The Murder Book

by Jane A. Adams

  Henry went up the narrow stairs and into the first bedroom. This evidently belonged to the parents. Rag rugs decorated the floor, as they had done downstairs, and as had been the case in Ruby’s bedroom a clean one had been laid across the foot of the bed to provide extra warmth when the weather got cold. There were two wooden chairs and a chest of drawers in here, and on the chest of drawers a moulded bowl of orange carnival glass and two little candlesticks. He opened the drawers, found clothes inside and folded sheets. Everything smelt of lavender. In the bottom drawer was a store of soap and blue bags and washing stuff, so evidently Samuels did not make use of the Lee’s laundry service. There was a Book of Common Prayer and a Bible. When he opened it he found the names of the family inscribed, generation upon generation, inside. He closed it and put it back.

  In the second room there was a single bed and a mattress laid out on the floor. The younger children must sleep top to tail, he thought, looking at the pillows – one at the head and one at the foot. Everything was clean and neat and cared for but no, the Samuels were evidently not people who owned things. The small tin chest at the end of the bed held a doll, a toy car and some carved wooden toys. He wondered if Dar had made them. And there were winter clothes layered up with lavender to keep the moths at bay. The shirts Dar had mentioned had been folded and placed upon a shelf. A newspaper had been folded up and placed beneath. Curious, Henry moved the shirts and took the paper down. It was just a single page, recording the deaths of Mary Fields and her kin and folded over so the story was the only one visible.

  Henry frowned, puzzled. He started to put the shirts back when he noticed the buttons. One was dissimilar from the rest.

  Henry went back downstairs and lay his finds down on the kitchen table.

  ‘Did your son know Mary Fields?’ he asked.

  ‘He did, yes. He was at sea with the husband.’ Dar Samuels frowned at Henry. ‘What of it?’

  ‘I found this in his room.’

  ‘He was upset at the news.’

  ‘And he had a button missing from his shirt,’ Henry pointed at the offending fastening. ‘When was it replaced?’

  ‘I don’t recall exactly,’ Mrs Samuels said. ‘He lost one and I found another from the button box. We always keep buttons even when the clothes are worn through.’

  Henry nodded. ‘I need to take this shirt,’ he said.

  ‘And why would you need to do that?’

  Henry paused, reluctant to pile grief on grief. ‘Your son – when did he last see Mary Fields?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. Inspector, what are you saying?’

  Mrs Samuels had come to stand next to her husband now. ‘You can’t be suggesting that Ethan had anything to do with … with that?’

  Henry considered then decided to tell them the truth. ‘A button was found at the murder scene. The button matches those on this shirt.’

  ‘And probably matches half the shirts in Louth,’ Dar Samuels protested.

  ‘Probably so, but your son has shown himself capable of violence. I can’t ignore this, Mr Samuels. You must understand that. I’ll be going now,’ he said. ‘Mr Samuels, I don’t have to tell you – if you hear from your son you must let us know.’

  Dar Samuels nodded. ‘I’m hoping I don’t hear from him,’ he said. ‘That way I won’t have to lie to anyone.’

  Henry let the comment pass. He walked back up to the Hanson farm where Ted was waiting with the car.

  George’s presence in the lounge of the King’s Head had caused some raised eyebrows but no one had said anything. The police officers were foreigners and therefore would have some strange habits. But they were also police officers and no one wanted to challenge them.

  George looked uneasy; this was not a place that he should be but Mickey hoped the unease would actually loosen his tongue. He brought them both beers and took them back to the table in the corner where George sat.

  ‘So tell me,’ he said, ‘what your Walter told you about May.’

  ‘Not much to tell. Walter said he thought he saw that man talking to our Mary. That she seemed uncomfortable. That Ruby was there, fidgeting around and Mary got cross with her because she wouldn’t stand still. Our Mary rarely got cross with Ruby – there was no need. Ruby was a nice, calm little thing. She caused no trouble to anyone and our Mary knew that. I never saw her raise her voice.’

