by Glenna Mason
“I see and the proof?”
“I am going to Elizabeth's office now. I believe she has a file on Jimmy Joyce's death. It may contain all the proof we need.”
“I will get Chief Clem on the phone. He shall arrest Claire on some pretext and get a search warrant. We have to get her off the property, so we can scour every inch of it. I'll contact the police. You get the file. We may need it in order for the chief to convince a judge to issue a subpoena,” instructed Sir William.
Darcy hesitated briefly, adding, “Jane has Tish and Kitty and Charles organizing a property walk tomorrow morning, but, Sir William, we cannot wait. We must comb all the buildings, including the house tonight. Tomorrow may be too late. Who knows what that crazy woman has done to Elizabeth!”
“I agree. Go!” Sir William said, dialing Chief Clem at home.
Darcy heard Sir William's clear, commanding voice, as he exited the room, “Hello, Chief. This is Sir William Lucas. I need your very expert assistance, sir, and I am very much afraid that I need it now—tonight.”
There was a pause as Sir William listened to a reply. “I am at Elizabeth Bennet's house. She has disappeared, and we suspect foul play. No, not Darcy. Claire Evans. We need her arrested and removed from the property and the entire premises, including all out buildings, searched. Chief, there is probable cause that she ran her husband down in cold blooded murder. Use that for your warrant. I will have more information and some proof for you, when we meet. Hurry!” After another pause, Sir William was heard to say, “I see. Thirty minutes. Excellent!”
Darcy hustled away, after he knew the chief was on the way. He returned soon with the file, and the two started through it.
“My God,” Darcy said. “Blood from the truck.”
Sir William scanned the chapter summaries, a frown of real concern, growing quite severe on his forehead. “I can testify to Chapter One,” Darcy said, “and Jane has read Chapters Five and Six. She says they are proof of criminal action and very vindictive towards Elizabeth.”
Sir William was glad that Darcy had only read Chapter One. The others were quite chilling.
“Can we go, Sir William?”
“No, we must wait for Chief Clem. He needs about a half hour to secure the warrants. Claire might do something desperate, if we spook her.”
“You are right, Sir William; we must do what is best for Elizabeth, but I want to go over there right now and throttle that woman with my bare hands.”
“As do I, my friend, as do I,” Sir William said.
Jane returned to the family room. “The chief is on his way, Jane,” Sir William informed her.
“The search party will be at the Carstairs’ farm at dawn. If all is well by then, we will go to Maria's for coffee and breakfast. She is laying in the supplies,” Jane reported.
Minutes later, the chief in his unmarked car and two Richmond patrol cars pulled in front of the house. Meanwhile Jane and Sir William and Darcy had reviewed Elizabeth’s notes. They had found out that not only was the novel a revelation of the murder of Jimmy Joyce by his wife, but there was suspicion she had murdered a former husband. They filled Chief Clem in quickly.
*****
Chief Clem wondered, “How did she expect to get away with it after the novel is published?”
“She'll destroy the evidence before then, and she'll claim it is fiction,” Sir William guessed.
“Well, it is sufficient for our purposes tonight. We need no more to arrest her, so we can remove her from the premises, thereby allowing us to investigate the disappearance of Dr. Bennet—uh—Mrs. Darcy without her interference. Let's go!”
Jane presented them with an aerial view, showing every structure on the farm, including ramshackle out buildings and an old tobacco barn. “Bring it. We will probably need it,” requested the chief.
The three piled into the chief's car to drive across Pope Road. Chief Clem elected not to sound any sirens or flash any lights. “If Mrs. Darcy is in the house, we do not want to alert Mrs. Carstairs as to our arrival. She could do harm to Mrs. Darcy, while we are banging on the door.”
Silently driving up to the front about eight forty-five, the Chief alone exited his car. He took one patrolman with him to the door. Lights were on all over the house, so it was plain that the owner was still up. The Chief signaled the sergeant to stand out of view of the door, “Get the cuffs ready, Bob. We will need them soon.”
Chief Clem knocked stoutly on the door. In about a minute, Claire opened the door slightly, a chain lock in place.
