by Bill Kitson
‘I think you’re right to be suspicious,’ Eve told them. ‘There might be another reason for him making a false confession. Let’s suppose that Fletcher heard about Stephen Pengelly’s murder and went to see Kathy King, knowing of her association with Stephen. If he found her lying in a pool of blood, that would explain his shoes. If he thought that because of his connection with the two of them he might be next on the killer’s shopping list, that would explain his hasty departure. And, once you’d detained him, he might have thought the safest place for him would be inside a police cell. The best way to stay there would be to own up to a crime he hadn’t committed, and hope that the real killer would be apprehended while he was still in custody.’
There was a long silence as Holmes digested what Eve had said. He smiled at her, before responding. ‘I have to say that is a very plausible theory, and I think it well worth taking up with Fletcher. Whether we’ll be able to get him to talk is another matter.’
‘Why not threaten him?’ I suggested. ‘Tell Fletcher the killer has struck again, then ask him about his association with this man Wharton, if there is one, and finally explain that in view of the latest murder, you will have to release him without charge. If Eve’s theory is correct, that should panic him enough to loosen his tongue and give you the truth.’
‘I think that’s a good idea, and one we’ll try on him tomorrow. For the meantime, I want you to be on your guard, and take all sensible precautions. I thought it important that everyone should know this killer is still on the loose.’
‘That’s all very well,’ Eve objected, ‘but taking away the gun Adam found isn’t going to help us stay safe.’
‘I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about that.’
Eve looked at me for support, but with no success. ‘I guess not,’ I told him, ‘I understand though. Regulations have to be obeyed.’
Eve and Johnny Pickersgill both looked at me with deep suspicion. My innocent smile did little to lessen this. Once the officers had gone, Eve asked why I’d capitulated. ‘Why did you hand over the pistol you found in the gunroom? It’s so unlike you to give in as tamely as that.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘How do you mean you didn’t?’
‘I didn’t hand over the pistol from the gunroom. I gave Holmes the one I found in Stephen Pengelly’s dressing room, hidden inside a cigar box under a pile of sweaters. I couldn’t understand why he had a cigar box. There are no ashtrays anywhere, so it seems obvious that he isn’t a smoker.’ I reached into my pocket and pulled out the other Glock. ‘This is the one from the gunroom.’
Robert’s concern over the news that Holmes and Pickersgill had brought reflected the fears of the others. As he spoke I could tell by their faces how troubled they were. ‘How are we going to keep ourselves safe in here if that killer can walk in and out of the front door with the key?’
There is a way,’ I told him. ‘All I need is some wood, a hammer, and nails. It won’t look very good when I’ve finished, but it will serve its purpose.’
It was ten o’clock at night by the time, having outlined my plan, Frank Jolly escorted Robert, Eve, and me to the workshop at the rear of the manor. Within minutes I had what I needed, and we returned inside. One curious thing, I told Robert, was that the house had bolts on the back door, but not on the front, the main entrance to the building.
‘It does seem odd, I agree.’ He shrugged. ‘But then, many things about my family seem strange, even to me.’
Anyone standing outside the manor that night would probably have agreed with Robert’s statement. The sound of hammering as I constructed simple bolts for the front door would have left passers-by scratching their heads. Having fixed two blocks of wood to the frame on either side, I then screwed two more to them, to form blunt letter L shapes. The sturdy longer sections of wood I had selected were then dropped into position to form an effective, if less than decorative, barrier.
I managed the whole operation without hitting my thumb with the hammer or cutting myself with the saw, which I was pleased about, especially as I was working before an audience, which was a little unnerving. The relief on their faces, especially those of the four women, was reward enough.
Eve masked her pride at my handiwork well. ‘I don’t think Chippendale or Sheraton would feel challenged by your carpentry skills.’
‘I did say it wouldn’t look good, but it will act as a deterrent. If an intruder is determined enough, they’ll find some other way in, even if it means breaking a window,’ I told them. I could see by their changed expressions that my talent for cheering folk up hadn’t diminished.
