by H. Y. Hanna
He raised his eyebrows slightly, obviously wondering why she was so interested, but his concern for propriety prevented him from questioning a guest’s curiosity.
“Not that I recall,” he said. “It was a very hectic day and I was busy supervising the staff and coordinating everything for the cinema event that evening, as well as familiarising myself with the normal household routines.”
“Ah, right…” Caitlyn glanced at her watch. “Oh! Gosh, it’s almost ten-thirty. I didn’t realise how long I’d been out—I’d better get back. I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
“If you wish to have an escort…?” he said, gesturing down the staircase.
“Oh, no, I’m fine walking back by myself. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you later then!”
She hurried down the rest of the steps and made her way out of the tower, then retraced her route to the path that led to the rose gardens. When she arrived back at the Manor and walked into the Morning Room, she was surprised to see Inspector Walsh sitting with James, having a cup of coffee. They were deep in discussion but the inspector broke off as soon as Caitlyn stepped in.
“Oh! I’m sorry—” Caitlyn made as if to turn around and leave again but James called out:
“Caitlyn! Wait, don’t go.” He gestured to a seat at the table next to them. “Please—join us.”
Inspector Walsh frowned. “Sir, I’m not sure that is wise—”
“Inspector, I trust Miss Le Fey implicitly. Anything you are happy to share with me can also be shared with her. She has my total confidence.”
Caitlyn felt a warm flush of pleasure at James’s words. They might not have been flowery compliments and yet somehow, coming from James, they meant even more.
The inspector hesitated, then resumed talking as Caitlyn took a seat opposite him.
“As I was saying, Lord Fitzroy, I have been talking to my colleagues at Scotland Yard and I’ve learned some interesting background information about the victim, Pierre Rochat. It seems that he has been on their radar for some time—they believe that he could have been a fence.”
“A fence?” said James in surprise. “You mean… a receiver for stolen goods?”
“Jewellery in particular. Rochat’s experience as an antique jewellery dealer, and the fact that he travels extensively, provides him with the perfect set-up for the role. He could easily make contact with jewellery thieves and act as the middleman, selling their loot for them—for a nice commission, of course. We believe his murder may be linked to his criminal connections.”
“But I don’t understand—why should there be any connection?”
“Ah, well, we believe that Rochat may have been using Huntingdon Manor as a meeting place. In other words, the stolen jewellery was possibly being exchanged here—perhaps even on the night of the Open-Air Cinema. And as for a recent jewellery theft, well, there was a very high-profile raid of a boutique in London.”
“Oh, yes, I read about that,” said James. “Quite a daring robbery, I believe, of a jewellers in Mayfair, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Scotland Yard believe it was perpetrated by an infamous group of international jewellery thieves known as the ‘Blue Magpies’. They favour dramatic, risky robberies, often in broad daylight—it’s almost as if it is a game for them, a challenge to see if they can overcome the security measures and taunt the local authorities,” said Inspector Walsh with a scowl. “Their last raid was of a jewellery store in a shopping mall in Dubai, only a few months ago, and now this recent robbery in London is also their work. Police were alerted and arrived on the scene just as they were making their getaway, and although the ringleader escaped with the loot, the police managed to apprehend the other gang members. But none of them are talking much.”
“Was it a big robbery?” Caitlyn spoke up.
“In terms of items, no—there were only a dozen or so pieces of jewellery stolen—but amongst those pieces was a twelve-carat pink diamond worth several hundred thousand pounds.”
James whistled. “I hope the boutique had good insurance.”
“As it happens, the items didn’t belong to the store. They were from a private collection which had been taken in for cleaning.”
“And the thieves only stole jewellery from that collection?”
The inspector nodded.
“Meaning it probably wasn’t just bad luck—they were targeting those items specifically. Maybe they knew the collection was going to be taken in to be cleaned and used it as an opportunity to steal the jewels,” said Caitlyn.
