by Fiona Grace
His words echoed around the graveyard. A stunned silence fell. All eyes turned toward Lacey and Harold.
At first, Superintendent Turner looked furious that Lacey had broken away from the crowd and was now interrogating his suspect. But that look quickly went away as he strode over, beige trench coat flowing out behind him, and muttered out the corner of his mouth, “Keep him talking.”
Lacey didn’t need asking twice. The superintendent was giving her the green light to keep interrogating the suspect on his behalf, and that was like a huge seal of approval. She carried on.
“So the killing was an accident, was it? And authenticating the letter was a mistake? You have pretty bad luck, by the sounds of things. No wonder you carry a disguise around with you. Too embarrassed to show your face.”
Harold did, indeed, begin to blush. Lacey realized she had perhaps gotten even closer to the truth than she’d expected from her goading. She’d merely wanted to get Harold riled up enough to prompt another outburst. But this was better.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” she continued. “You were embarrassed by your mistake. But how did you make such a rookie mistake in the first place, I wonder?” Then she remembered what she’d seen on the Westminster Auction House website. Harold Watson was the son of the owners. He hadn’t gotten the job because he deserved it, he’d been shoehorned in. Now it all made sense. He’d made a rookie mistake authenticating the letter… because he was a rookie. A novice.
“It was your first!” Lacey cried, astonished.
Harold’s cheeks went red with shame. It told her everything she needed to know.
“It was your first ever appraisal and you screwed it up,” Lacey continued. “ The wig… the fake name…You only came to the auction to see if you could get away with it. To make sure your error went unnoticed.”
Harold squirmed. “It wasn’t quite like that,” he mumbled.
“Then how was it?” Superintendent Turner interjected. “Now’s your chance to get the record straight.”
Harold’s eyes darted from the detective to Lacey. Then finally, he let out a defeated sigh.
“It was my first appraisal of anything of any worth,” he said. “I was excited. I wanted to see it sell, so I took leave and came here. I told the company I was going on holiday.”
“And the disguise?” Lacey prompted.
“I didn’t want anyone to recognize me and get it back to my family. Half the attendees have known me since I was a baby.”
Lacey recalled her telephone conversation with Antoinette. She’d thought it had been too convenient that Harold was out of the office when she needed to speak to him. But now she understood what was really going on. Antoinette hadn’t been covering for Harold at all, Harold had lied about his whereabouts to everyone.
“Everyone thinks I’m not suited for this line of work,” Harold continued woefully. “They tease me. That I only got the job because of my mum and dad. And they’re right. So this was meant to be my triumph. My moment. And I was about to go home and rub it in all their faces when I got a call from Lord Fairfax’s private authenticator…”
“You learned you’d made a mistake,” Lacey said.
Harold nodded. “I knew if anyone found out I was the one to authenticate the letter, my career would be ruined for sure. So… I went to see Ronan.”
Lacey felt a crackle of anticipation race through her nerves. Here she was, after all this time, standing on the precipice of an answer.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Superintendent Turner turn to look at her. The anticipation was practically radiating from him.
Harold continued. “I begged Ronan not to share my original authentication letter with anyone, to tear it up or burn it. But he absolutely refused.”
“That letter was the only defense Ronan had against the fraud accusations,” Lacey said. “Without it, there was no evidence to prove his innocence. So what on earth made you think he’d throw himself on his sword for you?”
“I don’t know,” Harold whined. “I just had to try.”
Lacey shook her head. He was so typically entitled. His mum and dad had probably helped him out of every problem he’d ever faced, and so he just assumed Ronan would bend over backwards for him too!
“After Ronan said no,” Superintendent Turner said, “what happened next?”
“That’s when things got heated,” Harold said. He dropped his gaze to his feet, in the classic sign of guilt. “He was furious at me for making the mistake in the first place. He thought he was rich, but then he was going to have to give back all that money. He was livid. He accused me of ruining his life. He advanced on me. I thought he was going to attack me.” He started shaking as he recounted the events of that dreadful night. His gaze snapped up, and he glanced from Lacey to Superintendent Turner and back again with a terrified, rabbit-in-the-headlamps look. “I honestly thought he was going to kill me. I grabbed the nearest thing I could use as a weapon to defend myself. The fountain pen.”
It took all of Lacey’s resolve not to react. But internally, she knew Harold had just sealed his own fate. Only the killer would know the detail about the fountain pen.
“Of course, he laughed in my face when I waved it at him,” Harold continued.
“Then what happened,” Superintendent Turner urged.
Even though Lacey was absolutely certain, he clearly wanted to hear Harold actually admit to the fatal moment before determining the case closed.
“He came at me,” Harold said, looking out in the distance as he relieved his trauma. “I was holding the pen like his.” He brought his hands up to his chest, miming holding the pen clutched in both hands. He visibly began to shake again. “And I just jabbed forward, once, into his stomach.”
Lacey shivered.
“I didn’t think it would kill him. I didn’t even think it would hurt him that much! It was a bloody fountain pen! All I wanted to do was cause him some pain so he’d back off. And he did. He staggered back and I ran.”
