The Kaiser's Gold

by Bill Kitson

  We promised to give the case more thought, and with that Pickersgill left. I still thought he was being optimistic in the extreme hoping that amateurs such as us could succeed where CID couldn’t. I was about to say as much to Eve, but then I remembered my two encounters with Ogden and revised my opinion.

  Pickersgill had only been gone about half an hour when the phone rang. Eve answered it, and listened to the caller, her expression registering first shock; and then dismay. She put the phone down and turned to stare bleakly at me. ‘That was John Pickersgill. He thought we should know that some public-spirited citizen has called Ogden to inform him that Barbara had returned. He’s only gone and arrested her on suspicion of murder. What are we going to do, Adam?’

  I thought about what we’d been told for a moment. ‘First off, I want to go to the stables.’ I glanced at the clock, ‘If we’re lucky, we might be able to catch the stable lads before they’ve finished for the day. Then I’ve got some questions I want to ask Mr Walter Armstrong. Come on, Evie, I’ll explain as we go.’

  We made it to Linden House just in time. As we pulled up, the stable lads were ambling up the yard, their work for the morning done. They would have finished much earlier, as one of them told us, had it not been for the incursion by the police. We offered the lads a lift to Rowandale village and on the way there, they told us about Barbara’s arrest.

  ‘The police arrived as we were returning from the gallops.’

  ‘Did you have any problems with Armstrong?’

  ‘No, never saw him. That was a surprise really, because his house overlooks the shortcut we take. Mrs Lewis came along with us in case he got stroppy, but he didn’t appear.’

  ‘Who was the man in charge of the police? Was it Inspector Ogden?’

  ‘I don’t know his name,’ the senior of the lads told us. ‘There was one older bloke in plain clothes who was ordering everyone else around and getting stressed up.’

  ‘That sounds like Ogden,’ Eve grimaced.

  ‘There was another bloke in civvies, but he looked as if he should be in short pants. Added to them there was a van full of uniformed coppers and a policewoman, who all looked as if they wished they were somewhere else.’

  ‘Ogden has that effect on people.’

  ‘He was waving a search warrant in everyone’s face. It didn’t do him much good, because one of the horses snatched it out of his hand and tried to eat it. We only just rescued it in time, but it was ripped and a soggy mess when I gave it back to him.’

  ‘Oh, I wish I’d seen that,’ Eve muttered.

  ‘You and me both,’ I agreed. ‘Did they find anything of interest?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Why would they? Anyone who knows the boss would have realized long ago she isn’t capable of murder. They took a load of kitchen knives away, for forensic testing, they said.’

  ‘And that was all they got from the house?’

  ‘Yes, and when they turned their attention to the stables, the fun really started.’

  ‘Why, what happened?’ Eve beat me to the question by a split second.

  ‘For a start they told us to stay clear whilst they went into the loose boxes. They were OK until they came up against The Boy.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked. ‘What boy?’ I thought for a moment this was a piece of racing slang for a stable lad.

  ‘His full name is Blenheim Boy, but everyone refers to him as The Boy. He’s Mrs Lewis’s best hurdler. He’s a five-year-old gelding with a nasty temper on him. The Boy doesn’t like people much, certainly not strangers, especially when they go barging into his box whilst he’s in the middle of eating his breakfast. He kicked one of the coppers on the shins and had another pinned up against the wall. By the time we got into the box, The Boy was on his hind legs and if that bloke hadn’t put his arm up to defend himself he might have finished up with a fractured skull instead of a broken arm. We pulled The Boy off him before he could do any more damage, but it was a close-run thing.’

  ‘Was either of them badly hurt?’

  ‘The Boy only caught them glancing blows, but it might have been much more serious. I think the ambulance men were amused when they arrived.’ The stable lad grinned. ‘The bloke in charge got very stroppy about it, until Mrs Lewis pointed out how much Blenheim Boy and the other horses are worth; and that he’d be held responsible if any of them got injured. After that he agreed for us to lead each of them out of the box before they searched it.’

