by James R Benn
Kaz hustled off to get our jeep while the two constables searched Crawford. I checked the back of my leg and wasn’t surprised to find blood. I was exhausted myself, but I bucked up when Carraher pulled a gold ring from Crawford’s backpack. It was Peter Wiley’s, complete with the Pemberton family coat of arms. He handed it to me, and I smiled. But it didn’t last long. The snarl of P-47 engines rose up in a heartbeat, a flight of four of the fighter-bombers coming in low, rockets slung under their wings. Seconds behind them trailed another four.
We were only a few yards from the tank in the middle of the road. Those P-47s had enough firepower to blow the whole damn village to hell and gone.
“Run!” I grabbed Crawford, again, with the two constables following, and sprinted down the road, toward our jeep, away from the tank hulk. This time, Crawford twisted loose and made a break in the opposite direction, into the village. Maybe it was the familiarity of the place, or maybe he didn’t give a damn. But I did. I needed him, so I followed. The noise from the P-47s was deafening as they fired their rockets and peeled off in two directions, rising above the carnage they’d unleashed.
Rockets hit the tank and rocked it, a fireball rising from the wreck. Others hit the nearby cottages as I saw Crawford make for his own place, arms and legs pumping as if nothing mattered but getting home. Then the second group of P-47s fired their rockets, and the cottage blew apart, sending timbers hurtling through the air, scattering debris in every direction. The blast knocked me flat, making me feel like I’d gone a few rounds with Joe Louis.
I tried to clear my head and locate Crawford. The pain in my leg was nothing compared to the ringing in my ears. All I could see was dust and swirling smoke. I heard Kaz asking me if I was okay, sounding very far away. And that’s all I remember.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ASHCROFT HOUSE FELT different. It looked different; a lesser place than it had been. Stepping over the threshold as an investigator, not a guest, I saw the cobwebs and cracks in the ceiling, smelled the mustiness of the lies and secrets that permeated the woodwork, and noticed the shabby, faded curtains. Or maybe it was my imagination; it had been a long night, and the brightness of the blue sky had only made my head ache.
Our jeep had been mistaken for another target and shredded by machine-gun fire as the P-47 pilots amused themselves strafing what they thought was a deserted village. The police car survived with only its windows blown out and got us back to headquarters in Dartmouth, where a police surgeon picked shrapnel out of my legs and bandaged me up. Presented with Peter Wiley’s ring and the contents of Crawford’s knapsack, Inspector Grange agreed it was high time for serious talk with all the residents of Ashcroft House. I gave him the lowdown on what I had planned, and he seemed happy for me to stick my neck out and give it a try. There wasn’t a lot of hard evidence other than the ring, and we’d have to do some serious conjuring in order to make a murder charge stick.
Kaz and I downed hot tea loaded with precious sugar, then washed up and changed into clean uniforms. We drove to Ashcroft House in two cars, Kaz and me with Inspector Grange, and Constables Carraher and Dell following. Williams answered our knock and stepped back, looking confused as we paraded into the foyer.
“I will fetch …” he managed, probably not knowing who exactly should be fetched, and trotted off to the back of the house.
“What is this?” Edgar said from the stairway, halting as if he’d prefer to retreat upstairs.
“We need to speak to everyone in the house,” Inspector Grange said. “Please ask family members and staff to assemble.”
“For what reason?” Edgar said, puffing out his chest in indignation.
“In aid of a murder investigation,” Inspector Grange said. “Preferable to having you all brought in to headquarters, isn’t it?” Edgar sagged at that, looking bewildered.
“I am sure that won’t be necessary,” Meredith announced, Williams trailing her like an obedient hound. “We shall be glad to assist. I believe Crawford is out, but the rest of the household is at your service.” She smiled as if she’d been asked to donate old clothes to the church fete. A duty, but a slightly distasteful one. She nodded to Edgar and Williams, who went off to gather their respective peers.
