DEADLY DECEPTIONS

by Bill WENHAM

  “Millions died in the war on both sides, Mr. Prentiss, and millions more were maimed and mutilated by the dropping of atomic bombs on Japan. We Germans didn’t do that, Mr. Prentiss, and neither did we introduce a fearsome nuclear nightmare that had the ability to annihilate every living creature on the planet. No, Mr. Prentiss, we Germans didn’t do that. It was your side that did that!”

  He paused again and then said with a cynical smile.

  “You are perhaps unaware, sir, that the German nation, as such, has not attacked or invaded anyone at all since that declaration of peace in 1945, sir.”

  He looked at Prentiss with raised eyebrows.

  “We haven’t, Mr. Prentiss, but your wartime allies most certainly have, are still doing so and are killing thousands of people in the process.”

  He paused for a second or two as Prentiss stood silently and threateningly in front of him. He would let Allenby talk himself out and then he would torture and shoot him. What did it matter what the man had to say anyway? It wouldn’t change the outcome one iota.

  “Our war was the result of following one man, an absolutely brilliant orator and a man of his time for Germany - a man who came to save us all from financial ruin and at a time when a mere loaf of bread cost a million marks. In the beginning, he did exactly as he had promised. He made Germany powerful and respected again.”

  Allenby gave a rueful smile.

  “And then the wielding of such absolute power got the better of him and he truly believed that if he could save and rule Germany, he could also conquer and rule the world. A mistake that other megalomaniacs have also made over the centuries – and that’s when your people came in.”

  He deliberately emphasized ‘your people’ to see if Prentiss would respond but he remained silent. Allenby continued.

  “It is also recorded that it was England and France that declared war on Germany, not the other way around, Mr. Prentiss. The last thing that Hitler wanted was war with Britain. He wanted them as an ally.”

  Prentiss snorted derisively.

  “Fat chance!” he sneered and then, surprisingly, Allenby turned his back on the armed man and sat down in one of the large leather armchairs in the room.

  “You can continue to loom over me like the Angel of Death if you wish, sir, but I am much older than you. My legs and body tire very easily these days. So, if you are going to shoot me anyway, I may just as well be comfortable when you decide to do it,” he said calmly.

  Prentiss thought for a moment and then eased himself into another leather chair opposite him. He placed the pistol on the chair’s broad arm but still within easy reach. Now he was beginning to wonder how he would be able to go about torturing this man who was now sitting so comfortably in front of him. This wasn’t at all how he had planned for it to happen.

  Allenby broke into his thoughts by saying, “Mr. Prentiss, it would seem to me that you have got yourself into a bit of a pickle that there is no escape from. I have no doubt at all that you have discovered documentation that proves I am not who I claim to be, but unlike you, I would guess, sir, I have studied the Law.

  At the time that my predecessor died, there were no witnesses at all and I was already known locally as his nephew with papers to prove it. It was simply recorded as death by misadventure, an accident, Mr. Prentiss, and I was therefore uninvolved.

  If I am guilty of anything at all under English law, it is the assumption of another man’s identity, an action which was quite common in wartime on both sides. Forgery too, perhaps, and living on ill gotten gains as well, we mustn’t forget that, must we – but not murder, Mr. Prentiss.

  I would serve a jail sentence which I would probably never see the end of – but, and I repeat, I would never be tried for murder!”

  He now smiled cheerfully at Prentiss.

  “But you, sir, are another kettle of fish altogether, as you English are so fond of saying and you most certainly will be – tried for murder, that is, and sentenced for it regardless of what you do to me.”

  Prentiss stared at him. He was now beginning to feel extremely uneasy and even rather dizzy. The more Allenby talked, the worse it was becoming. He was right as well, Prentiss realized. Of the two of them, and unless he shot him now and was done with it, it was he rather than Allenby who was the most vulnerable.

