by Bill Kitson
‘We could let Michael’s mother and his fiancée know what has happened,’ Eve suggested.
Holmes looked relieved and thanked us. ‘To be honest, I’m absolutely at my wits’ end for lack of help. Even Johnny is on leave. I don’t suppose I can blame him. It’s his wedding anniversary. As for the uniform branch, there’s a race meeting at York, so I can’t pull anyone in to assist. I need to be in three different places this morning, but everything else will have to wait. I must stay here to ensure nothing is disturbed until after the fingerprints officer has been.’
‘Would it help if one of us were to stay here and stop anyone barging in on your crime scene? For all we know the cleaning lady might be due to arrive. Either that or a party of brass-rubbing fanatics.’
Holmes thanked us profusely. After he left, having cautioned me not to touch anything, I handed the car keys to Eve. ‘I’ll let you have the unpleasant task of giving Marjorie and Chloe the bad news while I wait here.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’
‘Don’t worry, Eve, I doubt the attacker would have the nerve to come back until they were certain the coast is clear.’
Churches are cold, uninviting and vaguely eerie places when they are unoccupied. I wandered around the interior of the building, as much from a desire to keep warm as from any real interest, although at some point I did mull over the possible reason for an intruder wanting to be inside here. It had to be something meaningful, not simply a petty theft. Keeping my hands firmly in my pockets, I had examined the main door, which had been forced open with some kind of jemmy. This was obviously the point of entry. The porch provided good cover and ensured the intrusion was not overlooked, nor was there much chance of a passer-by hearing the sound of the break-in. All that lay outside the door was a small path leading to the churchyard entrance and a row of ancient graves. Their occupants would hardly make for good witnesses, I thought.
The fact that the intruder had come so well prepared and had obviously reconnoitred the building beforehand confirmed my earlier thought that this was no small-time burglar. This had been someone with a definite objective in mind, but what could that be? What there was of value inside the church appeared to be untouched. I remembered my previous facetious comment. The ornamentation on the altar was still there, even the collection plate was intact, and contained a couple of notes and a few coins. Obviously a petty thief would have pocketed them at first glance.
Boredom was taking over rapidly, and I continued to roam around the building. I’d inspected the bell chamber, which was less than enthralling, and, on returning to the nave, wandered down, glancing at each row of empty pews as I passed. My meandering had brought me level with the wings of the cruciform, with the entrance to the Lady chapel to my left. I was looking directly ahead, towards the chancel and the high altar, when a shape that had appeared in my peripheral vision caused me to turn my head.
The woman standing inside the Lady chapel was dressed from head to toe in grey. Not only that, but her face and hair were grey too. I stared, transfixed, as she stared in my direction. She ignored me completely, looking at a spot just above my head, as if she was gazing at some distant object. I licked my lips and tried to speak, to attract her attention, but no words came. Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, the figure faded and then vanished. I blinked, astonished and, I will admit, more than a little afraid.
There isn’t much that terrifies me, having witnessed the horrors of war at close quarters, sometimes far too close for comfort. There is very little that man is capable of that scares me. However, when I am faced with an event for which I can find no rational explanation, I admit to being afraid. I had to confess that what I had just witnessed was impossible by all logical standards. How else can you describe the vision of a woman who appears out of nowhere in an otherwise empty building, and then, a few seconds later vanishes again without trace.
It was over half an hour later when Eve returned. I was standing in the porch, as if standing guard over the entrance as I awaited the officer’s arrival. In truth it was because I no longer wanted to be inside the building. Even the entrance was too close for comfort.
One glance at my face told Eve that something was wrong. With devastating accuracy she asked, ‘What’s wrong, Adam? You’re as white as a sheet. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
I swallowed and replied, ‘That’s exactly what happened. She appeared out of nowhere. Eve, I’ve seen the Grey Lady.’
Eve insisted on being shown where the vision had occurred. Although I was reluctant, I followed her back into the church. ‘Is this about where you saw her?’ Eve stood in the Lady chapel.
