by Bill Kitson
‘Thank you so much for reminding me. That was an image I was trying to forget.’
Holmes smiled, but with little evidence of humour. ‘I’d really like to get my hands on that weapon. I’ve already seen the damage that thing can do on two occasions. I certainly don’t want to see it again.’
‘You think Fletcher’s motive was simply jealousy?’ Robert asked.
‘We do, going from what Miss King’s neighbour told us about the visitor who stayed overnight at the flat. If that was Fletcher, and he thought he was the only man in Miss King’s life, he could well have been enraged when he found out about her affair with your brother.’
‘There may be more to it than simply a love triangle,’ I told them. ‘Kathy King worked for Fletcher and if she was the person who sold those antiques to Stephen Pengelly at knock-down prices, Fletcher might have been angry about that as well as the affair.’
‘We won’t know until we’ve had chance to arrest Fletcher. Hopefully that won’t be long. The neighbour told us Fletcher had recently bought a new car, a BMW, so we spoke to the local dealer. He gave us the registration number, so we’ve been able to pass that to other forces as well.’
We remained in the drawing room after Holmes and Pickersgill left. Robert voiced the general consensus by saying, ‘I think we can afford to relax now. The threat from an unknown killer seems to have gone and I can’t imagine this guy Fletcher coming here to the manor while he’s on the run, not with every police force in the land on the lookout for him.’
I saw Eve look at me and could tell by her expression that she shared my reservations. ‘I wish that was so,’ I told Robert, ‘but I’m by no means convinced it’s as clear-cut as Holmes suggested. I’m not saying that they’re chasing the wrong man, but I certainly don’t believe the jealousy motive as the overriding reason for the murders. Even if Fletcher did kill your brother and Kathy King, there has to be more to it than a jilted lover taking revenge.’
‘Are you saying that Detective Sergeant Holmes got it wrong?’ Tammy asked. ‘That’s a bit presumptive, isn’t it? After all, he is a police officer, not an amateur detective.’
I found her defence of Holmes, and the tone she expressed it in, quite intriguing. ‘No, I’m not saying he’s wrong, but what nobody seems to have taken into account is the break-in here. That happened after Stephen Pengelly and Kathy King were murdered. Unless you believe that the burglary was committed by someone other than the killer, why did it take place at all? Why would the killer have risked arrest by breaking into the manor if his only motive was jealousy? He’d already exacted his revenge, according to the police theory. It doesn’t make sense. Whether Fletcher is the killer or not, there has to be more to it. I believe we should search for that safe key.’
‘That’s going to be like looking for a very small needle in a very large haystack,’ Alison pointed out.
I agreed, and so too, judging by their glum expressions, did the others. Fortunately, Eve came up with an idea for narrowing the search parameters. ‘Perhaps if we were to ask the right questions of the right people we might get a clue as to where Stephen Pengelly kept the key,’ she suggested. ‘We know Frank can’t help but Mary might have an idea.’
Following Eve like a flock of sheep with a devoted shepherdess, we went in search of Mary. She wasn’t too hard to locate, being seated at the kitchen table along with Frank.
‘Did either of you ever see Stephen Pengelly as he was on his way to the cellar?’ Eve asked. ‘I don’t mean when he was on his way to collect a bottle of Mouton Rothschild, I mean when he was going to put something in the safe. We need to find the safe key.’
Frank shook his head. ‘Sorry, most of my time is spent outside.’
‘I did,’ Mary’s response was instantaneous, ‘on one or two occasions. He must have been going to the safe because he was carrying documents from his study when he went downstairs, and when he returned he was empty-handed.’
‘In that case,’ Eve told us, ‘I think we ought to concentrate our effort in the study. That seems the most logical place. Thank you, Mary; you might just have saved us a lot of wasted time and frustration.’
Chapter Six
It was one thing deciding to concentrate on the study, but where to start was another matter. Tammy opted out, saying she wanted to take a walk. Alison watched her friend leave, an air of mild concern on her face. ‘Something wrong?’ Eve asked her. She was getting to be as good as me at stating the obvious.
