The Weeping Women (The Mac Maguire detective mysteries Book 3)

by Patrick C Walsh

  At Monty’s suggestion Mac’s next call was at the Regimental Museum in Hertford. He’d looked it up on the internet. It was only open on alternate days but luckily one of those was today.

  The Museum, in fact three rooms in an annex at the back of County Hall, was crammed with glass cases and odds and ends. Dominating one wall behind the small reception desk was a large flag. It was a Union Jack but it had a shield in the middle with some Roman numerals on it. It was stained and there were holes in it.

  ‘They’re bullet holes. Believe it or not that survived the Battle of Brandywine Creek,’ a voice behind him said.

  Mac turned to see a tall grey haired man come towards him. He was slightly stooped and was wearing an old tweed suit and waistcoat. He guessed that the man wouldn’t be far off Monty’s age and, like Monty, he seemed sprightly enough.

  ‘Brandywine Creek?’ Mac asked.

  If it was a battle it was one he hadn’t heard of before.

  ‘Yes the Forty-Ninth Regiment of Foot as it was known then. It was one we won, lost the war though.’

  Seeing Mac’s look of incomprehension he continued, ‘American War of Independence 1777. I’m Terence Hurdlow, how can I help?’

  ‘I was wondering if you had any information on the regiment during the Second World War?’

  ‘Oh yes we’ve got loads on that, any particular time and place?’

  ‘Yes, Greece, around 1943 to 1947 I think.’

  Terence’s eyebrows raised.

  ‘Really? Strictly speaking the regiment wasn’t involved in Greece, except for a small unit that is.’

  ‘Do you have any information on that unit?’

  ‘Yes we do. Just the one document, a journal as it happens.’

  He disappeared into a small room behind the desk and returned with a small battered notebook.

  ‘This is the journal of Private Edward Chappell. It was donated to the museum by his family after he died. He was too young for the war but he was conscripted shortly after it ended.’

  Just like Alicia Pratt’s grandfather, Mac thought.

  ‘It covers the period 1946 to 1948 if that’s any help.’

  ‘It might. Is there any chance I could borrow it?’

  Terence looked aghast at the prospect of the journal leaving the premises.

  ‘Oh I’m sorry but we couldn’t do that.’

  Mac showed him his warrant card.

  ‘Of course we’ll do everything to help the police but I couldn’t let this out of the museum. It’s a unique record. However we do have a digital copy if that would help?’

  ‘Yes a copy would be fine.’

  A thought struck Mac.

  ‘Tell me do you keep a copy of all the documents here?’

  The old man shook his head.

  ‘Oh nothat would be far too expensive. We only make copies upon request and I’m afraid we normally have to charge for them.’

  ‘So someone’s previously requested a copy of this?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Yes, just a few months ago I think it was.’

  Mac was very interested to know who that might be.

  ‘Do you remember who it was?’

  ‘Not the name, I’ve never been great at names, but it was a young chap, looked foreign to me but he spoke perfect English. Very polite he was, nice chap.’

  ‘I take it that you keep some sort of record of such transactions?’

  ‘Of course, just wait a minute.’

  Terence disappeared and came back with a large notebook. He opened it and showed an entry to Mac. It was dated some seven weeks before. The rest of the entry read –

  ‘Digital PDF copy of catalogue item HR2341 –Journal of Pte. Chappell – Received £45.’

  Next to this entry there was a signature but Mac couldn’t quite make it out. He looked at the previous pages. There were only around thirty entries per year. He flicked back through the pages. No-one had requested a copy of the journal in the last twenty years or more. He turned the notebook back to the latest page.

  ‘Is it okay if I take a photo of the page?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Yes I suppose so. Do you have a camera then?’

  Mac pulled out his phone and took a photo of the page.

  ‘Dear me, I always forget that those things have a camera. I used to think it was amazing enough when you could only speak through them.’

  ‘And the copy of the journal?’ Mac prompted.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ll have to get Stella to send it to you. I’ll need your email address if that’s okay?’

