by Bill Kitson
‘That was pretty good considering you’ve had little time to think about it. Let me know if you’ve any more bright ideas on the subject. Now you’d better go wait inside. The super-sleuths will no doubt want to ask you a load of meaningless questions when they arrive. I’ll have to stay here and guard the corpse.’ Pickersgill smiled ironically. ‘Not that the poor bloke is going anywhere, but it might stop anyone getting frightened by it.’
With the arrival of CID and their attendant services, the constable was relegated to the task of crowd control. As there were no crowds to control, merely three or four villagers who had emerged from their cottages on seeing and hearing the police cars, ambulance, and other vehicles that were arriving in a constant stream, Pickersgill’s task was little more than a sinecure. Or rather, it would have been, but for him having to sort out the traffic jam caused by too many cars occupying a narrow village street that had been constructed when a horse and cart were the standard means of transport.
Inside the pub, a corner of the bar had been commandeered for interviewing witnesses. As the only witnesses were Mary Price and me this seemed to be a singularly futile example of overkill. Once the detective in charge, an inspector by the name of Ogden, had finished with Mrs Price, he turned his attention on me. What he imagined I could tell him, that he didn’t already know, I had no idea, nor did his subsequent questions leave me any the wiser. There seemed little point to them, but Ogden ploughed on, as if working from a manual, while a detective constable, who looked as if it would be a few years before he started shaving, dutifully recorded my answers in his notebook. The interrogation reached the extreme of banality when Ogden asked, ‘Was the body in the same position when you found it as it is now?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, keeping my face straight with an effort, ‘he hasn’t moved a muscle.’ I resisted the alternative answer of, ‘apart from when he got up and danced a couple of Irish jigs,’ but the temptation was great. Eventually, Ogden seemed to realize the futility of asking me any more pointless questions and abandoned the interview, having first warned me that they might wish to speak to me again.
‘Oh good,’ I told them as I stood up to leave, ‘I’ll really look forward to that.’ It was quite apparent that the sarcasm was lost on both men.
When I emerged from the Admiral Nelson, Pickersgill was leaning against the low drystone wall opposite the inn, his boredom apparent. ‘How did you get on with the great brains of CID?’
‘I take it you don’t have much time for Detective Inspector Ogden?’
‘Did you say detective or defective? I read an article recently that implied the standard of examination questions was getting easier. The fact that Ogden has reached the rank of inspector would tend to suggest that theory is accurate. Did he check your watch?’
‘No, why would he do that?’
‘Because he doesn’t know what time of day it is without someone to tell him. I bet he asked you what your relationship with Mrs Lewis is, though.’
‘I don’t have a relationship with Mrs Lewis. She’s a friend, that’s all.’
‘I know that, and you know that, but I bet Ogden doesn’t. To him the term “friend” would imply that she was your mistress. Don’t kid yourself; it won’t be long before he gets round to asking if you’re sleeping with her. It’s a standard line of questioning for him. The fact that you’re already spoken for won’t even enter his thinking.’
I looked at Pickersgill; my astonishment obviously apparent, because he explained, ‘I saw you walking through the village last weekend holding hands with a lovely young woman. I assume her to be your friend from London you told me about. I also recognized her from the photos that appeared in the press at the time of the Mulgrave Castle affair, and more recently when the two of you were star witnesses at the trial. Miss Samuels, isn’t it?’
I realized it was impossible to conceal anything from Pickersgill. ‘That’s correct; we’re engaged to be married.’
‘You’re a lucky man, Adam, but I think I ought to warn you that it is rather hazardous not to keep your attention on your driving around here. The country lanes can be very tricky, especially when you’re gazing admiringly at your passenger instead of watching the road.’
He relented from teasing me, and added, ‘I saw you driving with Miss Samuels on Monday morning.’
‘I was taking her to York to catch the London train. She’s gone to give her notice in at work and put her flat on the market so she can move here to live with me.’ I realized for the first time what a thrill it was to tell someone what Eve and I were planning.
