by Rachel Green
“It’s his blood, not mine.” She felt her neck, wondering if it was bruised. At least her voice had returned to normal.
“How about you?” He turned to Michelle, who still sat on the chair she’d been tied to.
She was staring at the body, but looked up as his question faded. “Me? I’m okay, thanks. A little shocked. Graham kept telling me he loved me. He bought fish for dinner.”
“Graham?” Peters raised his eyebrows.
“Graham Browning. Son of Malcolm Glover and Vera Shelton. He tied us up and stabbed David. I think he would have killed us.” She shook her head and crossed to the chest on the table. “It was all about this.”
“An old chest?”
“Not just any old chest.” She glanced up as several white-suited crime technicians arrived. They all looked to Peters, who gave them a discreet nod. Each moved to a part of the room and opened their cases. Meinwen returned her attention to the chest. “This belonged to John Stearne, assistant to the Witchfinder General, Matthew Hopkins. Graham took two metal plates out of it. Considering he was an artist before he turned to crime, my guess is that they were currency plates. Eddie Burbridge must have kept them as insurance or something. Maybe he even meant to start making counterfeit money.”
“Depends how long he’s had them.” Peters opened a leather case of four-inch spikes with wooden handles. “Most paper currency changes design every ten years or so. The chances are it wouldn’t be any good. What are these?”
“Bodkins. The theory was that a witch would have a devil’s mark, an area of skin impervious to pain. The examiner would stab an woman accused of witchcraft all over until they found a spot where she didn’t flinch.”
“And if they didn’t? Find a spot, I mean.”
“The examiner would use this one.” Meinwen pulled another from the trunk. Although it looked identical to the others, she showed how the spike retracted into the handle.”
“Nifty. Then they’d burn her, I suppose.”
“Burning was actually uncommon. Most women accused of witchcraft were hanged, some were boarded, where a board was placed on their chest and piled with rocks until their ribs cracked and they suffocated, and some were simply buried alive.”
Peters shuddered. “God! And we get criticized for having too many people in prisons.”
“The clever thing about finding witches, of course, was that the church and the landowner were allowed to split the witch’s house and land between them. It was big business, often followed by a reward for whoever accused them in the first place.”
Peters lifted another item from the box. A series of leather straps connected to what seemed to be a leather dessert spoon.
“Scold’s bridle. Designed to fit around the head and still the tongue of a nagging wife. There were other kinds made of wood to hold the hands immobile, too.”
“I could do with one of those for Janet.” Peters’s grin faded at Meinwen’s expression. He lifted a third object out. It looked like a metal pear cut into quarters, each piece connected with screw threads.
Meinwen paled. She took it off him and put it back, then closed the lid and locked it. “That’s enough history for now.”
Chapter 42
The hospital was almost deserted now that visiting time was over and the staff had changed to the night shift. St. Pity’s was one of the most modern hospitals in Wiltshire, and Inspector White had a room in one of the privately funded annexes. Even the waiting area was upmarket with a vending machine that dispensed freshly brewed coffee and tea from tiny sachets. Since the machine had no herbal infusions available, Meinwen treated herself to a decaffeinated leaf tea and sipped it slowly, surfing the internet on her mobile phone. Eden had left an hour ago, escorted by a nurse who insisted she’d be no good to her husband without some rest herself.
She looked up as the phone at the nurse’s station rang. The night nurse answered it with nothing more than affirmative ‘mm-hmm’s’ until she looked across at Meinwen. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and called across. “Meinwen Jones?”
“Yes?” Meinwen put her cup on the coffee table, stood and walked across.
“Mr. White will see you now. You’ve only got a few minutes, mind, as it’s long past visiting hours. And don’t you go exciting him. He’s had a nasty concussion.”
“You’ve not met Detective Inspector White yet, have you?” Meinwen smiled sweetly. “I couldn’t imagine him getting excited if he won the lottery.”
“Nevertheless.” The nurse held her gaze for a moment before speaking into the phone again. “She’s on her way in.”
“Thank you.” Meinwen followed the corridor to a room guarded by a uniformed constable. He nodded her inside where the inspector was having his pillows fluffed by Mrs. White. Meinwen had only met Beryl a couple of times but knew enough about her never to get on her bad side.
“Will you stop fussing? I’m fine.” The inspector batted her away. “Look. Here’s Meinwen to witness the torture you’re putting me through.”
Beryl glanced at her and winked. “Yes, and I’ve given her strict instructions not to listen to any of your nonsense.” She gave the sheets a pull to smooth out any remaining wrinkles and leaned forward to peck him on the cheek. “No getting upset, remember. I’ll see you tomorrow after the nurses have given you a bed bath.”
“I’m fine, honestly. They’ll discharge me with a packet of aspirin first thing.”
“We’ll see.” Beryl pulled on her coat and turned to Meinwen. “Don’t let him fill your head with any nonsense about cases. He’s had a nasty blow to the head and needs to rest.”
“Noted,” Meinwen squeezed her arm. “He’ll be fine. The doctors said so.”
“Hmm.” Beryl looked back at her husband. “If only they could have reduced the useless lump on his shoulders.”