  ‘Did they take anything away with them?’

  One of the other lads burst out laughing. ‘Two of them did, although they didn’t realize it. It might be good for their roses, but it won’t half make that van stink on the way back to the police station.’

  We’d reached the house where two of the lads lodged before I had chance to ask them the question we’d gone there for. Their answer confirmed my suspicion, and the opinion expressed by Pickersgill, that Ogden was worse than useless. A few minutes spent checking his facts would have saved Ogden from making a fool of himself. As we dropped the third of the stable lads off, I asked him for directions to Armstrong’s house. ‘It’s just outside the village,’ he told us. There’s a little terrace. Armstrong’s is the end one. Funny, that,’ he added, ‘his house is right across from t’ beck from where Lewis’s car was found.’ He lowered his voice. ‘They reckon that’s where he was killed.’

  Something in his tone told me he wasn’t too upset by Lewis’s death. ‘You didn’t like Mrs Lewis’s husband, did you?’

  ‘No, he was a useless tosser. Cruel as well. The boss hid the bruises; she covered them up. Anyway, I saw him at it once. Some folk reckon she did him in. That’s a load of rubbish, but I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had taken a knife to him.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eve stir in the passenger seat. The topic of conversation was not to her liking. Given that she had attacked her abusive partner some years ago with a carving knife, I could understand why. I thanked the stable lad for his help and as we drove away, I apologized. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea he was going to say that.’

  Eve patted my hand. ‘It’s not your fault, Adam. He wasn’t to know, and it’s all in the past now. Anyway, John Pickersgill thinks so.’

  ‘Why, what’s he been saying?’

  ‘Remember last Saturday, in the pub, when he whispered in my ear. He told me he didn’t think I’d need to look round Dene Cottage to locate a carving knife, because you would never harm me.’

  Despite our wish to see Barbara released from custody, I thought it worthwhile making another call before heading to the police station. ‘As we’re in Rowandale,’ I told Eve, ‘why don’t we go and see Armstrong and get him to tell us how he knew Lewis was dead before the news was released? It’ll only take a few minutes.’

  My final statement turned out to be wildly inaccurate. We completed the half-mile journey to the far side of the village and pulled up outside the small row of terraced houses that marked the boundary of the Rowandale estate.

  ‘How are you going to tackle him,’ Eve asked as we got out of the car.

  ‘I’m simply going to ask him the question outright and see how he reacts. If he’s learned about it innocently, all well and good. It might be that someone from Laithbrigg who was around when we found the body told him. It’s even possible that after he heard about it, Armstrong rang Matthews and told him. On the other hand, it could be that Armstrong and Matthews know far more about Lewis’s murder than they’re letting on, so the next few minutes should be extremely interesting.’

  If my previous remark had been wildly inaccurate; this one would prove to be the understatement of the year.

  The first sign of trouble came soon after we inched our way down the short gravel drive in front of Armstrong’s house, where his Land Rover was parked in front of another, far more expensive vehicle. I looked at the Triumph Stag admiringly, wondering who the keeper’s visitor was. I dismissed the idea of the car being his; even the most generous of employers doesn’t pay
their gamekeepers sufficient to afford such an expensive car. More probably one of the shoot members, who was there on syndicate business.

  The building was at the end of a terrace of four small dwellings that I guessed had originally been tied cottages, from the days when the estate was far more labour-intensive, before the onset of mechanisation. The garden was overgrown; in urgent need of weeding, and the exterior of the cottage displayed similar signs of long-term neglect. The paint on the window frames and the front door was cracked and peeling. The window panes had obviously not been cleaned for many months.

  However, it was the front door that commanded our immediate attention and set off the first alarm bells in my mind. It was a bitterly cold day, with a brisk north-easterly wind blowing, one that my father used to describe as a lazy wind. When I asked him what that meant, he explained that the wind cut straight through you because it was too lazy to go round.

