelled of some delicate perfume.

  She sat up and looked directly at him, her green eyes sparkling. ‘Did you know he has a nickname?’

  ‘No.’ Russell was intrigued. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Morse.’

  Now he looked puzzled. ‘As in Morse code?’

  Isobel smiled. ‘No, it’s French.’

  ‘You’ll have to enlighten me; my French isn’t all that good.’

  ‘It means walrus.’

  Russell was still puzzled. He knew his friend was short and a bit on the round side…

  The smile turned into a tinkling laugh. You don’t get it, do you?’

  He shook his head. ‘You’ll have to tell me.’

  ‘It’s because of his walrus moustache!’

  Russell joined in with the laughter. ‘Well I never. Yes, I can see that now.’

  Isobel sipped her coffee. ‘Now what is it about these cards? I’m intrigued.’

  Russell reached into his pocket and produced a piece of paper. Unfolding it he placed it on the low table in front of them. ‘These are the ones and who they were found with:’

  Death – Gypsy Ivy Lee

  The Lovers – Pilgrim Petulengro

  Justice – Albert Stern

  The Tower – Charles Atlas

  Isobel studied the paper for some time before speaking. ‘Remind me what you know about the first gypsy.’

  ‘Apparently Atlas was on good terms with her – to begin with. Then she suggested that his friendship with the boy…’

  ‘Which boy is this?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Duke Boswell. He’s the son of the fairground owner.’

  ‘The one who Bonnie Parker was convinced was guilty?’

  ‘That’s him. Anyway, she insinuated that Atlas’s friendship with Duke was less than healthy. That soured the relationship and it made him angry. He said he didn’t know what happened. Just found the knife in his hand and blood everywhere.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She uncurled her legs, stood up and walked over to a bookshelf. Running her fingers along the spines she stopped. She pulled out a slim volume and went back to the sofa. ‘Now let me see.’ She flicked through the pages. ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The meaning of Death varies depending on which way up the card is.’

  ‘Difficult to tell as it was shoved in her mouth.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, as in the circumstances the meaning is pretty clear.’

  ‘What do you think it is?’

  ‘Well the book says, change, transformation and, most telling, endings, which I think is pretty conclusive. Amazing that he had the forethought to choose a fitting card though.’

  ‘I suppose he had moments of rationality between bouts of madness.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Isobel drank from her cup. ‘Now about the second death.’

  ‘Pilgrim Petulengro. That doesn’t make sense. Atlas said he loved him.’

  ‘The Lovers. On the face of it looks pretty straightforward but if the card is reversed it can take on a whole new complexion.’ She turned a few pages. ‘Reversed, it means disharmony, imbalance, self-love, and fittingly, misalignment of values. I think that says it all.’

  ‘The third one puzzles me. According to what Atlas told Gold, this death was an accident.’

  ‘Was the card found in his mouth – like the others?’

  ‘No. It was wedged between the timbers of the boat where he was found.’ ‘Ah. Then I agree he didn’t mean to do it.’

  ‘Is that what the cards say?’

  She chuckled. ‘No, that’s my feminine intuition. Reversed Justice can mean lack of accountability.’

  ‘Well, if it was an accident, that makes sense.’

  ‘Quite. But the final one, The Tower, is more perplexing. Upright it can mean sudden change or upheaval.’

  ‘He was certainly going through that.’

  But… If reversed: personal transformation.’

  ‘That also fits.’

  ‘You said it was found clenched in his hand?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Mmm. Perhaps you’ll never know.’

  ‘Probably not,’ Russell mused, staring pensively into the crackling fire.

  Isobel yawned and stretched. She turned towards him and lightly gripped the lapels of h
is jacket. She looked into his eyes. ‘Well, Detective Inspector, Are you going to stay the night, or do you have to get back to your cosy little railway carriage?’ Next to them Aggie stretched, yawned and went back to sleep.

  The End

  Blood on the Tide

  A DI Sonny Russell mystery

  Chris O’Donoghue

  WHEN A gruesomely mutilated body trussed up in a distinctive fashion washes up on a lonely stretch of the south coast in the 1950s, DI Sonny Russell is soon struggling to unravel an intriguingly knotty puzzle. And as more bodies, similarly tortured, appear he begins to realise that, for some at least, the war is far from over. A trail of intrigue leads him to Europe where he befriends a French detective and together they set out to track down the villains. Blood on the Tide is a story of the sea and boats, murder and Nazis that begins in a sleepy coastal backwater and takes the reader through post-war France and Germany.

  ‘The writing is concise but vivid and authentic – clearly carefully researched. It would make a great film with its evocation of the sights and sounds, cars, boats and trains and way of life in the 1950s.’

  ‘The pace doesn’t falter at any point and the book is hard to put down.’

  ‘A post war murder mystery with a difference. I was swept along with the characters in this wonderfully, intelligently written book.’

  ‘Chris O’Donoghue expertly conjures up the atmosphere of Britain in the 1950s. He has a feel for place and an eye for the telling detail.’

  ‘I’m a big fan of Simenon and I’m sure anyone who is will enjoy this tale of the quirky DI Sonny Russell who is a vegetarian and lives in a railway carriage.’

  ‘Like the best books in this genre you will not want to put it down until all the loose ends are tied up.’

  Blood on the Shrine

  The second DI Sonny Russell mystery

  Chris O’Donoghue

  SNOWED IN on a Buddhist retreat DI Sonny Russell isn’t peaceful for long. A monk is found dead in the shrine room and two men also staying at the centre quickly arouse his suspicions. Meanwhile his sidekick, DC Johnny Weeks meets a small time crook who, thinking he is trustworthy, asks the policeman to participate in a daring train robbery. The action begins in Russell’s sleepy corner of the South-East, travels to Eire and has its denouement in France, skilfully engineered by Russell’s wily old friend, Inspecteur Bruissement.