  “If I was you, sir,” Allenby continued cheerfully, “I would consider a plea of insanity while the balance of your mind was badly disturbed. Such a plea wouldn’t stand up for a moment in my court, of course, but I’m only a magistrate not a High Court judge. If it was accepted, you’d probably end your days in a loony bin somewhere but at least you’d be alive.”

  He grinned at Prentiss, totally ignoring the pistol on the arm of the chair.

  “But that, of course, is provided that the local villagers don’t get hold of you first. I understand from my valet, that they were very fond of your three victims, especially the ladies.”

  He paused again and looked mockingly at Prentiss and he knew that he was pushing his luck. As long as he was talking, he was still alive. Even a few more seconds more of life is invaluable to a condemned man, which he most certainly was

  “As I recall, there hasn’t been anyone hung, drawn and quartered around these parts since the Elizabethan era, so you would at least make the news as the first in modern times to be so treated. Not a very noteworthy distinction though, I wouldn’t think, would you?”

  He gave Prentiss another mocking glance. Allenby was trying to provoke him into some kind of action that he could perhaps counter somehow but throughout Allenby’s monologue, Prentiss had barely said a word.

  “Are you a religious man, Mr. Prentiss?”

  Prentiss shook his head and he appeared to be having even more difficulty breathing.

  Allenby waited and finally, after a moment or two, Prentiss said quite vehemently, “No, I’m not! I think that religion in general is a whole lot of gobbledygook and nonsensical myth.”

  Allenby smiled.

  “Then that’s just as well, sir, because I believe the Hell that you are headed for will contain far more horrors than the Gestapo could have even dreamed possible.” he said.

  Prentiss’s face went white with anger.

  “Enough!” he snarled and started to rise from the chair. As he did so, a shocked look came over his face and he clutched at his chest with his right hand. His left arm had suddenly gone completely numb and an excruciating pain seared through his chest. He gasped and bent over to try to reach his pistol but knocked it off the arm of the chair instead.

  His face now seemed drained of blood as he stared at Allenby with terrified eyes. Then he gasped again and fell forward, face down, on the thick carpet.

  Allenby made no attempt to help him. He just sat in his chair and watched impassively for several minutes looking for any signs of life.

  Finally, seeing none, he got up from his chair and walked over to where Prentiss was lying. He bent down, placed two fingers against Prentiss’s neck, smiled and picked up the pistol from the carpet.

  Straightening up, he looked back down at the now deceased Parker Prentiss and said, “Welcome to your own private version of Hell, Mr Prentiss. I sincerely hope that you find whatever you deserve there.”

  Allenby knew that cardiac arrest can occur at any age and at any time. He realized that he had been extremely fortunate that fate had chosen that particular moment to intervene.

  He took a couple of tissues from the box on the end table between the chairs and carefully wiped the Luger free of Prentiss’s fingerprints. Then he handled the Luger himself making sure his own prints were all over it, not just on the butt of it. He sniffed at the barrel and nodded. It hadn’t been fired for a long time. Then he walked over to a bureau standing against a far wall, opened a drawer in it and slipped the Luger inside.

  Many people still kept wartime souvenirs. It would not be unusual for his Lordship to have one also and with his own fingerprints on it if anyone bothered to check.

/>   Allenby rang for his valet. When the man appeared, he gestured at the man on the carpet.

  “Ring the police station, Ives, and tell them that there has been an unfortunate death here. My visitor appears to have suffered a heart attack,” Allenby said.

  Ives glanced down at the body, looked up again at Sir Alfred and said, “Certainly, your Lordship, and is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

  Allenby glanced down at the body as well.

  “I think perhaps a large brandy would be appropriate right now, Ives. It is not often that a visitor dies in mid sentence in front of one.”

  “I will do that immediately, sir, and I’ll call the police right afterwards,” Ives said and left the study.

  Allenby nodded absently as Ives departed. The brandy wasn’t to steady his nerves because, throughout this incident, they had never been unsteady - taut perhaps, but never unsteady.

