[Kitt Hartley 05] - A Witch Hunt in Whitby

by Helen Cox

  ‘I don’t think we can dismiss the possibility,’ said Kitt. ‘I know it might seem like a long shot, but to me it just seems too much of a coincidence that nobody knew what caused the fire at Ayleen’s childhood home, or the fire at the library and archive in the place where she used to live, and then on top of that a fire finished off the Children of Silvanus.’

  ‘Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I can see the link,’ said Halloran.

  ‘Which gets me thinking about the gossip we learned when we first got here,’ said Kitt. ‘There is some speculation in this town that Ayleen was the one to start the fire that killed her parents. What if she did the same with the library? And the Children of Silvanus camp?’

  ‘She said she was ashamed of what she’d done,’ said Halloran, recalling Ayleen’s words in the interview he had conducted the night before. ‘That she didn’t want anyone to find out.’

  ‘And she was willing to go to the lengths of lying to the police about what she’d done,’ said Grace. ‘What if she started that fire at the library and archive so that anybody who checked in the future wouldn’t be able to find any record of her or what she got up to there? What if even before that she went back to the camp and started a fire to kill off the remaining witnesses to what she’d done and end the cult for good?’

  ‘I suppose that is a possibility,’ Kitt said with a nod. ‘Given that she’s already lied to us once, there’s a good chance that we still don’t know the worst of what she got up to all those years ago.’

  Twenty

  ‘You’ve got some visitors, Cyril,’ said Benji, the care worker with whom Kitt had arranged their visit at Seaview Care Home in Sandsend. If Kitt had to guess, based on his baby-fresh skin, she would have said Benji was in his early twenties. He had his hair shaved short in a way that emphasized all of the bones in his skull which somehow further accentuated the babyish look to his face. He spoke to Cyril in that slightly too loud way that some did with all people over the age of sixty. Although Kitt had read that hearing loss was becoming an even bigger issue for people now than it had been in the past, she sometimes found the extremes people went to, in terms of over-enunciating, quite patronizing.

  Cyril, who was sitting in an armchair near the window in his surprisingly spacious room, turned when he heard his name mentioned. As soon as he acknowledged he had company, Benji offered a nod to Kitt and Grace before dismissing himself, likely to attend to other residents. Seaview Care Home was much bigger than Kitt had imagined. Three storeys high and from the signage she’d seen on the way in, long enough to accommodate two rows of private quarters on every floor. This was, of course, good news for the amount of stimulation guests were likely to get as there were a greater number of residents to interact with. Kitt had noticed in the short walk from the reception area to Cyril’s room, however, that the staff seemed to be run off their feet. Almost all of them looked like they could have done with more sleep the night before and several of them hadn’t seemed to really know if they were coming or going. Being understaffed when you were caring for this number of vulnerable people was no joke.

  Kitt was quite surprised by how robust Cyril seemed. Arnie from the bookshop had described him as frail. While he was in no way a muscled Adonis, he was stocky enough in his stature that Kitt guessed he might be capable of considerable physical strength. Perhaps Arnie had been more focused on Cyril’s mental faculties. When people display symptoms of mental illness, those around them sometimes interpreted that as frailty on every level, especially if the symptoms were severe.

  ‘Do . . . do I know you?’ Cyril asked in a soft voice as he looked between Kitt and Grace.

  Kitt smiled at him. ‘No, you don’t. We are visiting Seaview because we’re doing a local history project.’

  This, she and Grace had agreed, was the kindest lie to tell Cyril in an attempt to get him to talk openly without confusing him too much. They were, after all, pretty much here to eliminate him from the list of suspects. There was no point in offering the full context when it may upset Cyril and possibly trigger his symptoms.

  ‘It is nice to see such young people engaging in local history,’ Cyril said, offering Grace a charming, wrinkly grin.

  Kitt had hoped that she might be included in the young people bracket but Cyril did not extend his smile to her. Well that’s it, lass, Kitt thought to herself. Thirty-seven and you’re past it.

  ‘Did they tell you that me memory isn’t so good now?’ Cyril asked.