  ‘Who’s Stella?’

  ‘She works at County Hall and helps us out with all the technical bits like the scanning of documents. I honestly wouldn’t have a clue.’

  Mac wrote down his email address.

  ‘Did you send a copy out via email to this man?’ Mac asked, pointing at the signature on the copy.

  Terence thought for a while.

  ‘Oh no, I remember now. He gave me one of those little rectangular things and asked if Stella could put it on that.’

  ‘A memory stick?’

  ‘Yes that’s it,’ Terence confirmed. ‘He came back a couple of days later and picked it up.’

  No luck there then.

  ‘Have you read the journal yourself?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Oh no,’ Terence said, shaking his head. ‘If I read all the documents we’ve got here I’d never have time for anything else.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking but were you in the regiment too?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Oh yes and my father before me.’

  ‘So your father was in the Second World War?’

  ‘Oh yes, mostly North Africa.’

  ‘Did he ever mention a Captain Llewellyn-fforbes?’

  Terence screwed his face up with concentration.

  ‘That name sounds familiar alright. Was he a professor by any chance?’

  ‘Yes, Ancient Greek.’

  ‘I vaguely remember something my father said once. He said that this professor was a decent chap but he came to a sticky end though. In fact most of his unit did.’

  ‘How?’ Mac asked, eager for the answer.

  ‘I’m sorry I did ask my father but he wouldn’t say anything else. All I know is that they were sent home in some sort of disgrace. He seemed upset about it though, said it had stained the reputation of the regiment or something to that effect.’

  ‘Is there any chance that there might be a record somewhere of what happened?’ Mac asked hopefully.

  ‘I doubt it. According to my father it was all very hush-hush. There wasn’t a court-marshall or anything like that, they were all just very quietly discharged.’

  Even if it didn’t come to court it still sounded as though something very serious had happened in Greece. For some reason Mac felt that it was important and that it had a direct bearing on the case.

  ‘Thanks and could you ask Stella to get that copy to me as soon as possible?’ Mac asked

  Terence assured him he would.

  Mac sat in the car for some time looking at the signature. He blew it up as much on the screen as he could. He smiled broadly when he finally worked it out. Even with the magnification it had taken him five minutes but he was now fairly sure that the signature was that of a ‘Mikis Theodrakis’.

  His smile faded as he realised that he’d heard that name somewhere before. He looked it up on the internet. He knew from the number of results that it wasn’t good news. Mikis Theodrakis was indeed one of Greece’s most renowned composers and musicians. He wrote the music for the film ‘Zorba the Greek’. Mac remembered seeing it on the television when he was young. He’d forgotten most of the story but he remembered the music well enough.

  It’s not all bad news though, Mac thought. Leaving a Greek false name would imply that the person who left it was Greek too. But why? Why was a young man so interested in events that had happened some seventy years before?

  Mac had a really bad feeling about the whole thing. Monty’s father had never spo
ken about what had happened to him in Greece and now he finds out that him and most of his unit were considered as a disgrace to their regiment. Mac desperately wanted to know why and he hoped that the journal might hold the clue.

  Chapter Eight

  Mac gave some thought to his next steps while driving back towards Letchworth. He was in Stevenage when his phone rang. He pulled over and took the call.

  ‘Is that DCS Maguire?’ a man’s voice asked.

  It was a voice Mac hadn’t heard for a few years but he knew instantly who it was.

  ‘How are you Jimmy?’

  ‘I’m okay. I got a message that you wanted to see me. I’m not in any sort of trouble am I?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing like that. Are you free now?’ Mac asked.

  ‘No, I’m at work at the moment. I finish around six if you want to meet up then.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I live in Welwyn now. Can you tell me what this is all about?’

  ‘I’ve got a job for you. I’ll explain later if you don’t mind.’

  They agreed to meet at a local Welwyn pub, The Doctor’s Tonic.