  Mickey was of the opinion that no child was ever that good. ‘And your Walter thought that he’d said something to upset Mary? I thought it was May that made sure you and Mary got your bequest?’

  ‘It was but you can be sure with a man like May that there were always strings attached. He was as bad as that partner of his, Fry. Neither of them really saw any reason why we should have anything even if the old lady had left it to us.’

  ‘And yet May took your side?’

  ‘May said that the will was watertight, that it would only make their firm look bad if Fry went ahead to try to fight it. After all, it was only a little bit of money. Not enough to make a difference to a man like that but enough to make all the difference to people like us.’

  ‘And yet he doesn’t seem to have made a difference to your condition. You are still poor as church mice.’

  ‘At the time it did. We managed to rent somewhere half decent but I had problems finding another job and it soon went. We couldn’t ask the parish for help – they’d have said we had money and when we’d run out they’d have said we couldn’t look after Ruby. The parish is the ruination of families; it would have been the ruination of us. Eventually I went back to sea and Mary, well, Mary went back to her old ways.’

  ‘And May knew all about this?’

  ‘Of course he did. Fry had tried to blacken her name before. He said he’d take us to court, say what kind of a woman she was, make sure we didn’t get the money we were owed. He threatened to say that Mary had been stealing. Mary had never stolen anything in her life and neither had I.’

  ‘And when you went away to sea you left Mary and Ruby unprotected. I’m not blaming you, George, I’m just telling it how was. The pressures that must have built upon them, on Mary especially … A woman on her own, with a reputation and very little money – it must have seemed like an easy way out.’

  George nodded slowly. ‘I should never have gone. I should have stopped here with her, with them. We should have gone down to where her family were, Newark or Nottingham. I think she must have been lonely but she never said. I think she would have been better off somewhere else but my pride wouldn’t let me say I’d failed. But I did fail, didn’t I? Failed them in the worst way.’

  ‘Your father doesn’t like me,’ Henry Johnstone said to Ted as they drove out of the yard and on to the main road.

  ‘Well, for a start you don’t make yourself very easy to like,’ Ted said frankly. ‘And secondly I don’t think he would like anyone who came from the outside at the moment. We’re used to handling things ourselves and it irks him that he can’t handle this.’

  ‘I think it irks him more that your brother was a bad lot and that a more useful man killed him.’

  ‘You have a strange way of putting things,’ Ted said. ‘Not one I can like.’

  ‘But, nevertheless, you recognize some truth in it.’

  Ted shook his head and Henry knew it wasn’t something he could admit out loud anyway. ‘What will it do to the village community?’ he asked.

  ‘Hard to say.’

  ‘I hear that Ethan coming back shook things up. That he was a disruptive influence, becoming involved with Helen Lee like that.’

  ‘Love isn’t something that can be controlled, Inspector. That had all been settled. They’d have got married and moved just a little bit away so no one’s nose got rubbed in it but they were still part of the community and by the time the next generation had come along and were set to be married, well, the chances are some arrangement would have been made to draw the families back together again. It’s always been that way.’

  ‘And has an arrang
ement been made for you?’

  ‘Arrangements don’t apply to the Hansons any more. You could say we’ve moved beyond that.’

  Henry nodded; that chimed with what he’d already thought. ‘The world is changing,’ he said. ‘Too fast for some, not fast enough for others.’

  He was silent for a few minutes and then he asked, ‘Would you have believed Ethan capable of this?’

  ‘Capable of giving Robert a beating, yes. They would have come to blows sooner or later but we would have dealt with that. No one thinks badly of two men facing one another in a fair fight. But I’d not pegged Ethan for someone to hit a man when he was down.’

  ‘What do you think will happen to Helen Lee now?’

  Ted shrugged. ‘The families will work something out,’ he said. ‘That’s the way it’s always been done.’

