‘No,’ Max replied coolly. ‘But the crows will have him if he’s left alone.’
‘Yes.’ Swift nodded. There weren’t any crows to be seen, but cawing cries could be heard somewhere above us. ‘Is there a blanket in the boat?’
‘There is, we use it for picnics, but he’d be better protected in the changing hut. It’s beyond the willow trees.’ Max pointed to the other side of the island.
‘Fetch the blanket, we’ll use it to carry him,’ Swift ordered.
Max ran back to the boat and returned with a large tartan rug. We trudged back to the body. Sinclair proved to be as awkward as he was heavy, and his waterlogged clothes didn’t help. His passage wasn’t elegant, but we managed to heave him across the island. The bathing hut was red roofed and quaintly pretty, it seemed a shame to clutter it up with a sodden corpse. We manoeuvred him inside and laid him on the slatted bench seat running along one wall.
‘Right.’ I was rather pleased with our efforts. ‘Now what?’
‘Back to the house,’ Swift replied. We made our way to the jetty in silence.
The boat ride only took a few minutes across smooth water. Finn was on the dock when we arrived, Jerome was with him.
‘Is it true? He’s dead?’ Finn shouted as we approached the boathouse.
‘Haven’t you been told?’ Swift called back. He was standing in the cockpit, legs akimbo.
‘Yes, but I wanted to hear it from you.’ Finn’s usual bounce had evaporated, he was angry and upset. He wore a casual outfit in brown and cream and looked as though he’d dressed in a hurry. ‘They left me out… I would have helped.’
‘It wasn’t deliberate, Finn,’ Jerome sought to placate him. ‘I keep telling you, the search was started quickly.’
‘You did it on purpose,’ Finn yelled, jabbing a finger at him. ‘He was my father.’
Max manoeuvred the boat around to reverse into the dock. He did it calmly and smoothly.
‘That’s enough,’ Swift snapped as he stepped onto the deck. ‘Where are the police?’
‘I don’t know, why don’t you ask the big chief, here.’ Finn flicked a thumb at Jerome. ‘He’s been giving out orders, throwing his weight around…’
‘For God’s sake, Finn, what’s got into you?’ Max switched the engine off.
‘Somebody here just killed my father,’ he shouted. ‘What the hell do you think’s got into me?’
That resulted in a fractious argument and it took Swift’s sharp temper to shut them up. They finally left, each of them maintaining a hostile silence.
‘There’s little love lost there,’ I remarked, as we walked slowly out of the boathouse.
Swift sighed in exasperation. ‘It was only Sinclair holding it all together.’
‘You mean his money.’
‘Yes, and now it’s all going to explode into the open.’
‘What was he doing in the water?’ I returned to the murder.
Swift was walking with his head down. ‘He must have been lured to the boat.’
‘Why the life jacket?’
‘Lennox, the whole point of an investigation is to find answers to these questions, not just pour them out at random.’ He was tetchy.
‘Right.’ I shoved my hands in my pockets. ‘The stern line was wet, did you notice?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘Lennox, do you think we could have stopped it?’
‘No. Every act has been ruthlessly planned and executed, I doubt anyone could have.’
‘But, it was predictable…’
‘He was surrounded by his own men, in his own home,’ I cut in, then shifted the tone because I wasn’t interested in recrimination. ‘What about the motive?’
‘Money.’ He replied instantly.
‘But, why such an elaborate series of killings?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know.’ He became grimly serious. ‘But that murder was vicious. Sinclair didn’t die quickly.’
‘What do you mean?’ I stopped, we were about to enter the formal gardens.
‘Think about it. The life jacket was almost throttling him, the knots were pulled tight, he was dragged behind the boat.’
‘Ah, yes, that explains the wet stern line. It was used to pull him through the water.’ I agreed, then realised the implications. ‘He was tortured.’
‘Exactly.’ Swift nodded.
‘But why?’
‘Information, I suppose. Why else would you torture someone?’ His lean face was drawn in hard lines. ‘He knew something.’
I considered that. We were approaching the house and slowed down to discuss the killing. ‘But we just decided it was about the money.’
He stopped and stared up at the serene splendour of the mansion. The sun was breaking through the mist, driving away the wreathing shadows. ‘I wonder if they got what they wanted?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The heart attack. The killer wanted to force some sort of secret out of Sinclair, but he died suddenly.’
‘So it isn’t finished?’
‘No, there’s something more,’ he replied. ‘Something we don’t know about.’
‘Right, well we’ll have to find out then, won’t we.’
Chapter 17
We walked around to the front door and it swung open. A small party of elderly people awaited us in the grand hall; Bertram St George, Lady Millicent and my butler.
‘Greggs?’
‘Ahem.’ He gathered himself up and puffed out his chest. ‘Sir Bertram has an announcement to make.’
‘What?’
He raised an arm and stood aside, his theatrical tendencies getting the better of him. ‘Sir Bertram is here to claim his rights.’