  ‘Yes, we are aware of the challenges you’re managing, Mr Armitage,’ said Kitt. ‘Don’t worry, if you don’t want to talk to us you certainly don’t have to.’

  ‘Actually, I’d like to talk to you for as long as I can,’ said Cyril. ‘Don’t have any kids of my own, or siblings, so I don’t get many visitors. There’s just our Alan, really.’

  ‘Alan a good friend of yours, is he?’ said Grace, taking a seat in a chair opposite the man as he indicated that she should. Kitt did the same.

  ‘A distant cousin,’ said Cyril. ‘Haven’t seen him in a little while now. He gets very busy, you know? It’s funny, I didn’t even know he existed till about three years ago. Even when you think you’ve got it sussed, life is still full of surprises. But I’ve been glad of ’im. It’d be quite lonely otherwise.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear you’ve got some company – outside the other people who live alongside you, of course,’ said Kitt, wondering if she should be suspicious about a long-lost cousin just reappearing like that.

  Cyril groaned and curled his upper lip. ‘Oh, I don’t bother with any of that lot. I keep myself to myself in here. A lot of the other residents are much older than me, see? So it can get me down if I spend too much time with them. Reminds me that I’ve sort of got old before me time.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ said Kitt. ‘And I’m sorry for what you’re going through.’

  Cyril gave a dismissive wave. ‘Never mind, I spend enough time talking about that with the doctors. Let’s get onto happier subjects. What kind of local history do you want to talk about? I’ve lived in Whitby most of my life, you know? Seen a lot of change in that time. It’s not like it used to be. Well, at least not in the new town.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ said Grace. ‘We are particularly interested in the cultural community here in Whitby, and we understand you’ve done some amateur dramatics in your time.’

  ‘Oh aye, I have done quite a lot over the years. With not having a family or any kids, I decided to join the local drama club to meet some new people, you know, feel less lonely.’

  Kitt couldn’t help but notice that Cyril had described himself as lonely twice now. And that by his own admission, he had no family to speak of – save his long-lost cousin. Alongside his distaste for mingling with the other residents, he did seem to fit the loner profile she, Grace and Evie had discussed before the investigation was moved to Whitby. Cyril seemed so sweet and gentle, she couldn’t imagine him having a dark side but in the interests of exploring all lines of investigation, she had to keep an open mind.

  ‘What kind of plays were you in?’ asked Grace.

  ‘Ooh, all sorts. Our previous director wasn’t the most imaginative so we did our fair share of Salad Days and Oliver Twist but when Stella took over that changed. She started her directorial leadership with a play she had written herself. It was so different to everything else we’d done.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Grace, affecting an innocent expression. ‘I think I read about one of the plays she wrote: The Curse of James I, A Musical?’

  Cyril’s face lit up at the mention of this play and there was no mistaking the shimmer of excitement in his eyes. ‘Oooh, yes, and I got to play the lead role! That was my favourite part. In that one, I got to inhabit the body of James I himself, a difficult challenge, that. I had to do a lot of research into it. He was a complicated person, you know?’

  ‘Oh I don’t doub
t it,’ said Kitt, studying Cyril closely and waiting to see if this conversation was going to trigger anything for him. She had been instructed to call for a member of staff if this happened and she was not going to jeopardize the man’s mental well-being for the sake of a hunch. She intended to follow the guidelines to the letter.

  Cyril, however, continued to talk without any hesitation. ‘I didn’t mind doing the research. It was probably the juiciest part I ever had. It is so much fun stepping into the shoes of a historical character.’ He beamed. ‘Having the opportunity to bring them to life and put your own take on it.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Kitt. ‘And your director, Stella Hemsworth, isn’t it? From the reviews I read of the play, she must have been pleased with how it all turned out.’

  The light in Cyril’s eyes dimmed and he shook his head. ‘I’m not sure about that. We were grateful to her for taking a more creative line with the plays we put on but she seemed to take that play very seriously. That was the only thing that took the fun out of it a bit for me. I think I could have been . . . I could have been . . . er.’

