by Paul Starkey
Chalice continued. “The police assumed that the sixty year old woman had been slaughtered elsewhere, but were perplexed as to how her body had been taken through a house filled with servants, to her bedroom, without drawing attention to the fact.
“Of course Archibald was the primary suspect, and remained so until New Year’s Day, upon which his own corpse was discovered. Despite being sixty two, Archibald Sissmore-Jones was a strong, well-built man over six feet in height. When he was found however, his large frame had been squeezed into a wooden chest in the…” Chalice looked up. “Cellar.” Her eyes dropped back to the page. “The coroner could not be sure, but scratches inside the lid of the box suggested that Archibald was alive when his body was broken and folded into the tight space, and that he died, quite possibly, from asphyxiation.
“The police were castigated in that he might have lived had their search of the house been more thorough. With their prime suspect now a victim himself, they turned to the staff, but quickly it became apparent that neither the elderly butler, nor any of the female staff would have had the strength to dispose of Archibald in that manner.
“It was noted that a young maid named Diana Green, had run away from the house in suspicious circumstances several weeks before Christmas. Again the feeble nature of her sex implied she could not have been to blame.” Chalice let out a humph.
“It was 1935,” said Tyrell helpfully, regretting it when he received another withering stare.
“So, was this double murder ever solved, or are we all here being haunted by the vengeful spirits of two pensioners?” Quintus was sneering. Once again he’d donned his glasses. He seemed to dislike being without them for more than a few minutes at a time.
Chalice ignored him and returned to the book. “I’m skipping again,” she said turning another page. “Lots of stuff about incompetent policing and a slew of suspects none of whom was remotely plausible…Ah, here we go. Given their laxness in searching the house that had led to Archibald’s gruesome demise, the police were more diligent from then on, and this attention to detail paid off when, not long into the New Year, they discovered a shallow grave within the grounds.
“The body was identified as Diana Green, and given the state of decomposition, it was clear that she had died before the Sissmore-Joneses. Within days of this news being released, a young lady approached the police in the upmost secrecy, so much so that even now I cannot reveal her identity. Suffice to say that several years before the deaths at White Wolf House, this slip of a girl had worked there for a time and, being young and naïve, had become embroiled in certain unnatural and sadomasochistic acts that were practised with relish by Mr and Mrs Sissmore-Jones. As proof she showed the police surgeon her back, laced with myriad scars caused by a riding crop. Similar scarring had been noted on Diana Green’s body.”
“The English countryside, just full of perverts eh?”
Again Chalice ignored Ibex. Tyrell respected her for that, the temptation to cut Quintus down must be growing with every passing remark. The American seemed to be getting more scathing, and more confident, every time he opened his mouth.
“So what happened next?” asked Cheung.
Chalice shrugged. “Not a lot by the sounds of things.” She turned another page. “With no further facts forthcoming, the police made the assumption that Diana Green had died during a sadomasochistic adventure that went wrong. Rather than reveal their perversions to the harsh light of day, Archibald and Camilla Sissmore-Jones contrived to bury the poor girl’s body and carry on with their lives. Then, not long afterwards Archibald, wracked by guilt, had been driven insane by his complicity in both murder and cover-up and had, again the police assumed, killed his wife during a fit of lunacy, then locked himself in the box in the cellar. A bizarre suicide, but no doubt what he felt he deserved.”
“That seems pretty thin,” said Tyrell.
Chalice nodded. “The author of this book agrees.
“What this fanciful notion fails to address are the multitude of issues that are still unable to be explained. How and where was Camilla murdered, no weapon was found, and nor was the site of her slaughter, and secondly how and why was she moved from there to her bedchamber, and perhaps most pertinent, how had Archibald Sissmore-Jones locked himself inside the box, when no key was found, either in the lock or upon his person.”
“Creepy,” muttered Ibex.
“So this house has something of a history,” said Cheung. “I mean…I mean are we really suggesting it’s that old couple who are behind all this? I mean their…oh fuck, their ghosts?”
