by Bill Kitson
‘The cleaning had made me hot. I remember that as I crossed the Minstrel’s Gallery I shivered, and noticed that the house felt colder than it should. That was when I glanced down the staircase and saw that someone had left the front door wide open. I didn’t think any more of it until I reached the head of the stairs.’
Mary stopped speaking, her face twisted with pain as she recalled what happened next. ‘At first I thought it was a sack someone had left there. I ran downstairs and saw that it wasn’t a sack … that it was … Mr Stephen. I could see all the blood … and I knew … knew he was … dead.’
Frank took over the narrative, as much to give Mary chance to recover, I guessed. ‘I was in the garden all afternoon, cutting back a load of brush and dead wood. It was an ideal day for it, clear and bright. I’d almost finished when I heard Mary scream. I’d stacked the smaller cuttings for composting and started a bonfire with the woodier stems. Nothing goes to waste. I even dig the ash from the fires into the flower beds to enrich the soil. Anyway, I’d just stacked the wheelbarrow with the final load when I heard Mary, and knew at once there was something terribly wrong. I rushed up to the house and saw her standing over Mr Stephen’s body.’
‘Did you see the wound?’
Frank shook his head. ‘No, he was lying face down. I checked his neck for a pulse, but there was nothing, not even a flicker.’
‘Did you hear any other sounds before your wife screamed?’ Eve asked.
‘Like a gunshot, you mean? No, the police asked me that, several times. I explained that I knew none of the estates round us were shooting that day, and I’d have noticed if I’d heard any gunfire. We do get a bit of trouble with poachers and I’d have gone to investigate if I’d heard a shot.’
‘Can either of you think of anyone who might have had a motive for killing him?’ I glanced at Robert and smiled apologetically. ‘Present company excepted, that is.’
‘The police asked us that, too,’ Frank responded immediately. ‘The answer is no, but that’s partly because Mr Stephen was very reserved, especially about his private life. Secretive, you might say.’
‘What about his social life?’ Eve asked. ‘Did he entertain often? Dinner parties, that sort of thing?’
Mary Jolly answered this, choosing her words carefully. ‘He didn’t have anything like that. He was a bit of a recluse. And when his lady friends came to visit him he used to see to the catering himself.’ She paused, before adding, ‘I have no proof, but I believe that they might have been … professionals.’
‘You mean prostitutes?’
‘That would be my guess. But in the last year or so, there has only been one regular visitor. She wasn’t like the others. A class above, I’d say. She was at the manor most weekends, and occasionally during the week. When she visited, I wasn’t asked to prepare an extra bedroom,’ she added diplomatically.
‘Can you tell us anything about her?’
‘Not much,’ Mary replied. ‘Her name is Kathy King, and she lives in Barton-le-Dale. Frank could tell you where, because Mr Stephen occasionally asked Frank to drive her home.’
‘Didn’t the police ask you about her, or about Pengelly’s social life? I’m surprised, because we know Detective Inspector Hardy, and those are the sort of questions he would ask right at the outset.’
‘It wasn’t him we spoke to. It was a detective sergeant called Holmes, and he seemed more concerned with searching the house and grounds, looking for the weapon. He did ask if Mr Stephen kept any strange knives or similar things.’
‘I wonder why Hardy wasn’t there. Did he interview you, Robert?’
‘No, it was Detective Sergeant Holmes. He told me he had taken temporary charge of the case in Hardy’s absence. Holmes was the one who phoned me at work.’
‘Perhaps it would be an idea to tell the police about this Kathy King woman,’ Eve suggested.
I agreed, and as we were discussing it, Alison interrupted, speaking for the first time. ‘Does that mean you’ll stay and help us? Help Robert, I mean?’
‘I suppose it does, but first, I think we’ll have to find somewhere to stay. It will be a bit of a long haul driving to and fro on a regular basis. We could book in here, I guess.’
‘Why not stay at the manor?’ The suggestion came from Robert. I looked at him, surprised by the comment in view of his hostility to Barton Manor.
