The Good Wife

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘Helped you to obtain your divorce, some nine years ago,’ Henry said. ‘She worked then for Giles & Conway.’

  Kirkland laughed. ‘Ancient history,’ he said. ‘But yes, then I do know Martha Mason, if the lady in question was then Mary Betteridge and yes, I will agree, I saw her a few times after the deed was done. But nothing came of it, nothing ever would.’

  ‘It seems you met with her again, you wrote her letters. It seems you had an affair, much more recently. The last of the letters was dated in March and suggested that you met at the races which you all attended just over a week ago, on the bank holiday.’

  ‘If it was at the bank holiday meet, you’re out of luck there, Inspector. We were together all that day, no one met anyone apart from our own party. And we were a very merry party, were we not. Now gentleman, now that we’ve cleared that up, enjoy your coffee, have breakfast. John and I have business to attend to, my son will show you around the estate if you so wish,’ Elliston said with an air of finality in his words.

  ‘You seem to have a lot of employees that don’t have much to do,’ Mickey said, finally coming over from the window and pulling out a chair. He poured himself more coffee and sipped. Then added cream and sugar. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t help but notice as we came up the steps, in the old coach house, you seem to have a half-dozen loafers camped out there, playing cards. Do you employ people to play cards, Lord Elliston?’

  Elliston’s eyes narrowed. ‘What I do or do not employ my people to do is none of your business, Sergeant. Now gentlemen, finish your coffee and then I suggest you depart, or I will be complaining to your superiors.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mickey topped up his coffee again. ‘This is good. If you’re quick, you can still complain to Mr Fred Wensley, he’s our chief superintendent. But he is due to retire so you will need to be quick. But my guess is, Lord Elliston, that he would simply say that we are doing our duty. And after all double murder is a serious business.’

  ‘Double murder?’ Mickey had Kirkland’s attention now.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Henry took up the story. ‘Dr Mason, Mrs Martha Mason’s husband, was attacked and killed in his own home yesterday. The house was ransacked, it seems whoever attacked him was looking for something they believed either Mrs Mason or Dr Mason possessed. No opiates were taken, no money, despite there being some in his desk drawer.’

  ‘Perhaps the housebreakers were disturbed. Perhaps they did not have time to take anything,’ Elliston objected.

  ‘They took time to systematically beat the poor man to death.’

  Kirkland turned pale. Elliston just looked annoyed. So far, his son had not really reacted to any of this.

  ‘Shameful,’ Elliston said at last. ‘I wish you well with your investigations. But now we do have business to attend to.’

  He dropped his napkin on the table and stalked out of the dining room and Kirkland followed. The son, Timothy, leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. ‘I remember her,’ he said. ‘The bitch almost ruined me. I for one won’t be grieving over her.’

  ‘So, what do you make of all that?’ Mickey asked as they drove away.

  ‘That there are indeed a lot of loafers around on the estate, that are not employed by him. So who are they? I don’t think that’s too difficult a question to answer. There were no faces I immediately recognized but I do wonder if Eric Columbus Davies or Johnny Sexton are among their number.’

  ‘Do you think we could get a warrant to search?’

  ‘I think Lord Elliston is a man with a great deal of influence. I doubt we’d find a judge in the county would grant us a warrant, not without more evidence. But he’s in it up to his neck, I guarantee that.’

  ‘Kirkland looked shocked when we told him about the doctor. I would see him as the weak link. And I would give a great deal to hear the conversation that is going on now. I doubt Elliston or the son knew that Kirkland was seeing Martha Mason. Hopefully we have put many cats among pigeons.’