  FORTY-SIX

  By the time Ted dropped Henry off, George had already gone on his way and Mickey, after his evening meal had been taken, had now returned to the lounge bar and was waiting for his boss to get back. Henry went to join him, dropping gratefully into the big fireside chair and closing his eyes.

  Mickey studied him thoughtfully. ‘Tough day?’ he asked.

  ‘I followed the dogs about a dozen miles. My mind is unchanged – that he’ll head for the docks and try to get on a ship. It’s a life he’s used to – no doubt he’ll have contacts he can use. But the word is out and the dockland police will catch up with him.’

  ‘And the body has been brought back here?’

  ‘It has. I’ll attend the post-mortem tomorrow – you too if you wish.’

  ‘I may as well; I’m making little progress elsewhere. I spoke to George Fields at length today.’

  ‘And did he have anything useful to say?’

  Mickey apprised Henry Johnstone of the day’s events and what George had told him. Also about the candlestick that Parkin had brought to him.

  ‘Any usable prints?’

  ‘The only clear ones belong to the children who found it. There are a few partials but nothing very useful.’

  Henry brought his sergeant up to date on the events of the day, the shirt and newspaper.

  ‘I’ll compare the buttons,’ Mickey said. ‘Does this mean we have ourselves a suspect?’

  ‘A possible suspect. But I’m not discounting other options,’ Henry said thoughtfully. ‘We should keep a close eye on George. I can see him turning impatient.’

  ‘I doubt patience was a virtue he ever had, but you can understand the man’s frustration, both with his wife and with whoever finished her off. It’s a bad business any way you look at it.’

  Henry nodded then leaned back and closed his eyes. He was tired, he realized. Weary after a long day. He guessed it must have seemed an even longer day to Ethan Samuels.

  Seeing George Fields at Hubbard’s Hills had unsettled May far more than he would have credited. It was probably the sight of George going off with that policeman, he thought as he sat in his favourite chair cradling his brandy glass. Fry had noticed his unease, of course, but no one else seemed to have done so. He remembered the first time he had seen Mary Fields; such a pretty woman with such a happy smile. The sunlight had caught the gold in her blonde hair and for a moment it had seemed as though she was wearing a halo around her head. But that had been then and he’d learnt different since. The woman was no angel.

  She had still been working for old Mrs Fry at that point and it had been another year before he’d had any real contact with her – that had been in the dispute over the will. He had been astonished by Edmund Fry’s intent to try and do Mary and her husband out of their little bit of a bequest. It had seemed so petty. It was only when he challenged Edmund that it had emerged that his fit of pique had nothing to do with the money, not really, but more that the woman had rejected his advances and told him that she didn’t do that sort of thing any more.

  May had immediately been interested. ‘You mean she did before?’ he had asked.

  ‘Oh, but she certainly did. Had quite a reputation did Mary.’

  ‘I take it your grandmother didn’t know anything about it?’

  ‘That’s the devil of it – she did know. Came out with some claptrap about everyone deserving a second chance. She was always a little soft in the head. But our little Mary said she had promised my grandmother that she would behave and she wasn’t going to break a promise.’

  Fry had laughed, as though he could not quite believe the words. What right had any woman to turn him down, especially one like Mary Fields?

  And so, when May had been dealing with the dispute over the will, he had approached Mary with the proposition. At first she had refused him but over time he had worn her down. Her situation had worn her down and she had given in.

  It had even been fun, for a while.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  The post-mortem on Robert Hanson had been scheduled for two p.m. on the Monday afternoon and Henry and Mickey had planned to spend the morning going over the evidence and discussing what direction they should take next. They were interrupted, however, by the arrival of Constable Parkin. Inspector Carrington had sent him to get them both and, Parkin said, Carrington was in a right fury.

  ‘It’s George Fields,’ Parkin said. ‘He’s been going from hotel to hotel and pub to pub looking for a man called Williams who he says slept with his wife. He’s been making a right lot of noise and there have been complaints from landlords and members of the public he’s upset. Inspector Carrington thinks it’s all your fault.’

