Brotherly Blood

by Jean G. Goodhind

  The evening had not been as fruitful as she’d hoped and she still wanted a few questions answered, but only when the professor was sober and not trying to hit on her.

  The next day she tried phoning him and asking if perhaps they could go for a coffee somewhere and start again. It was also only polite to thank him for paying for dinner. She’d seethed all the way back to Torrington Towers. The road had been almost as dark as on the way to The Maple Tree. She only recalled one set of car headlights on the road, and they were behind her. Only now did she wonder who they might have been.

  There was no answer from the professor’s number which didn’t come as any great surprise. Another lecture tour no doubt.

  Her mother called next. ‘Hannah. There’s been a bit of a problem.’

  Honey groaned. It wasn’t often her mother sounded contrite but she did now. Her mother had taken the wine glass for fingerprint analysis to the police in Bath. One of Doherty’s subordinates would have helped her with the details. It should have been straightforward. However, this was her mother. Her mother was not a creature of straightforward habits.

  ‘You haven’t smashed it have you,’ Honey said slowly, dreading what was likely to come next.

  ‘No. I did not. I was very careful. They’ve done the finger test and there was a set of finger prints on there.’

  ‘Great!’ Honey punched the air. ‘Who’s the culprit?’

  At first there was silence. It was interspersed by a tiny voice.

  ‘Me.’

  Honey’s jaw dropped. ‘You? How did your fingerprints get on the glass?’

  ‘I was being careful. I had the paper napkin you gave me and carried it carefully. Unfortunately I called in at my friend Megan’s on the way home and put it down on the table. She picked it up, so of course I had to wipe her fingerprints off.’

  ‘Don’t go on! I can guess the rest. You polished off her fingerprints and plastered on your own.’

  ‘Um. Yes.’

  This was bad news indeed. She’d been so looking forward to finding out the identity of the man who had inserted a Tarot card in the bill folder at the pub.

  Honey made a conscious decision and sighed.

  ‘Mother, I need to stay here.’

  ‘That’s fine. I won’t be coming back down. Megan has had a fall and needs somebody to take her to the hospital for x rays and other things.’ She paused. ‘You don’t mind if I don’t come back down do you?’

  ‘No. I don’t’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  However, she did need a car. ‘I’ll come home on the train or somebody can come and pick me up.’

  ‘Leave it with me. I’ll make sure you’re picked up.’

  The lack of fingerprints, and thus a suspect, and nothing wound up neatly and tied with a big red ribbon was a huge disappointment.

  Dinner was spent with the staff. Honey roast gammon, followed by toffee apple crumble.

  Now and again she caught one or two of the staff eyeing her suspiciously. She wasn’t sure about Adrian. He did draw her aside afterwards and give her his phone number.

  ‘If you hear anything that worries you in the middle of the night, give me a ring.’

  She promised she would, though she couldn’t quite believe his concern was purely with regard to her safety. He’d breathed in her perfume the night before and had collected her from the Maple Tree.

  Later that night she bumped into him at the top of the stairs and nearly jumped out of her skin.

  ‘Sorry. Did I startle you?’

  ‘No,’ she lied. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Your mother’s not back yet. Does that mean you’re staying here longer or going home?’

  ‘I thought I might cadge a pool car,’ she said to him. ‘Only until somebody comes down from Bath with mine.’

  The truth was she couldn’t see that as an option. Somebody would have to drive hers and somebody else would have to follow them in order to give them a ride back home.

  ‘I can arrange that for you. And if you get stuck I can give you a lift. As long as I’m not working that is.’

  She thanked him. ‘A pool car would be idea. There’s something I have to do tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll make sure there’s one waiting for you.’

  In the morning, choosing to leave by the main entrance, she shot off down the drive but got no further than the main gate. To her amazement a familiar face leaned into the driver’s side window and asked her where she was going.

  ‘Dominic Christiansen!

  Initially it crossed her mind to tell him to mind his own business. On second thoughts it could prove quite interesting to see his reaction when faced with the truth.

  ‘I’m going to see Professor Lionel Collins,’ she said to him. ‘Want to come?’

  She was taken aback at the speed with which he got into the car. Should she be scared? You bet she was!

  ‘Why are you following me?’

  ‘I’m not. I’m here to tell you to go home. You’re safer there.’

  Honey frowned. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Protecting yourself is ridiculous? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Isn’t it time you told me what this is all about?’ She was so angry she couldn’t stop from yelling at him.

  ‘It’s purely on a need to know basis.’

  Look at him, she thought to herself. ‘So smoothly dressed. So beautifully groomed and smelling so nice...

  She reined in her automatic responses. Damn those hormones. At her age they should have gone walkabouts by now!

  ‘Are you kidnapping me?’

  ‘I can’t be. You’re driving.’

  His voice was calm and precise, his manner unflustered.

  ‘What was the purpose of Tarquin’s funeral – his lordship as I should rightly call him?’

  ‘I suppose I can disclose that. It was a ruse, a theatrical stunt to advertise the fact that he was indeed dead and of no danger to anyone. Which he is not. And was not.’

