DEADLY DECEPTIONS

by Bill WENHAM

  She gave her eyes another dab.

  “To me, Paul Middleton, is everything that my stepfather wasn’t. He represents safety, security, integrity, intelligence, kindness, consideration and yes, Rachel, something that has been sadly lacking in my life, even love. He and I click, but not in the way you two do. So much so that I’m actually dreading promotion because I don’t want to lose him as my partner.”

  Rachel put her hand on Bristow’s arm.

  “I didn’t know, Sally, but I’m really not surprised. We both know that he’s a very good man and I hope you don’t mind my interest in him, do you?”

  Bristow shook her head.

  “No, of course not. I can’t give him what you can and I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to either. So, go for it, Rachel, with my blessing,” she said.

  “The promotion thing, Sally, you could refuse it though, couldn’t you?”

  Bristow gave her a sad smile.

  “I could, Rachel, but he will retire long before I do and then where would I be? I’m a career policewoman. To me, it’s rather like watching your baby grow up. You know that he needs you for a while and depends on you. But as he grows older you can only watch as he seeks another love to replace you. Your feelings for him never stop and neither do his for you – but they do change, Rachel. And today, that change has happened for me.”

  Rachel took her hand and squeezed it.

  “Please don’t hate me, Sally,” she said.

  “Hate you, Rachel? No, of course not. It’s your time now so just be good to him and take good care of him for me.”

  The two women stood up and hugged each other. The baton had been passed from one to the other. They both knew it and nothing more needed to be said.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Abe Forster had been a very busy man over the last few weeks. At one time, apart from being the undertaker, he had also been the cabinet maker who had made the burial caskets. Abe had two twin sons to assist him in the funeral business, Jeremy and Jeffrey. His daughter, the youngest of his children, drove the hearse for him.

  These days the coffins were no longer hand made. Many were manufactured and ordered in as needed.

  This year, with the murders alone, there had been four of them. Little Annie Siggers, although a spinster lady herself had two brothers and four sisters, all of whom had been highly productive. She had been the eldest. In total, including local residents, over fifty people had turned out for her funeral.

  Amy Warren’s had been similar, but not family, since she had no close relatives. Her mourners were the parents of the school children, the two other teachers and many of the children themselves. The Lord of the Manor attended all of the funerals, as did Middleton and Bristow.

  Sgt. Barnet and the rest of his force sent flowers.

  Doc Brewer’s was also well attended by friends and patients, but by far the biggest turnout was for old Joe Turner. As one of those present quipped, “We’re only here to make sure that the old bugger has actually gone!”

  As far as Parker Prentiss was concerned, his body was only held temporarily in the funeral parlour until it could be transported for burial in his sister’s home town of Ruislip in Middlesex. In Little Carrington, Grant’s Garden Centre who also handled wreaths and floral arrangements did a booming business.

  It could be said that even death has its advantages for some people.

  One of those was Mabel Reynolds who ran the community ‘newspaper’, which was what she liked to call it. The name of it was the ‘Carrington Clarion’ and it was really nothing more than a weekly newsletter.

  The printing costs were supported by several local businesses with business card sized ads. They were not really necessary because everyone in the community knew who they were and where they were. It was really just a gesture of community support and there were usually a lot more ads than there was news.

  After Joe Turner’s death and with the gossip mill virtually at a standstill, the circulation of Mabel’s ‘newspaper’ almost tripled.

  “I’d have done away with the old bugger myself if I’d known that was likely to happen,” Mabel said. Fortunately no one took her comment seriously. Crusading editors were to be admired – murdering ones were not!

  One other thing had happened in Little Carrington that caused considerable change. There was another new arrival that caused about as much commotion as Ella Thomas’s own arrival had done.

  He was a tall, 6’ 4”, muscular and very good looking man of about thirty five. His hair was jet black and cut in a short military style. He was also clean shaven and had deep blue eyes under heavy black eyebrows.

  He had just completed his service with the Royal Marines and had left them with the rank of Captain.

  As soon as Ella Thomas introduced ex-Captain Jason Bridges to everyone as her fiancé and with marriage plans set for December, several things happened very quickly in the village.

  The first was that the wives and girlfriends of some of the other men in the village all heaved a collective sigh of relief. Next was that many of the male population, after sizing up Ella’s ex- marine, realized that they really didn’t need that many haircuts after all. And finally, Ella’s female clientele increased directly proportionate to the decrease in her male customers.

  Over at the Silvestri’s shop, father and son barbers were pleased to welcome Jason as a new customer and were back to being their usual smiling selves.

  One of the barber shop customers asked Jason why he wouldn’t want his gorgeous Ella cutting his hair for him. He laughingly replied, “Me, in a bloody woman’s beauty salon? Are you kidding me? That’s for sissies, not for real men.”

  Apparently many of the other men in the community hadn’t thought of it quite like that, didn’t say so, but never went back there themselves either.

  Meanwhile, on the Italian Riviera, the newly rich Surridges from London relaxed in the sun by the sea.

  “It’s just lovely here, isn’t it, Leo, and who’d have thought we’d ever be able to stay in a place like this?” Rose said happily.