‘Congratulations, I’m sure you’ll be very happy, and I think Miss Samuels will be very welcome here. When will she be back?’
‘I’m not sure, hopefully sometime this weekend.’
‘Perhaps you could phone me once she’s returned. I’d like to meet her.’
I looked at him suspiciously. ‘Have you any specific reason? I don’t remember you rushing to be introduced to me when I moved into the area. You waited until I was in the pub.’
‘Given your background in investigations, I thought you and Miss Samuels might want to get involved in finding out who did this.’ He gestured towards the stepping stones where someone I assumed to be the pathologist was supervising the removal of Lewis’s body.
Pickersgill’s question took me by surprise. ‘I don’t know, Johnny. I haven’t had time to think about it, to be honest.’
‘Please do; I don’t want to have to rely on that lot.’ He pointed towards the pub. ‘If I leave it to Sherlock Ogden and his boy blunder of a sidekick I’ll end my career with an unsolved murder on my patch, and I wouldn’t want that.’
When I returned home, I tried Barbara’s number, but there was no reply. I wondered if she might be attending another race meeting, and even went to the trouble of checking the morning paper, only to discover that there was no racing scheduled for that day.
I was still trying to decide whether to drive across to Rowandale to see if she was all right and to tell her the shocking news about Lewis’s demise, when Eve rang. ‘I’ve got everything sorted out here,’ she told me cheerfully, ‘so I’ll be home tomorrow.’
I felt a warm glow at hearing Eve refer to Dene Cottage as home, and that distracted me momentarily from telling her my news. ‘What time is your train due at York?’
I noted the details on a corner of the paper; then said, ‘Eve, I’ve something to tell you. Something serious. I found a body this morning. Or at least the milklady did.’
‘What! Where? Whose body was it? And what’s that about a milklady?’
I explained who Mrs Price was, and of finding the corpse by the stepping stones. ‘The thing is, Eve, I recognized him straight away. It was Charles Lewis.’
‘Good Lord! Are you certain? How did he die? Was he drowned?’
‘No, he was stabbed over and over again, by the look of it, and at a guess I’d say the killer used a very sharp knife.’
Eve jumped to the same conclusion that had been troubling me ever since I saw the dead man’s wounds. ‘A knife such the one the tramp was carrying, you mean?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Do you think he did it? Have you told the police about him?’
‘I haven’t mentioned it, so far. Although I certainly believe he might be capable of it if Lewis provoked him, or attacked Barbara. I’m not saying he isn’t right in the head, but you have to admit his behaviour is somewhat eccentric, to put it mildly, and he did issue that fairly bloodcurdling threat.’
‘That still doesn’t mean he killed Lewis.’
‘No, but there were witnesses to the encounter, and two of them can have no reason to like the tramp. If they tell Ogden what they saw and heard last Sunday, I’m sure he will assume that the tramp carried out his threat and not bother to look for anyone else.’
‘Who is Ogden?’
‘The detective in charge, I met him after we found the body. He’s a bit of a dope; asked me a string of futile questi
ons. Even our local bobby, John Pickersgill, is very scathing about him.’ I told her what Pickersgill had said, before adding, ‘By the way, he knows all about us.’
‘The village policeman knows we’re engaged? How did he find that out? Did you tell him?’
‘I didn’t need to. He saw us together at the weekend and again on Monday morning and put two and two together.’
‘He sounds very astute. Perhaps he ought to be the one to investigate the murder, rather than this Ogden chap?’
‘I think he’s planning to, by proxy, so to speak.’
‘What on earth does that mean?’
‘He asked me to phone him as soon as you’re back. He’s going to ask us, off the record, to have a look into Lewis’s death because he doesn’t trust the local CID; and Ogden in particular, to get it right.’
‘Oh Lord, here we go again. I obviously can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you getting into trouble.’
‘All the more reason for you to hurry back home.’
