Flesh and Blood

by Bill Kitson

  Eve resumed her reading. ‘The town owed much of its prosperity to the wool and cloth trade, and during the reign of Edward the Confessor, Newark belonged to Leofric, the Earl of Mercia and his wife. I bet you can’t tell me what her name was.’

  ‘Yes, I can. It was Lady Godiva.’

  ‘Trust you to know all about a woman who rode naked on horseback. I bet you’d have been staring out of your window as she went past.’

  ‘No I wouldn’t, I value my eyesight too much. Besides which, that story probably never happened.’

  ‘You’re going to have to explain that.’

  ‘The legend is that she rode naked to protest against the oppressive taxes imposed by her husband on the people of Coventry, but that seems a bit improbable. I feel sure she could have found better ways of persuading him. As for watching her, the other part of the legend is that one voyeur was struck blind as a result of his misbehaviour. His name was Tom, which is where the expression Peeping Tom originates.’

  ‘You are an absolute mine of information. I’m going to give up reading this, because I can learn far more listening to you.’

  ‘Good, because you’re starting to sound like a package tour rep,’ I told her. ‘Incidentally, a lot of towns owed their prosperity to the wool trade. Back in those days it was a very valuable commodity.’

  ‘If I’m starting to sound like a tour guide, listening to you is like sitting in on one of Victoria Riley’s history lectures.’

  Eve has a superb talent for retaliation.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We arrived early in the afternoon, and before checking into our hotel strolled through the streets hand in hand like a couple of regular tourists. I was admiring the many fine buildings when Eve said, ‘The guide book didn’t exaggerate. This is a really nice town.’

  I squeezed her hand gently. ‘You’re right; I have an affinity for market towns, with their being so many in Yorkshire, but this has to be one of the finest I’ve visited.’

  We dined in the hotel restaurant that night. The food was good, and we shared a bottle of red wine. Having lingered over coffee, we retired early. If I’d thought that our absence from Barton Manor would bring an end to Eve’s disturbing dreams, I was very much mistaken. The phrase ‘rude awakening’ was literally true that night, as, at some point in the early hours, Eve pinched me – hard.

  ‘Adam,’ she whispered, ‘it’s dark in here. You must let me out. The bear has warned me. If you don’t we’ll all die. Do you understand?’

  ‘OK, Evie,’ I told her.

  ‘Watch out, Adam. Watch out for the dagger.’

  Up to that point I’d thought Eve’s dreamed was sparked off by a random memory of the time we’d been imprisoned in a dark place that had almost become our tomb. I reached out and located the bedside lamp. I switched it on; her mention of the bear and the dagger convinced me this wasn’t a bad dream from the past. This dream was very much of the present – and equally chilling.

  She spoke again, her voice still only a whisper. ‘We have to protect Robert. The bear says so.’

  Then, without warning, she rolled onto her side and faced me, blinking sleeping in the glare from the lamp. ‘What’s wrong, Adam? Couldn’t you sleep? Or were you having a bad dream?’

  I was astonished. Eve clearly had absolutely no recollection of her dream; or of the cryptic warning she had uttered. I pondered whether to tell her, but decided against it. It was bad enough for me to know what she’d said, without burdening her with it.

  Eve had returned to our room to freshen up after breakfast, and I seized the opportunity to place a call to Barton Manor from the public phone in the hotel foyer. Eve’s dream troubled me more than I wanted to admit. I was immensely relieved when Robert answered the phone, and the reassurance was amplified by his cheery assurance that all was well. I explained briefly how we proposed to go about researching Annie Flood’s family.

  Although at first it seemed as if we were going to be stonewalled in our attempt to access the newspaper archives, our efforts to cajole the receptionist were curtailed when the outer door opened and a middle-aged man entered. She greeted the newcomer with a warm smile and explained why we were there.

  He introduced himself and asked if he could help, then did a double-take. ‘Aren’t you Adam Bailey?’ he asked.

  Eve chuckled. ‘Fame at last, Adam.’

