The Bockhampton Road Murders

by Pat Herbert

  Of course, the police couldn’t just take their word for it, even though Bernard and Robbie were respectable professional men with a standing in the neighbourhood. When tasked with providing an alternative explanation for the murder, a poker wielded by an unseen assailant was unlikely to cut any ice with the constabulary. They both knew that, but it was hard on poor Bert.

  Bernard knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Bert was innocent. Even though his dreadful mood swings could have accounted for him taking the poker to Mary, the man would have been hardly likely to kill his wife and then turn up at the Bricklayer’s as if nothing had happened, smiling cheerfully and chatting up the barmaids. Bert Allardyce was no killer. Besides, the coincidence of yet another murder in 57 Bockhampton Road couldn’t be easily brushed aside.

  

  It was the week before Christmas when Bernard arrived at Cambridge train station once more. The last time he had been there was over fourteen years ago, when he had been met by the charming Maltraverses, and he had talked to little Henry Freeman in their pretty garden in Longstanton. Now, here he was again, waiting to be picked up by Alf Maltravers in almost identical circumstances to the first time.

  He had told Robbie of his intention to see Henry again to try to find out if time and maturity had helped him recollect any more details about that fateful evening when his parents had been done to death in front of his eyes. If he could remember anything, anything at all, that would help the police with their enquiries into this latest tragedy, then it wouldn’t have been a wasted visit. It was just a shame it was in such sad circumstances, as otherwise it would have been delightful to see them all again.

  It was Henry Freeman himself who greeted him and escorted him out of the station to his waiting car.

  “How do you do, sir?” the young man said. “I’m so pleased to see you again. It gives me a chance to thank you for all your letters. I always looked forward to receiving them. They really helped me.” He shook Bernard’s hand warmly.

  Bernard’s eyes were gladdened at the sight of the tall, good-looking boy in front of him. He had recognised Henry immediately from the recent photo he had sent him, but it hadn’t done him justice. His dark-brown hair reached fashionably over his collar, like the Beatles, and his top lip had the first sprouting of a moustache à la Paul McCartney. Must be fighting them off with clubs, thought Bernard, as he prepared to sit in the passenger seat.

  “Do hop in. Sorry about the mess,” said Henry, stowing Bernard’s overnight bag in the boot of his rather beaten-up red mini.

  Bernard smiled as he removed the debris of several crisp packets and an empty Tizer bottle before sitting down. “How have you been keeping? How are your grandparents?”

  “They’re both fine and looking forward to seeing you again. They’ve killed the proverbial fatted calf for your visit, by the way.”

  “How nice,” said Bernard, remembering Winnie Allardyce’s delicious stew on his last visit. “I understand that you’ve got a place at Cambridge University, young man. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I’m taking a year out, though. I want to go to India and Australia before I give up three years of my life to study. My girlfriend and I have it all planned, and we’re leaving shortly after Christmas. We’re really looking forward to it.”

  Bernard eyed the young man fondly as he watched him expertly negotiate a round-about and a one-way system.

  “What are you going to study at Cambridge, by the way?”

  “Modern languages. I want to become bilingual, at the very least. If I can perfect my schoolboy French and then get familiar with Spanish and German as well, I can go and work anywhere in Europe or even South America.”

  “That’s great, Henry. What sort of work did you have in mind?”

  “Not sure yet. Possibly economics or politics. I haven’t really decided.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of time.”

  Bernard was pleased Henry had turned out so well, but he noticed a sad, faraway look in those tender brown eyes. He dreaded having to bring up the subject of his parents’ murders at some point during his short visit, and almost wished he didn’t have to. It was only the thought of a miscarriage of justice, that kept him at the sticking point. But all that could wait awhile, he thought, and sat back to enjoy the drive to the Maltravers’s pretty cottage, looking forward to a delicious supper and, given the season, the inevitable mince pies.

  

  Bernard sipped the mulled wine that was being copiously provided by the Maltraverses. The meal had been as delicious as he had expected and the company similarly as congenial.

  He had been introduced to Henry’s girlfriend, Maddie, later that day, and he had been no less delighted with her. Petite and pretty, she seemed the perfect adjunct to the handsome young man that Henry had become. No more marbles or stamp collecting for him, Bernard imagined.

  Bernard was seated in the place of honour nearest the fire, and he let the pleasant atmosphere seep into him. Mrs Harper and the vicarage seemed a long way off at that moment. He and Robbie had planned to spend the festive season in each other’s company with Bernard’s housekeeper providing the meals. He had been looking forward to it, as Mrs Harper’s cooking was easily on a par with Winnie Maltravers’s. But the cosy family scene he was now enjoying reminded him wistfully of a family life he had never really known since his boyhood and probably wouldn’t ever know now.

  “Maddie’s not keen on flying,” Henry was saying. They had been discussing the young people’s itinerary for their world trip. “So, we’re travelling mainly by sea, train and coach. We’ll see much more that way, as well.”

  Bernard nodded. “It will be a great adventure. You young people have so much more opportunity these days. When I was your age, you went from school to college, if you were good enough, then to paid employment. There was no such thing as ‘gap years’ then. I envy you.”