‘No, but Tammy occasionally suffers with migraines, I hope she isn’t going to have an attack.’
We split the task in two. Robert and I were given the task of emptying the trio of filing cabinets that were situated on the side wall, while Alison and Eve concentrated on Stephen Pengelly’s desk. ‘I don’t know much about Stephen, apart from what I’ve been told,’ Eve said, ‘but I’d guess that his desk would be the obvious place.’
I glanced across the room. Eve had a point, where else would Pengelly have secreted the key? As I worked, I checked the tabs on the suspended files, in the faint hope that I would find something of interest. As we reached the lower levels, that hope receded.
Our luck changed when Alison, who had been reaching into the cavity where the bottom drawer of the desk had been, feeling for the missing key, decided to stand up. As she rose from her kneeling position, she put out one hand to steady herself against the desk. As she pushed against the desk top for leverage, the whole top section moved slightly, swivelling. Her surprised cry of, ‘What happened there?’ caused us to look round. She pushed a second time, then again, harder, and to everyone’s surprise, the top section of the desk swivelled open, to lock in place at ninety degrees to the rest of the frame.
We crowded round to look. At first glance it seemed that all she had done was to reveal the divider between the two parts of the framework, but then Robert noticed finger-marks close to a knot in the wood. He pressed it, and half of the section sprang open, and we could see that the flap was controlled by tiny concealed hinges.
‘Well, well, well, a secret compartment. How like my brother, or my father,’ Robert commented.
The open section contained a folder marked ‘Pengelly Family Tree, Part One,’ which Robert put on the desk top and ignored. Our attention was taken with the contents of the small compartment to the left of it. There were three keys inside. A large steel one, with a bunch containing half a dozen slightly smaller brass keys alongside it. Eve pointed at the larger key. ‘At a guess I’d say that’s the safe key.’
‘I agree,’ Robert replied, ‘but what are those other ones? I’ve never seen keys like them.’
I picked them up and inspected them. ‘You may not, but I have. You need to check with Frank, but I’m fairly certain these are the keys to gun cabinets. Which is extremely interesting, because if your brother was against shooting, why would he keep gun cabinet keys so close at hand? All right to keep them secure, but I hardly think he’d want them in his desk.’
Nobody seemed particularly interested in my theory, preferring to concentrate on the possibilities raised by gaining access to the safe. That was a shame, as things turned out, but I shelved the idea rather than discarding it altogether.
We left the study as Tammy returned from her brief walk. ‘Too cold to stay outside for long,’ she commented. ‘Any luck?’
Robert held up the key by way of a reply.
‘We’re off to try the safe. Do you want to come along?’ Alison asked.
Excitement and curiosity won, and she willingly tagged along, which turned out to be a blessing.
Mary Jolly was obviously of an easy-going nature, otherwise I feel sure she would have commented as a party of five traipsed to and fro through her kitchen with irritating regularity. As we entered her sanctum yet again she was rolling pastry, which augured well for the evening meal. She looked up and saw the key in Robert’s hand. ‘Oh good, you’ve found it. That looks like the one I saw Mr Stephen carrying.’
‘We’ll l
et you know soon, Mary. If it is, then perhaps we’ll stop disturbing you.’ It seemed that Robert Pengelly was as good as me at making rash statements. ‘Do you know what these fit?’ he asked, showing Mary the brass keys. ‘Adam seems to think they might be for gun cabinets.’
‘They could be, Mr Robert. Frank may know. Shall I call him? He’s out chopping wood at the moment. He says we need extra for the drawing room, the hall, and the dining room. We hadn’t bargained for guests.’
‘No, don’t disturb him, it can wait. It’s not urgent.’
In the cellar Robert paused briefly alongside the wine racks. ‘I’ll have to ask Frank about these,’ he told me. ‘I think we ought to sample one or two and see how good Stephen’s taste was.’