  I pointed towards the door, ‘I don’t like the look of that. Nobody in their right mind would leave their door open on a day like this.’

  Even then, I don’t think either of us really expected what we were to find inside. It isn’t the sort of thing that would spring to mind, unless you had a really macabre thought pattern. There was no bell, so I knocked on the door panel. All this achieved was to move the door from ajar to wide open.

  ‘Hello, Mr Armstrong, are you there?’ My voice echoed down the hallway, but got no response from within the house. I tried again. ‘Are you there, Mr Armstrong? Is everything all right?’

  Still nothing but the reverberation of my voice. I looked at Eve. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘It’s obvious there’s something wrong, don’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m loath to go inside without being asked.’ My reluctance had nothing to do with fear of what I might find, for at that stage I had no thought of trouble. However, as I explained to Eve, technically, once I stepped over the threshold I was committing an act of trespass. In the back of my mind, in addition to the minor misdemeanour; was the evidence I’d seen of Armstrong’s temper. Eve, however, was made of sterner stuff.

  ‘We can’t simply ignore this door being left open. It’s obvious that something’s wrong. What if the poor man’s ill and can’t call for help? We’d feel terrible about it later if we find out we could have helped, but didn’t. And, as well as Mr Armstrong, there’s the house to consider. We can’t just leave it with the door wide open like this. It isn’t safe. Come on, Adam, follow me.’

  I did as Eve instructed; feeling rather foolish and somewhat emasculated by her fearless approach. The cottage was typical of such buildings to be found throughout the county. To the side of the hallway was a small sitting room, behind which a flight of stairs led to the first floor. Beyond them was the dining room, which led to a galley kitchen. At the rear of the ground floor was a bathroom and toilet. Although we both called Armstrong’s name several times during our inspection of the rooms, we evoked no response. If the gamekeeper was in residence, he must be on the first floor, but in such a small house, surely he must have heard us by now.

  ‘This is weird,’ Eve muttered. I looked at her and saw her shiver suddenly, ‘I don’t like this, Adam. I think something is wrong; seriously wrong.’

  ‘Do you want to stay here whilst I check upstairs?’ Curiosity had overcome my reluctance now.

  ‘No, I’ll come with you. Better if we stick together.’

  There were two doors at the head of the stairs. I opened the one on the left, revealing what was obviously a guest bedroom, although I doubted whether anyone had slept there for a long time. Clothing was heaped in untidy piles on the bed, and by the faintly distasteful aroma of sweat and body odour; I guessed it had been dumped there unwashed.

  As I looked across the room I saw two shotguns leaning up against the far wall. So much for gun safety, I thought. The regulations stated that they should be kept in a steel cabinet, bolted to the wall and secured by two five-lever locks. I pointed the weapons out to Eve. ‘That’s another reason why the front door shouldn’t have been left open.’

  Seeing the shotguns merely deepened my sense of unease; it hadn’t at that stage reached full-blown panic. It didn’t take long to get there. As I closed the spare room door, Eve turned the handle on the other door. She pushed it open; the first sign of alarm came via the stench. One of the effects of sudden death is the evacuation of the victim’s bowels. Simultaneously, Eve screamed; turned and buried her head against my chest. Looking over her shoulder, I saw the reason for her terror.

  Although my experience in war zones had hardened me to the results of extreme violence, the sight that confronted me made me feel sick. It was obvious that Walter Armstrong had not died easily. Evidence of the fight he had put up before being overwhelmed lay in the broken vase on the floor, the upturned chair and the expression of contorted rage and pain on his face. He had been caught unawares; that much was obvious. His nakedness proved that. In the few seconds that I looked directly at him, I counted at least half a dozen stab wounds to his chest and abdomen. There may have been more, but with so much blood it was difficult to say.