  Maddie grinned at him. “Go on,” she goaded him affectionately. “I bet you had your moments.”

  Bernard wondered if that were really true. Not so many, he could count on the fingers of one hand. But he just smiled at her for reply. How lovely she was, he thought. And so sweet. She seemed to have taken to him just as much as he had taken to her. For the first time he could truthfully think, ‘lucky old Henry’.

  As the time approached ten-thirty, Maddie rose to leave. “I’d better be getting back,” she said. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow. The Birmingham contingent’s arriving – at least ten of them. Aunts, uncles, cousins. We’re doing Christmas here this year. Mum and Dad are going spare trying to get everything organised in time.”

  Henry jumped up at once. “I’ll drive you back,” he said.

  “Thanks. It’s only a ten-minute walk, but it’s very dark out there.”

  The young couple left the room, laughing happily together. “They make a handsome pair, don’t they?” observed Alf.

  “They do, indeed,” agreed Bernard.

  Winnie smiled indulgently. “Not only is she pretty, but she’s the sweetest girl,” she said. “I do hope they stay together. It would be lovely to see Henry settle down with her eventually.”

  “Steady – they’re very young yet!” laughed Bernard. “Is she going to university too?”

  “She’s got a place at Sussex. Didn’t get quite good enough ‘A’ Levels for Cambridge,” Winnie said. “I don’t suppose the relationship will survive the separation.” She sighed.

  “Well, who knows? They’ll obviously make new friends at their respective universities. But there’s always holidays and weekends.”

  “True. But you know how it is with the young folk.”

  Bernard knew only too well. He thought back to the time when he had it all before him. He had been up at Leeds and had met Sophie. She had been the one girl he would have married if things had been different.

  “More wine?” Alf asked him. He could see Bernard had a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Sorry?”

  “I said more
wine, Vicar?”

  “Oh, yes please. Just a drop.”

  When his glass was replenished, Alf sat down beside him. Winnie had retired to the kitchen to finish the washing up. “Can I ask, Reverend, to what we owe the pleasure of this visit? Not that we’re not happy to see you again.”

  “I thought it was about time I came to see Henry. I haven’t seen him since he was a small boy.”

  “But why now?”

  “Er, well…”

  “I think I know why.” Alf was serious now. He looked gravely at the vicar as he sipped his wine.

  “Mince pies, anyone?” Winnie called from the kitchen.

  “Oh, give it a rest, Winnie,” Alf shouted back.

  “I – I’d rather like one,” Bernard said timidly. He knew what Alf was leading up to, and the interruption of yet another mince pie seemed a good idea while he collected his thoughts.

  Once Bernard had a plate of hot mince pies in front of him, Alf continued undeterred. “There’s been another murder in that house, hasn’t there? I’ve seen the news and read it in the papers.”

  Bernard took a bite from a pie and nodded. “Well, yes, there’s been another unexplained murder. I was with the husband when we found his wife’s body. She was bludgeoned to death by the fireplace, just like your daughter and son-in-law were, the only difference being that Bert, the husband, has been charged with the murder. You see, there were no witnesses and he couldn’t account for his movements when the murder was committed.”

  “Yes, I saw all that. What I hope is, you’re not going to drag Henry through it all again. He’s a happy boy now. He’s met a lovely girl, he’s going to Cambridge. You’re not going to spoil it all for him, are you?”

  “I sincerely hope not. But an innocent man is going to be convicted unless I can prove he didn’t do it. Or at least cast enough doubt on his guilt for a jury to hopefully acquit him.”

  “I see that. But we’re more concerned about Henry. His state of mind is erratic. He still has black periods when he remembers what happened.”

  “I do understand, Alf. I do really. But if we don’t try and help Bert, we’ll never get any closer to discovering the real motive for these crimes and, hopefully, stop any more from happening.”

  “You’ll have to do that without Henry’s help,” said Alf with determination.

  “Won’t you just let me ask him if he’ll tell the police what happened in his own words? It could help to convince them that Bert had nothing to do with his wife’s death.”

  “Look, if the guy didn’t do it, then I’m sorry. But there’s no way I’ll let Henry get involved. What happened, happened. It’s all over and done with as far as Henry’s concerned. Besides, he’ll be out of the country the first week of January for a whole year. And a good thing too.”

  “Yes, for him, maybe. But don’t you think it’s up to Henry whether he helps or not? You can’t make the decision for him. He’s not five anymore.”

  “Oh, can’t I?” Alf was getting angry now and he started to pace the room. “Look here, Reverend. I know you mean well and we’ll always be grateful for what you did for Henry back then. But Henry’s my and Win’s responsibility now, and we’ll decide what’s best for him.”

  At that point, Winnie came into the room, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “What’s going on? Why the raised voices?”

  “The vicar here has come to ask Henry to go to the police and tell them what happened to his parents. He’s trying to help this man accused of murdering his wife. We both think it’s just a coincidence it happened in that bloody house, don’t we, Win?”

  Winnie looked unhappy but turned to Bernard with a friendly smile. “Alf is just worried about Henry,” she said. “And you know I don’t agree it’s just a coincidence.” She gave her husband a look that spoke volumes. “I think Henry should help, if he can. I don’t think this man killed his wife either.”

