A Debt Is Finally Paid (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  With a deep breath, Sophia calmed herself and approached the stall.

  “Ah, there you are my dear. Get on with you both. Barty will take you to Weybridge and bring you home.” Mrs. Rossar-mescro turned to Barty. “I’ll expect you to bring me some news from your Baba. She’s with your Bebee Marie. They’ll feed you both.”

  Mrs. Rossar-mescro returned to calling in her loud sing-song voice about her herrings indicating to both Sophia and Barty it was time to move along and not encumber possible customers approaching the stall.

  The young man motioned for Sophia to follow him. His extreme shyness kept him from meeting her eyes when she asked him how far it was to the boat. It began to rain as they made it down to the lower docks below the fish market where barges, skiffs and punts were tied along the wharf. Strong men, boys and even women were busy unloading all kind of fish known to England’s waters whether it be sea or river. Barty maneuvered around carts and basket-toting people, guiding Sophia to a long watercraft tied up at the end of the dock. It was known as a sailing barge, an extremely versatile and economical vessel for carrying cargo along the Thames and her estuaries.

  The rain came down in a light drizzle as the two young people stepped onto the barge and Barty untied the ropes holding it secure to the dock. Sophia lent a hand, and for doing so, received a quick nod and a smile from the still reticent, dark-eyed young man. A Thames barge only needed a small sail to maneuver it up the river. The wind was high today from the early morning storm, so once the sail took the wind, the barge moved with ease and spirit toward its destination.

  “Do you know your family you are going to see?” Barty asked as he stood at the wheel steering the barge.

  “No, I’ve never met them. I know of them. It’s my father’s family.”

  “Are you going to live with them, if they take you?”

  “Yes, I miss my family,” Sophia said in a small voice.

  Barty couldn’t have known that his question touched on her deepest fear. What if they wouldn’t take her? What if they weren’t her family? What if they didn’t get her message and they weren’t even there? It had been almost a year since she lost her mother and sister. Her life was about survival, fear and loneliness. Sophia held on to the small crucifix necklace she wore, rubbing it and praying she would find the love she’d lost.

  In two hours the barge reached the town of Weybridge and Barty easily docked the boat near a busy place. Sophia helped him wrap the lines securely around the bollards and followed him to where many other barges were tethered along the banks. It didn’t take long for Barty to find his own clan and, with Sophia in tow, he took her to meet the matriarch of the family, Baba Nadya, Barty’s grandmother.

  Immediately, the small woman with her grey hair tied up with two bright blue scarves, took Sophia by the shoulders and stared into the girl’s eyes reading the sad story there. Nothing was said for a few moments. The mother of five and grandmother of more than twenty, pulled the young girl to her breast and hugged her for a long time cooing and murmuring words women and children recognize instinctually as sounds of comfort. Something cracked and burst inside the young Romanian girl’s heart. For a few long minutes, she simply cried in the safe arms of a woman who nurtured her soul and understood her tragedy.

  Sophia soon sat up and hugged the Baba and, giving her a shy smile, she leaned in and kissed the wizened woman’s soft cheek.

  “The ones you search for are not here, small one,” Baba Nadya said. “Barty will take you along the dock and the banks but you will not find them. God has sent you to us. If you wish to stay among the Rossar-mescros, we’ll claim you as our own. Go child and try to find your people, but come home to your family when you are ready.”

  For the next four hours, Sophia and Barty talked with every boatman, bargee family and dock worker along the Wey River where it meets the Thames. The family Argintari no longer called the Wey and the Thames their home. They’d gone north to work the coal barges near Sheffield.

  As the sun settled in the afternoon sky, it was time to leave and make their way back to London. This time as they boarded the barge, Barty made haste to step onto the boat first. He turned to face Sophia who stood close to the edge of the dock perplexed at his sudden hurry. Barty held out both hands to help her make the jump. Her smile showed how hesitant she was, but she took his hands and made the leap. They shared a brief, but weighted gaze for one another. In less than a month, Sophia would make her choice to join the Rossar-mescro family the old-fashioned way, through marriage.