Eve was rather more forthright. ‘I thought you said you detest the place?’
‘I did, but as we were talking I realised that whatever my feelings are, I have responsibilities, and they can’t be shirked. However, I don’t fancy going there on my own. To be fair even with Alison along the place would seem empty, too much like before. The place holds too many bad memories. Perhaps if new people came to stay it might help erase some of them.’
‘If you’re going to have guests at the manor, Mr Robert, there will be a fair amount of work to do,’ Mary pointed out. ‘There will be bedrooms to air. The rooms will need the central heating on as well. And I’ll have to do some shopping. Mr Stephen was very frugal, and there isn’t much in the freezer or fridge, and virtually no fresh stuff. It’s not a problem, but even with Frank’s help I’ll need a bit of time.’
Robert realised his mistake. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that. How about you tell us when you can have the house ready, and we’ll work round that?’
‘I suppose I can sort the rooms out today, and I could do the shopping tomorrow.’
‘No, that won’t do. How does this sound?’ Robert smiled reassuringly at Mary, then looked at Alison for confirmation as he spoke. ‘If Frank can run Alison and me to the railway station, we’ll go back to Leeds and collect some clothing; we only brought an overnight bag. We’ll need to let people know where we’ll be, so that will take us a day. Then, if you can manage to prepare things tomorrow, Frank can take you shopping in two days and you can pick us up when the Leeds train gets in.’
‘That would be fine, Mr Robert.’
‘Would you do me a favour, Mary? Please drop the mister bit? Robert will do.’
‘Yes, Mr Robert.’
‘Is that OK with you?’ Robert asked us. ‘Will you come and stay at the manor for the time being?’
‘Yes, we’ll go home and collect some clothes and come back the day after tomorrow,’ Eve told him.
‘And on the way we’ll call in at the police station and tell DI Hardy we’ve been asked to help and that we’re going to be staying at the manor. We can mention that woman, Kathy King, too. Hardy’s sure to want a word with her. Can you give us her address, Frank?’
As I was speaking I looked across and saw Mary whisper something in her husband’s ear. I stood up, preparing to help Eve on with her coat, but before I could move, Frank said, somewhat hesitantly, ‘Mary would like to know … er … how many rooms to prepare.’
Chapter Two
‘That was tactful of Mrs Jolly,’ Eve said as we walked to the car.
‘Yes, they seem a really nice couple. It must be difficult for them though, given that they will be extremely worried.’
‘Worried about the murder, you mean?’
‘Actually, I was thinking more of the future. Their employer is dead, and they’ve just heard Robert Pengelly say in no uncertain terms how much he dislikes Barton Manor and that he has no interest in taking over the estate. I assume the lodge where Frank and Mary live is what’s known as a tied cottage, so they face the twin threats of unemployment and homelessness.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right, they must be extremely concerned.’
We travelled the short distance to Barton-le-Dale police station and pulled up outside the building. Anything less like Scotland Yard would be difficult to imagine. A two-storey building that I guessed had started life as a private house before the need for law enforcement demanded a police presence in the town.
As I drove, I told Eve I was puzzled by Hardy’s failure to question either Robert Pengelly or Frank and Mary
Jolly, or to instruct his sergeant to enquire more thoroughly into Stephen Pengelly’s personal life.
‘It does seem a bit unlike him not to get involved in person,’ Eve agreed. ‘Perhaps he had other priorities and will come back to that later.’
The reason for the omission became apparent within minutes of meeting Detective Sergeant Holmes. That didn’t take place until long after we entered the police station. I asked to speak to Hardy, but as with my phone call earlier, was told that he was unavailable.
‘In that case, perhaps you would be kind enough to ask Detective Sergeant Holmes to spare us a few minutes.’
‘Can I ask what it’s about?’
I was getting a bit annoyed by the stalling tactic. ‘You can if you want, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you,’ I snapped.