  Mr Otis Freeland had shadowed Henry and Mickey from the hotel that morning. He’d overheard Emory giving instructions to the driver for the very early start and had followed cautiously behind. When it became obvious that they had gone into Lord Elliston’s estate, he parked his own car and approached through woodland behind the stables. From there he had observed Chief Inspector Henry Johnstone and Sergeant Mickey Hitchens on the steps outside the big front door. He’d seen them looking around and had followed Henry’s gaze. When they went inside, he crept around the side of the stable block to try and get a better view of whatever it was that Henry had been looking at. He had just raised his camera to take some pictures, not sure if they would be useful but at least give context to his investigation, when he sensed someone behind him. He began to turn so the first blow hit his shoulder, rather than his head. The second made contact with his hand and the camera dropped to the ground. The third blow glanced off his temple as he struggled to get away, but it felled him and he sank down into blackness. He was aware of being lifted but then even that perception went. Mr Otis Freeland was carried back to the woods and dumped unceremoniously into a hollow where he was covered with leaves and left for the animals to find.

  To say Lord Elliston was furious with his younger cousin was an understatement. Kirkland did little to defend himself but stood with his head down and shoulders hunched against the barrage of words and arguments that he knew were well deserved.

  ‘Of all the stupid bloody idiots in the world,’ Elliston said finally. ‘And did you arrange to meet her?’

  Kirkland nodded. ‘I wanted to get my letters back. She promised to bring them.’

  ‘And you told him. You told him about the letters.’

  ‘No, not exactly. I mean, he found out somehow that I was seeing her. I didn’t tell anyone. Only Timothy.’

  ‘That’s the same as telling him, isn’t it? You damn well know he’s got Tim in his pocket. For God’s sake, man, you know what we’re up against here. Much as I hate to say it, Tim’s a bad’un and no mistake. But we had a chance to get out of this, free and clear. I’ve long since given up on trying to save that boy of mine.’ He paused and looked with something like compassion at Kirkland. ‘Did you care about her?’

  Kirkland frowned. ‘I’m not sure I can have real feelings for anyone. But yes, I suppose I cared for her. Then things come to an end. I wanted her out of the way, and I know it was foolish of me to write letters. I wanted them back. I didn’t trust the woman with them.’

  ‘Well, she is out of the way now,’ Elliston said.

  Otis’s attacker was feeling pleased with himself having dealt with the problem. But then Frankie Beans was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Eric Davies was far from impressed when he was told that there had been a ‘snooper’ and that Frankie had taken care of it. He brought the ruined camera to Eric as proof.

  ‘So, dead, is he?’

  Frankie nodded.

  ‘And you checked he was dead.’

  ‘I hit him. He fell down. I dumped him in the woods. I covered him with leaves,’ he added hopefully.

  ‘You hit him. He fell down.’ Eric shook his head. ‘You better show me,’ he said. ‘See who this snooper is.’

  ‘I bringed ’is camera,’ Frankie said.

  ‘I can see that. Lead the way.’

  Frankie led Eric behind the stable block and showed him the blood on the ground where he had hit Otis as hard as he could. He then led him into the woods, got confused, and led him back out again. After a couple of attempts, he led Eric to where he thought he had buried the body, in the little dip. Eric looked down at the leaves and branches, now scattered. There was blood on the ground here too, and a trail of it leading away. ‘Not dead then,’ Eric observed.

  Frankie was puzzled and upset. ‘I hitted ’im,’ he insisted.

  ‘Just not hard enough,’ Eric said. He returned to the stable yard for reinforcements and they spread out through the woods, walking back towards the main road, as though beating fo
r game. There was no sign.

  SEVENTEEN

  Henry and Mickey arrived back at the police station to find that someone had come looking for them. A very shamefaced Mr Harry Benson and another man of about the same age, who was introduced as Bertie Adams, were sitting in the reception area on hard wooden chairs and trying desperately to stay out of sight of the press pack, assembled on the green outside of the police station, and to which they were visible every time the doors opened.

  Harry Benson jumped up as soon as Henry came into the reception. ‘At last,’ he almost shouted. ‘We’ve been waiting above an hour for you, Chief Inspector. That fool at the desk wouldn’t let us through into another office, he said we must sit here and be watched.’

  Henry glanced across at the desk sergeant and nodded his head in agreement. ‘That is procedure,’ he said. ‘You cannot blame a man for doing his job.’