  I explained that we were there looking for information about a local family. We were fortunate that we had mentioned the story to the man who had covered it. Even luckier that his photographic memory rendered a prolonged search of the dusty archives unnecessary.

  The information came at a price, but it was one I was more than happy to pay. ‘Would you mind if I ran a feature on you?’ he asked. ‘Your previous career and the various dodgy goings-on the pair of you have been involved with more recently will make fascinating reading.’

  I glanced at Eve and saw that she was all for it. As she explained later, ‘Who knows, it might even enhance your book sales, which can’t be a bad thing.’

  He led us to an empty office. ‘This will do. Make yourselves comfortable and I’ll try and rustle up some tea.’

  We talked for almost an hour, mostly about ourselves, but in the process we also elicited the facts we had come to Newark to discover. It was at the end of the conversation that I brought up the subject of Annie Flood’s parents. The reporter gave us chapter and verse; far more than we could have hoped to glean from the back numbers of the paper.

  Emerging from the building, I took a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. It was a clear, bright November day that to me had suddenly turned dark and unwholesome. The sun was bright, but my mind was filled with dark clouds. Eve, I could tell, was also struggling to come to terms with what we had learned. ‘Do you think we should go to where they lived and talk to the neighbours?’ Eve asked. ‘We might find out more of what happened afterwards?’

  I agreed, reluctantly. So grim were the facts that we had already learned that I wasn’t sure I was prepared for any further revelations. However, as usual, Evie was right, but our initial attempt to discover anything met with no response, principally because we had chosen that time of day when almost everyone was out at work. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel and try again after teatime,’ Eve suggested.

  Our second foray met with more success, and we returned to the hotel with little appetite for dinner as a result of what we had learned. ‘I reckon we should set off back first thing tomorrow morning,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to keep us here now, and I think we ought to return to Barton Manor as soon as possible.’

  Eve, it seemed was of the same mind, but we didn’t dwell on it. It was only once we were en route back to Yorkshire that either of us felt able to discuss what we had been told. ‘So now we know it all,’ Eve said. ‘We know who and we know why. What a terribly wicked, sad story. What is it they say about evil begetting evil?’

  I agreed, but as I pointed out, now that we did know who was responsible, the information we had been given, together with what we already knew made the motive two-fold. I explained my reasoning, and Eve admitted she hadn’t thought along those lines.

  ‘If anything, that makes it even sadder,’ she commented.

  The thought acted as an effective conversation stopper, and the rest of the journey back to Barton-le-Moors was completed more or less in silence.

  We reached Barton Manor shortly after lunchtime, where Robert and Frank greeted us. I noticed with approval that Frank kept one hand in his pocket until he was certain there was no threat, following which he removed the Glock and gave it to me.

  ‘I take it you’ve been trouble-free in our absence.’

  Robert nodded. ‘Yes indeed, in fact so much so that Alison and Tammy, who were going stir crazy from being cooped up within these four walls for so long, have made a break for freedom. They heard Tony telling me he had errands to run in Barton-le-Dale and they insisted he should take them with him so they could have a day’s shopping.�
�

  He saw the look of concern that passed between Eve and me and hastened to reassure us. ‘Don’t worry, I warned them that they must stick together at all times and to avoid alleyways and anywhere they could be at risk. I begged them to stay in or around the market place, the shops and cafes. If they followed that advice they surely couldn’t be in any danger, could they?’

  ‘I certainly hope not.’ In hindsight, I suppose he was right to think that way. It didn’t seem likely that Alison and Tammy would come to any harm in such public places. However, when that decision was made, neither Robert nor the girls were aware of what we had learned in Newark. To be fair, even had they known some, or all of it, I doubt whether they or anyone else could have foreseen what would happen.

  ‘What time are they due back?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Tony arranged to meet them at around four thirty, depending on when he got finished with his calls, so I reckon they should be back here by five o’clock.’

  ‘In that case I think it would be best to phone DS Holmes and ask him to come here this afternoon. That way we can explain what we’ve found out to everyone.’ Holmes raised no objection to my demand that he and Johnny Pickersgill come over. My comment that we now knew the identity of the killer certainly galvanised Holmes into action. He and Pickersgill arrived less than half an hour later. Eve told Robert it would be best if everyone in the household heard what we had to say.