‘Yes, although she was much taller than that. I hadn’t realised it before, but she was either bigger than a basketball player or ...’ I paused, because what I’d been about to say would sound ridiculous.
‘Or what?’ Eve asked.
‘Or she was floating off the ground.’
I’d been right. It did sound absurd, but luckily Eve didn’t scoff at my seemingly senseless remark. ‘If she had the power to materialise and then vanish as you described then floating off the ground would be no problem,’ she said.
Together we examined the Lady chapel. There was absolutely no logical explanation for what I’d seen, or believed I’d seen.
It came as a great relief when the fingerprints officer arrived, closely followed by one of the churchwardens. I was able to tell them about the point of entry. The churchwarden grimaced when he saw the damage to the door. ‘More expense,’ he muttered.
‘Can we leave you to it?’ I asked. ‘It’s just that I’d rather be out of this building.’
The comment meant nothing to the police officer, but the churchwarden looked at me keenly. ‘Why is that?’ he asked.
‘I ... er ... I thought I saw something,’ I said weakly. ‘In the Lady chapel.’
‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. Was it a woman, dressed from head to toe in grey, who appeared to be floating in mid-air and then vanished?’
I nodded agreement. His description was spot on.
‘And have you found an explanation for what you saw?’
‘No, none whatsoever.’
‘That’s because there isn’t one. Not that I know of. I’ve seen her several times, and even spoken to her on a couple of occasions, without a response. I’ve had to put up with a fair amount of teasing about it, but she seems harmless.’
I was relieved to hear at first-hand an account that matched mine. Somehow, this made me feel easier, but I was glad when he thanked us, both for coming to the vicar’s assistance and for taking care of the building. At last we were able to leave.
Eve had parked further along to allow for the expected arrivals and as we were getting into the car I noticed something on the ground. I picked it up and, without thinking, stuffed it into my pocket. Later, when we got back to Eden House, I examined the find, and was puzzled by it.
‘What have you got there?’ Eve asked.
‘It’s a locket. It was lying on the ground near where we were parked.’
Eve peered at it over my shoulder. The chain had snapped, which was presumably why the locket had been lost.
‘Turn it over,’ Eve suggested, ‘there’s often an inscription on the back.’
She was right, there was, but it was of little use to us in identifying the owner.
Although I am by no means an expert, I guessed that it was not a particularly valuable item. It was not hallmarked, so it couldn’t have been silver, possibly silver plate.
‘Open it up,’ Eve encouraged me, ‘it might tell us who the owner is.’
I did so. Inside were two tiny photos, both in black and white. The first was a girl of about six or seven years of age, the second a toddler, but whether the younger child was a boy or girl it was impossible to say. The girl had a mass of dark hair and heavy, dark eyebrows. Once again I had this slight feeling of familiarity, as with the stranger, but was unable to place it. It was Eve who reco
gnised the older of the children.
‘That’s the same little girl whose photo was in the locket Chloe showed us.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely, there’s no doubt it’s the same child.’
‘That explains why I thought she looked familiar.’
After my encounter with the apparition, I was still in a state of mild shock the following afternoon when Johnny arrived to take our statements. ‘DS Holmes told me you witnessed an assault on the vicar of St. Mary’s, and we need to get the details down.’
‘Actually, that’s wrong, Johnny.’ I stood aside to let him enter. ‘We didn’t witness the assault, only the aftermath.’
‘Have you heard how Rev. Phillips is?’ Eve asked as she came into the hallway.
‘He’s OK, apparently. I think he was very lucky. By what Holmes told me it could well have been the sound of your car pulling up that disturbed his assailant; stopped him finishing the job.’
‘Hang on, I resent that.’ I saw Johnny grin. ‘My car doesn’t make that much noise. It certainly wouldn’t have been heard inside the church. It seems far more likely that the intruder simply wanted to make his escape and Michael was unfortunate enough to get in the way.’