  The desk sergeant twitched an involuntary smile. Moments later they all trooped through, Benson, Bertie Adams, Sergeant Emory, Mickey and Henry into an empty office. It was, Henry thought, a little crowded, but he was liking the look of anticipation and anxiety on Benson’s face and on that of his companion, so did not feel inclined to send anyone away.

  ‘And so what brings you here?’ Henry asked.

  ‘The things from the display cabinet that were stolen. But it seems they were not stolen. It seems I have been very foolish. Bertie here will tell you how foolish. But we were playing cards, and we were very drunk, and I simply did not remember until Bertie reminded me. So here they are.’

  Adams cuddled a large brown paper parcel. He came forward and set it down on the table where it landed with a loud, metallic clunk. ‘We ran out of things to bet on,’ he said a little shamefacedly. ‘So Harry had a look around his room, and I said I’d always fancied the halberd and the funny knife and anyway we played cards and I won and I won them. I came home and I shoved them under my bed, and there they’ve been ever since. I’d almost forgotten. And Benson here, he’d completely forgot. You’ve never seen anyone so falling down drunk as he was that night. I could have bet his house on the turn of a card and he would have lost it. I didn’t though. We just gambled on stupid things.’

  Emory undid the parcel and displayed three weapons, those missing from the display cabinet.

  ‘Can anyone verify your story?’

  ‘Sophie, the housemaid, she came in the morning after, to empty the gazunder. She pulled it out from under the bed and got the shock of her life when she saw these things there. First off, I couldn’t remember where they came from. Mother gave me a right dressing down for frightening the servants and then I remembered where I’d been the night before. I then forgot all about it. And it was only when Harry came over and he said you’d been searching for the stuff, taking fingerprints in his room and all that, well … He wasn’t best pleased when he realized I’d had this rubbish all the time.’

  Henry regarded the two young men with great solemnity and then said, ‘You will go with Sergeant Emory and you will have your fingerprints taken. My sergeant will examine these, we will question your mother and your housemaid and if your story is verified, then we will say no more about it. I hear this area is famous for its temperance movement. Perhaps you should join the society and take the pledge.’

  Mickey waited until they had left with Emory, and their footsteps had receded down the corridor, before bursting out laughing. ‘Under the bed with the gazunder,’ he said. ‘Oh, that is priceless.’

  ‘Well, provided their story can be verified, at least that answers one question. It is one less thing we need to be concerned about.’ He paused and studied the weapons on the table more closely and then, indicating a knife with a sickle-shaped blade, said, ‘This is the closest, I suppose. But I think the profile is wrong anyway. When the surgeon inserted his finger into Mrs Mason’s skull and brain, he said there was no curve to the blade that had made the injury. This blade is flattened and has a definite curve.’

  He wrapped the paper back around the weaponry and set it aside. ‘So now, we need to put our evidence together so that we may obtain a warrant to search Lord Elliston’s property, and search it thoroughly. Mickey, my instinct is that this is not simply about two murders. All of these strands tie together, there are at least two deaths, and a major counterfeiting operation. The diamonds may or may not be part of that, they may be a separate issue entirely. Those involved in this business range in status from street gangs to lords of the realm, so this investigation is going to have ramifications and impact far beyond what has happened in this sleepy little town.’

  It had become obvious that whoever owned the camera, whoever Frankie Bean believed he had killed, had escaped them. Eric Columbus Davies was not a happy man. Frankie knew that he was annoyed, knew that he was angry but could not quite understand why. Frankie had done his best, hadn’t he, he’d dealt with the snoopy man, but Eric Davies was not content with anyone doing their best if that didn’t reach his standards and expectations.

  He led the way back to the stable yard. The men around him were silent, anxious, knowing that for all Eric was quiet and calm seeming now, the storm was about to break, and Frankie would get the worst of it.

  ‘He’s a dim lad, he meant no harm. He did his best. No doubt he thought he got the bugger.’