  Her husband, Leo, just grinned at her and took another sip from his glass of vino.

  “When I looked after old Eric I had no idea he’d leave us everything and that something like this would happen,” Rose said.

  There was something else that Rose had no idea of as well.

  Because Parker Prentiss had died from natural causes, there had been no arrest possible and there would be no point splashing the final solution to the murders in the papers either.

  Middleton’s report became buried in the police files as two separate events. One was that Parker Prentiss was responsible for three of them and that he was now deceased as well. Only the second item made the papers and that was in the obituary column of the Ruislip local paper.

  Rose and Leo Surridge, relaxing and enjoying the benefits of their unexpected good fortune on the Italian Riviera were completely oblivious of the series of murderous events that old Erik Mannheim’s generous bequest to them had also caused.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  It was several months later, November 5th, Guy Fawkes Day, when Sir Alfred Allenby attended his expensive, spectacular and personally sponsored annual fireworks display with his close friends, the Harrimans. The day itself was a commemoration of Mr. Fawkes’s Gunpowder Plot, an attempt to blow up King James 1st. and his Parliament on November 5th. 1605. The plot was discovered on the previous day and Fawkes and his co-conspirators were caught and executed.

  Each year since then, apart from the war years, and following the harvest, a huge bonfire, with an effigy of Guy Fawkes on the top, was constructed of dead bushes, dead trees and anything else combustible that the villagers wished to dispose of. It was located on a field directly behind the Harriman’s stables and an adjacent field provided ample parking for those that attended.

  The three local constables all volunteered their time to direct the parking efficiently.

  Clouds of smoke from the fireworks and t
he bonfire itself drifted across the clear night sky. The night was seasonally cool but thankfully not raining. The brilliant and noisy pyrotechnic display provided a continual variety of colour and completely entranced the watching crowds below. Each exploding ball of fire was accompanied by a whoosh, a thump, a bang, the chatter of firecrackers and the whooping and cheering of kids and adults alike.

  Suddenly, as a rocket soared into the sky from somewhere nearby, Sir Alfred, watching it burst into its fiery ball, was suddenly thrown violently backwards, spun around and dropped on to the grass on his face.

  The Harrimans, seeing him fall, immediately thought that, at his age, he’d suffered a serious and violent heart attack. Dr. Vernon Evans, who was Doc Brewer’s replacement and was also standing nearby with his wife and two young children, hurried over to where the Lord of the Manor lay sprawled on the grass.

  He knelt on the grass and very gently turned Sir Alfred over on to his back. There was a collective gasp from the quickly gathering crowd who had seen him fall. The glow from the bonfire clearly showed the bright sheen of blood on his chest.

  “Good Lord,” Dr. Evans said, to no one in particular. “The man’s been shot!” He touched the side of Allenby’s neck, looked up at Albert Harriman and said, “And I’m afraid he’s dead, Albert.”

  As more of the crowd gathered and someone on the speaker system asked for the constables to come to the bonfire area, a male figure in an overcoat and cap unhurriedly made his way over to the next field - the field where all the cars were parked.

  Middleton, Rachel and Bristow, feeling a bit like a third wheel tonight, also heard the call, saw the crowd gathering and made their way over to the source of the activity as well.

  Once again, as Middleton and Bristow would soon find out, they had another murder, the fifth this year, and there were no clues, no obvious motive, no murder weapon and several hundred witnesses right there who had seen and heard nothing at all. They were also there as well and could even include themselves among those numbers.

  Middleton, Rachel and Bristow had been standing on the far side of the bonfire when they’d seen the crowd start to surge forward. As always, it was made up by people from other villages in the area as well that had no firework show of their own to go to - which also meant that there were perhaps another hundred or so strangers also present in the bonfire field.

  Middleton, realizing that something very serious had probably happened, took Rachel’s hand and they quickly moved towards the source of the commotion. Bristow followed a pace or two back.

  They hadn’t gone more than a few feet when they heard the call for the constables on the speaker system that had been set up earlier. That just confirmed to Middleton and Bristow that, although they couldn’t see what had just happened, it was probably a matter for the police.

  As they moved through the crowd there was a buzz that, in its movement, was almost like the fall of a set of dominos, as the news of the Lord of the Manor’s death was passed back in all directions from person to person to those behind.

  The fireworks display had ended abruptly as soon as the members of the display committee realized what had happened.

  Since almost everyone present knew who Middleton and Bristow were, the crowd made way for them to pass through to where Allenby’s body was laying on the grass. The three constables had already formed a linked-arm semi-circle in front of it to keep the crowd back, especially the children.

  Sgt. Barnett wasn’t there since he had gone to supervise the fireworks for his sister’s two young children across the county border in Biggleswade.

  Dr. Evans was on a cell phone to Cambridge when Middleton and Bristow reached him. Rachel gratefully joined the Harrimans, who had moved back a few feet.

  Middleton looked down at the body. The chest area was a mass of blood. The single shot had found its mark almost in the centre of Sir Alfred’s chest and close enough to the heart to be almost immediately fatal, Dr. Evans told them.