  Actually the brandy was to celebrate on two levels. The first was that he had survived his encounter with his potential killer intact and Allenby smiled when he thought about the second reason. Although he’d told Prentiss that the only time he had killed was the former Lord of the Manor, Sir Archibald, that wasn’t even close to the truth. But he had been honest when he had said he had never actually murdered anyone.

  His second reason for celebrating was that he’d never actually frightened anyone to death before!

  The study was in immaculate order apart from Prentiss’s body. Nothing in the room was out of place, no furniture was broken or even disturbed, there was no weapon and no smell of cordite from gunfire, no sign of a struggle and there was not a single mark on the dead man.

  In fact, even if Allenby hadn’t intended it to be so, this could even be considered as a perfect murder! He hadn’t laid a finger on the man and hadn’t even raised his voice to him and he had never, in his own experience at least, ever heard of words being used as a murder weapon!

  Even so, it was pretty certain that it was his words that were responsible for Prentiss’s death. There was, however, one problem that Allenby was totally unaware of and it was that the man lying in a crumpled heap on his study carpet did not look anything like the frail old man from the village.

  When Prentiss had arrived, late at night, at the Manor House, he had entered Allenby’s study by breaking a small pane of glass above the latch of the double French doors. He was dressed entirely in black as he was when he prowled the villages at night. He wore his usual black woolen hat, a black shirt, black jeans, socks and trainers.

  His face did not show the pallor of makeup or the deep lines normally accentuated by eyebrow pencil either. He also carried a Luger automatic instead of his usual walking stick.

  Allenby noticed the broken window, walked over to the French doors and carefully pushed the broken glass close to the wall with his foot and drew the curtains across. It would be their normal nighttime position anyway.

  The broken glass was now behind the curtains and no longer visible. Allenby returned to his chair and sat down. A moment later Ives returned with his brandy on a tray. Allenby took it from him and thanked him.

  “I took an extra moment to call the police, sir. Sgt. Barnett advises that the Inspector from Cambridge should here very shortly, your Lordship,” Ives said deferentially as usual.

  “Thank you, Ives. Please show them in here as soon as they arrive,” Allenby instructed.

  Ives bowed and left the study.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Allenby sat comfortably sipping his brandy and about fifteen minutes after Ives had left the study he returned and knocked on the door. He had two plain clothed members of the Cambridge Police with him. Allenby rose courteously to greet them.

  “This is Detective Inspector Middleton, your Lordship, and this young lady is…”

  “Detective Sergeant Bristow, sir,” Bristow volunteered politely.

  Oh, God, I hope she behaves herself, Middleton thought, or I’ll be having a face to face with the Chief Constable.

  “Do come on in and I’m sorry to have to bring you out here so late at night but as you can see….” ” Allenby said and gestured helplessly at the body lying in front of them on the carpet.

  “Don’t concern yourself, sir, it’s all part of the job,” Bristow said and Allenby thanked her.

  “Who is it?” Middleton asked. “And what happened here?”

  “He said his name is Parker Prentiss and that he is from Little Carrington,” Allenby said.

  Middleton looked down at the crumpled figure and then glanced at Bristow, who raised her eyebrows.

  “And the purpose of his visit, sir?” Middleton asked.

  “Ah, yes, he phoned and said he was a history buff,” Allenby lied. “He asked if he could come out this evening and if I could spare him a few minutes to discuss the history of the parish during World War II. Of course, I agreed.”

  “This late, your Lordship?” Bristow asked.

  “No, no, young lady. I was expecting him much earlier and had pretty well given up on him when he showed up. Well, I could hardly turn him away, could I? That sort of thing is simply not done – not in this house at least,” Allenby said. Suddenly, he thought, Oh, shit! How did he get in if Ives hadn’t let him in? He recovered quickly and said, “If you would care to examine the body, Inspector, I’ve just remembered a small chore I must attend to before morning. I won’t be a moment.”

  He was on his way through the door before Middleton could reply or object. Bristow raised her eyebrows again but said nothing. Middleton said, “Give me a hand here, Bristow.”