  Kitt offered Cyril a sympathetic smile that she hoped was a comfort to him. He was having difficulty remembering his next word. This was something that had happened to her grandfather quite regularly when he was managing his dementia symptoms. A small prompt usually helped.

  ‘A world-class actor?’ Kitt ventured.

  ‘Aye!’ Cyril said. ‘I could have been Sir Ian McKellen himself and she would still have given me notes after every performance, and the rest of the cast had it just as bad.’

  ‘That sounds like a bit of a downer,’ said Grace. ‘Can’t have been much fun to be getting critiqued all the time.’

  Kitt couldn’t tell if Grace was making a cheekily pointed comment about the number of times a day she had to rein in her assistant’s antics but if she was she managed to keep a straight face.

  ‘Oh well,’ Cyril said, brightening a little, ‘we all got used to it after a while. Stella was a perfectionist at the best of times but the whole cast thought she took it to extremes with that one. But we didn’t let it get to us too much. We assumed that one was special to her, you know? Because she wrote it and it was her debut and all. She had a creative vision and we just weren’t meeting it to her satisfaction. As I say, like, I’m not sure even the most seasoned actors would’ve done.’

  ‘Sounds like your director might have been described as somewhat obsessed with achieving her vision,’ Kitt said, shooting Grace a look as she did so. From Grace’s almost indiscernible eyebrow raise, it was clear she was thinking along the same lines. Kitt wasn’t sure why Stella Hemsworth was so fascinated with the idea of witch trials that she’d written a play and been obsessive about its execution on the stage, but after this conversation she was keener than ever to find out. Did Stella’s obsession stop on the stage?

  ‘The play was all about his fixation with witches,’ Cyril explained.

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace, ‘I believe he hated them with a passion.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Kitt. ‘Must have been such a fascinating character study to explore. Mind you, I must admit, when I was reading up about it I thought how lucky it was that the play was produced a good three years ago. I’m not sure you could put it on at the moment with all that’s going on. You’ve probably heard about it on the news, about the Vampire Killer. Some bloke going around offing people who dabble in the occult. It’s a bit like a modern-day version of your play come to life.’

  Cyril’s smile faded and his body stiffened. ‘Yes, I am aware of the killings.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Kitt, concerned that the turn the conversation had taken might be unnerving the man. She coupled her words with a chuckle in an attempt to keep things light and set him at ease. ‘We know you were just playing a part in that play. We won’t ask for your alibi.’

  Cyril started to breathe heavily and seemed to be breaking out in a sweat just at the mention of the word ‘alibi’.

  ‘Cyril, are you OK?’ said Grace. ‘Should I go and fetch Benji?’

  Cyril closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he seemed much calmer than before. His voice was almost robotic. ‘I don’t want to hide it any more.’

  ‘Hide what?’ asked Kitt, wondering if he was referring to something to do with his illness, or if he was having an episode and she just wasn’t familiar with the kind of thing he might say during such a time.

  ‘I don’t want to do it any more.’

  ‘Do what?’ asked Grace. ‘Talk to us? You don’t have to talk to us if you’ve had enough, Mr Armitage. We’d never want you to feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Too many people have died,’ said Cyril. ‘I don’t want any more to. Please. Don’t let me do it.’

  Kitt frowned and her heart quickened. Was she understanding Cyril right? Surely not? ‘Cyril, what are you trying to say?’

  ‘I should have gone to the police the first time it happened but, I just couldn’t believe what I’d done,’ Cyril said, his eyes watering. ‘But then I did it again, and again.’

  ‘Did what, Cyril?’ Kitt said in the gentlest tone she could.

  ‘Killed those people. It’s me. I’m . . . I’m the one they’re after.’

  Kitt shook her head and stood. She needed to get Benji back in the room now and verify what was going on here. ‘I fear we must have confused you, Mr Armitage. I’ll go and get Benji so we can clear all of this up.’