“Where did you go?” Superintendent Turner asked.
“Back to my hotel room. I stayed awake all night, worrying the cops would come and arrest me for assault. But then in the morning, I heard he was dead. But I didn’t think I’d killed him! I mean, I’d barely touched him!”
“What did you think had happened?” Superintendent Turner asked. “How did you think he’d died?”
“I thought maybe he’d had a heart attack,” Harold explained with a shrug. “That all that stress and rage had triggered it.”
“Yet you stuck around in Wilfordshire,” Lacey said, narrowing her eyes. “Why do that, if you weren’t at least slightly concerned you might’ve had a hand in his death?”
“The news started saying it was a murder,” Harold said. “I suppose I started worrying then. I was driving myself crazy, going back and forth, thinking I must be a killer, then convincing myself there was absolutely no way it was me. When I saw the news report earlier, that someone else had been arrested for his murder, I was elated. It wasn’t me! Someone else must have gone to the cottage after our fight and killed him.” He shook his head sadly. “I was so desperate to believe it. Just like I was desperate to believe the letter was real.”
In a strange way, Lacey understood where Harold was coming from. In their line of work, what people thought was valuable was actually junk 999 times out of 1,000. But every now and then they’d find a gem. Harold so badly wanted this to be it, so he could prove his worth to everyone, he’d made a terrible mistake. One that had ultimately turned out to be fatal.
There was no big, bad evil monster here, just a silly, inexperienced young man, who’d made a foolish mistake and gotten himself deeper and deeper in hot water in his attempts to cover it up.
What a terrible, senseless tragedy.
She looked at Superintendent Turner. He nodded at her, signaling his satisfaction. Then he turned back to Harold.
“Harold Watson, I’m arresting you on the suspicion of the murder of Ronan
Pike.” He hauled the man to his feet and began marching him toward the car, continuing as he went. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court…”
Lacey watched as he was guided into the back of the car, filled with a sense of satisfaction that it was all over.
Frank and Tom approached, both reaching their arms out to her as they walked.
“After you,” Frank said to Tom.
But Tom shook his head. “Please. You were the one who tackled him.”
Frank smirked, and took Lacey in his arms. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Me?” she joked. “I can’t believe you tackled a man half your age to the ground!”
He patted her back. “You were the one that solved the case.”
She moved out of his embrace and hugged Tom next.
“Everything can go back to normal now,” he said.
“Actually,” Lacey replied, “there’s one more thing I have to do first…”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
A cool morning mist swirled around Lacey as she entered her store, the bell tinkling overhead. Chester rushed past her legs and over to Boudica, greeting her with friendly sniffs. Gina looked up from the counter and put the store phone down on the receiver; she appeared to have just finished up a telephone conversation.
“Morning,” she said to Lacey. “Did you have a nice breakfast with your dad?”
Lacey nodded. It was the morning after the arrest of Harold Watson, and her father’s final day in Wilfordshire. He’d wanted to spend the morning having a long, lazy breakfast with Lacey, so she’d asked Gina to open up.
Turned out she hadn’t been able to relax much over breakfast at all. Not only was she exhausted—having barely slept worrying about Brett Meegan still languishing in jail—she’d then been on tenterhooks all morning waiting for the call from DCI Lewis confirming that the man she’d incorrectly landed in jail had finally been released.
“Were you just on the phone?” Lacey asked as she approached the counter.
“Yes,” Gina replied. “That was DCI Lewis returning your call.”
Lacey rushed over. Typical that the call she’d been waiting for would come during her morning walk to work!
“And?” she asked.
“Brett Meegan was released from custody this morning,” Gina said.
Lacey sighed her relief. “Thank goodness. Did she pass on my message?”
Gina looked clueless. “She didn’t say. What message?”
Lacey drummed her fingers nervously on the countertop. “I asked him to come here,” she said, her eyes flicking over to the door.
“Whatever for?” Gina asked, sounding shocked.
“Because I need to right a wrong.”
Just then, Lacey spotted a man walking along the street, hood up against the morning chill. He was glancing about him as if searching for something. When he spotted the antiques sign, he halted for a moment, then began to approach.
“That’s him,” Lacey said, her heart skipping with a mixture of nerves and relief.
The door opened with a tinkle and Brett Meegan entered, bringing a guest of winter air with him. He looked disheveled from the night he’d spent locked in the cells. A little shell-shocked too, no doubt from the media circus that had surrounded his arrest.
“Brett,” Lacey called across the store.
He regarded her with weary, distrustful eyes—a look that sent waves of anguish peeling through her—before approaching.
“You asked to see me?” he said, halting opposite Lacey, wringing his hands nervously in front of him.
“Yes,” Lacey said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “I wanted to apologize to you personally for dragging you into this mess. Getting you arrested. I made a terrible mistake when I led the police to your house and—”
He cut her apology off with a shake of his head. “It’s okay. Besides, they make nice sandwiches in jail.” He flashed her a morose smile. He was clearly just keeping up appearances.