  He looked surprised, and asked, ‘By everyone do you mean Frank and Mary, or Professor Riley?’

  ‘Everyone,’ Eve insisted, ‘especially Professor Riley.’

  ‘But what about the girls?’

  ‘You can tell them later.’

  Eve began her story. ‘To understand what’s behind all this we have to go back a long number of years, to when Stephen Pengelly began an affair with a young girl by the name of Annie Flood. Her father was outraged, by all accounts, not only because of Stephen’s murky reputation with women, but because his daughter was under the age of consent. He confronted Stephen’s father, who agreed to pay the family a large sum of money, because the girl was pregnant.

  ‘Soon after that, the family moved back to Newark-on-Trent, which was where they hailed from originally. Whether that was from choice or whether Pengelly senior insisted on it isn’t clear, nor is it relevant.’ Eve stopped and looked at me, a clear invitation for me to take over the narrative.

  ‘When we went to Newark we spoke to someone who lives a couple of doors away from where the Flood family moved to. The woman was most informative, and told us that after the birth, Annie suffered severe post-natal depression, which lasted for a long time. The last straw for Annie came when her mother and father were killed in a road accident. Their car was in a head-on collision with an oil tanker. Soon afterwards, a week or so following their funeral, Annie left her home. Nobody knows the exact sequence of events, but a week later a rambler discovered her body in Sherwood Forest. She had hanged herself.’

  ‘What happened to her child?’ Holmes asked.

  I left it to Eve to answer him. Knowing her love of the dramatic, I sensed that she would want to save the best until last. She seemed to ignore his question as she began to speak. ‘Annie had an uncle; her mother’s younger brother. He doted on Annie, and after her death he transferred that love to her offspring, becoming guardian, mentor, and surrogate parent to all he had left of his beloved niece.’

  She barely paused, but Holmes was determined to seek a reply to his question. ‘What became of the child?’

  ‘Not child,’ Eve corrected him, ‘children. Annie Flood gave birth to twins.’

  I heard a gasp from my right and saw Robert’s astonished expression. ‘That’s right,’ I told him, as if confirming something he had said, ‘just as Alison discovered from the Pengelly family tree.’ I explained the significance of this remark to the others. ‘Alison noticed an unusually high incidence of twins stretching back many generations. It must be a genetic thing, and I guess it is probably the clearest indication that Stephen was the father.’

  I allowed Eve to continue the story while the detective pondered the relevance of this. ‘We had already been told a little about the uncle, although our informant here didn’t know his name. Our guess is that the man hated the Pengelly family; believing Stephen in particular to have been responsible for all the bad things that had happened; the death of his sister and brother-in-law, the suicide of his niece, and for the children to be left as orphans. We think he must have instilled in the twins a deep loathing for everything the name Pengelly stands for.

  ‘Although our local informant here in Barton-le-Dale didn’t know the uncle’s name, he did say he thought the man was a professional person, and it was only when we spoke to a newspaperman in Newark that we discovered his identity.’ She looked at Holmes and asked, ‘Do you remember Adam’s theory that the family research might have been an attempt to defraud Stephen?’

  Holmes nodded, but I could tell he was puzzled as to where this was going. Eve continued, ‘Whether that was the case or not, Adam’s other point was accurate. He believed the people involved, and by that I mean Graeme Fletcher, Kathy King, and Arnold Wharton would need the assistance of someone with expertise in the subject. We are uncertain whether Wharton dreamed up the plan, or whether it originated from a man he went to university with, his former neighbour. I’m speaking of Annie Flood’s maternal uncle, a man by the name of Rufus Locke.’

  Eve’s revelation was without doubt a bombshell, but it only reached one target. Victoria gasped aloud and stared at Eve with astonishment. Robert frowned, no doubt trying to remember where he had heard the name before. Frank and Mary looked bemused, while Holmes and Pickersgill, although obviously interested, were evidently awaiting further elucidation.