Having opened the cupboard door, Robert offered the key up to the lock. It entered the chamber smoothly and as he turned it we could hear the tumblers clicking, signalling his success. He grasped the handle and turned it to horizontal, and with some effort pulled the heavy door open. We crowded round to peer inside.
Much of the space was taken up with ledgers and file folders. The ledgers were marked on their spines with dates, and the contents, which, according to the writing, were nothing more exciting than the estate accounts. These might have been of value to the Pengelly family, but I could not imagine them being of the slightest interest to a burglar. The only other item in there was what appeared to be a photo album.
Robert turned his attention to the twin drawers at the base of the safe. The one on the left yielded up a jewellery box covered in deep crimson velvet. He opened it to reveal a magnificent necklace, with matching bracelet and earrings. The settings were gold, and there was little doubt in my mind that the stones were diamonds, not paste. Something in the way they winked and sparkled as they reflected the light suggested that these were far more than mere costume jewellery. To one side of the box were two rings, one of diamonds, the other a plain gold band, obviously engagement and wedding rings.
‘Those are absolutely beautiful,’ Alison breathed, ‘I wonder who they belonged to?’
‘They were my mother’s,’ Robert told her. ‘If you examine her portrait in the dining room, you’ll see she’s wearing these.’
He returned the box to the safe and opened the second drawer. The only item inside was, at first sight, much less valuable. It was a small notebook of the type sold in any high street stationers. Robert opened it and stared at the top page uncomprehendingly. ‘What do you think this might be?’
Eve and Alison peered over his shoulder. Both of them shook their heads. Robert passed it to me. At first glance, the crude lines reminded me of the matchstick figures drawn by LS Lowry. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea. It looks just like a load of random lines, as if somebody was doodling. But if that’s the case, why would you lock them away in a safe?’
‘May I have a look, please?’ We’d almost forgotten Tammy. She scanned the page quickly. ‘There’s nothing random about these marks. I’m surprised you didn’t recognise them, Alison, but then you concentrated on the medieval period. If you’d studied earlier times, you’d have spotted what they were at once. They’re runes.’
‘Does that mean they’re Viking?’ Robert asked.
Tammy shook her head. ‘Not necessarily. Vikings did use runic script, but runes go back way before them. These look more Celtic in origin.’
‘You mean they’re from Scotland?’ Eve asked.
‘It’s possible. However, runic script is just as likely to hail from Wales, Ireland, anywhere in England, or even Brittany. There are examples of runic carving all over Europe. The Celtic tribes covered much of the Continent at one time.’ She glanced down at the page again. ‘There’s something odd about these characters, though. They don’t seem to match any of the examples I’ve seen before.’
‘That means we’re going to have a problem finding someone who can translate them.’ Alison commented.
Tammy looked at her friend and shook her head in mock sorrow. ‘Come on, Alison, where’s your brain gone? Have you forgotten Old Mother Riley?’
Alison gasped, ‘Of course, I never gave her a thought.’
‘Apart from a music hall act, who is Old Mother Riley?’ Robert looked puzzled.
Tammy smiled at him. ‘When Alison and I were in our first year we had a superb tutor, a woman called Victoria Riley. Sadly for us she retired at the end of that year and we got lumbered with that dickhead, Professor Locke, who was appointed to replace her. He’s a waste of space.’
‘What’s the point about Professor Riley?’ Robert was still staring at the pages as he spoke.
‘One of her specialities is ancient languages and alphabets. If anyone can translate those runes she can.’
‘How do we go about getting hold of her?’ Eve asked.
Alison and Tammy looked at one another. ‘Can you remember where she retired to?’ Tammy asked.
‘Somewhere around here, wasn’t it? In the Dales, I think.’
‘Would the university know?’ Robert asked.
The girls exchanged another glance and said in unison, ‘Jackie!’
Robert and Eve’s chorus was almost as good, ‘Who’s Jackie?’
‘A friend of ours, she works in the university offices.’
‘So what are you wasting time for? Get on the phone and see if you can locate this Professor Riley,’ Robert said.
‘I’ll phone Jackie, you can tackle Old Mother Riley,’ Tammy said.