“Lump?”
“His head.” Beryl cackled as she pulled the door open.
White leaned forward. “I can still hear, you know.”
Meinwen pulled a chair to the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve gone six rounds with Beryl’s big sister.” White put a hand to his bandages. “What news on the Burbridge front? None of the officers will tell me.”
“How much do you know so far?”
“Only what Peters told me, and I think that was from your witness statement. One dead body and two escaped forgers. There’s a BOLO issued on Graham Browning and Vera Shelton. I have to admit I did not see that coming. I had her down as a harmless old dearie.” He shook his head and winced. “Shows you how wrong you can be sometimes.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Inspector. If I hadn’t been so eager to dig up the witchfinder’s chest I’d have figured it out. The clues were all there. I found a photograph of Eddie Burbridge’s old crew and got so fixated by Malcolm being one of them I completely missed Graham Glover being the same man as Graham Browning.”
“What about the fortune teller? Was she in on it?”
“Michelle Barrett? No. She was taken in by Graham the most. He put of this act of being a little bit dim and fooled everyone. Nobody suspected him of being a forger.”
“And they got away with the plates?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone see what was on them? What currency?”
Meinwen shrugged. “I’ve no idea. We were all tied up at the time and he was pretty careful about handling them.”
“It’s an interesting puzzle. The plates are years old. What currency hasn’t changed in all that time?”
“I remember the fives and tens reducing in size about ten years ago and the twenties became purple recently.” Meinwen bit her lip. “Fifties?”
“New issue came out last year, though the ninety-four issue are still valid currency. Is that what we’re looking for? Plates for fifty-pound notes?”
“I’m not sure we’ve gone back far enough. I don’t think its banknotes at all.”
“What then?”
Meinwen shrugge
d. “Search me. All I know is they were about ten inches by twelve.”
“Could be anything.” White shifted position. “Still, I’m glad you’re all right.”
“More by luck than judgement. To be honest, I thought we were all for the chop until Vera walked in. She shot Malcolm without a second look, just to stop Graham being wanted for murder.”
“There is some honor between thieves then.”
“Not so as you’d notice.” Meinwen helped herself to a handful of grapes from White’s bedside table. “Graham still tried to kill David. That he didn’t die was a minor miracle.”
“Also attributable to Vera, according to your statement.”
“Yes, she’s a saint.” Meinwen reached for another grape but White smacked the back of her hand. “Leave the grapes. Have a banana instead. I can’t stand them.”
“Why not?”
“Too many as a kid and no doubt I’ll be force fed them when I finally retire.” White shuddered. “Until then, you can keep the mushy things away, thank you very much.”
“Right.” Meinwen reached for one. “I won’t say no. It’s about sixteen hours since I ate breakfast.”
“Did Vera kill Shirley Burbridge?”
“She must have done. I thought it must have been Graham until she turned up. He could easily have taken the cake knife and stabbed her in the dark of the séance.”
“Why not Vera?”
“Because of what she said. She didn’t want Graham to be a murderer, implying he didn’t kill Shirley.”
“Ah. Makes sense.” White took a grape for himself and began to peel it. “And Mr. and Mrs. Maguire? How are they? The husband’s recovering, you said.”
“No, but I implied it. They’ve got him sedated at the moment after some surgery on his leg. They made Eden go home.”
“She must be frantic.”
The door opened, the space filled by the nurse Meinwen had spoke to earlier. “Time for your visitor to go now, Mr. White.”
“Any chance of a cup of tea?” White raised his eyebrows at her. “Please?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” White waited until the door swung shut. “That’ll take her at least five minutes. Now. What was in that box we dug up? Besides the forgery plates, I mean?”
“It was the travelling case of a seventeenth century witchfinder. It was full of original torture implements. Your lads have taken it as evidence.”
“If it was a genuine purchase it’ll go to the estate once the trial is over.”
“Assuming you catch Graham and Vera.”
“Indeed.” White finished peeling his grape and popped it in his mouth. He made a face. “You might have warned me there were seeds.”
Chapter 43
Meinwen gripped the brass rail above her head and hung on as if for dear life as it slammed against the wall, gouging a pair of horizontal lines in the plaster from the decorative finials. All she could see was a mass of black curls as Winston pounded into her, his thick cock filling her more completely than the Annie Winters’ Double Rotating Rabbit ever managed, even with the attachments. She could feel the bars of the headboard raising blisters across her back and as he approached orgasm, his thrusts speeded up until he stiffened and came, his whole body stiff as he ejaculated three ounces of semen into the latex tip of a Hercules Workhorse.
“Unghhh.” His whole body relaxed and his arms, which had been taut as hydraulic jacks a moment ago, bent to allow him to sink onto her, his weight pressing her so far into the mattress that had there been a pea beneath it, she’d have felt it flattened. His cock lost its rigidity until half a dozen Kegel exercises pushed it straight out. He pulled the condom off and tied a knot in it with one hand, a neat trick she’d never seen any of her other partners do, not that there had been many. He passed her the package.
“What would I want with it?”
“You could use if for your spells and potions.” He grinned and slid off to her right, tossing the condom to the bin next to the dressing table. It missed and landed with a dull plop on the floor. She hoped it hadn’t burst.