Constable Carraher stood at the double doors, watching as the residents of the house made their way into the library. Inspector Grange stood silently while I rested my arms on the back of a chair, giving my protesting legs a break. David gave Kaz a questioning look, but his friend ignored him, busy keeping his eyes on everybody else. Couldn’t blame him, really, after first arriving as a guest and then returning as Dick Tracy. Williams, Mrs. Dudley, and Alice Withers edged in, their backs to the wall, well away from their betters. Helen sat next to David, her arm through his, her eyes darting nervously back and forth, searching for a clue as to what was about to happen. Meredith followed Edgar in, Lady Pemberton on her arm. Edgar looked grumpy, Lady Pemberton angry.
“Why do we have a guard at the door?” Great Aunt Sylvia demanded as she took her seat. “It is quite enough to be summoned like this, without being glared at by a common constable.”
“We mean no offense to you, Lady Pemberton,” I said, remembering her dislike of policemen in the house even when jewels had been stolen years before. I gave a nod to Carraher, who stepped back from the entrance.
“We have some further questions regarding the death of the American naval officer, Peter Wiley,” Inspector Grange said, giving me a nod. I took a deep breath and stepped forward, one hand on the chair for support.
“Actually, we have very few questions,” I began. “We know most of what happened.”
“Pray tell, what do you mean?” Meredith said. I wasn’t surprised she was the first to speak. She’d be the one to try and steer the conversation her way, to stay in control.
“It’s my fault, really,” I said, ignoring her. “But I’ll come back to that later. First, we knew Crawford would not be here today. We followed him into the restricted area last night, knowing he would go in to retrieve the loot from his home.”
“Loot?” Edgar said. “What do you mean by that? And wasn’t his house destroyed weeks ago?”
“Some of you may know of Crawford’s brushes with the law,” I said, watching for a reaction. “Smuggling before the war, for one. He carried on his thieving ways even after that avenue was closed. It seems he was moonlighting as a burglar, responsible for a string of thefts Inspector Grange had been investigating. He had a hiding place beneath the stone hearth of his cottage. Very secure, safer than a bank. We found gold and jewels, some cash, and this.”
I held out Peter Wiley’s ring with the Pemberton coat of arms. I walked in front of them, letting them see the brightly polished gold.
“But that was Peter’s,” David said. “Wasn’t he wearing it when he drowned?”
“Ah,” I said. “Good question. We can’t say for certain that he drowned. The doctor who did the autopsy had another theory.”
“But how did Crawford come by the ring?” David said. “What did he have to say for himself?”
“Nothing,” I said. “He overstayed his welcome. Dunstone was the target of a rocket attack by fighter-bombers early this morning. He didn’t get out in time. We almost didn’t, either.”
“Roger is dead?” Meredith said, her hand shooting up to her mouth. “Crawford, I mean.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said. “He was caught in a rocket barrage.”
“Well, it is upsetting,” Meredith said, lowering her hand and regaining control.
“Of course,” I said. “Quite a trusted member of the household, wasn’t he? The kind of man you’d look to when things had to be taken care of.” I watched the two sisters. Steely eyes from Meredith, a deer-in-the-headlights look from Helen.
“Are you saying Crawford killed Peter?” David asked. “Is that why he had the ring?”
I looked at Edgar, wondering if and when he’d pipe up. But his gaze was on Meredith, his brow f
urrowed in thought. I wondered if he was thinking of Desdemona. “He wasn’t supposed to keep the ring, but then how can you trust a thief and smuggler?” I said.
“We certainly trusted him,” Meredith said, sounding indignant. “He had the run of the house.”
“He definitely did,” I said. “ ‘Appen the janner will find the shord.’ That’s what old Evan at the pub said. Perhaps the fisherman will find his way through the hedge as well. Meaning he was a sly one, and that he’d make his way where he shouldn’t, just as Sir Rupert did years ago.” Meredith looked away, and I wondered if there was any real sorrow beneath that rigid surface.
“You claimed to know what has happened, Captain Boyle,” Edgar said. “I suggest you proceed with facts and leave the baseless insinuations out. You were recently a guest here, remember.”