  ‘You’re talking about Professor Locke?’ Victoria asked, her tone incredulous. ‘My successor as history tutor?’

  ‘Absolutely correct,’ Eve told her. ‘Rufus Locke is Annie Flood’s uncle. It’s easy to understand how he developed such a deep loathing for Stephen Pengelly. It’s our belief that it was Locke who hatched up a scheme to exact revenge on Stephen, by first defrauding him of a small fortune, and then by murdering him. However, in order to cover up that crime and ensure there was no one who could reveal what he’d done, the others involved in the plot had also to die.’

  ‘This is all theory, though,’ Holmes said after a while. ‘You have no proof that this man Locke committed the murders, have you?’

  ‘We thought we might leave such tiny details to the police,’ I told him.

  ‘We can’t charge him without proof. We need a whole lot more than just a theory, no matter how likely it seems. But it certainly gives us sufficient grounds to pull him in for questioning, and to apply for a search warrant for his premises. Does your information stretch to where he lives?’

  Eve shook her head. ‘Unfortunately not, although I suggest somewhere in Leeds might be a good place to start.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help,’ Victoria offered. ‘I can ring the university and find out the address from them.’

  During the latter part of Eve’s monologue and the exchange between Holmes and Victoria I had been watching Robert closely. On a couple of occasions he looked as if he was about to say something, but I was able to attract his attention and warn him off with a slight shake of my head.

  When Victoria had made the call and given Holmes the address, he declared their intention of returning to Barton-le-Dale immediately. ‘I’m going to have to liaise with our colleagues in Leeds on this. On reflection, I’m not sure whether we have sufficient evidence for a search warrant, but I do think we ought to get him into a police station and ask him some pertinent questions regarding a potential charge of conspiracy to murder.’

  Eve and I escorted the detectives to the front door. As they were leaving, Johnny Pickersgill hung back long enough to say, ‘Perhaps one day you’ll tell me the whole story. I’d be interested to hear the bits you left out.’ With that parting shot
he closed the door behind him.

  On our return to the drawing room, we were immediately questioned by Robert and Victoria about the omissions Pickersgill had hinted at. ‘Why didn’t you want us to go into detail about the family tree?’ Robert asked.

  ‘Yes, and why did you avoid the subject of the runic inscriptions completely?’ Victoria backed him up.

  ‘It’s back to the question of credibility,’ Eve told them. ‘Adam and I discussed it as we were driving back from Newark, and we thought it would be sensible to concentrate on provable facts such as the hatred motive, rather than making any mention of King Arthur, or the Holy Grail.’

  Victoria picked up on Eve’s comment about motive. ‘When you said it would be sensible to concentrate on hatred, what other motive could there have been? If Locke and his cronies had already milked Stephen Pengelly for a huge sum of money it could hardly have been for profit. That would be like killing the goose that lays the golden eggs.’

  ‘It was an even bigger motive than profit, or hatred,’ I told her. ‘The motive was survival. We believe Locke was desperate to get his hands on the Holy Grail for precisely the same reason as Stephen Pengelly. Both men were ill; both had been diagnosed with conditions for which there is no known remedy. In effect, Stephen Pengelly and Rufus Locke were dying, and they looked to the Grail as the sole means of providing a miracle cure. Even if the Grail exists; and even if it can be found, whether it has that capability, or whether both men were merely being delusional is a question we’ll probably never know the answer to. I think it’s very much open to question. All it seems to have done thus far is provoke people to committing acts of extreme violence and murder.’

  ‘What happens now?’ Robert asked.

  ‘Nothing much; I guess, all we can do is sit and wait to see what the police find out when they interview Locke. I’d be interested to know what happened to the twins, though.’

  ‘Were they boys or girls, or didn’t you find out?’

  ‘They were both boys,’ Eve told him. ‘One was named Joseph, after his grandfather on the paternal side, and the other was called Lionel. What became of them, we couldn’t discover in Newark, so all we can do is await news from the police. Luckily, now they have all that information, we can relax in the knowledge that we’ve done all we can, and that the danger is past.’