“Mrs. Carstairs?” Chief Clem asked.
Claire nodded through the small gap.
“I am Chief Clem of the Richmond Police Department. May I please speak to you?”
Claire closed the aperture, released the chain and opened the door enough to stand halfway exposed. Speaking rapidly, she asked, “Chief Clem, have the police found out anything about Elizabeth?”
“Elizabeth? Do you mean Elizabeth Darcy? Why would the police need to find out anything about Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Carstairs? I am not sure I understand. Will you please join me on the porch? You can enlighten me.”
“Certainly, but I do not see why,” Claire said, nonetheless stepping out to join the chief on the porch. “I just assumed that this is about Elizabeth. She is missing, isn't she?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Well, I . . . ” she began, realizing that she had made an egregious error.
“Mrs. Carstairs, I am arresting you on suspicion of the hit and run death of your husband, Dr. James Joyce Carstairs.” The Chief proceeded to read Claire her rights. Sergeant Bob positioned her hands behind her and clamped cuffs around her wrists.
“I do not understand, Chief. I need my lawyer.”
“You may call your lawyer, as soon as they book you at the station house, Mrs. Carstairs.”
“Miss Evans, if you do not mind.”
“Miss Evans, I am also serving a warrant for the search of the house and any other buildings on the property. The warrant also authorizes the confiscation of your computers and any other relevant files.”
“No!”
“Bob, take Mrs.—uh—Miss Evans to the station house and book her. The rest of us will commence our search. And, Bob, have Smith drive you. Do not take her alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Claire was struggling now, quite desperate. She recognized what a search would elicit, so she railed out, “You, guttersnipe oaf. How dare you arrest me, a world famous poet! I'll show you. I'll sue you and your city for every dime you are worth.”
“Take her now, Bob!” the chief said.
Pulling against the sergeant all the way to the patrol car, Claire Evans Carstairs was assisted into the car, still spewing venom against the police and their Podunk city.
“Smith, you drive,” said the sergeant. “Paulie, you stay here with Chief Clem.”
Chief Clem waved at the other patrol car, and three men poured out to join Paulie in assisting the chief. They all listened carefully to instructions and then spread out to begin a search of the house and barn.
It was all Sir William could do to keep Darcy from springing out of the car. Sir William warned, “Be sensible, man. Do not compromise the chief's investigation.”
“But if I can just get a word with her, I’m sure I can convince her to tell us where Elizabeth is. She is obviously a blatant coward. Give me two minutes with her.”
“Fitzwilliam, you know a man like you would never purposely intimidate any woman,” Sir William reminded Darcy, trying to stall for time to get Claire off the premises. “It is ingrained in you to the depths of your being.”
“You are right in general, Sir William, but this is Lizzy we are talking about. I am bound by no rules where my wife is concerned.”
*****
As soon as the chief finished his instructions to his men, he returned to his car. By now the tail light of the police car had receded from view. Chief Clem reached through the window of his unmarked car
and picked up his car phone. He dialed Luke Davenport. “Bob is on his way with the Carstairs woman. Book her as we discussed.”
He paused to listen. “Yes, as a suspected kidnapper.” After another pause, the chief's irritation emerged, as he yelled into the phone, “Of course she can call her lawyer, Luke. But under no circumstances is she to be released. She is under thirty-six hour hold as a suspected kidnapper and possibly for premeditated murder. No judge, Luke.” Chief Clem signed off.
Darcy, having overheard Chief Clem's comments about premeditated murder, grabbed the chief's arm before he could pull it out of the car. Terror in his eyes, Darcy stammered, “M-m-murder?”
“The suspicion of murder of her husband, Mr. Darcy. Now let me go. We have work to do here.” Chief Clem immediately sped off toward the front steps of the house.
Now that the police had spread out to begin their organized search, Jane and Sir William finally allowed Darcy to exit the car. Sir William gained ascendancy of the situation. “We will split up,” he said, “and then meet back here on the front porch.”