‘Very possible,’ Johnny agreed. ‘If you didn’t see anything, these statements won’t take long. All you need to tell me is what you found inside the church.’
We did so, and in the course of my statement I saw Eve watching me closely. I could guess what she was thinking, but I omitted to mention spectral figures floating in mid-air. I had this mental vision of the resultant chaos if the attacker was brought to court and that had been read out.
As Johnny was leaving, he mentioned casually, ‘It’s Mark Bennett’s funeral the day after tomorrow. The vicar has said he’ll be fit enough to conduct the service. I wondered if you might be going to attend.
‘Have you any particular reason for telling us?’ Eve asked.
Johnny shrugged. ‘I was talking to Holmes about it. He mentioned that an extra pair of eyes and ears might be useful. He’s still very inexperienced. I reckon he needs all the help he can get. Anyway, we’re working on the theory that the killer was someone known to both Bennett and Casper, and was possibly close to them. OK, we’ve discounted David Kershaw, but given their lifestyle, that still leaves plenty of options, and we thought it might be useful if you were on hand to spot someone behaving suspiciously or saying something that might be helpful.’
‘We’ll think about it,’ Eve replied without consulting me.
‘Before you go, Johnny, I have a question for you. It has nothing to do with the murders. I was wondering what you can remember about David Kershaw’s brother and sister-in-law.’
‘Not much,’ Johnny replied. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Chloe asked us to see what we could find out, especially about her mother. There doesn’t seem to be much information, and she’d like to know something about her before the wedding. You do know she’s engaged to Michael Phillips, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but I don’t think I can be of much help. This wasn’t my patch back then. By the time I came here, Mrs Kershaw had died. Kershaw was a wreck. I had to take him home from the pub a few times when he was legless. From what I could gather, even though he was often too far gone to make any sense, he didn’t seem to care what happened to him. The only thing that kept him going as long as he did was the little girl. Having said that, there was no way he could have carried on like that much longer. It was pure luck that his brother and sister-in-law came home when they did, otherwise I think Chloe would have been taken into care. Her father was a ticking time bomb. It was only a question of which gave out first, his heart or his liver.’
There it was again, another brick wall. The only useful information we’d got had been from Zeke Calvert. I was dwelling on this after Johnny left, when I was distracted by Eve’s slightly waspish remark.
‘I don’t know about you but I’m getting a bit fed up of doing the police work for them. It seems that every time something major happens they reach out to us. It might be flattering but it’s getting to be a bore.’
‘On the other hand, at least we know that the pressure is off David and Valerie, and through them, off Michael and Chloe – and who knows – we might see or hear something useful. People might say or do things in front of us they wouldn’t if they thought the police were watching. I also wondered if David and Valerie might say something now they know they’re not under suspicion.’
‘They already knew that when we talked to them at their house,’ Eve pointed out.
‘That’s true, so why are they still reluctant? I can’t honestly believe that they’re shielding the truth about what Chloe’s father did for a living. Not after all these years. But if that isn’t why they won’t talk, I have no idea what the reason might be.’
Chapter Twelve
Despite Eve’s reluctance for us to act as police spies, we duly attended the funeral service. I had a moment of doubt when we reached the entrance to St. Mary’s, but was reassured when I saw the number of people already inside the church, plus those queuing to get in. If the ghost was going to make an appearance, at least the apparition would be witnessed by a good many others.
During Michael’s eulogy, he extended an invitation on behalf of Mark Bennett’s widow Susan for everyone to attend the wake that would follow the interment. It was a generous invitation, given the number of mourners, and I was even more surprised when Eve suggested that we should attend.
‘Didn’t DS Holmes tell us Bennett was separated from his wife?’ Eve asked me as we left the churchyard.
‘He did, but I suppose someone had to make the arrangements.’
We reached Bennett’s house, but it was some time before we were able to find a parking space. ‘It’s going to be a real bun fight inside,’ I commented as we walked back along the road. ‘I only hope they’ve ordered plenty of ham.’