Chalice was shaking her head. “I don’t think so.” She closed the book and laid it on the table. She glanced at each of them in turn before speaking again. “Forensics wouldn’t have existed in 1925 beyond the most rudimentary of things like finger printing, but still it reads like a bizarre event, two people who have themselves murdered another were then killed in mysterious circumstances.”
A pall of silence hung over the table for almost a minute. In the end it was Tyrell who felt the need to say what he imagined they were all thinking. “Just like Lucy.”
Chalice nodded. “Just like Lucy.”
“So it could be the serving girl, her spirit that’s behind this?” Cheung’s brow was heavily furrowed.
“It’s an idea,” said Tyrell.
“But a flawed one,” said Ibex.
Cheung was leaning back in his seat, arms folded. “I don’t know how we can say these events weren’t the beginning of this…”
“Haunting?” Ibex’s smile widened. Thomas said nothing so Quintus continued. “Simple. Nowhere in that story was a wolf, white or otherwise.”
“Much as I hate to say it, he has a point.” Chalice turned to Felix. “What else did your dad talk about, the other dreams?”
Felix frowned. “He never mentioned the wolf, though judging by the magazine you found then my mum must have encountered it at least. The other dreams were historical too, but further in the past, hundreds of years ago.”
“Can you be more specific?”
He shook his head. “No, Dad never went into details, but he did say they were all on a similar theme, no matter the setting.” He shrugged. “Betrayal, murder…I guess.” Another shrug.
“It would certainly fit with what’s going on here,” said Ibex. He too had his elbows on the table now, but he wasn’t holding his head, instead his fingertips danced together as if he were a concert pianist preparing to start playing.
“Would it now?” said Chalice. “Would it make sense why nothing like this happened to the Carmichaels, why Felix didn’t get the dreams?” She snorted. “I thought haunted houses were supposed to be haunted all the time.”
Ibex’s smile grew smugger. He leaned away from the table, and now his fingers began to tap the table edge, as if the image of an imaginary piano hadn’t just been in Tyrell’s mind. “Do you want me to tell you?”
Chalice clenched her fists together, but she nodded. “Please, enlighten us.”
“Ok then. Well what do two old aged perverts and what’s occurring here tonight have in common. Where does a wolf fit in and, as you put it, how come people aren’t dying horribly all the time?” He shrugged. “I’d think it was obvious, those who paid the ultimate price were also guilty of the ultimate crime, they were murderers…”
“My parents aren’t murderers!” yelled Felix, the high almost girlish pitch of his voice draining some of the anger from it.
Ibex flashed him a patronising glance. “I never said they were, son. But this house did affect them, which means it isn’t just about murder.” He paused. The smile vanished from his lips. Suddenly his entire expression was as emotionless as his eyes. “It’s about betrayal. A couple betray the trust of a naïve youngster, Lucy betrayed all of you...”
“And my mum and dad,” sneered Felix.
Ibex shrugged. “Ask her.”
She sighed, even as Felix turned his attention towards her. The pitiful look in the boy’s eyes made Tyrell�
�s heart ache; he looked again like a small child; lost and alone.
“Your parents…” she winced, took a deep breath. “Your parents were involved in some financial irregularities. Remember Morgan Lodge Holdings.” Felix nodded. “Well that was a company that your dad’s publishing company invested in, and your mum handled some legal work for. A pretty small import and export company that specialised in books, hence your dad’s interest. Well not so long ago…”
“About eighteen months I’d guess,” drawled Ibex with a smile.
“About then,” Chalice confirmed, her voice icy. “Basically your dad’s company got into some difficulty, financially speaking, and needed an injection of cash quickly. He couldn’t get investors, at least couldn’t get them fast enough.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, a gap of a few millimetres between them. “Your dad’s publishing house was this close to folding, until your mother did some tinkering with the books at Morgan Lodge Holdings. She was trusted there, and she cajoled a young accountant to help. Within a few hours she and the accountant diverted almost half a million pounds into your father’s firm, saving it from bankruptcy.” She shrugged. “Or at least keeping it afloat long enough to get new investment in.”