  Speaking to Jimmy reminded him that he had another call to make. He decided he might as well get it out of the way now.

  Meghart and Johnson Solicitors were on Station Road and had a spacious set of offices above an estate agency. He asked the young receptionist for Kevin Acourt. She went away and came back. She told him that Mr. Acourt would be free in ten minutes. Mac glanced around the office while he waited. It was prosperous looking and very busy. He had to pull his legs in several times as very serious looking people in very dark clothes strode by him carrying armfuls of legal documents. Finally one of them stopped and introduced himself.

  Kevin Acourt was in his mid-thirties, well dressed in a sharp charcoal grey suit, crisp white shirt and blue tie. He was younger than Mac had been expecting. Most solicitors he’d met in the course of his duties seemed to have been born fifty.

  ‘Mrs. Lynn said you’d be visiting. Looks like a bad business,’ he said shaking his head.

  For some reason Mac felt that there was something a little false about the solicitor but then again most solicitors seemed to always put up some sort of front. However, he decided to observe Mr. Acourt closely.

  ‘How did you find out about Danielle?’ Mac asked.

  ‘More by luck than anything else really. When Mr. Pierson was diagnosed with dementia he signed two forms giving Lasting Power of Attorney. His daughter Danielle assumed responsibility for his health and welfare while my firm was given the responsibility of looking after his property and financial affairs.’

  ‘Why wasn’t Mrs. Lynn involved?’

  ‘I believe that she and her father didn’t get on all that well so she was quite happy with the care arrangements as they stood. Danielle had always been his favourite so she thought he’d be happier being looked after by her anyway.’

  ‘So what did you find that made you suspicious of Danielle?’

  ‘I’m afraid that Mrs. Lynn hasn’t authorised me to say. All I can really tell you is that she’s anxious to get those documents as soon as possible so she can sort this mess out with her sister.’

  Mr. Acourt gave him an insincere smile. Mac decided to throw a rock in the pool and see if it made any ripples.

  ‘You don’t suppose the reason Danielle was in America was to sell some of his paintings do you? I hear they’re very sought after over there.’

  The smile left the solicitor’s face and his face whitened. Mac felt that he’d scored a direct hit.

  ‘I’m afraid that I can’t comment but please don’t take this as confirmation of anything you’ve just implied.’

  His composure and the insincere smile were back.

  However Mac now knew that when Catherine Lynn spoke about ‘substantial sums’ she really meant it. He’d looked it up. The last Pierson sold at auction went for over three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

  He left the solicitor to it.

  As he left the office he looked at his watch. It was just before one o’clock. Mac checked his emails. One of them was from a Stella McTavish and it had an attachment. Mac decided to go home and start on the journal. He stopped on the way and bought a new print cartridge and a pack of paper. If he had to read for any length of time he found that he took it in much better from a printed copy than from a computer screen. He set up his laptop, downloaded the attachment and started printing the journal off.

  While the printer chugged away he made himself a sandwich and watched the birds feeding in the back garden. Once everything was printed off and in order he laid the stack of paper on the dining room table. He looked at the first page –

  ‘The journal of Edward Chappell, Private of the Hertfordshire Regiment. In the event of death please return to Mr. Samuel Chappell of Gt. Wymondley, Herts.’

  Another local lad then. Mac looked him up on the internet. He found an obituary on him from one of the better local papers. Apparently Edward had started as a reporter and eventually became editor of the paper. He held the post for many years before retiring.

  So he became a journalist, Mac thought. The journal should make for good reading then.

  He set the alarm for five o’clock in case he got too pre-occupied. He didn’t want to miss his appointment with Jimmy Carmichael.

  Edward’s handwriting was very legible. Mac remembered being taught it when he was in primary school, loops and i’s. Even he couldn’t read his handwriting these days.