  ‘Of course he does,’ Mickey said. ‘Who else’s could it be?’

  ‘He says you put George Fields up to this, upsetting respectable people just going about their daily business. He says you should have given up the enquiry by now because you ain’t getting nowhere. He says a lot of things but I should probably not have been listening.’

  ‘Probably not,’ Mickey agreed. ‘But sometimes it’s hard not to, isn’t it, lad?’

  They accompanied Constable Parkin back to the police station. Carrington heard them arrive and came out into the reception; he was bristling with anger, red in the face and blue about the gills. Henry sent Mickey to speak to George Fields and suggested that he and Carrington should go back into Carrington’s office and discuss matters quietly. Inspector Carrington did not feel inclined to do so but, nevertheless, he turned and strode back through his door, sat down behind his desk and glowered at Henry Johnstone.

  ‘Do you know what that man has been doing? He’s been going from one establishment to another, standing in the lobby or pacing up and down in the reception and shouting at the top of his voice for someone called Williams to come out and face him. Five different establishments. Five. Can you imagine how many people he has upset and distressed?’

  ‘A few, I expect,’ Henry said. ‘It appears that he thinks someone called Williams—’

  ‘I know exactly what he thinks. The whole world knows exactly what he thinks. But was there a Mr Williams to answer his challenge? No, there was not. Just a lot of very distressed customers and very put out employees. And it’s you I blame for all of this. You have no control over this investigation and even less over George Fields.’

  ‘I never claimed to have any control over George Fields,’ Henry observed.

  ‘And from what I hear you’ve also upset the Hansons. Do you know how much land Mr Hanson owns hereabouts? What influence he has?’

  ‘No.’ Henry shrugged. ‘But I’ve no doubt you could tell me.’ He got up. ‘I’ll go and speak to George Fields,’ he said. ‘See if he has any idea where to look for this Mr Williams. His methodology thus far leaves little to be desired. It may be that Sergeant Hitchens and I will have better luck.’

  Carrington had taken a deep breath, no doubt to deliver a new tirade, but Henry left, closing the door behind him, and went down to the police cells to join Mickey.

  George Fields had the grace to look shamefaced but he was clearly unrepentant.

  ‘I’ve read your w
ife’s letters,’ Henry said. ‘Once you’re out of here I can give them back to you. Do you really think this was the way to proceed?’

  ‘Do you really think you’re making any progress?’

  Henry thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. ‘Truthfully? Very little as yet, but sometimes that’s the way of things. The case will break. We will find out who killed your family. But you do have to trust us and let us do things our way. George, all this will achieve is more trouble for you, and though you may not think you care right now, you have the rest of your life to live.’

  ‘But no one to live it for,’ George said sullenly. ‘You think I can just walk away from this and start again? It doesn’t work like that, does it? You don’t just walk away and start again.’

  ‘Sometimes there is no other choice,’ Henry told him. ‘George, do you remember a young man called Ethan Samuels? You were shipboard with him?’

  ‘Of course I do. The gypsy boy. He was nice enough, came back home with me a time or two but …’

  ‘But what?’

  George looked a little shamefaced. ‘He was a bit too cosy with our Mary,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure I liked the way he was with her.’ He looked puzzled. ‘Why do you want to know? I heard about the death out at Thoresway. Hard to believe the boy would do something like that.’ He looked from Henry to Mickey, expecting some kind of explanation but receiving none.

  There wasn’t a lot else that Henry or Sergeant Hitchens could do for George Fields and so they left soon afterwards. ‘Well, he might have stirred things up a bit for us,’ Mickey observed. ‘Someone somewhere might remember something just because George Fields has made a bit of a noise.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ he added, ‘we’re on the back foot here. Back at home we’d have our snouts and snitches and would know the way things worked but a place like this, it’s like a giant, exclusive club you have to be part of. Never did like country towns or country politics. Give me a straight city villain any day.’