“And Morgan Lodge Holdings went out of business instead I’m guessing,” said Cheung.
“Oh no, Morgan Lodge still operates today. You see what neither Antonia nor Burgess Carmichael were aware of was that the company was a Security Service front. Not a big one, not one that was used too often, but a handy way of smuggling goods into or out of other countries surreptitiously.” Chalice shrugged. ‘It wasn’t used more than two or three times a year, barely turned over a profit, but it was too useful to let fold. So the Service channelled some funds in to replace what was lost.”
Tyrell frowned. “Why didn’t you just hang the Carmichael’s out to dry…” he looked shiftily Felix’s way. “No offence.”
The boy said nothing. He was staring at the table, as if by not looking he wouldn’t hear.
“My call,” said Chalice. “Morgan Lodge was my responsibility and I took the decision that nothing would be served by Antonia or Burgess being thrown in prison.”
“I’m guessing your reasoning wasn’t based on charity and goodwill?” Quintus chuckled.
She smiled thinly back at him. “Of course not; the Carmichaels travel in circles that are very useful to MI5. Burgess has already alerted us to a couple of memoirs that we weren’t aware were coming, and we managed to shut one of them down before it even got close to the printing press.”
“And the other?” Ibex looked like he was enjoying himself now.
“The author of the other was discredited before the book came out, suffice to say very few people read it, and precious few who did believed it.”
“Nice.”
“Necessary,” said Chalice. “And I offer no apologies for that. As for Antonia, well she moves in very influential legal circles, and again some of the information she is told in confidence comes in very helpful.”
“Well I guess that explains how you got the house,” said Cheung.
“Exactly, and the best thing is that nobody else in the service is even aware that the Carmichael’s are on our books, because I don’t pay them, well I guess I do by keeping my mouth shut.”
“I get confused I know, but how did you cover up their involvement?” said Tyrell. Even as he said the words the answer came to him. “The accountant.”
Chalice nodded. “As soon as I figured out what had happened I acted quickly. I made sure I had enough dirt to bury the Carmichaels if needed, then made sure I got to the accountant before anyone else did. Suffice to say I offered him a better deal than he’d get anywhere else.”
“Which was?” said Cheung.
“Guaranteed short sentence, in an open prison.”
“That was a good deal?” said Felix, who’d now decided to look up from the table.
Chalice nodded. “Yes it was, Felix. If the accountant and your mother had been dealt with through the usual channels, then given the amounts involved the least they could expect was five years, possibly up to nine if they got a hard judge. Your father would have got less, but at the very least he’d likely have got a suspended sentence. All three would have had their lives ruined.”
“Instead just one life was shoved down the pan, right?”
“You know Quintus, you’re really starting to annoy me.”
He grinned. “What a pity I’m so useful.”
Chalice said nothing in reply. Instead she carried on. “I offered the accountant a deal. Take the fall, make no reference to the Carmichaels involvement, and I’d ensure he wouldn’t have the book thrown at him.”
“So what did he get?” asked Tyrell.
“Two years. Although the money wasn’t recovered—I invented co-conspirators who fled with the half million—I ensured the matter was handled with the minimum of fuss so as not to bring the extracurricular activities of Morgan Lodge Holdings into the light of day. Two years in an open prison was a damn sight better than five to nine in a category C, or even B lockup.
“And as a result nobody but me knows that Carmichaels are working for MI5.”
“Not even Sir George?” said Tyrell.
She shook her head. And then she did something Tyrell hadn’t been expecting. She picked up the Beretta and pointed it at Ibex. The American didn’t flinch. He just sat there, smile on his face, eyes hidden behind his tinted lenses.
“Not even Sir George,” she said coldly. “Which is handy given you’re obviously working together. Time to continue your debrief, Quintus. But this time I’d like the truth, not that bullshit about Nigerians.” And with that she cocked back the hammer of the pistol.