“If you insist,” I said, giving in to the pain in my calves and taking a seat. “Here’s what I do know. On the night he was killed, Peter Wiley made the mistake of speaking to someone about what Sir Rupert had said to him: that Peter was Rupert’s illegitimate son, and that he stood to inherit the estate. My guess is it was done out of genuine, innocent enthusiasm. Peter had lost his parents in America, Ted Wiley quite early in his life. He must have been overcome with joy to find he was part of this family and this house, which he’d heard so much about all his life. That may have prevented him from thinking through the implications for Sir Rupert’s daughters. I’d guess he blurted it out, unable to contain himself. But it was too much to bear, wasn’t it, Helen?”
“No!” she shrieked, burying her head in David’s shoulder.
“No, it wasn’t too much to bear?” I asked.
“Captain Boyle,” Meredith said, her teeth clenched. “Stop bullying dear Helen. It’s true that none of us liked the idea of Father’s unfaithfulness staring us in the face, but that does not add up to murder.”
“Even when Peter would inherit?” I said. “After all, your mother had promised you Ashcroft House. It was rightfully yours, but she died before she could put you in the will ahead of her husband. That must have rankled, after what you’d witnessed. Your father and Julia Greenshaw embracing in the garden. Or was it even more than a kiss and embrace that you saw?”
“Captain Boyle! Remember your manners,” Lady Pemberton said. There were no manners in an interrogation, but I thought it best not to lecture her on police procedures.
“Of course I hated Father for what he did,” Meredith said, too eager to defend herself to listen to anyone else. “He pushed my mother to an early grave and would have begged that terrible Greenshaw woman to return to Ashcroft if I hadn’t kept the letter from him.”
“Only that one?” I asked.
“It was the only one she sent, as far as I know,” Meredith said. “He even offered to get Edgar a position again, if only I’d give it over. I declined.”
“What!” Edgar said, roused. “How could you?”
“Easily,” Meredith said. “Why bother? You’d only ruin things again. Now you have your leisure to write your silly book. Even you couldn’t ruin that.”
“It’s true, then,” Edgar said. “Crawford. I confronted him about it a few nights ago, but he denied it. I’ve had my suspicions.”
“Our private affairs are of no concern to these policemen,” Meredith said, her eyes drilling into Edgar’s.
“Why did you accuse Helen?” David said, after an uncomfortable silence had filled the room.
“I think it happened on the stairs,” I said, not answering directly. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was the only reason his wife could look him in the face, that she sought solace in him out of guilt, not love. “And probably not on purpose. Perhaps near the painting of Helen. You can see a bit of Peter in that, I think. A push, a shove, a desperate need to get away from the words being spoken by this interloper, this man who might take everything away. Who might toss you all out of Ashcroft House.”
“Preposterous,” David said, looking to Kaz for vindication. Kaz stood rigidly silent.
“I know you didn’t mean to kill him, Helen,” I said. “But you couldn’t help yourself. It must have been a terrible shock. How could you live with no home and a badly scarred husband?”
“It was an accident, I tell you!” Helen exclaimed, blinking back tears as she sat up straight. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
“So you called for Meredith,” I said. “She and Crawford were together, and they took over. Peter Wiley wasn’t dead yet, and he might have been saved. But they decided he was worth more dead than alive. He was worth Ashcroft House.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Helen said. David moved away, his eyes narrowing as he watched her face.
“It was all Crawford,” Meredith said, jumping in before Helen could say any more. “Yes, I admit it. I had an affair with him. I’m so ashamed, but everything was going wrong, and I made a terrible mistake. It was foolish, I know. After all, he was a criminal, as you said.” She spoke with the desperation of a woman willing to bear all to evade responsibility.
“What happened next?” I said.
“Crawford said it would be better if Peter died,” Meredith said. “We both tried to stop him, didn’t we, Helen?” On cue, Helen nodded. “But then he sat on his chest and put his hands over his mouth and nose. He suffocated him. He threatened to do the same to us if we said anything.” That fit with what the doctor had said about Peter being burked.