  He quickly skipped through the early part of the journal. This covered his training and the trip to Greece. This seemed to take quite a while as the ship stopped off at Gibraltar and Italy on the way. He disembarked in Greece at Piraeus and spent most of a very hot day in the back of a truck before he and two other men were left in the town square of Agiou Athiris. They hadn’t had the temerity to ask what they should do when they got there so they just stood in the square looking at each other until a loud voice ordered them to attention.

  They followed a sergeant down a dusty road for a half a mile or so until they came to a long low white-washed building. A hand painted sign outside told them this was ‘The Broadway Gardens Barracks, Hertfordshire Regiment.’ Edward looked around at the rocky scrubby land surrounding the barracks and found himself already missing the greenery of home.

  The sergeant took them to meet the Captain who Edward described as ‘tall and thin and having an air of natural authority’. Edward then did Mac a big favour. He listed all the men’s names in the unit. He obviously did this so he could learn their names by memory.

  ‘The Old Guard

  Captain Harry Llewellyn-fforbes – top brass of the unit. Strange name, even stranger spelling!

  Sergeant Thompson – His bite is even worse than his bark, better do as he says or else

  Corporal Pegram – doesn’t seem as much of a stickler as the sergeant thank God

  Pte. Andy Shoreham – doesn’t say much

  Pte. Johnny Foskett – bit of a comedian, nice chap

  Pte. Ted Daniels – doesn’t say much either but seems alright

  Pte. Benny O’Shea – could talk the hind leg off a donkey

  Pte. Barney Posnett – cook – not bad either, even if he tries his hand at some of the local grub at times

  New Guard

  Pte. Tommy Saunders – Career soldier, kit is always spot on. The others have already started calling him ‘Blanco’

  Pte. Alfie Pratt – Another conscript, my age, a good lad and we’re becoming friends already

  And Me’

  Mac was surprised when the alarm went off. He thought about what he’d read so far as he drove to Welwyn. All the names except one were on that list but there was no Westwood. However that might be because, like Mrs. Wells, her father had been one of the unit. He’d have to ask her.

  Mac spotted Jimmy sitting in the corner of the pub. He sat unmoving with his hands on his lap, a glass of sparkling water in front of him. Jimmy wa
s the stillest person Mac had ever come across and, therefore, one of the hardest to read. Mac got himself the same and joined him.

  Jimmy stood up and offered Mac his hand.

  ‘It’s been a while,’ Mac said as he shook it firmly.

  ‘It has,’ Jimmy confirmed as he sat down again.

  ‘How long have you been out?’

  ‘Seven months,’ Jimmy replied.

  ‘How long did you do in the end?’

  ‘Only eighteen months. I was in an open prison for most of it.’

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘It was okay actually. They taught me gardening there and I loved doing that. I won some awards too, you know local gardening shows and that. I’ve tried but I haven’t been able to get a job working outside yet, not even in a garden centre. The record,’ Jimmy explained.

  ‘So what are you doing now?’

  ‘Working in a warehouse. It’s okay but it’s all indoors. I really enjoyed working out of doors when I was doing the gardens. Anyway it looks like that will be coming to an end shortly anyway. Redundancies, last in, first out.’

  ‘So I reckon you could do with some money then?’

  ‘Certainly could. I’m married now and there’s a baby on the way.’

  Mac gave it some thought. He was going to offer him three hundred to do the job but he changed his mind.

  ‘I’ve got a job for you, a safe. Five hundred and it’s totally above board.’

  If he had to Mac reckoned he could make the two hundred up himself.

  ‘I’d expect no less from you but five hundred is a bit more than I was expecting. How many safes do you want me to crack?’

  ‘Just the one. When are you free?’

  ‘I could have a look on Friday afternoon, around three. My shift finishes at two.’

  ‘That will be fine. The job’s only in St. Ippolyt’s. I’ll pick you up here if that’s okay.’

  It was. Jimmy didn’t stay for any chit-chat.

  Mac sat there for a while and then decided to go to the hospital and see Doris again.

  She was more than happy to see him. Mac thought she was looking much better now that the bruising had started to fade away a little.