  “Thank you, Winnie, for being so understanding,” said Bernard. “I’m sure it’s the right thing to do.”

  Just then the front door opened, and Henry’s cheerful voice rang through the house. “Hi everyone, I’m back!” He bounced into the room, but soon sensed the awkward atmosphere. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Alf looked daggers at Bernard, silently forbidding him to tell him.

  “Nothing at all, Henry, love,” said Winnie, giving her grandson a hug. “I’ve got some hot mince pies for you.”

  

  The next morning dawned bright and clear. Frost glistened on the branches of the apple tree that stood outside Bernard’s bedroom window. He surveyed the scene with pleasure. The smell of Winnie’s cooking wafted up the stairs, and he realised he was ravenous. It must be the country air, he thought. When he had bathed and dressed, he trotted down to the warm kitchen. Bacon and eggs were piled high on a steaming plate, together with mushrooms, tomatoes and fried bread.

  “Good morning, Bernard. Do tuck in,” said Winnie.

  He rubbed his hands and sat down at the kitchen table. “Tea or coffee?” asked Winnie, placing a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in front of him.

  “Tea, please. Lovely! I’m going to enjoy this.”

  “You need a good breakfast inside you to start the day, especially on cold mornings like this. Henry’s already had his and is in the garden refilling the bird feeders.”

  “I think I’ll join him when I’ve eaten.”

  “You do that. Never mind what Alf says. He just can’t get over Carol’s death and he’s scared that Henry will come to some sort of harm if he doesn’t watch over him all the time. Understandable, I suppose, but Henry finds it a bit claustrophobic at times.”

  When Bernard had finished his breakfast, he strolled out into the garden to join his young friend who was inspecting an unusual-looking evergreen, stroking its leaves and cooing softly to it.

  “Hello,” Henry greeted him. “I hope you slept well. Was the bed comfortable?”

  “Very. I slept like a log. What plant is that supposed to be?”

  “A form of hemlock, I think,” said Henry.

  “Really? Poisonous, then?”

  “I should think so,” Henry laughed. “Anyway, let’s go and sit on the bench and talk. Will you be warm enough in just a jacket?”

  “I’m fine. The sun is quite warm for December,” said Bernard. They sat in silence for several minutes, watching the blue tits and robins pecking at the feeders. Bernard remembered sitting on just this same bench all those years ago with a heartbroken little boy beside him and felt sad for a moment.

  “These little chaps need feeding in winter, especially when it snows,” said Henry tenderly.

  “Do you know a lot about birds?”

  “Only what I got from my ‘Observer’s Book of Birds’ as a child,” said Henry. “But they fascinate me. And we have all sorts of breeds come here all the year round so there’s much to see. I love them.”

  After a couple more minutes of companionable silence, Bernard broached the subject that was in the air between them. “Henry, do you ever think about that awful time?” he asked gently.

  “Of course, I do,” said Henry vehemently. “I shall never forget it. How could I?”

  “No, who could? Do you remember when I found you there and you told me certain things about what you saw?”

  “I remember –”

  “Since that time, do you have any reason to believe you could have been mistaken? Do you think your young mind just blotted out the worst of it? That you only saw what you could take in at such a tender age? Or that you simply imagined that ‘pretty lady’ as you called her?”

  “I’ve often thought about it. But, all I can recall is the sight of my parents’ dead bodies by the fireplace and that woman wielding the poker over them.”

  “Is there anything else you can remember? Please try to think. Anything at all that might help. Did this woman say anything, for example?”

  “Well, I can’t be sure. But I have a feeling she was sort of chanting something. Lik
e she was in a trance.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “She was the woman who I always saw around the house while I was growing up. Her and the children.”

  “So, do you now suppose they were actually ghosts or spirits haunting the place? I take it your parents never saw or heard them?”

  “No, only me. I asked my mum what she thought of my playmates and she said they were sweet. But I suppose she was only humouring me.”

  “You were living in a haunted house, Henry,” said Bernard, looking at him closely.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Do you think the attack on your parents was for some specific reason?”

  “No. My parents were lovely people.” Bernard could see Henry was close to tears now.

  “You said just now that the woman was chanting something. Can you remember what that was?”

  “I’d tell you, if I could,” said Henry, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He sniffed back further tears manfully. “Wait a minute, though,” he said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “I vaguely remember something about ‘being happy’ and ‘having no right to be’. Something like that.”

  “That would make sense. Maybe when the woman was alive she had a very unhappy life, or something awful happened to her, or she did something awful to someone else. They say that evil begets evil, don’t they?”

  “That’s right. And something about ‘the evil that men do lives after them’....”

  “’The good is oft interred with their bones’,” Bernard finished.

  Henry shivered. “That seems the wrong way round, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re right.” Bernard smiled. Henry was so young, yet so wise. He had to grow up quickly, poor thing.

  Bernard put his hand on his shoulder. “I suppose you know about the murder that took place in your house a few weeks ago?”

  Henry shivered. “Yes, of course. I’m sure the man didn’t do it, at least not if it happened in the way it happened to my parents.”