“Why did he do all this?” I asked, eyeing the staff lined up against the wall. Alice’s mouth was wide open at the shocking revelations.
“He was worried about being thrown out. He didn’t like Americans at all, you know that. He said he’d take care of things. I never thought he’d be so stupid as to keep the ring.”
“He didn’t get rid of the motorbike either,” I said. “He rode it into the restricted area.”
“What a brutal, stupid man,” Meredith said. “Edgar, I know you can hardly be expected to believe me, but I am terribly sorry. I never intended for things to get so out of hand. He threatened to kill you if I didn’t go along with his awful plan. He was kind at first, but that was only a ruse. He turned into a violent beast.” Edgar looked away, his eyes flickering over the bookshelves, perhaps thinking how much better life was on the printed page.
“Then Crawford hid the body in the barn, until we came along and gave him the perfect plan for getting rid of it,” I said.
“Yes,” Meredith admitted, her voice low and demure. “The tides.”
“We first came here telling you all about the body on the beach at Slapton Sands, and how the tides and currents carried it in and out, along the coast. As soon as Crawford heard of a transport going down, he took Peter’s body and put a life jacket on it. Then he took him out far enough to slip him overboard and let the tide take him out. I figured that much out when we saw how easy it was to pick up a US Navy life jacket down at the harbor in Dartmouth. Then I remembered Crawford said he’d been turned back when he went out to help recover survivors. But the navy wasn’t turning anyone away. We saw a fishing boat in the Channel ourselves.”
“We didn’t know anything about that,” Meredith said. I wasn’t so sure. Crawford might have come up with the idea to let Peter drift out on the tide all by himself. Or, it could have been Meredith who suggested it.
“I can’t believe this,” David said, shaking his head as if trying to wake from a dream.
“David,” Helen said, taking his hand in hers.
“You killed your own brother,” he said, unable to look her in the face. Talk about a twist of fate.
“It was Crawford,” Meredith said. “We would have called for a doctor. It was only an accident, after all. But he hated Americans so, he was glad to see Peter die. He threatened us. We were both so frightened of him, we didn’t know what to do. He became so ugly I was worried for my own life, and Helen’s.”
I looked to the door and gave Constable Carraher a nod. Seconds later, they brought in Roger
Crawford in cuffs, a thick bandage around his scalp, but fit enough to have heard it all.
“Is that how it happened?” I asked.
“You bloody bitch!” Crawford said, straining to get closer to Meredith. If Carraher and the other constable hadn’t had a tight hold on him, he’d have gone for Meredith for certain.
“They said you’d been killed,” Meredith exclaimed. “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean it, not any of it!
“It’s close enough, Yank. Except she wanted him dead. She had the inheritance laws all figured out. If Wiley got the house when Sir Rupert died, and then he bit the dust, the estate would go to the two surviving sisters. Alive, he’d’ve beat them out of their precious Ashcroft. Dead, he was worth the whole lot. She begged me to kill him.”
“What about Helen?” David said, hoping for something decent about his wife to come out.
“She ran off. Said she couldn’t watch,” Crawford said, sneering. “Not like our dear Meredith. She saw her opportunity there and then. Sir Rupert had told her the Yank was in his new will just before he died.”
“You frightened me, Captain Boyle, bringing this man back from the dead,” Meredith said, fear putting a quiver in her voice. “I did mean everything I said. Can’t you see he’s nothing but a common criminal trying to save himself?”
“You drugged me,” Lady Pemberton said, her eyes fixed on Meredith. “I thought I was losing my mind, thinking I saw a body in the foyer that night. But I did. It was Peter Wiley.”
“Of course I didn’t, Great Aunt Sylvia,” Meredith said. “Why would I do that?” Her hands clutched at the fabric of her skirt, bunching it up, all her fear on display in those two hands while her face remained impassive.