Eve was obviously of the same mind. ‘I think Adam’s right. It would be wise to have someone on guard throughout the night.’
Robert agreed, but with a proviso. ‘I don’t think it would be fair to ask one person to do it on their own. For one thing, they might fall asleep, or they could be easily overpowered.’
‘That’s true, and I think it would be preferable not to expect anyone to go without sleep all night.’
In the end, we decided that a rota system should operate. Eve and I would take the first shift, and at 2 a.m. we would hand over to Robert and Alison. When their stint ended at 5 a.m., they would awaken Frank and Tammy, who would see us safe until after daybreak.
‘What about me?’ Mary objected, ‘I ought to take a turn.’
‘No way,’ Robert told her, ‘you have more than enough to do already. Besides which,’ he added with a smile, ‘who’ll cook breakfast if you’re asleep?’
Before the rest of the household retired, Robert and I visited the gunroom, where we supplemented the security measures with one extra item. As we returned, he collected a gong which had been standing in the corner of the dining room. It was an impressively large brass cylinder, suspended from a sturdy frame, and reminded me of the one used to introduce Rank films. He set it down near the foot of the staircase. ‘I thought it would be useful as an alarm If you hear this you’ll know we’ve either got intruders or you’ve overslept and breakfast is ready.’
When the others had bidden us goodnight and retired upstairs, I handed the Glock to Eve, with instructions on how to use it, and a warning about recoil. I lifted the shotgun, after opening it. ‘Unless you’d be happier with this?’
Eve shook her head. ‘No fear, this is more than enough.’
We alternated between sitting on the armchairs alongside the log fire and patrolling the ground floor. The night was all but silent, apart from the nocturnal creatures we heard occasionally. The hoot of a hunting owl and the screech of a vixen were all that disturbed the peace. On each of our forays we ended in the kitchen, where coffee provided the stimulant to keep us awake and alert. On our third patrol, as we reached the door leading to the wine cellar, Eve stopped; then muttered in disgust. ‘I knew there was something I’d forgotten. Everything that’s happened drove it right out of my mind.’
‘What are you on about, Evie?’
‘The safe, Adam. Don’t you remember, I mentioned to Robert about the photo album?’
‘You really think it might contain something important, don’t you?’
‘I’m not sure, but perhaps what’s inside there might be what the intruder is so desperate to get his hands on.’
‘We’d better make it our first priority tomorrow, then, if only for your peace of mind.’
Chapter Ten
Our shift passed without incident, and after handing over to the next pair of sentinels, we retired for the night. Our sleep was undisturbed by the sound of intruders, gunshots or the clamour of a gong being beaten. Next morning, members of the household appeared at irregular intervals, roughly corresponding to the order of their tour of duty. It was almost lunchtime before everyone was assembled in the dining room, where coffee had been the number one priority for most of us. It was then that Eve pitched her idea of the photo album to the assembly.
‘I can’t think why Stephen kept it locked away,’ Robert replied. ‘I wouldn’t have thoug
ht it was the kind of sentimentality he would go in for. In fact, I don’t recall either him or my father using or owning a camera, and there were never any photographs on display. There was the portrait my father commissioned of my mother,’ he gestured to the painting, ‘but that was soon after they were married, I believe. It’s the only image I can remember of her, or any of the other members of the family.’ He paused and added with a smile, ‘Unless you count that gloomy, debauched-looking set of ancestors whose paintings are hanging in the Minstrels’ Gallery. I’ll go fetch the album and we can have a look through it.’
It took only a few minutes before we began to examine the contents, crowding around him in a small huddle. The image on the first page stopped us for several minutes. It was a head and shoulders shot of Robert’s mother, taken, I guessed, at around the same time as the portrait had been painted. ‘I must say the painter hasn’t done her justice,’ Eve commented. ‘It’s good, but this is even better.’