‘It sounds nice, when you refer to Dene Cottage as home. Seriously, though, Adam, are you sure we ought to get involved in this? Apart from the police politics, think of what happened before. I wouldn’t want us to end up in the same sort of danger. We only just escaped with our lives then. This time we might not be so lucky.’
Chapter Seven
‘The problem is, I think we’re already involved in this case, to some extent, given that it was Barbara’s husband who was murdered.’ I continued to try and convince Eve we should try and help Johnny Pickersgill.
‘Have you told Barbara about what happened to Charles?’
‘Not yet; I did try her number a bit earlier, but there was no reply.’
‘Leave it to me; I’ll call her. The news might come better from me, although I doubt whether she’ll grieve too much.’
‘I would have thought the police will already have told her, but she may want someone to talk to. What concerns me is that apart from the tramp, the person with the greatest motive to kill Lewis is Barbara. Not only was there the acrimony of the divorce, but if he was claiming half the property, there’s the financial angle to consider.’
‘You don’t honestly believe that of Barbara, do you?’
‘No, not for one minute, but I’m prepared to bet that Ogden will. Don’t forget, I’ve seen the way his mind works.’
‘Yes, I got that impression, and I haven’t even met the man.’
‘I forgot to tell you, but when I last spoke to Barbara, she told me she was having great difficulty getting an appointment with the solicitor handling the Rowandale Hall estate. I’m not sure whether she was being a touch paranoid, but she said she’d got the impression that the man was being deliberately evasive.’
There was a pause while Eve considered what I’d told her. ‘Does she have the right to demand an interview?’
‘I feel sure she must have; after all she is a beneficiary in Rupert Latimer’s will, and a major one at that. As such I reckon she could demand to see any or all documents relative to the disposal of his estate. But there again, I’m no legal expert, and from what I gather, wills and probate law are a bit of a minefield.’
‘Isn’t there a time limit before you have to apply for probate, or whatever it’s called? I seem to remember after my father died we had to sign things before a certain date.’
Eve’s father had been a very successful and extremely wealthy businessman, and when he and her mother died, Eve and her sister Harriet both inherited a large fortune. ‘I wouldn’t know; my family has never had enough money to be kept awake at night by problems such as that.’
Eve made a sound that, when I was living in New York, I heard described as a ‘Bronx cheer’; elsewhere it was known as blowing a raspberry. I grinned and then answered her seriously, ‘I would imagine that if there is an issue or dispute over one of the bequests, or if someone challenges the will, that would delay applying for probate until the matter was resolved. I wouldn’t suppose anyone would want to hurry the process in such a situation, because as soon as they have probate, the Inland Revenue will be round with their begging bowl.’
‘Tut-tut, Mr Bailey, such cynicism. Do you really think this solicitor might be in collusion with Matthews?’
‘Now you’re getting to sound as paranoid as Barbara. I suppose it is just possible, but I very much doubt it. For one thing, if he did anything like that and it all went wrong, he’d risk losing far too much. I think it’s far more likely that he’s simply being extremely cautious.’
‘Of course, none of this would have happened if Brian was still alive.’
Eve’s statement confused me. ‘Brian? Who’s Brian?’
‘I’m sorry, I was assuming you knew. I forgot you weren’t there when Barbara told me about him. You remember I told you about Rupert Latimer’s only child that died in Mexico? His name was Brian. Barbara talked about him whilst I was staying with her. She’d had a little too much wine one evening and that loosened her tongue. It’s a rather sad story. He fell out with his father after the old man accused him of stealing some valuable pieces of silverware and jewellery from the Hall. It seems they were sold to a jeweller in Leeds and when Rupert Latimer traced one of the items and went to see the jeweller, he identified Brian from a photo the old man showed him. When Rupert confronted Brian with it, the boy took offence and walked out, swearing never to return. He had money in his own right, so he was never going to be destitute.’
‘How old was he?’