  After two more years working together on their family barge and adding a baby boy to their numbers, Sophia made a decision to take one of the pieces from the jeweled items to a man in London who owned an auction house. He asked her how she came by such an exquisite thing and she told him it belonged to a dying friend she met on a boat coming from Romania.

  The man shrugged. He wouldn’t lose the commission from such a piece. Unfortunately, the poor postwar economy kept people’s spending ability horribly restricted, but Sophia did well from the sale of her small treasure. She and Barty purchased two more barges for the family business. They hauled everything from apples to zinnias along England’s canal system. The Rossar-mescros lived simply and freely. They kept their family and their small barges together because that is the Romani’s way. It proved to be a successful plan indeed.

  Chapter 9

  Marsden-Lacey Constabulary

  Present Day

  CHIEF MERRIAM JOHNS WAS NOT happy. While he was off fishing in Scotland, someone further up the administrative ladder decided Marsden-Lacey’s Constabulary needed some reorganization. Mainly, in the area of office allocation. Without informing him, his staff had moved him out of his office and dumped his things in a pile in the middle of another office not more than three doors down from where he’d been originally.

  All morning, Johns had been raked over the coals at a public forum sponsored by the Marsden-Lacey Ladies Club regarding the performance of his staff and his constabulary. His mood was extremely foul when he arrived back at the constabulary. For at least ten minutes, he fumed about incompetence, time-wasters and the insanity of those further up the administrative food chain.

  Raging and slamming things around in his ‘new’ office insured his crew kept their distance. The only exception was his new volunteer police cadet, Sam Berry. Sam was a young cadet with the Marsden-Lacey Constabulary. His mentor officer was Donna Waters and most days she had her work cut out for her keeping Sam focused and on task.

  Sam’s affection for the Chief, who he admired and saw as a father, meant he spent a good deal of his time following his mentor around. Johns for his part, was a reluctant father duck and preferred not to be bothered by anyone especially someone he considered a pimply-faced kid. Both were stubborn, but the office betting pool put odds on Sam. They knew Johns was made of gruff stuff on the outside but, like so many tough guys, somewhere in the middle, he was an old softy.

  “Why are you so grumpy all the time, Chief?” Sam asked while leaning against the door jam of the Chief’s new office. “You need to take up some kind of exercise. Might make a difference in your general well being.”

  “You know what would improve my general well being, Sam?” Johns asked with a hint of snippiness.

  “Yeah, what?” Sam returned nonchalantly while checking the tidiness of his fingernails.

  “You getting out of my office and finding something to do other than giving a man twice your age life advice!” Johns threw a full bag of rolled up sterile bandages from a drawer in his desk at Sam’s head.

  Unperturbed by the yelling or the bag bouncing off his cranium, Sam replied, “See. Grumpy.”

  “Get out of here!”

  Sam jumped at John’s deafening yell and bumped back into a solid something standing directly behind him. He turned around to see Donna’s sour expression.

  “The children are here from the preschool for their class visit. Go help Michael do the tour and when you’re done,
you can start the filing.” Donna’s tone was emphatic and all business. She was exceptionally adroit at handling children of any age. Even those still acting like children despite their advanced years sometimes benefited from her no-nonsense, honest approach.

  Once Sam had shuffled down the hall grumbling about being on “diaper detail,” Donna stepped into John’s new office and focused on a bigger child.

  “Here.” She handed Johns two black sequined purses. "You had these in a file cabinet. Didn’t think you would want the guys from headquarters to find them in your stuff.”

  John’s eyebrows lifted practically off his forehead once he laid eyes on the purses. “Come on in here, Waters, and shut the door. We probably ought to talk.”

  Donna shut the door and shuffled around the mess on the floor to the seat the Chief pointed for her to take.

  Johns peeked into one of the small black purse’s interior and a happy sigh escaped him. “You’re a good officer, Waters. Thank you for your attention to detail,” he said with a meaningful look at the purse.