Holding Darcy firmly by the arm, Sir William dictated, “I'll take the barn and the garage. Jane, you are in charge of the house proper. Fitzwilliam will take the basements. Jane, check every nook and cranny. Remember these old Victorian monstrosities have a plethora of them.” Jane raced off up the porch stairs.
Sir William, still with his hand on his arm, now endowed Darcy with his undivided attention. Sir William spoke calmly and resolutely to the visibly shaken Darcy, instructing, “Fitzwilliam, this house has a basement and a cellar. The basement entrance is off a small hallway on the right side of the house. The hall also opens to a porch. Check the basement and that porch. The cellar stairs are in a glass enclosed side porch which is adjacent to the current kitchen. The cellar is the most important, Darcy,” Sir William emphasized carefully. “It has a wine cellar, which is not readily noticeable and at least two rooms for canning jars.”
Sir William paused and squeezed Darcy's arm to be sure he was listening and then continued, “Most significantly the cellar has a short underground tunnel to a separate kitchen building. Darcy, carefully appraise the tunnel, the brick basement of the kitchen building and then go upstairs and check the old kitchen itself.” Sir William stopped and asked, “Darcy, are you comprehending?”
“Yes, Sir William,” was the faint reply.
“Next to that structure are various small outbuildings. Check them carefully. Break any locks that you have to. There is an old ice house, a smoke house, a hen house. And, Fitzwilliam, there is a well. Make sure nothing's in the well.”
The well was too much for Darcy. His knees went weak. Sir William understood that he might be losing Darcy. Sir William knew exactly how Darcy felt. He would have the same reaction if Tish ever disappeared into the grasp of villainess like Claire Evans. Sir William apprehended that Darcy needed a moment to wrap his mind around the assignment.
So Sir William directed Darcy the short distance to the porch steps. They sat down next to each other on the same top step, where Elizabeth had been placing the chapters, when Claire had bashed her in the head with the poker. Sir William and Darcy almost simultaneously noticed a small pool of blood beside Sir William's right hand, which was resting on the step.
“Sir William!” Darcy shouted and flew up from the seat on the step. “It's Elizabeth's blood. She never got inside.”
“Yes, Fitzwilliam, it probably is Elizabeth's blood. But we knew all along, didn't we, Fitzwilliam, that Elizabeth did not stay here of her own accord?” Sir William said, as he stood to face Darcy. Sir William clasped Darcy by the shoulders. With steely, penetrating eyes, he arrested Darcy's attention once again.
“Fitzwilliam, we must find Elizabeth. Jane and I cannot be as thorough or quick, if we do not have your help. Jane and I know this place in ways the police do not. The Bennets played here as a children. Lady Lucas and I often visited. I have given you an assignment, Fitzwilliam. I have carefully outlined your part. Fitzwilliam, think before you answer. Can you do it?”
Darcy stood quite still, offering no answer. Sir William patiently waited. Finally he sighed, “Come with me then, Fitzwilliam. We'll not split up. We'll work together.”
“No, Sir William,” Darcy responded. Sir William, with his hands still on Darcy's shoulders, sensed them straighten. “I am okay now, Sir William.” He stared directly into his friend's eyes. “I comprehend the importance of doing this orderly and coolly.”
Sir William, satisfied, released his hold on Darcy's shoulders. Darcy wrapped his arms around his friend and stated, “I promise you I'll do my part just as you have asked. I will not fail Elizabeth.” With that Darcy scaled the porch steps two at a time. Sir William, sighing deeply, but confident now, rounded the corner for the garage.
Jane had long since disappeared. It was now nine.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Elizabeth moaned; she opened her eyes to blackness. A blinding force crashed behind her eyes. She closed them again. She tried to concentrate, but the pain was severe. “Why the pain? Where am I? Why is it so dark?”
Despite the agony searing across her head and psyche, Elizabeth attempted to rise. She couldn’t. Elizabeth's eyes flashed open. Slowly they adjusted to the bleak, ebony surroundings. Elizabeth was astounded. She was lashed horizontally to some sort of wooden beam.