“I also want to apologize about dredging up the past,” Lacey continued. “All that stuff with Scott tricking you must have been quite shocking. I should’ve been more sensitive—”
Again, Brett stopped her, this time by holding up a hand. “Lacey, it’s okay. I had plenty of time to think that through while I was in jail. There’s no way I can ever know why Scott took the letter from me. There may well be an innocent reason. And since he never tried to sell it himself, I’m inclined to believe he was never planning on tricking me, or profiting off me, or duping me in any way. So there’s nothing to apologize for.”
Lacey pressed her lips together. There wasn’t any point arguing. Brett had his own theory, one that helped him sleep better at night, and who was she to take that from him?
“Okay,” she relented, holding her hands in truce.
“So are we good? Was that the reason you asked to see me?” he continued.
“Actually…” Lacey said, “I also wanted to give you this.”
She hurried to the back room and fetched the framed letter, before coming back behind the counter beside Gina and handing it over to Brett.
“It’s your original fake—I mean—practice letter.”
Brett’s eyes widened. “Well, would you look at that? He had it framed and everything…”
“I wanted it to go back to where it belonged,” Lacey explained. “To fill up that blank space in your portfolio.”
As Brett looked at her, the distrust she’d seen in his eyes earlier was now replaced with gratitude.
“Thank you, dear,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “And thank you for solving the case. For getting me released. It was the authenticator, you say?”
Lacey nodded. “A terrible accident, by the sounds of things. Self-defense.”
“Small mercies, I suppose,” Brett replied. “Anyway. I’d best be off. I need a good shower, a nice cup of tea, and to catch up with the cricket.”
Lacey smiled and waved him goodbye, satisfied that while she couldn’t turn back the hands of time and stop Brett from being arrested, she had at the very least done a good deed in returning the letter to him.
Brett left the store, the doorbell jangling above him as he exited. But the moment he was gone, Gina turned to Lacey with a frown.
“You don’t really believe Harold’s story, do you?” she challenged.
“Yes,” Lacey replied. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because no one innocent travels in full disguise with a fake name!”
“But his story matches the evidence. The way Ronan died, the crime scene and timelines. I really think it went down how Harold said it did.”
Gina scoffed. “I guess we’ll see who’s right when it goes to trial.”
“It won’t go to trial,” Lacey said. “Harold confessed.”
Gina didn’t look convinced. “We’ll see. Rich man with connections like him? I’m sure his parents will bring in the top lawyers and get him off with nothing but a slap on the wrist.”
Lacey twisted her lips. She may well be right about that. But how the wheels of justice turned was not her concern. She knew the truth, and she was ready to draw a line under this whole fiasco.
“Uh-oh,” Gina said.
“What?” Lacey asked.
Gina pointed to the window, and Lacey looked over to see a man approaching. A huge, hulky man in a black suit with a bald head. Hounslow.
Lacey’s chest immediately sank, her short-lived sense of resolve extinguished in one instant. Because there was only one reason for Lord Fairfax’s valet to be here. To settle the unpleasant situation with the sale reversal.
So much for drawing a line under the case! The criminal element of it may well have been resolved, but there was a long and bumpy road still ahead when it came to settling the financial fallout. The commission she thought she’d earned had still been entirely erased, and she was still going to lose a ton of money
in bank fees. Then there was the whole silliness over Lord Fairfax’s emotional distress compensation claim…
Chest sinking, Lacey realized this was far from over.
The bell over the door rang as the huge, imposing Hounslow entered.
“Hounslow,” Lacey addressed him, trying to remain as polite as possible despite the fluttering panic in her chest. “You’re here for the sale reversal, I presume.”
The wide-set bald man nodded as he came marching up to the counter, footsteps thudding on the floorboards. “Yes. Lord Fairfax sent me. He just got a call from the police saying that now the case is over, Ronan’s estate can be settled.”
Lacey nodded sadly. “I understand.”
She couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She’d wanted to ride the high from the win a little longer, rather than be brought crashing back down to earth so quickly.
“But before we get into all that unpleasant stuff,” Lacey said, “can I please first thank you?”
“Thank me?” Hounslow said, looking surprised.
“The report you faxed through for me. It gave me the clue I needed to find the truth.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Hounslow’s lips. “Happy to help. And it’s funny you should mention that. The police relayed that you were the one who cracked the case. I had to admit I was a little surprised. I thought you were just being nosy when you asked for the report. I never thought you’d actually solve the case.”
“Oh,” Lacey said, not sure whether to be offended or flattered.
“Anyway,” Hounslow continued, “Lord Fairfax was very impressed by the lengths you went to, to resolve the whole issue and find the truth. So he’s agreed to drop the compensation claim. And he’s agreed to cover the expenses of the transfer reversal.”
Gina gasped beside her.
Lacey felt her eyebrows rising with astonishment. She looked at her friend, who was grinning, then back to Hounslow, and blinked. “He’s … he’s… I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Hounslow chuckled. “I said Lord Fairfax will cover the expenses of the reversal.”
Gina gripped her arm. “Lacey!” she exclaimed. “What a relief!”