  She thought about clapping but changed her mind at the last minute and reached down to help him roll the body over. They both looked at the dead man’s face in surprise.

  “Good Lord, Bristow, it is Mr. Prentiss, but whatever he just died of has taken about twenty years off him, hasn’t it?” Middleton remarked.

  “Actually, sir, I do believe it’s taken all of them off him,” she said, grinning.

  “Have some respect for the dead and don’t be such a smart arse. You knew exactly what I meant and just look at him – why do you think he’s dressed like that? He looks more like a bloody burglar than a history buff, whatever one of those looks like.” Middleton said.

  Meanwhile, Allenby had located Ives in the butler’s pantry.

  “Ah, Ives, I have a small favour to ask of you. I’ve been just a little untruthful to the police about my visitor. Nothing illegal, mind you, but I would like you to tell the Inspector that you let him in about a half an hour ago if he asks. I’ll explain why to you later,” he said.

  “Of course, your Lordship,” Ives replied dutifully.

  “Thank you, Ives. Much appreciated,” Allenby said and returned to his study.

  “Mr. Prentiss looks a lot different here to the way he normally looks in the village, Sir Alfred. Why do you suppose that would be, sir?” Middleton said.

  Allenby thought rapidly for an answer because he had no idea what Prentiss might have looked like in the village. He’d never met the man before and then Bristow inadvertently came to his rescue.

  “He always looked so old, frail and shabby in the village. Right here he looks years younger. In fact, if he wasn’t quite so dead you could even say he looks a picture of health,” she said.

  Middleton rolled his eyes. Lord help us, Bristow – shut up, he thought.

  Allenby smiled at her - and made a huge guess.

  “Yes, miss, you are quite right and his appearance in the village was very deliberate. He did it to deceive the older people, you see.”

  He actually had no idea if Prentiss had done that at all and this time both Middleton and Bristow raised their eyebrows at him.

  “Done deliberately to deceive? Why would he do that?” Middleton asked.

  “I wondered too when he told me and then he explained that where he’d lived before he was always at the beck and call of other old folk who wanted him to do everything for them. Compared to them, he always look
ed so healthy, you see. His time was never his own, he said, so he created the frail old man illusion here in the village. He said he didn’t want to repeat his experience. Anyway, that’s what he told me.”

  Enough, Allenby, he thought, don’t overdo it. If you say too much it will be all the more for you to remember if questioned again later and liars had to have good memories.

  “Why the black clothes tonight, do you reckon?” Middleton asked as Bristow roamed casually around the room while the two men were speaking.

  Over by the curtains something crunched under her shoe. She looked down but didn’t pick it up.

  Middleton had continued, “He looks more like a burglar than a casual visitor in that getup. Do you know why?”

  Allenby shook his head.

  “I really have no idea, Inspector, and of course, I’d never seen him before or even heard of him for that matter. We had only been talking for maybe twenty minutes or so when he suddenly keeled over.”

  “He was sitting in that chair then, when it happened,” Middleton said, pointing at the chair behind the body. By now Bristow was standing beside it and looked down as he said it.

  “Why, yes…. I mean no. He was sitting in it and then he stood up, grabbed at his chest and fell down where he is now. He would have died instantly, I think.”

  “Uh, huh,” Middleton said. “And have you touched or moved him then?”

  “Yes, I touched him, Inspector,” Allenby said.

  “And why was that, sir?”

  “I took a pulse at his neck, Inspector, to determine whether we needed you or an ambulance. There was no pulse and that’s why I assumed his death to be instantaneous,” Allenby said.

  “I see, Sir Alfred, and I thank you for that but I’m afraid we still have a problem here, sir,” Middleton said.

  Allenby’s eyes went wide involuntarily. What the hell could be the problem? He couldn’t trust himself to speak.

  “It has to do with the body, sir?”

  Allenby thought for a moment that his heart had stopped beating as well as Prentiss’s.