The next three pages were filled with wedding photos of Robert’s parents plus their guests. Looking at the pictures of his father, I failed to trace any similarity between Robert and Pengelly senior. An uncharitable thought crossed my mind, but I reserved it until much later, when Eve and I were alone. Had Robert’s mother got sick and fed up of her husband gallivanting off, conducting a string of affairs with other women and sought solace in her own extra-marital affair, and had Robert been the result of such a liaison? That would also explain his father’s dislike of the boy.
Eve would have none of it, and upbraided me for even thinking along those lines. ‘Sometimes, Adam Bailey, you revert to your muckraking, scandal-mongering reporter persona. Shame on you for even entertaining the idea.’ Eve has a way of putting me in my place. When she uses my surname, I know I’ve offended her.
For the most part, the album contained pictures from an earlier generation, many of them in black and white, and some from the twenties and thirties, to judge by the hairstyles and fashions. ‘I have absolutely no idea who these people are,’ Robert admitted. ‘I guess they must be members of my family and friends, but I don’t recognise them.’ He pointed to one ferocious-looking elderly man. The gentleman in the photo looked less than happy to have been caught on camera. ‘That could well be my grandfather. He has the same cheerful expression as my father, and I remember Stephen telling me he was a cantankerous old sod. Luckily he kicked the bucket long before I was born.’
He turned a couple more pages without finding anything remarkable, and after that, the rest of the album was blank. ‘That’s it,’ he told us, ‘nothing there to get excited about.’
That seemed true, but there was equally nothing in what we’d seen to warrant keeping the album under lock and key. He closed the album, looking apologetically at Eve. ‘Sorry, it seems your theory was a bit off beam.’
As he was shutting the book, I noticed something. ‘Could I have a look, Robert?’
He passed me the album and I began to inspect it closely. On the cover I’d seen a tiny blob which appeared to be dried glue. I was about to pass it off, dismissing it as residue from when the photos had been fixed in place, when I noticed that the back cover appeared to be out of alignment. The album was too well-made for this to have been done during the manufacturing process. I opened the back cover and inspected it. Along the edge of the leather binding was more dried glue.
‘What have you found, Adam?’
‘I’m not sure, Evie, but it looks as if someone has tampered with the back cover. I assume that must have been Stephen, but why? Unless he wanted to hide something.’
The discovery had rekindled everyone’s interest. ‘We need to prise the glue loose and see if there’s anything under the cover,’ I said, which was rather stating the obvious.
Alison passed me a knife, one that hadn’t been used for spreading marmalade or butter, I was glad to note. As gently as possible, trying not to damage either the card of the cover or the leather facing, I eased the edge of the binding away. After several minutes I had it clear, and eased it back.
Inside was a small, flat wallet, bearing the name of a famous high street pharmacy chain that also specialised in developing customers’ photos. In addition, there was a folded sheet of notepaper which I handed to Robert.
He eyed it curiously and read the handwritten content. I watch his expression change.
‘Gosh,’ he said, after a moment, ‘that’s a bit saucy!’ and passed it round.
The note to Stephen was in an almost childlike hand and signed ‘Annie’, obviously from one of his conquests. ‘Whoever she is, she doesn’t leave much to the imagination does she?’ I remarked.
‘Who is it, Robert?’ Alison asked. ‘Do you remember a girl called Annie?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’
I remembered something Robert had told us about Stephen. ‘Do you think this might have been the girl who caused the row between Stephen and your father?’
‘It could have been, I suppose, but from what I remember there could have been lots of contenders for that role.’
‘What about the photos in the wallet?’ Alison asked. ‘They might give us more clues.’
However, there was nothing inside apart from several sets of negatives. We were unable to discern the subjects, even when we held them up to the light, but one thing was certain, they weren’t photos of girls, or any animate object.
‘All I can make out,’ Robert told us, ‘is what look like flat stones or rocks. I haven’t a clue why Stephen would have hidden them away.’
‘They must have some importance, though, and for that reason I suggest you return everything to the safe for the time being. Perhaps we should take the negatives for developing next time we go into town.’