Chapter Thirty seven
Chalice Knight was almost ashamed at just how good it felt to be pointing a gun at Quintus Armstrong. She’d been in his presence less than a day, but already it seemed like a lifetime, and it felt like she’d been patiently waiting for this moment since he climbed out of his car back in Luton.
“Chalice, what’s going on?” Cheung sounded weary, as if he’d had too many surprises tonight already, and didn’t need another one.
Well too bad, Thomas. On the bright side this’ll be the last one.
“What’s going on is that Bottlewood is a sham. Ibex here is a fraud, and I suspect he and Sir George are in it together.”
Ibex cocked his head to one side. Still not a flicker, well she didn’t expect him to confess right away, but she knew she had enough to ensure that when she brought him in she’d be taken seriously.
His head righted itself. “And may I ask how you came to this ludicrous conclusion?”
“First off there’s the nature of your intel. Oh it sounds plausible enough, but the longer you went on the weaker it got. I’m guessing you needed to keep us talking longer than you imagined, so the whole scheme kind of spiralled out of control. For something like Fēi to work it would have to stay small scale, the number of agents you were postulating just isn’t doable.”
“Really,” he said dismissively.
She nodded again, unable to keep the smile from her lips. “Really, how many Nigerians in prominent positions did you suggest again?”
He didn’t reply, but she could imagine his brain whirring as he tried to recall just how many he’d mentioned earlier.
“It doesn’t matter, I wouldn’t remember without looking at the notes or listening to the recordings anyway.”
“They why ask?” he drawled.
She shrugged her shoulder. “I just fancied making you sweat.”
“I don’t sweat easy.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh I don’t doubt it, and that’s the other reason I know this is all bullshit. The clincher to figuring out that you and Sir George set this up; and that Lucy’s actions were all part of it.”
He laughed. “In case you forgot, she was out to kill me too.”
“I don’t think she was, and we have no proof that your drink was
poisoned along with the rest of them. Lucy’s plot never sounded totally convincing. Whatever the actual plan was I somehow doubt things would have gone down exactly how she said, but that’s a question for later. Do you want to know how I know, the clincher?”
“Enlighten us.”
Both Tyrell and Cheung looked intrigued, Felix just looked confused.
“When Lucy was revealed as a killer, when it became apparent that our drinks were drugged, yours too supposedly, and that the plan was for all our deaths, your reaction was calm, measured. It was like you’d been told your bus had been cancelled, or that a café was out of sugar.”
He leaned forwards. “Unless you haven’t guessed, little lady, I don’t spook easily, even when my life is on the line.”
“Oh I get that, which is why your reaction to Felix showing up was so interesting, or rather your reaction to who we imagined Felix to be.” She glanced at the boy. “We thought your car might be full of more assassins, here to finish Lucy’s work.” Her eyes sliced back to Ibex. “You were scared, obviously, monumentally scared, because there wasn’t supposed to be anyone else coming tonight, that wasn’t part of the plan, that wasn’t what you were expecting.”
“You’re right,” said Tyrell now, turning in his seat to both look at Ibex and also put some distance between them. “I noticed it too, just didn’t make the connection. You were cool as a cucumber when Lucy said she’d planned to kill us all, but when a mysterious car showed up you were nervous as a kitten.”
Chalice grinned. “No pithy comeback?”
For just a moment Quintus’ mask hardened. The change vanished as soon as it’d appeared, but it was clear, noticeable. Ibex was vexed.
“That’s your proof?” he said now. He tried to inject disdain into the words. “Do you really expect that to hold up in a court of law?”
Her smile contained too much pleasure, but she didn’t stop herself. “You know damn well that people in our business rarely stand trial. Sometimes sure, when its politic to suggest we always wash our dirty laundry in public, but you aren’t MI5, aren’t even a British subject, just a low ranking Yank diplomat who went for a drive one day and never came back.”