The inspector nodded again. “Yes, that is what we believe. They must have had an informant—maybe someone in the staff of the private collector’s household. And if I had to guess, I would say their main target was the pink diamond, as the other pieces were less valuable antique jewellery which had been in the family for generations: semi-precious stones like amethyst, topaz, bloodstone—”
“Bloodstone?” said Caitlyn, her ears perking up. “Like the ring that was stolen from the Manor a few months ago?”
The inspector looked at her in surprise. “Yes, that’s right. Although there is no reason to suspect that the two pieces might be connected. Bloodstone is a popular gemstone used in vintage jewellery.”
Caitlyn ignored his dismissive tone. The mystery of the missing bloodstone ring—which had never been recovered—had continued to bother her, despite the case now being closed. “Was the stolen bloodstone in a ring as well?” she asked.
“Hmm…” The inspector reached into his inner jacket pocket and took out a small tablet. He tapped it for a few moments, then turned it around and showed it to Caitlyn and James. The screen displayed a gallery of thumbnail pictures.
“This is a list of all the stolen items—no, this bloodstone wasn’t in a ring. It was embedded in a brooch. Here it is.”
He tapped one of the thumbnails, which enlarged to show an ornate antique silver brooch shaped like a key. The shaft was intricately carved and studded with tiny precious stones, all the way up to the wider “bow” end of the key, in which was embedded a large dull red stone. Caitlyn had seen a very similar stone before—or at least a picture of one.
“It looks like the bloodstone in the stolen Fitzroy ring!” she said excitedly.
Inspector Walsh made an impatient noise. “As I said, it would be unwise to assume any connection between them. Bloodstones are a common semi-precious stone—”
“Not in that colour,” Caitlyn pointed out. “Bloodstones are usually dark green with flecks of red. It’s rare to find one that’s primarily red. Don’t you think it’s odd that another one should turn up?”
The inspector waved a dismissive hand. “It could simply be coincidence.”
Caitlyn looked at James. “Does this brooch look familiar to you? Is there any record of a bloodstone brooch in your family?”
“No,” said James. “The only bloodstone jewellery I know of that belongs to the Fitzroys was the ring. However, that ring had been in my family for generations, and I don’t know where it came from… so it is possible that it could have once been part of a set with a brooch—”
“In any case, this has no bearing on Pierre Rochat’s murder,” said Inspector Walsh, giving Caitlyn an impatient look. “While I appreciate that it would be nice to know if the stolen Fitzroy ring was a set with this stolen brooch, right now I have a murder investigation to conduct.”
Caitlyn ducked her head. “Right. Sorry, I got sidetracked.”
“So you think that Pierre Rochat’s murder is connected to this gang of jewel thieves? The Blue Magpies?” James asked the inspector.
“Yes, after questioning gang members in custody, Scotland Yard deduced that the ringleader has fled into the countryside carrying the loot. In fact, I had a call this morning from my colleague, Inspector Devlin O’Connor of the Oxfordshire CID, who has received intel suggesting that the fugitives may be in this part of the Cotswolds. He requested that I keep an eye out for the ringleader, who may be posing as a tourist or temporary
resident.”
Or a new butler. Caitlyn was surprised by the thought that popped into her head. She didn’t really think Giles Mosley could be a suspect in the murder… did she? Now that the thought had wriggled its way into her mind, it was hard to ignore. Was the new butler of Huntingdon Manor all that he appeared to be? Was it just coincidence that he should have arrived in Tillyhenge right before the cinema event, where Pierre Rochat had come to meet someone? Caitlyn thought back to the meeting in the tower this morning. Giles Mosley had seemed like a perfectly pleasant—if slightly pompous—man, but she knew that appearances could be deceptive. She glanced at the men and wondered if she should share her thoughts with James and the inspector… then decided against it. She had no proof, no basis for her suspicions—it was really just speculation—and besides, she was a bit embarrassed to suggest to James that his new butler might be a murderer.
She refocused on the present conversation and realised that James was asking Inspector Walsh about the scream on the night of the murder.