‘I don’t mind that,’ Alison agreed.
We returned upstairs, and while Eve and I continued to examine the notebook’s mysterious contents, Tammy obtained the phone number from the university. She passed this to Alison, who began planning her approach to her former tutor. ‘Robert, Professor Riley is a connoisseur and will do almost anything for a top-class wine. Do you think I could mention the wine cellar?’
‘Why not explain to her that I’ve recently inherited the house and I need some advice about what’s in the wine cellar and what to choose for restocking it?’
‘That’s a great idea! I’m sure she’d go for that, even without the runes to look at.’ Alison picked the phone up and began to dial.
While we studied the book, I began to feel we were at a dead end. Without some clue as to why Stephen had saved the notebook with the runes drawn inside, we were no closer to guessing what relevance, if any, they might have had in why he was murdered. Whatever the others might think, I had all but discarded jealousy as a motive for the crimes. It seemed to me they were too cold-blooded to have been the actions of a jilted lover. At the same time, I couldn’t think of any reason for Stephen Pengelly to have acquired the rune drawings, let alone secrete them in a safe.
Robert looked at us and smiled ruefully. ‘Saying that about the inheritance has reminded me that I ought to contact the solicitor who handled Stephen’s affairs. Everyone has assumed that the estate will come to me, but there’s nothing to say that Stephen didn’t will it elsewhere.’
‘Wouldn’t you be able to challenge the will if he left it to someone other than his immediate family?’ Eve asked.
‘I’ve no idea, and there’s nothing to say that he did so. He might have thought of doing it, but whether he would go ahead with it is another matter. I suppose it depends on whether he still hated me. I think family pride would outweigh that, though. In his more amenable moments, which admittedly were few and far between, he used to tell me about all the different ancestors whose paintings hang from the walls hereabouts. To be honest, from what I can remember they seemed a disreputable mob, but Stephen was obviously very proud of them, and his heritage.’
‘If he thought that way, I guess he wouldn’t have risked dragging the family name through the courts and attracting the unsavoury publicity a legal battle over the estate would provoke,’ Eve pointed out.
I re-focused Robert’s attention on the more immediate problem. ‘Do you know the name of the solicitor?’
‘No. I do remember a man coming to visit my father who I
believe was the solicitor, but I’ve no idea what he was called. In any case, he was quite elderly, so he’ll have retired long since, even if he isn’t pushing up daisies.’
I looked around. ‘I suppose there must be correspondence from them somewhere.’
Robert eyed the piles of paperwork and winced. ‘I don’t fancy going through that lot. Maybe there will be a file in the cabinets.’
Even that might be tricky to find without a name, I thought, but decided not to mention it. ‘Why not ask Frank or Mary?’ Eve suggested, ‘If the solicitor visited the house, they might recall his name.’
‘And if they know that,’ I added, ‘Alison’s brother would be able to find out the name of the law practice via the Law Society.’
Robert was about to go to the kitchen to ask the question, but at that point Alison put the phone down. ‘Professor Riley would be delighted to help on both the runes and the wine, but she’s leaving for London later today and won’t be back until Sunday. There’s an exhibition she’s keen not to miss. After that she’s available, so I said I’d talk to you with a view to her coming to stay for a few days. Would that be all right?’
Robert smiled. ‘Of course it would. I feel better here when there are people about. I don’t think I could have crossed the threshold if I’d been alone, so as long as it doesn’t cause Mary too many problems.’
‘I’ll ring her back and confirm that.’
Before Alison had chance to lift the receiver, the phone rang. Robert answered it, and I saw a look of astonishment on his face as the caller identified themselves. ‘Yes,’ he said after a moment, ‘this is Robert Pengelly speaking. Sorry, what did you say your name is? This is an unbelievable coincidence, I was about to try and find out about you so I could phone you.’ He listened for a moment, then said, ‘No, don’t worry about that. No, from my point of view that’s ideal, couldn’t be better. Yes, OK, when? Yes that’ll be fine, what time? No, no problem, see you then.’