She sat up and hiked a pillow against the brass rails. “Whatever for?”
“Powerful stuff, my man juice. You could use it in a love potion or something.”
“Only if I wanted to contravene half a dozen health and safety regulations. And that’s assuming I don’t ban you from my life forever for saying ‘man juice.’ Who on earth uses phrases like that outside of a soft porn flick?”
“I don’t know. I got it from a soft porn flick.”
“Good grief.”
“You can talk. I found it in your bookcase while you were visiting your friend at the hospital. You’re out of tissues, by the way.”
“Again?” Meinwen rolled her hand to rid it of the clenched-fist stiffness. The bones in her wrist clicked. “It’s a rented house, anyway. How am I supposed to know what’s in the bookcases?”
“It was between The Pagan Year and Spells to Cast using Bodily Waste. Quite appropriate, really. I don’t know why you rejected my offer so abruptly.”
“Because there’s plenty more where it came from?” She rolled onto her side and kissed the tip of his nose.
“Get away from me, woman! You’ll damage me.”
“I don’t think it can be damaged by use, can it?” She closed her hand over his cock and kneaded the flesh. “Any sign of life?”
“No.” Winston extricated himself from her grasp. “My balls are aching. Are you always like this after a near-death experience?”
“I’ll let you know next time.” Meinwen transferred her hand to her own moist genitals. “What can I say? The re-affirmation of life is a primal social urge after a scare. I bet it’s the same for the others.”
“The others who are in the hospital, you mean? No wonder the night shift is popular with the nurses.” Winston rolled onto his side. “What time is it anyway?”
“Twenty-past two.”
“Good grief. I’ve got to be at work in a few hours.” He pulled the duvet over his naked body. “I need my beauty sleep.”
“Why? Will you turn into a wrinkled prune?” Meinwen lifted the duvet. “Oh-oh. Too late.”
Chapter 44
Meinwen took lilies to the hospital. One bunch for the inspector and another for David Maguire. She dropped in on White first, pleased to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed. Beryl was on the bedside chair, working her way through the remainder of his grapes and spitting the seeds into a disposable bedpan. The television murmured in the background, one of the gamut of scandal chat shows that Beryl was following with subtitles.
“You’re being discharged, I take it?” She handed him a bunch of lilies, which he handed straight to Beryl.
“Hello love. He’s supposed to have a week of complete rest. Have you got a potion for that?”
“Not without using another shovel to the head.” Meinwen smiled and patted him on the arm. “I’m glad. You need a hobby, Inspector.”
“Don’t encourage him to be under my feet all day long.” Beryl put the flowers on the bedside table, careful not to get too near the pollen. “He needs an out-of-the-house hobby.”
“How about crosswords?”
White jerked his head toward Beryl. “I get enough of those as it is.”
“You’ll get more if you don’t stop the cheek.” His long-suffering wife winked at Meinwen. “How about taking up long walks along short cliffs?”
“That’s a good idea. The walking, not the cliffs. You should get a dog.”
“Much as I’d like a dog, when would I have time to look after one?” White stood, his knee popping as it straightened. “I’m quite happy with my–”
“Cameron…”
“Wife.” He turned to her. “I’m just going to go with Meinwen to see how Mr. Maguire is, love. We’ll only be down the corridor if the doctor comes.” He led her out of the room. “What am I supposed to do with a week of rest? I’ll go mad, watching Be
ryl’s telly all day.”
“Read a book? Go to the pub? Do what normal people do?” Meinwen peered though the glass panel in the door to David’s private room and seeing him talking to Eden, knocked. The both looked up and beckoned her in.
“Meinwen! Inspector. Perfect timing. David was asking after his Blackberry.”
“We couldn’t find it in the kitchen.” Meinwen looked at the barely suppressed smiles. “What am I missing?”
David pulled the bedside entertainment terminal around and opened an internet browser. “When that woman came to put plastic wrap over my leg I dropped it into her bag. If she hasn’t found it we can track its whereabouts using the on-board GPS.” He typed a string of characters into the browser and turned the screen to face them.
“Folkestone.” White looked at them. “Well I’ll be blowed.” He patted his pocket. “Drat. Beryl’s got my phone.” He picked up the bedside one and dialed out. “Peters? Get in touch with the police at Folkestone. It looks like our fugitives are boarding a ferry.” He listened to the reply and put the phone down. “That was quick thinking of you, sir.”
“Thanks. I’d like it back if you catch them, though. I’ll be in here for another day or two and I’m not sure work will cope if they can’t ask me about my case load.”
“We’ll do our best.” White turned to go but received a prod from Meinwen. “Er…How are you feeling?”
“A bit sore, actually.” David stroked the bandages over his thigh. “They had to open the leg up and put stitches in, I’m told. I’ll be off it for a week, then light exercise.”
“It was a brave thing you did, confronting two armed criminals. I’ll recommend some public display of recognition for it.”
“There’s no need.” David gazed at Eden. “It was all spur of the moment in defence of my wife.”
“I understand you’re a solicitor?”
“That’s right.”