“…still haven’t worked out who screamed that night. That person probably discovered the body. If you can just find him or her, you’d have a valuable witness.”
“Yes, you’re right, sir,” Inspector Walsh agreed. “I’ve been neglecting that angle of the investigation. The villagers I interviewed were all adamant that they did not scream, which means someone else found the body—someone who hasn’t come forward yet. I don’t suppose you remember if the scream sounded male or female?”
James shook his head regretfully. “No. It all happened so fast. At first, I thought the scream had come from the movie—then I realised that it was coming from the back of the lawn, rather than the speakers. It was just a high-pitched cry of fear, which could have just as easily come from a man.”
The inspector turned to Caitlyn. “Miss Le Fey?”
Caitlyn shook her head too. “Same here. I also thought it was the film at first… the woman in the film screamed just a few seconds before the real scream. So if I said ‘female’, I don’t know if that’s really what I heard or if it’s just a subconscious association with the scream from the movie.” She hesitated, then added, “Lionel Spelling, one of the new tenants, has a very high-pitched, feminine voice.”
“Hmm…” said Inspector Walsh. “Yes, I am planning to speak to Mr Spelling again this afternoon.”
“Have you asked him where he was on the night of the murder?”
“He claims he spent the night in his cottage—why?”
“Because I was speaking to Old Palmer—the head gardener—and he says he saw Spelling that night, on the path leading from the cottages.”
“What was he doing?”
Caitlyn shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it was too dark to see properly. But Old Palmer says it was definitely him.”
“Can his eyesight be trusted?” asked the inspector. “It would have been just on twilight and things are notoriously difficult to see at that time.”
“Oh yes,” said James with a smile. “You probably couldn’t find anyone with sharper eyesight than Old Palmer in the whole of the Cotswolds.”
“In that case, I think I will go and speak to him now,” said Inspector Walsh, rising from the table.
“What about Viktor?” said Caitlyn quickly. “You’re releasing him today, right?”
The inspector hesitated, then admitted, “Yes, there is insufficient evidence to hold Mr Dracul in custody any longer. He will be released as soon as I get back to the station and give the order.”
“That’s great!” Caitlyn said in delight.
The inspector hesitated again, then cleared his throat and said, “Does Mr Dracul have family living in the area? We have attempted to find a relative to come and meet him when he is released today—however, we have been unsuccessful so far.”
“Oh… well, I can come and pick him up,” said Caitlyn. She caught the look of relief in the inspector’s face and said, “Why? Is there a problem? Is Viktor all right?”
“No, no—no problem. Mr Dracul is fine. He seems to be suffering from a certain amount of confusion, but that is not unusual for a man of his advanced age.”
“Confusion?”
“He appears to believe that he is a… er… vampire. He spent most of his interview yesterday telling me how he changes into a fruit bat.”
“Oh.” Caitlyn tried to hide her smile.
“He has also…” said Inspector Walsh with some asperity, “… eaten all the tins of fruit salad in the police canteen.”
“Ah. Right,” said Caitlyn, really struggling not to laugh now. “Well, I’m just going to have some breakfast while you’re speaking to Old Palmer, then I’ll follow you back to the station.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An hour later, Caitlyn found Viktor sitting in the police station canteen. He had already been released, and was greedily eating a can of pineapple chunks in sugar syrup. The lunch hour rush was obviously over and there was no one else in the cafeteria, aside from a canteen lady who watched Viktor suspiciously from behind the counter on the other side of the hatch.
The old vampire was slightly rumpled but otherwise seemed none the worse for wear after his experience.
“Ah, Caitlyn!” He beamed and waved his spoon. “This is the most marvellous fare! You must sample some.”
“Oh, Viktor—I’m so glad they finally released you!”
He looked disgruntled. “Well, I did offer to remain and continue lending my assistance. I told the detective inspector that if he let me examine the body, I could tell him whether the puncture marks on the neck were made by a real vampire… but the ungrateful man did not seem remotely interested!”