  ‘He didn’t, though, did he? So whoever it was, he is now walking around scot-free. Free to run his mouth. Becks, Will, take the cars, get out on the road, find him.’

  They went, not bothering to ask who or what they might be looking for. Neither man wanted to hang around for what would happen next.

  ‘Frankie, boy. Here. Come over here.’

  Frankie Bean knew that he was in trouble but he had no idea how much. Eric swung a fist and Frankie was down. The knuckle duster he wore caught the light, brass sparking gold and then he hit Frankie again. Frankie hadn’t even had time to scream but by the time Eric had begun to slow down, and the other men had pulled him away, less than a minute had passed and Frankie had been dead for most of it.

  Kirkland watched from the dining room, sickened and scared. Eric had killed Martha, Kirkland knew that. He’d heard say that it had just been one blow to the back of the head and having watched Frankie Beans die, he sure as hell hoped that was the case.

  EIGHTEEN

  It was mid-afternoon. Phone calls had been made to Scotland Yard and to the local constabularies. Magistrates had been spoken to. Evidence collated and now all Henry could do was wait. His wait was interrupted by the desk sergeant coming to find him and telling him that there was a message left for him. That a boy had brought it in. A boy called Charlie who reckoned the inspector would remember him.

  Charlie, Henry thought. One of the fairground boys, the one who’d been on watch when the blue car had been driven away.

  He unfolded the piece of paper he’d been given. The hand was not expert, but the letters were clear enough and the message said that Henry should come to where he had met Charlie before, and there he would hear something of use to him.

  Henry and Mickey Hitchens slipped out the back door and, careful not to be seen by the reporters, made their way to the racecourse and the paddock where they had met Charlie and his people. Charlie was there and another man with him, and they had a van.

  Henry recognized the man as being Reece’s second-in-command, his brother-in-law Gavin Cafferty. ‘You need to come with us,’ Cafferty said. ‘Boss needs to see you. It’s about that woman what was killed.’

  He would say no more. A place was made for Henry and Mickey to sit in the front, and Charlie settled in the back on a pile of blankets. Henry was surprised when he eventually realized the route they were taking was out towards Lord Elliston’s home. He wasn’t afraid, he did not feel threatened. But he was eminently curious.

  Mickey had noticed the route as well and did comment on it.

  Cafferty would not be drawn. He said simply, ‘We have one of our stopping places out this way. After the races, some folk go anothe
r way, some others join our party before we move on. A friend came to us asking for help and said he needed to speak with you. You’ll find out when you get there.’

  With that they had to be content. They turned in through a farm gate, and beyond a section of woodland was a derelict house and beyond that the encampment. It could not be seen from the road; you’d have to know it was here, Henry thought.

  ‘Man who owns the land is distant kin. Farmers here have given us our rights for generations. Tradition, tradition is important.’

  Henry got out and glanced around. He had been in travellers’ encampments before, and this was similar. Cooking fires were burning, children running and playing. There were no horses here, the showmen travelled by motorised vehicle and a couple of the rides were parked up on the far side of the site, ready to be moved on. Everything looked clean and neat. The screen of the toilet pit was over on the further side and the paintwork and brass on the vans washed and polished.

  Reece had seen them arrive and walked over. He beckoned to Henry and Henry followed him to a van parked beneath trees. A woman sat on the steps but she moved as they approached and Reece led them inside. A man lay on a bunk, his head bandaged and his arm strapped across his chest. He opened his eyes as they entered and Reece helped him sit up.

  ‘This is Otis,’ he said. ‘Otis has a lot to tell you.’

  Then Reece left them to it.

  Otis leaned back against the wall of the wagon. His face was very pale apart from the bruising which seemed to be developing even as Henry watched. He’d clearly been badly beaten.

  ‘I managed to drive away,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t make it far. I just hoped I had remembered right about the stopping places and that they would definitely be here. I suppose my luck was in.’

  Mickey was carefully examining the man’s face. ‘You have a curious idea about what constitutes luck,’ he said.