The darkness continued to abate as Elizabeth's eyes adjusted. It was not a pitch dark night. Nuanced slices of weak light appeared in her vision, slim vertical lines.
Years of experience told Elizabeth that she was in a barn. That much was crystal clear. Her vision might be cloudy, but her sense of smell was not. The air was redolent with hay and tobacco. “Just like—” Elizabeth thought in horror, “—just like Claire's tobacco barn.”
Suddenly Elizabeth recollected with a jolt. She was bending over on Claire's porch. She heard a rushing noise, and when she raised her head, Claire was hovering over her with a poker, striking down. Elizabeth remembered trying to stop the poker with her left arm and then descending into a dark nothingness.
“I must get out of here,” Elizabeth screamed. “I am Claire's prisoner.”
She immediately tried again to sit up, but a rope restrained her. An excruciating pain shot through her left arm. Elizabeth cried out involuntarily, but, frightened, muffled the sound.
“Is my left arm broken?”
She peered around. Her eyes continued to discern more and more details of her surroundings. Surprisingly, there seemed to be a roof like structure just above her head. She glanced down. A loud cry of utter despair escaped her throat. Her body was bound to a saddle and her arms to a roughhewn rail, but the rail was in a chasm of open space. Somehow Claire had affixed Elizabeth to a plank near the top of the three story barn.
Desperate now, Elizabeth worked with the ropes enclosing her hands. A piece of fortune at last. Claire had tied the knots very ill. Claire might be adept at bashing people's heads and staging murders with cars, but she was no sailor when it came to knots. Elizabeth realized it would only take minutes to free herself from the bonds.
At that moment Claire entered a small side door. Luckily Elizabeth noticed Claire and feigned unconsciousness.
“I know you are awake, Elizabeth. I heard your scream, when I approached the barn,” Claire shouted from below.
Elizabeth had now freed her hands, but held the rope in place.
“I haven't much time, Elizabeth, but then neither do you,” Claire said, laughing maniacally.
“That gorgeous hunk you call your husband will be storming over soon. I must be there to greet him,” Claire cackled. “Since it is seven-thirty, and he has apparently been calling around since six, I expect him any time now.” Elizabeth gasped, but said nothing.
“I told Peter when he called that you had gone on unexpected errands. He believed me. Why shouldn't he? I imagine they are searching ditches by now. However, I know it is only a matter of time. I just came to see if you had awakened. I wa
s hoping you had. I want you to lie up there, Elizabeth, contemplating your fate.
“When Darcy arrives, I will be appropriately worried of course—and, oh, so innocent. I am schooled in those little idiosyncrasies by now. I am a pro.”
Elizabeth bit down a retort. “Be smart for once,” she demanded of herself.
“You, dearie, are no detective, despite your cocky aspirations. If I had not drawn you a blueprint and then inveigled you into studying it, you would never have suspected a thing, Ms. Sherlock Holmes.”
Elizabeth had to admit it. Claire was right. She was no detective.
“And believe me, you won't be around to tell anyone,” Claire said, ominously.
Elizabeth clearly sensed the vitriol intensifying in Claire. She forced herself to breathe lightly. “Do not incite her to come after you now, Lizzy Bennet Darcy,” she counseled herself.
“And by tomorrow, you and all the evidence will be gone,” Claire bragged, laughing haughtily.
“You are to be my next novel, Elizabeth.” An audible gasp escaped Elizabeth’s throat, before she had time to control it.
“Good! I thought so. You do hear me, after all.”
Silence.
“You know when I decided to kill you, Elizabeth?”
Silence.
“I'd considered it for some time, believing you and Jimmy Joyce were having it on. He was going to divorce me—oh, he hadn't said so—but the signs were there. I do not tolerate men who tire of me, Elizabeth. They do not deserve to live. There had to be another woman. I assumed it was you. You were always flirting with him, you whore!
“Then I got on the computer and found out about that harlot Minerva.”
“Is she crazy?” Elizabeth queried. “The e-mail made it obvious that Jimmy Joyce and Minerva had not even met yet—the rose and all. But then, yes, Claire is beyond delusional. She is way off the scale.”