  It appeared to be a completely unsolvable crime. Even Sherlock Holmes would have had a tough time with this one, Middleton thought ruefully. Where the hell could they even begin?

  He looked at Bristow, who gestured angrily at the still milling crowd and all of them wanting to catch a glimpse of the body.

  “We don’t have a hope in hell of solving this, sir,” she said. “By the time all of these bloody idiots have trampled all over everything, there’ll be nothing left for us to find.”

  “I hate to point this out to you, Bristow, but we were also three of those bloody idiots,” Middleton said and then added, “I would think that ballistics will be able to identify the type of weapon for us, Bristow, but my first guess would be a rifle of some kind and the shooter could have been anywhere, not even in this field.”

  He stopped speaking as Dr. Evans tapped him on the shoulder.

  “I’m afraid you’re out of luck there, too, Inspector,” he sad.

  “How so, Doctor?”

  “Because the bullet passed clean through him, in at the front and out the back.”

  Middleton blew out an exasperated breath.

  “And there will be nothing at all for Forensics to find in all this bloody mess,” he said, as angrily as Bristow had ever seen him.

  It was obvious to both of them, that, late at night as it now was, there was no way, with the few police staff available, that they could hold and question everyone present. Middleton made his decision before he would be forced by public pressure to do so.

  He beckoned Constable Farrow over.

  “Constable, get on that bloody P.A. system and ask everyone to go straight home. Right now, please. The show is over and we’ll need to clear space for the ambulance when it gets here. Be polite but tell them to just move all of their arses out of here and fast,” he said.

  Farrow made the announcement, toning it down discreetly from what Middleton had said but the crowd got the gist of it. They slowly and reluctantly started to disperse.

  Without being directed to do so, Farrow and the other two constables headed back to the parking field to direct the mass exodus of cars. Some of them were already on the move and none of the three of the constables noticed that one of them had already left.

  About thirty minutes later, an ambulance and a car driven by Dr. Pat Derbyshire, the coroner, arrived

  After he had greeted her, Middleton gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

  “A bloody needle in a haystack this one is, Pat. That much is pretty obvious already. We could spend a month of Sundays interviewing everyone in Carrington and the surrounding area and we’d still come up with nothing at all. We would never know who was actually here and just look at the bloody mess they’ve made of the scene,” he said, fuming.

  “So, what do you plan to do, Paul? Maybe Ballistics can give you something to go on after I’ve dug the bullet out,” she said.

  “No bullet, Doctor,” Bristow said.

  “No bullet? Why is that?”

  “Dr. Evans here said it went straight through him,” Middleton said. “And Lord knows where it is now.”

  Dr. Evans, who the coroner knew well, rolled the body over on to its face again. The coroner nodded when she looked down.

  “Ah, I see what you mean. Not much for you to go on at all then, is there?”

  Middleton surprised her by saying, “But that’s not true at all, is it, Pat?”

  She raised her eyebrows at him and he added, “It’s not ‘not much’ at all. It’s actually nothing at all. Not one single bloody thing, as far as I can see.”

  “So?”

  “Well, sometimes even the best of us have to admit defeat, Pat. I can do that right now, when it is so painfully obvious that there is nothing to be done, or I can do it later when we’ve wasted a whole lot of everyone’s time and money.”

  “But, so soon, Paul? Good Lord, it’s only just happened!”

  Middleton pursed his lips. He was both angry and frustrated and he was a man who hated to admit failure
. But this was one of those times when he felt he had to do it and quickly.

  “My guess is that this is somewhat like a drive-by shooting, Pat, where no one sees the bloody car and no one got a license plate number. In this case the shot could have come from just about anywhere at all.”

  “Any suspects, Paul?”

  He shook his head angrily.

  “No, not even that. Not anymore, at least. Of the only two people who might have wanted Sir Alfred dead, one, Parker Prentiss, you remember him of course, is already dead himself. The other, David Bowen, is languishing in jail awaiting trial for the murder of Joe Turner, whom you also remember, I’m sure.” he said.

  Throughout this last part of the conversation, Bristow had remained thankfully silent. She felt very sorry for Middleton, as she would have for herself, had it been her own case. He had absolutely nothing to go on, unless by some bloody miracle, someone came forward and confessed and there was about as much chance of that happening as her becoming the next Prime Minister.

  There was no obvious motive and therefore no suspect, no murder weapon at the scene, hundreds of witnesses who had seen and heard nothing but fireworks and to cap it all off, no bloody bullet either.

  Bristow agreed completely with him. He would have no option but to write it up as unsolved, unsolvable and to accept it – and the incident, a non-case, was no more than thirty minutes old!

  His only hope was that someone, somewhere, had seen something, enough to base a case on. Someone actually had seen everything but, unfortunately for Middleton, that someone was also the killer and didn’t plan to tell him!

  Not yet anyway!

  While the coroner examined the body, Bristow stepped forward and put a hand gently on his arm. The air around them still reeked with the smell of gunpowder from the hundreds of fireworks.

  “You can’t win them all, you know, sir,” she said.

  Middleton just shrugged and then said, “There have been five of them now, Bristow, and we’ve only solved one of them – Joe Turner’s.”