Having given our names to the desk sergeant, we waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually, having spent almost half an hour staring at a wall that was in urgent need of the attentions of a painter, I remarked in a loud voice, ‘I wonder if anyone has spotted those bodies in the river yet.’ I glanced at my watch, before asking, ‘What time did you set the bomb for? Was it quarter to the hour or quarter past?’
My intended has very sharp elbows. I hadn’t realised quite how sharp until that moment. ‘Will you behave yourself,’ she demanded in an angry hiss any cobra would have been proud of.
Out of my eye corner I saw the desk sergeant reach for his phone.
‘Say what you like,’ I told Eve, ‘but I bet we’ll meet this sergeant within a couple of minutes.’
Even I was surprised by the speed with which Holmes appeared. ‘What’s this about a bomb?’ he demanded as he bustled into the reception area.
‘What bomb?’ I tried to look puzzled.
‘The desk sergeant told me you said something about a bomb and some bodies in a river.’
‘I think he must have been drinking. Either that or he needs his ears testing. I did ask my fiancée what time our friend Tom was setting off for York. Oh, and I also asked her if she’d spotted anybody on the river when we were driving here. I know a lot of canoeists use it. But the reason we asked for you is that we were given your name by Robert Pengelly. We actually wanted to speak with Detective Inspector Hardy who is a friend of ours, but you appear to have mislaid him, which seems rather careless of you.’
‘Is this about the Barton Manor murder?’
I looked at the detective sergeant for a second, long enough for Eve to guess that I was about to deliver a sarcastic reply. ‘That’s correct, Sergeant,’ she interposed.
‘What do you know about it, Mr Daley?’
‘It’s Bailey, not Daley,’ I corrected him. ‘See, I told you your colleague’s hearing was bad. As to what we know about it, the answer is more than you do, I reckon.’
‘OK, OK, let’s start from scratch. Would you come through to my office and we can talk there?’
We followed him into a cubicle that could, with a certain amount of imagination, be described as an office. We sat down and the tiny room seemed full. ‘First off, tell me how you know DI Hardy.’
Between us, we explained about the three cases we had been involved with, and as he listened Holmes relaxed.
‘I remember reading about them. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but DI Hardy is in hospital. He was seriously injured in a road accident and it’s not certain yet whether they will be able to save his leg, which was badly mangled.’
‘That’s terrible. How did it happen?’
‘Nobody knows yet. Hardy was unconscious when they got to him, and then they took him straight to theatre to operate. He’s still under sedation at the moment. The whole thing was a heck of a mess. For some reason Hardy swerved and went off the road. Strange as it seems, that may have saved his life. Shortly afterwards a van skidded on a large patch of black ice fifty yards further along the road. The van overturned and the driver was killed. His passenger survived, but he’s in a bad way. If DI Hardy had hit that ice, he would probably have died. So I suppose you could say he was lucky.’
I wondered if Hardy would view it in that light.
Holmes didn’t appear to be relishing the responsibility that had been thrust upon him, and I could see we would gain little by proffering information at this stage.
‘What is your involvement in the case?’ he asked.
I explained about the phone call from Jeremy Powell, and said, ‘I believe there is some doubt regarding the weapon used.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge any of the details of the case to members of the public,’ he told us. His manner suddenly became stiff, formal, and straight from the manual, I guessed.
‘Well, in that case we won’t take up any more of your valuable time.’ I said as I got to my feet. I saw Eve wince, but the sarcasm was lost on Holmes.
‘You said you had some information, or implied as much.’
‘Yes, but I only impart it on an exchange basis.’
Holmes frowned. ‘You must know that it’s an offence to withhold information from the police.’
‘I do; the question is, what are you going to do about it?’
‘I could have you arrested.’ Holmes was now on his feet.
I was about to reply, but Eve nipped in before me. ‘I wouldn’t do that, Sergeant. The publicity could be very damaging to your career.’
‘What publicity?’
‘The coverage in newspapers, television, radio, you name it. As a former TV journalist, Adam is something of a celebrity. All I would have to do is pick the phone up and they’d be clustered ten deep outside your door within hours.’