  ‘You talk in riddles.’

  ‘Sometimes I have to.’

  There was a degree of sobriety in his voice Honey had not heard before.

  ‘You followed us when we stayed in the cottage.’

  ‘I just happened to be coming this way.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  On a straight stretch of road she noticed his eyes sliding to the rear view mirror, then the wing mirror, then back again.

  ‘Are we being followed,’ she asked him.

  She sensed an initial reticence to respond and guessed he was making up his mind about what to say.

  ‘Could be.’

  She thought of a number of reasons why someone might be following. Number one was the police. She checked her speed. Surprise, surprise, she was doing less than fifty. My word. This would never do. She stepped on the gas. They would never get to Dunster at this rate.

  Dominic made no comment about the increase in speed. His behaviour was unchanged. Despite his sleek appearance he had nerves of steel and possibly the strength of a Sumo wrestler, though certainly not the figure. Not at all.

  She parked in a visitor’s space in the heart of Dunster village. The professor’s house had little parking and it wasn’t far to walk.

  Knocking on the door brought no response yet his car – a blue Ford Focus – was parked outside.

  ‘He was going on a lecture tour,’ Honey said as though that explained everything.

  ‘What was he to you?’

  The question surprised her - just as Dominic’s sudden reappearance had surprised her. ‘Nothing. He rented a cottage on the estate while researching the family background.’

  ‘And this is his house?’

  There was something about Dominic’s tone as he eyed the converted chapel that made her nervous, as though he knew something that she didn’t.

  ‘Yes. I visited here and asked him some questions.’

  Dominic glanced over his shoulder. The village cen
tre was not unduly crowded. A few visitors wandering from coffee shop to gift shop and along to the road that led up to the castle.

  ‘I’ll be questioning you later,’ she said to him in a forthright manner. She was still convinced that he was the man stalking her. ‘I want some explanations.’

  ‘Are you sure he was going away?’

  ‘Yes. On a lecture tour.’

  ‘To where?’

  She shrugged. She had a vague idea he’d mentioned something about Russia, though she couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Russia. I think. And a few other places. Or it might well have been Africa.’

  ‘They’re poles apart,’ he said, edging along the side of the building.

  She watched him closely, the way he was moving along the side of the house, clambering up onto the window ledge and peering through the window.

  She sensed his sudden disquiet. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Get back in the car.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Get back in the car.’

  His voice was firmer and his phone was clamped to his ear.

  She didn’t wait to be told a second time. She went back to the car, but she didn’t get in. Instead she watched until Dominic had finished his call and came back to the car.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  It was a guess, but a pretty good one even before he answered. He pushed her into the passenger seat and took the wheel himself.

  ‘Very.’

  ‘How about calling the police?’

  ‘The professor will be taken care of.’

  Honey narrowed her eyes. ‘What is it with you? One minute you’re tailing me, then you disappear, then you reappear. And why now? Who do you work for?’

  He kept his eyes on the road, a stalwart expression on his face.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I can.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means when I have permission to tell you.’

  ‘Spook! You’re a spook!’

  He didn’t answer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘You’ve got a nerve,’ Honey shouted as Dominic got out of the pool car at a car park behind the White Hart pub. He headed for the familiar black BMW.

  He stopped, looked back at her and shook his head.

  ‘I’ll explain later.’

  He’d already told her not to disclose anything until he said so.

  The moment he was out of sight she got back into the pool car and phoned Doherty. The line switched to voicemail.

  Damn. He was still on the course and enjoying getting lost in the Brecon Beacons.

  Back at Torrington Towers, Honey discovered there was a lovely view from the conservatory, a place of cool fountains and rich foliage. The Green River Hotel boasted a conservatory but it was a garden shed compared to the one here.

  A member of staff brought her coffee. It smelled good and was very hot, just as she liked it. She felt incredibly saintly avoiding the sugar and cream.

  Out of all the cases she’d been involved with since becoming Crime Liaison Officer, this was the most complex. There was Tarquin, Caspar’s brother who turned out to be his half-brother supposed to be buried alive in a mud slide and now Professor Collins had been found dead. Why would anyone want to kill him?

  The biggest enigma of all was Dominic Christiansen. He’d popped up at the murder scene at Bradford on Avon, tailed her for no apparent reason and had now popped up again. Where had he been in the meantime?

  She would have gone on pondering but was interrupted by the same member of staff who had brought her coffee rushing in as though she might have served cyanide by mistake.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you Mrs Driver, but there’s been a bit of a fracas down at the front gate. A woman who says she’s come to drive you around whilst you’re here.’

  The jury was out on the issue of feminine instinct, but in Honey’s view it was definitely on. She knew, she just KNEW the identity of the driver.

  She covered her eyes with one hand and groaned.

  ‘She says her name is...’

  Honey cut the woman short. ‘I know who it is.’

  Mary Jane came bouncing in wearing purple harem pants, a Rolling Stone tee shirt in dark green with gold lettering and a silk turban with long gold tassels. She looked like everyone’s idea of a fairground fortune teller. In a way she was, though La Jolla, California was her patch and by profession she was a professor of the paranormal.