Robert agreed, and had just returned from the wine cellar when we saw a car approaching. The increased tension was immediate, and we only relaxed when it pulled to a halt and DS Holmes got out. ‘I need Miss Watson to read and sign her statement,’ he told Robert.
This process had apparently to be conducted without anyone else present, and it took so long I wondered if he had spelled every word out letter by letter. Eve entertained similar suspicions about Holmes’ motives as I did, it seemed. ‘I’m sure a uniformed constable could have performed such a menial task as obtaining a signature, don’t you? I’m beginning to think our young detective has a more than passing interest in Tammy,’ she suggested.
‘That would be nice,’ Alison agreed. ‘Tammy is a bit shy when it comes to men, and someone like Holmes would be good for her.’
‘It would help solve the murders quickly too, if they got together,’ I told them, straight-faced.
‘How do you work that out?’ Robert asked.
‘It can’t fail, if Holmes and Watson are working together.’
Robert waited for the collection of groans to die down before speaking. ‘I’ll hold him if you hit him, Eve,’ he offered.
DS Holmes had only been gone a few minutes, and Tammy was resisting Alison’s attempts to ask why the interview had taken so long, when the phone rang. Robert went into the study to take the call, and emerged a few minutes later looking puzzled. ‘That was Nigel Alderson,’ he told us. ‘Apparently the estate finances are in good shape, which is a huge relief. However, he’s unearthed something in Stephen’s personal finances that has baffled him, so he rang me to ask about it, and now I’m baffled too. It appears that Stephen made several large payments to a company I’ve never heard of, and Alderson can’t work out what those payments were for. He says the company sounds like one of those off-the-shelf ready registered jobs. Apparently they give them all weird names and then after they’re sold, the new owners rename them.’
‘What is the name?’
‘It was called Overtring Ltd, but who they are and what they do is a mystery, but it must have been something special to get Stephen to part with so much cash. Alderson reckons he shelled out somewhere in the region of £200,000.’
‘What did you say the name o
f the company is?’ Tammy asked.
Robert repeated it. Tammy smiled triumphantly. ‘I don’t think it was a ready-registered company name, although why they chose it, I’ve no idea, but Overtring is an anagram for Vortigern.’
‘Who or what is Vortigern?’
‘Didn’t you learn anything about British history, Robert? Vortigern was a Celtic king, before the time of Arthur. He wasn’t a very pleasant character; in fact there seems little he wasn’t capable of. He betrayed the Celtic cause, sold out to the Saxons, and according to later accounts came to a very bad end.’
‘What on earth can that have to do with Stephen?’ Alison wondered.
‘Maybe it has some connection to those runes in the notebook we found in the safe,’ Eve suggested.
Robert continued, ‘Nigel said he requested a company search and should have the results today. That might give us more of a clue.’
Alderson rang midway through the afternoon. Robert reported the conversation immediately. ‘Apparently, Overtring Ltd was incorporated eighteen months ago as Casper 3712 Ltd. The company changed its name immediately and at the same time appointed two directors and a company secretary to replace the nominees listed for registration purposes.’ Robert paused for a moment before adding, ‘The new directors were Arnold Wharton and Graeme Fletcher; with Kathy King as the secretary. The issued share capital was one thousand pounds, which apparently is fairly normal in such cases. Wharton and Fletcher each owned forty per cent of the shares and Kathy King owned the rest.’
Discussion regarding the mysterious company was suspended when the phone rang again. This time it was for Alison. She listened to the caller for a few moments, then asked them to hold. ‘It’s Professor Riley. She’s travelling back to Yorkshire tomorrow, and can come straight here if we want. Shall I say we’ll collect her from the station, or ask her to get a taxi?’
‘We’ll pick her up,’ I said immediately. ‘In fact, we can kill two birds with one stone. If we take those negatives with us we can leave them to be developed before we collect the professor. All we need to know is what time her train gets into Thorsby.’