‘I’m not sure, twenty-one or so, I think. Anyway, about a year later, police raided the jeweller’s in Leeds and arrested the jeweller, plus a man who was trying to dispose of more of the Latimer collection. It turned out he was the butler at the Hall, and the two men had been robbing Rupert blind for ages.’
‘You said that Brian Latimer died. What happened to him?’
‘Nobody heard from him for years, and then his body was discovered in an abandoned mine somewhere in Mexico. He’d been shot several times, and police there reckoned it might have had something to do with drugs. Barbara told me they identified him via his British driving licence. It was when she was telling me this bit that she got really upset. That’s when I gathered Brian Latimer meant more to her than just a friend or neighbour. Whether it ever came to anything, I’m not sure.’
‘As you say; a very sad story. And if your intuition is right, and things had turned out different, Barbara might have been the mistress of Rowandale Hall now.’
‘I agree. I could never understand why she married a waster like Lewis, but if she was still recovering from Brian’s death, that would explain a lot. Anyway, she’s rid of him now, and all the problems he caused.’
‘Except that his death could give her even worse problems by the sound of it, both from Matthews and the police.’
‘You’re right. I think the sooner I’m back; the better.’
‘Now that, I totally agree with, and it has nothing to do with the murder.’
‘I’d better phone Barbara. I’ll see you in the morning, Adam.’
‘Let me know if you get hold of her.’
We exchanged loving messages before she agreed. My concern over Barbara was in no way assuaged by Eve’s call. I roamed the house that evening, restless and unable to settle. I was concerned about the murder and I missed Eve more than ever. When it got to midnight, and I still hadn’t heard from Eve, I went to bed. I was unable to sleep, however. I was plagued by the persistent memory of the tramp, his seeming fixation on Barbara, and most of all, the knife he carried. This, allied to the assault on Lewis, led me down the path of supposition into an extremely unsavoury area. Had he seen Lewis as a rival, tracked him down, and killed him? And, having done so, had he descended on Linden House to claim his prize? The stables were extremely isolated, and the fact that Barbara was alone there, without even the stable lads to call on for help, left her highly vulnerable.
It wasn’t only the tramp who posed a potential danger. She had been thre
atened by the gamekeeper, Armstrong, by his employer, Matthews, and by Lewis. Although Lewis no longer posed a threat, the manner of his death was even more disquieting. Eventually, I did doze off, but kept waking up at regular intervals. Each time I woke, I peered at the bedside clock. After this had happened three or four times I decided it needed a new battery, because it appeared to have stopped. It wasn’t until almost daylight that I remembered it was plugged into the mains.
Next morning I set off for York early. I could buy some much needed stationery supplies before meeting Eve’s train. I reached the station just as her train was pulling in, and was by the barrier to greet her. We walked back to the car, followed by a porter whose trolley contained a small mountain of suitcases. I glanced back at the man. ‘Are all those cases yours?’
Eve nodded.
‘You should have warned me. If I’d known, I’d have borrowed a removals van.’
Eve looked surprised. ‘Why, won’t they fit in your car?’
‘I’m not sure they’ll fit in the house, let alone the car. Anyway, did you get hold of Barbara?’
‘No, I tried several times, right up until midnight, but there was no answer. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind if we go via Rowandale on the way home.’
‘I’ll certainly do that; in fact I was going to suggest it.’ I started to ram suitcases into the back of the car. ‘I just hope the rear axle holds out.’
When we reached Linden House, the gates to the drive were open. I drove in, parking behind Barbara’s car, which was alongside the horsebox. The yard was deserted, and I got no response to my knock on the door.
‘I’ll go check the stable block.’
‘OK, I’ll keep trying the door. If she got back late she might be having a lie in.’ Even as I said it, I didn’t believe it, nor do I think I convinced Eve. It was almost noon, and Barbara would be used to rising early to look after the horses that were in her care. Sure enough, there was no response to my continued assault on the door panels, but it gave me something to do whilst I was waiting. Five minutes later, Eve returned, and I could tell from the frown on her face that she’d been no more successful than I had.