‘Why ham?’ Eve asked.
‘It’s a Yorkshire tradition. You always have ham sandwiches at funerals. It’s more or less compulsory. If it’s a really posh do they cut the crusts off the bread.’
We greeted Michael, who had recovered well from the assault. Chloe was there too, hovering close by, as if afraid the attack would be repeated. Michael confirmed that apart from the wound on his scalp, everything was as normal. ‘The medic said I was lucky, some people come off far worse when hit with a blunt object.’
After a few minutes chatting to them, we moved on towards the dining area. There seemed to be plenty of food for everyone, and my fears over the ham running out proved groundless. As we waited our turn to attack the food, I looked around. Bennett had obviously used his knowledge and experience to collect some interesting and potentially valuable furniture and ornaments. Once again I was forced to wonder how he’d managed such an affluent lifestyle on a museum curator’s salary. It was his widow who provided a possible explanation, or possibly even two, perhaps without realising what she was saying had a vaguely sinister connotation.
We had accepted a drink of something vaguely resembling tea and were munching our way through an assortment of sandwiches, when a slim, good-looking woman in her late forties approached us. I recognised her as the chief mourner, and guessed her to be the dead man’s estranged wife. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she began. ‘I’m Susan Bennett, Mark’s widow.’
Eve introduced herself, then me, and sympathised with Susan for her loss, and in particular the dreadful way that Mark had died. Her statement, simple as it was, elicited feelings from Susan Bennett that took both of us aback.
‘Mark was lovely. He was a truly gentle person, who wouldn’t hurt anyone. He couldn’t help his weakness.’ She smiled sadly. ‘He loved women, and they adored him – in droves. I should have known better when I married him, but like so many others I hadn’t the will to resist him.’
‘Do you think that had anything to do with why he was killed? Could it have been someone he angered
or let down? A jealous husband, perhaps?’ Eve added. ‘Or a woman he jilted?’
‘I heard the rumours about Valerie and David Kershaw if that’s what you’re referring to, and they’re all stuff and nonsense. For one thing, they’re totally in love with each other, and for another, although Mark had a lot of faults, fooling around with married women was taboo. No, I think it might have had more to do with his association with Casper Harfleur.’
‘Were they close friends?’
‘Yes and no. Sorry if that sounds confusing, but they were that sort; different in many ways, but both lovable rogues. It was impossible to dislike them, or to stay angry with either of them.’
I refrained from pointing out that someone had obviously been angry with both men, and instead listened as Eve led Susan to reveal more.
‘Why do you think Casper had something to do with Mark’s death? Is it because he was killed the same way?’
‘I don’t really know. It’s a shame Mr Kershaw can’t tell us. He was close to both of them.’
‘Really? I didn’t know David Kershaw knew Casper Harfleur.’
‘No, I don’t mean David. I was referring to poor Andrew. He was thick as thieves with both Mark and Casper at one time. But that was before his wife died so tragically. He went to pieces completely after that.’
Eve put on one of her sympathetic expressions and nodded before asking, ‘What was their common interest? Art, I assume?’
‘I think so, but Mark was very secretive about it. I wouldn’t swear to this, but I believe Mark might have used his contacts to sell one or two paintings for Andrew Kershaw. I could be wrong, though. Mark did buy and sell a few items, paintings, figurines and smaller things.’
‘Was there ever any trouble about them?’
I left Eve to it, as she was doing quite well without my help. I continued to admire the house contents while devouring a large piece of gateau, which I felt I strongly deserved.
‘You’re referring to Casper’s problems? I didn’t hear of any, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a time when Mark sold something Casper had forged. I don’t think even Mark would have tried to pass off Casper’s work as a Titian or a Van Gogh, though – it would have had to be something far less valuable, and therefore less likely to arouse suspicion.’ With that, she excused herself to mingle with the other mourners.