  ‘Honey! Darling!’

  After throwing a gold and pink carpet bag to the floor, Honey was enveloped in the longest and thinnest of arms. Mary Jane was over six feet tall and had the figure of a broomstick. It was possible she might also have considered riding one at times.

  ‘Mary Jane. So nice to see you,’ said Honey once she’d unwound herself from the clinch. ‘Would you like coffee?’

  ‘Green tea if you have it,’ Mary Jane said.

  The woman who’d brought the coffee nodded amiably and said she thought they had some.

  ‘So where’s my car? And where’s my mother?’

  ‘Your mother’s got a cat. Stewart bought it for her.’

  Stewart was Honey’s latest stepfather.

  ‘She’s keeping it in the spare room.’

  Honey hid her disappointment that her mother had not adopted the stray that kept wandering into the coach house. But never mind.

  ‘And my car?’

  Mary Jane sucked in her bottom lip. ‘It’s been clamped. But Lindsey is dealing with it.’

  ‘Clamped?’ Honey felt sick. This shouldn’t be happening.

  Mary Jane shrugged. ‘I guess you left it in the wrong place.’

  ‘I left it in the usual place. I have a season ticket.’

  ‘It was clamped in Brock Street.’

  ‘I didn’t leave it in Brock Street! I would never leave it there. You’ve got to be an alien from Mars to leave it there. Everyone who parks there gets clamped!’

  ‘I’m not an alien,’ Mary Jane said quietly, ‘and I got clamped.’

  This came as no surprise but Mary Jane was Mary Jane and Honey was Honey and knew beyond doubt where her car was supposed to be.

  ‘My mother!’

  Mary Jane’s green tea arrived. One sip and she was asking whether Honey had found anything out and generally admiring their surroundings.

  ‘This is a grand place. I can feel the vibes of history,’ said Mary Jane, closing her eyes and breathing in the atmosphere along with the steam from the green tea.

  Honey outlined what she could, omitting only the information that had come via Doherty.

  Mary Jane latched onto the details about the Tarot cards. Honey didn’t know what it was, but there was something in the look she gave her that was downright unnerving.

  ‘Tarot never used to have any meaning at all. They were just playing cards. It’s just the practisers of the occult who gave them meaning.’

  ‘And the ones I received? What do they mean?’

  Mary Jane shook her head, pursed her purple lips and tutted.

  ‘Have you got something to add to that statement,’ Honey asked, unnerved by the audible disapproval that sounded vaguely like machine gun bullets.

  She nodded. ‘You’ve had a warning.’

  A statement like that was enough to make any game girl’s heart turn cold. Honey’s certainly did.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Caspar was reported dead.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Have you considered why that article appeared?’

  ‘It was a mistake,’ said Honey.

  ‘Or was it placed there for the purpose of unnerving Caspar. That’s one possibility. Or did it appear so that you would get involved.’

  Honey spread her hands. ‘For what reason?’

  Mary Jane stroked her chin, tugging at a few sprouting grey hairs.

  ‘It’s almost as though somebody is playing a game. Getting Caspar wound up and then getting you wound up. Maybe it’s to do
with something that happened in the past, or something that hasn’t happened yet.’

  Honey didn’t like what she was saying. ‘Mary Jane, you’ve spooked me. Satisfied?’

  ‘Mary Jane cleared her throat and what Honey called her mystical look came to her eyes.

  ‘In order to help matters, I had a little séance before I left. Just a few close friends, including your mother.’

  Honey sighed. She’d never attended one of Mary Jane’s séances, but her mother was a frequent attendee.

  Honey resigned herself to hearing that some eighteenth century ancestor had come through and decided to haunt the Green River Hotel, perhaps ousting the one they already had.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Your father came through. He said you were in danger and everyone had to look out for you.’

  This was the second time her father had been linked to the present investigation and Honey was unnerved.

  ‘Did he really?’ She purposely sounded offhand. Dealing with the realities of this case was complicated enough without warnings and help from the other side.

  ‘I promised your father I would look after you. I aim to do that.’

  The offer was warming and unexpected.

  ‘Okay.’

  Mary Jane was true to her word, but in Honey’s opinion was taking things a bit too far. Everywhere she went, Mary Jane was there at her side. Honey stopped abruptly at the bedroom door and turned round to face her. ‘There’s no need to follow me around indoors. I think I’m safe enough in my bedroom.’

  ‘I’m here if you need me.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Honey replied tersely, and slammed the door behind her.

  Later, she found Miss Vincent in her office slogging through a mountain of paperwork.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ she asked.

  Miss Vincent sighed. ‘Not unless you count the solicitor, bank manager, accountant and Inland Revenue as interesting. Which I do not! Even death isn’t enough to divide the tax man from his dues,’ she added gruffly.

  ‘What with all this extra paperwork you’ve got at present, I do hate to have to ask you for anything, but would it be possible for you to let me have a list of past employees – casuals and such like. I know the estate employs a lot during the summer months. Could you oblige?’

  Miss Vincent eyed her suspiciously and for a moment Honey thought she’d have no chance.