  “Chief, better check your email. Nottingham Constabulary is sending a Detective Henry Richards up sometime this afternoon to talk with you about a murder. They sent a fax for you to sign acknowledging the two constabularies will be working together on the investigation.”

  Johns’ mood went even darker. Why was Nottingham all of a sudden so interested in Marsden-Lacey? Office reassignments and new detectives muddling up his investigations were the last things he needed right now.”

  “Waters, I need some help getting this office organized before anyone gets here. Let me have that fax to sign and no interruptions until you see the whites of their eyes. Okay?”

  “Not a problem, Chief. Want a cuppa?”

  “Love one.”

  After Donna left, Johns scanned the room for a good hiding place. The scraggily, fake plant, a gift from his mother to “brighten up the place” would work perfectly. He lifted the plant by its stem revealing a nice-sized empty cavity. Shoving the purses into the bottom, he plopped the fake greenery back on top and neatly hid his whiskey-bottle-filled purses.

  An hour flew by. With things tidy, Johns sat back in his comfy desk chair, eyed the wonky plant, and wondered if it was tea time yet. The day had been taxing but later he hoped to have a hardy dinner at The Traveller’s and enjoy a pint, or two, depending on…

  “Damn!” he said out loud. He wasn’t going to The Traveller’s tonight. He was going to the Roma camp. His mind jumped to the next thought: Martha.

  “Forget The Traveller’s,” he said under his breath with a light smile playing around his eyes and mouth.

  “Ummph.” Someone cleared his throat.

  Johns saw a plump, bald, badly-dressed man of about fifty smiling at him from the doorway. He presented his badge for Johns. After a few minutes of study, and finding all in order, Johns nodded.

  “Detective Richards. Guess we’re going to get to work together on this murder investigation. How’s things in Nottingham?”

  Chief Johns was eager to hear some gossip from another constabulary but Detective Richards didn’t appear to be in the mood for tittle tattle.

  “Yes, Sir. Nasty business. The woman, Sharon O’Connor, was forty-five, single, well liked in Nottingham and we can’t find an enemy anywhere. She paid her bills on time, didn’t drink other than a glass of wine here and there on special occasions. Recently, a background check was done in order for her to read to children once a week at one of the local preschools. Squeaky clean.”

  “How was she assaulted?” Johns asked.

  “Nothing sexual but she was choked to death along the canal in Nottingham down by Clayton’s Bridge and plopped into the canal. No one saw or heard anything that evening. We’ve talked to her family and colleagues but no one knows why she would have left her home so late at night. Her purse was left at home so it wasn’t for money. I’m only left with a possible random act of violence or,” he sighed heavily, “she had a lover. Can’t even find a text message indicating she had one of those either.”

  “Why Marsden-Lacey?”

  “That’s my only lead. Her phone calendar showed she met with a man named Rossar-mescro. A Roma water traveler. The family has three boats and they skedaddled up here the day before she was found. She’d been in the water at least twenty-four hours so thought I’d pay them a visit. With your permission of course.”

  “Knew it. Knew it in my bones.” Johns shook his head back and forth. “I’ve met with Rossar-mescro. He brought a document to a woman, Helen Ryes, who works in paper and book conservation. Wants her to tell him what it says. He mentioned another woman living in Nottingham who sent him here to talk with Ryes. Let’s pull him in. I know where the water travelers are tied up along the canal.”

  Chief Johns and Sergeant Richards grabbed their coats and left for the section of the canal where narrowboaters liked to tether their floating homes along the bank. It was a nice location across from the old medieval Marsden-Lacey church of St. Elizabeth’s and near the Barbel Bridge.

  They drove the short distance to the area and walked the rest of the tow path until they reached the community of quiet narrowboat dwellers. As Johns and Detective Richards approached the area, they heard a woman cry out. Exchanging concerned expressions, they took off in the direction of the scream.