  ‘There’s nothing to clear up.’ Cyril said, easing himself out of the armchair and walking over to the closet. He opened the doors and pushed all the neatly pressed shirts and trousers to one side. ‘Here,’ he said, pointing at a wooden box in the shape of a coffin that was sitting at the back of his wardrobe.

  ‘Open it,’ he added, his voice hollow and monotone, all feeling gone. ‘You’ll soon see what I mean.’

  Slowly, Kitt and Grace approached the wardrobe. Kitt nodded at Grace to do as instructed and open the box. Cyril seemed lucid and sincere but she wanted to keep a close eye on the man in case this was some kind of strange trick or in case he suddenly took a turn for the worse.

  Kneeling, Grace removed the lid from the box and at once gasped at the contents. She looked up at Kitt who, for her part, felt her mouth drop open as she cast her eye over a pack of medical needles, cans of purple spray paint and small vials Kitt would bet her first editions were doses of Xylazine.

  Those weren’t the only things that caught Kitt’s eyes though. The box had been resting on something, a slab of dark stone with a garish face carved into the end – it was another of the gargoyles from Twilight Manor. And next to it, a large black hoodie. Kitt could just make out a symbol printed on the back of it: it was a pentacle.

  Twenty-One

  Standing outside on the steps of Seaview Care Home, Kitt took in some deep breaths and tried to steady herself. The home certainly lived up to its name, overlooking the silver blue of the North Sea as it undulated on the horizon. Several ships sailing off to less troubled waters were dotted here and there in the distance. The sun was starting to set and the sky was full of thick pink cloud. Usually Kitt would find such a vista just as soothing as anyone else, watching ships sail off into the adventurous unknown at dusk, but the revelation that Cyril Armitage had confessed to the vampire killings was a shock she hadn’t been prepared for. Not to mention the fact that, given the presence of the gargoyle from Twilight Manor, he also seemed to have been the person responsible for the attempt on her life early this morning.

  Or, more likely, somebody else wanted it to look that way.

  ‘I thought you both might want a cup of tea,’ said Benji, offering plastic cups first to Kitt and then to Grace as they watched DS Banks secure Cyril Armitage in the police car. He was cooperating but Kitt hadn’t missed the lost look on the poor man’s face. Though she had seen the evidence with her own eyes, this all felt so wr
ong.

  Kitt stared at the dark brown liquid before remembering her manners and accepting the cup from Benji. ‘So kind, thank you.’

  Tea was a pretty universal cure-all in the county of Yorkshire but she wasn’t sure some lukewarm, over-stewed version of her favourite beverage was going to be of much comfort just now. She nursed the cup, looking for a nearby plant to water when Benji wasn’t looking.

  A moment later, Halloran exited the building. ‘Benji, we’re waiting on a list of employees here that have contact with Mr Armitage on a regular basis. Would you be so kind as to see if it’s ready for us? I’d rather not leave him sitting in the car any longer than necessary. I believe someone’s also going to accompany Mr Armitage to the station?’

  Benji nodded. ‘Our duty manager. I’ll just go and see if she’s ready to go and I’ll chase that list up for you too.’

  ‘I appreciate it,’ said Halloran as Benji hurried back inside.

  Halloran turned back to Kitt and Grace then. ‘Are you both all right?’ It was the first opportunity he’d had to properly check in with them since he and Banks had arrived thirty minutes ago.

  ‘We’re fine,’ said Kitt. ‘Somewhat surprised and confused but otherwise fine.’

  ‘He’s all strapped in, sir,’ said Banks in her sharp Glaswegian accent. ‘I’ve managed to keep him calm but it just about broke my heart, the way he looked at me there. He reminds me of my grandad.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to him?’ asked Grace.

  ‘Based on what we found in his room, there’s a strong possibility that he is going to be charged with murder,’ said Halloran. ‘Or at the very least as an accomplice. On closer inspection it is not just the needles, the hoodie and the gargoyle. We found three Kellington’s jam jars filled with blood at the back of his wardrobe, just like the jars found at each crime scene. I’m fairly sure the blood is going to match the three victims’, and if it does, this is pretty much going to be case closed as far as our superiors are concerned.’