Caitlyn smiled to herself. No, the pragmatic Inspector Walsh would not appreciate what seemed like a crazy old man asking to look for signs of the supernatural in a dead body!
“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” she said. “They’ve released you and that’s the important thing. We can forget about it and let the police—”
“Forget about it? Certainly not!” cried Viktor. “We have to find the real murderer.”
“But Viktor, it’s nothing to do with you—”
“But of course it is to do with me! I cannot let the world think that vampires are bloodthirsty monsters—it is a matter of honour!” He wagged a bony finger at her. “Those ridiculous lies already being told, like vampires sleeping in coffins and being scorched by daylight—I quite like a spot of sun-bathing myself—those are bad enough, but this… this besmirches the good name of my kind! I must find the real murderer and put an end to these vicious rumours.”
“But… what if the murderer is a vampire?”
“It is most unlikely to have been a vampire,” Viktor blustered. “We vampires are part of an ancient order of noble guardians—we guide and protect—we do not stoop to murder.”
“Yes, but what if there are vampires who don’t follow that way of thinking? What if—”
“I shall prove to you that no vampire could have committed such a despicable act. I shall start an investigation of my own!” declared Viktor, raising a wrinkled fist and shaking it in the air. “I shall go into every house in Tillyhenge and plunder their secrets—”
“Uh… that might not be such a good idea,” said Caitlyn hastily. She had visions of the old vampire blundering into people’s homes, scaring everyone, and possibly getting himself attacked in the process. “You can’t just go sneaking around in people’s homes—”
“But they would never even know that I was there,” said Viktor loftily. “My ability to glide through the shadows—what?” He broke off and glared at Caitlyn, who had guffawed involuntarily. She had seen Viktor’s attempt to “glide through the shadows” once before and it had not ended well.
“N-nothing,” said Caitlyn, still trying not to laugh. “I’m not sure… er… ‘gliding’ is as effective as you think.”
“Nonsense! It is one of my great vampire talents—to move gracefully and invisibly with the cover of dar
kness… Very well, I shall demonstrate! I shall venture into the kitchen and retrieve a napkin from the shelf… and return… all with the canteen lady blissfully unaware of my presence.”
He stood up grandly and wrapped his arms around himself, then twirled away—and promptly crashed into a nearby table.
“Er… I was just warming up…” muttered Viktor, straightening the table.
He cleared his throat, swept his arms dramatically around himself again, then spun towards the hatch that connected the canteen dining room with the kitchen. As he approached it, he spun faster and faster, until he was nothing more than a blur of grey—like a faint column of vapour, which slid through the opening of the hatch and into the kitchen beyond.
Caitlyn was impressed in spite of herself. Maybe she had misjudged Viktor. Maybe his vampire skills were more powerful than she realised—
There was a crash in the kitchen as something collided with the pots and pans stacked on a shelf next to the cooker. A minute later, the grey blur resolved itself into a balding old man in a dusty black suit, who tottered slightly, as if very dizzy, then toppled over sideways.
“Great…” Caitlyn sighed and ran over to the hatch.
She got there just in time to see Viktor on the floor, attempting to get to his feet again. Unfortunately, he rose up just as the canteen lady turned around to see what the commotion was about, and his head tangled in her skirts.
She gave a screech and yanked her skirt up, revealing Viktor on his hands and knees, his few strands of grey hair in disarray around his bald head.
“Eeeeek!” she shrieked. “Trying to look up my skirts, are you? I’ll teach you to sneak up on me, YOU DIRTY OLD MAN!” She grabbed a copper pot and began whacking Viktor on the head. “Take that! And that!”
Caitlyn groaned. She hurried into the kitchen and ran up to the canteen lady, managing to grab a beefy arm just as the latter was swinging the copper pot again. After a lot of placating and apologising, she managed to extricate Viktor and bundle him out of the canteen—and the police station. She didn’t let go of him until she’d got him safely strapped into the front seat of her car.