  A young woman of about twenty-five came running toward them. Her dark hair was falling down her back and her face was blanched from fear. A group of people were running after her yelling for her to stop. As she got closer, Johns saw blood down her dress and on her hands. She locked her eyes on Johns and staggered. Clutching her middle torso, she crumpled into a heap on the ground.

  Johns and Richards hurried to the woman. Signaling to Richards to stave off the crowd, Johns bent down and lifted the woman checking for the location of the wound. There in the area right below her rib cage, he saw the blood pumping out. She struggled to say something.

  “Baba’s sword. Baba’s sword,” she whispered with frantic eyes.

  As he applied pressure to the wound, he said, “Hold on, dear. Stay with me. It’s going to be okay.”

  Johns dialed the emergency number and, in a professional manner, detailed where they were and what he needed. The young woman went limp and jerked.

  A man broke through the crowd of people and rushed forward. It was Stephan Rossar-mescro. Falling to the ground, he grabbed the young woman’s hand.

  “Laura, Laura. Please, please…” His voice trailed off into sobbing as he bent over her still body.

  Johns sensed when her spirit passed. On more than one occasion, he’d been witness to death and its nuances.

  “Who is she?” Johns asked Stephan.

  “My daughter!” he cried. “Oh, dear God! My child.”

  Chapter 10

  THE AMBULANCE ARRIVED AND SO did the rest of the police force along with the forensic team. Since Laura Rossar-mescro was dead, the forensic team was in charge. The Chief and Detective Richards started the questioning.

  Stephan Rossar-mescro was the first person they needed to talk to. The poor man was in complete agony and wouldn’t leave her body. It took a solid hour before Johns, Richards and one of the other constables were able to get the family to step away from the body and to understand the necessity of not touching her. Once this was achieved and the rest of the Rossar-mescros returned to their boats, Johns and Richards escorted the broken Stephan to a place where their conversation would be undisturbed.

  “Do you know who did this, Mr. Rossar-mescro?” Johns asked gently.

  The man, who earlier that day was vital and happy at the constabulary, appeared ten years older. “No, no, no. No one would kill Laura. She was beautiful and good.”

  “Sir, someone did this in the middle of the day with all of your family around. Were there any problems, jealousies or arguments happening amongst your people?” Johns pushed on.

  Stephan was quiet, staring down into the palms of his hands. He didn’t even ackno
wledge the idea of the murder being instigated within his family. Instead, he became reflective. “We saw a man today. I saw him before staring at us from way up high on the bridge.”

  Johns shook his head. “Where?”

  With a shaking hand, Stephan pointed to the stone bridge crossing the canal below St. Elizabeth’s.

  Quiet for another short moment, he finally said, “One night, my Laura saw a man watching us from Clayton’s Bridge in Nottingham. She pointed him out and said Baba Sophia told her he had evil in his soul.”

  Johns understood and respected the strong belief among the Romani community that their ancestors remained attached to the family providing guidance and protection even after death. He needed solid facts though, not intangible ones.

  “Did you see him, too, that night?”

  “Not clearly. I saw a figure in the dark standing there. I didn’t see a face.”

  “Did Laura know him?” Detective Richards intervened with his question.

  “No. She didn’t know him.” Stephan studied them like they were crazy to ask such a question.

  “Do you think it was the same man today? Did she talk with him?”

  “Not exactly. She pointed him out to me. He was watching us.”

  “I need a description, Mr. Rossar-mescro,” Johns said, “would you know the man if you saw him again?”

  “I don’t know. He was wearing a black coat, black trousers and a stocking cap pulled down around his head.”

  “Mr. Rossar-mescro, I will have my Sergeant Michael Endicott take your full statement. Please wait here.” Turning to Richards, he said, “Come on. Let’s go see where this happened.”

  As Johns and Detective Richards walked away, Richards whispered, “Do you think it was a hate crime against the Romani?”

  Johns replied, “No, I don’t. They’re peaceful people. We’ve got two dead women. Question is, how are they connected?”