  I was about to retreat; to take Eve away from this dreadful scene of carnage, when I noticed something even more chilling. Beyond the bloodstained double bed, just where the eiderdown hung close to the carpet, I saw a small, bright pink object, with two even smaller ones alongside it. I recognized them instantly. Only the previous night I had watched Eve varnishing her toenails. ‘Eve,’ I said gently. ‘Look there, beyond the bed. Don’t look at Armstrong. Concentrate on the foot of the bed. Am I seeing things, or is that a woman’s foot sticking out from there?’

  One glance was enough to convince Eve that I hadn’t been imagining things. ‘Oh, Adam, no. Oh, God, I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘Turn away, take a deep breath, and then close the door.’

  Eve did as I instructed and I helped her downstairs. We hurriedly left the house and took in several deep gulps of fresh air. ‘Take the car and go down the village and find a phone. Ring John Pickersgill and explain what’s happened.’

  ‘I don’t know the number.’

  ‘Get the operator to give you it.’

  ‘Shouldn’t it be Ogden I tell?’ Eve saw the look on my face. ‘No, I guess you’re right.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Despite my revulsion, once Eve had left, I went back inside the house. I opened the bedroom door, taking care to use my handkerchief, and stepped cautiously past Armstrong’s body. The second victim, a young woman who I guessed to be in either her late twenties or early thirties, was as naked as Armstrong. Her body was equally bloodstained and it was obvious that she was equally dead. I concentrated on her face, but didn’t recognize her. I turned and glanced out of the window, across the broad shimmering water of Thorsgill Beck towards the narrow ribbon of tarmac beyond. As I looked, I remembered what the stable lad had told us. From this viewpoint I could clearly see the churned-up grass on the verge where the recovery vehicle had removed Lewis’s Mercedes. I inched my way from the room, closing the door behind me. There was nothing more to be done for the victims. They were long past help.

  Eve returned a few minutes later. She still looked extremely distressed. I was concerned, but when she asked me if I was all right, I realized I must also be showing signs of the terrible sight we had just seen. ‘John said he was going to try to get hold of Ogden first. As soon as he’s spoken to him, he’ll set off for here. He said we hadn’t to touch anything; or even go back inside the house.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on it,’ I said, the vision of those two bodies still far too fresh in my mind.

  ‘What should we do now? I feel so helpless.’

  ‘Apart from waiting around to ensure that nobody rushes in and disturbs vital evidence, there’s absolutely nothing we can do until someone arrives to take charge.’

  Eve looked around. The village street stretched for almost a mile towards the imposing entrance gates that marked the bounda
ry of Rowandale Hall. There was absolutely no one in sight. ‘I don’t think we’re going to get bowled over in the rush.’

  I turned to face the cottage. ‘I wonder if by any chance that Stag is unlocked. I don’t suppose so; even out here nobody would be willing to take the chance with such an expensive piece of kit. I’ll just go try the doors.’

  Sure enough, the car was secure. ‘Did you think there might be a clue as to the owner’s identity inside?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Something of the sort, yes.’

  ‘If the owner is security conscious enough to keep it locked even in such a safe place, I very much doubt whether they would leave personal details lying around inside for every potential car thief to find.’

  ‘Was,’ I corrected her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said, “if the owner is security conscious”.’

  ‘Oh, all right, but you’re assuming the woman in the bedroom is the owner. Who do you think killed them? A jealous husband or lover, perhaps?’

  ‘I might have gone along with that idea, but for seeing Charles Lewis’s body last week. I’m by no means an expert, but I reckon the stab wounds on these bodies were made by the same knife that killed Barbara’s ex-husband.’

  There was a moment’s silence before Eve spoke. ‘Hang on, Adam, you said “the stab wounds on these bodies”, but we could only see Armstrong. All that was visible of the other victim from the door was part of their foot.’

  I realized suddenly how easy it is for someone to make an elementary mistake that could prove highly incriminating. I might as well own up. ‘I went back inside and took a closer look. I thought I ought to, in case the second victim was only wounded. It would have been terrible to find out later that we could have helped them.’

  ‘I actually knew you’d gone back into the cottage. Eve pointed down the street. ‘’You can see the front door from the phone box. I take it the woman was also dead?’