I listened with admiration. I thought I was good with words, but Eve was far better. Holmes seemed to agree but instead of cooperating, all he said was, ‘That’s enough, I have work to do. Can you see yourselves out?’
‘In a moment. First of all, would you tell us which hospital DI Hardy is in?’
‘Thorsby General. Why do you want to know?’
‘I told you, he’s a friend of ours. We’d like to visit him. That’s the sort of thing friends do.’
As we drove back to our home in Laithbrigg, we discussed our abortive meeting with DS Holmes.
‘The thing is, he didn’t seem at all a bad bloke,’ Eve said.
‘No, it was only when it came to the details of the case that he changed. I reckon he must be feeling the pressure. He’s fairly young and I guess he hasn’t had much experience of handling a big case like the murder of a prominent landowner. Speaking of which, what did you think of Robert Pengelly?’
‘He seems a nice, well-adjusted young man, which is a little surprising if his story about his childhood is true. He’s obviously intelligent, otherwise he wouldn’t have such a good job,’ she added.
‘Yes, I don’t see him as a vengeful, embittered man striking back at his brother, or wanting rid of him to inherit the estate.’
‘And if his brother detested him that much, what I’m keen to know is: did he leave the estate to him? There doesn’t seem to any other family that could inherit.’
‘It depends if Stephen Pengelly died intestate. If that was so, and Stephen didn’t make a will, I believe the law states that the property would have to be shared amongst all living relatives, and if Robert was the only one, he’d get the lot,’ I said. ‘Of course, there may be a will and all our supposition could be proved wrong.’
‘I don’t think it will be easy for him returning after all this time, but I suppose there will be a lot for him to sort out; his brother’s affairs for one thing.’
After what we had heard about Stephen Pengelly earlier that day, ‘affairs’ seemed a most appropriate word.
That evening, as I was preparing dinner, Eve made enquiries about Hardy at Thorsby General, and learned that he would be able to receive visitors next day. The following afternoon we arrived at the hospital for the beginning of visiting time, and were shown to a private room alongside the orthopaedic ward. We knocked and entered. Hardy was lying in bed, h
is lower limbs shielded from view by a blanket-covered cage. He looked to be in some discomfort. Alongside the bed, a slim, attractive woman with blonde hair was seated, holding his hand. I recognised her, although we’d only met her once, very briefly.
Hardy looked up as we went in, and stared at us in surprise. ‘How on earth did you know I was here?’
‘Hah! You’re not the only detective in these parts.’
Hardy’s visitor giggled.
‘Syl. This is Adam Bailey and Eve Samuels. My wife, Sylvia.’
‘We’ve met already, I think the accident has affected your memory.’ She smiled at us. ‘How kind of you to come.’
‘You can bet that they’ll have some ulterior motive or other.’
‘There’s gratitude for you,’ I told him. ‘I’ve a good mind to eat these chocolates myself.’
‘Chocolates? What chocolates?’ Hardy’s eyes lit up as I produced the huge box we’d bought that morning. ‘Thank you, that was very kind. They’re my favourites.’
Sylvia laughed. ‘Come off it, all chocolates are your favourites. Clever of you two to spot his weakness, though.’
‘Anyway, how are you?’ I asked, sensing Hardy’s embarrassment.
‘Not too bad, all things considered. This is just a nuisance.’ He pointed to the leg.
‘He’s fibbing,’ Sylvia told us. ‘He’s in a good deal of pain, and he’s only being polite because you’re here. He can’t remember much about it, but they spent hours setting the leg, because it was so badly broken. Even now there are pins holding it in place. It looks like a child’s Meccano set under there.’
‘Are you going to let me into the secret of how you found out I was in hospital?’ Hardy seemed anxious to change the subject.
‘It was Detective Sergeant Holmes who told us you’d been injured,’ I explained.
‘Holmes? How did you meet him?’
‘We went to ask him about Stephen Pengelly’s murder, and to offer some information, but he wasn’t interested.’
Hardy groaned. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got involved in that. I suppose that means the county will soon be littered with corpses.’