St George stepped forward and removed the pipe from his lips. He was still in dressing gown and slippers, he’d shed his napkin and added the deerstalker.
‘The sword of justice has swung.’ St George was also in dramatic mood, I wondered if they’d been rehearsing. ‘I am now master of this house.’
‘Are you?’ I raised my brows.
Swift lowered his. ‘How?’
St George was on fine form. ‘As the oldest surviving St George, I inherit Lanscombe Park. Every stick and stone, inside and out, it’s all mine. Ha! How do you like that!’ He raised a fist towards Sinclair’s office.
Swift was in no mood for theatrics. ‘This is a matter for the law…’
‘Bertram, just a moment, please.’ Lady Penelope came down the stairs. She had changed into a simple, dark blue dress. Billie trailed behind her, presumably he’d gone to sound a warning.
‘Oh, Penelope, my dear, we are so sorry about Sinclair.’ Lady Millicent went to meet her.
‘No, we’re not,’ St George muttered.
‘Thank you, the shock is quite…’ Lady Penelope raised a hand to her cheek, then gathered her composure. ‘We must remain calm.’
‘I’m calm and ready for the fray,’ St George declared. ‘Let no man say I faltered.’
‘Yes, Bertram, but under the terms of the lease, it is Max and Lydia who succeed Sinclair,’ Lady Penelope reminded him.
‘What…?’ St George’s mouth dropped open. ‘But, they’re only children.’
‘They’re twenty-seven years old and perfectly capable of doing their duty.’ Lady Penelope spoke quietly. ‘Now, could I offer you tea, or…?’
‘No, no.’ St George was wilting. ‘If the youngsters are indeed ready, I must concede.’ He stuck his pipe in his mouth and puffed on it.
‘But I’m sure they will depend on you for guidance, Bertram,’ Lady Penelope added kindly.
‘Will they?’ That cheered him and he suddenly beamed. ‘Ha! They can rely on me. A St George never wavers; steadfast and true. That’s our motto.’
‘There! I knew you would make things better.’ Lady Millicent took her husband’s arm. ‘Come along, my dear. I have made a cake.’
‘Is it chocolate cake?’ He asked, as she led him away.
‘Yes, dear with cream.’
‘Did you make it with brown eggs?’ St George asked.
‘We did; six brown eggs.’ She turned to my old retainer. ‘Wasn’t he wonderful, Greggs? Quite masterful.’
‘Indeed, my lady,’ he agreed in stately manner.
We watched them go.
‘Oh, I really don’t think I can take much more.’ Lady Penelope almost buckled, her face creasing with sorrow.
We stepped forward immediately.
‘I’ll help you to your room,’ I offered.
Mullins appeared. ‘M’lady.’ He said and took her arm.
He helped her upstairs.
I was perturbed, and not just by Lady Penelope’s distress.
‘Swift, come to the drawing room.’
‘No, I want to interview the staff.’ He was in full police mode.
‘You can do it later.’ I led the way along the corridor. We arrived in the drawing room to find it as perfect as ever. It could hardly be described as cosy, but with the row of tall, sunlit windows, a blazing fire to ward off the autumnal chill and deep-cushioned sofas, it was probably the most comfortable of all the state rooms.
‘Why are we here, Lennox?’
‘It’s about Max.’ I was reluctant to have the discussion where we might be overheard. ‘He would have known the boat had been used before he started it for the search.’
Swift frowned. ‘Yes, of course. The engine would have been warm.’
‘Did he say anything?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘He was fixing the boat yesterday when I interviewed him.’
He drew out his notebook and began writing in his neat hand. ‘Was it just maintenance?’
‘No, he said it wouldn’t start.’ My heart sank as I spoke. Aside from having taken a liking to Max, I knew Persi would be devastated when she found out he was probably the culprit.
‘Sinclair was going to hand over the business to Jerome.’ Swift continued to write as he spoke.
‘He may never have intended on leaving anything to Max,’ I added.
‘We need to know what’s in Sinclair’s will.’ Swift made a note and underlined it.
‘There’s something else, Swift.’
‘What?’ He looked up.
‘Randolph’s rooms…’ It had been playing on my mind. ‘The note used to lure Sinclair out, Lady Millicent seeing Randolph…’
He cut in sharply. ‘Lennox, if you’re suggesting he’s returned…’
‘No, not that. I just wonder if all this is connected to whatever happened to him.’
He stopped writing. ‘Lennox, I’ve been in this business a long time, believe me, it’s about the money.’
I was inclined to argue, but let it go for the instant.
‘What about Finn?’
‘Why would Finn kill Sinclair? He’s got nothing to gain.’ Swift was dismissive.
‘He was in debt to Sinclair,’ I reminded him.
‘He’d have to be deranged to kill three people just to avoid a debt. Look…’ he paused in thought. ‘We should bring in the men and interview them all together.’
‘Why just the men?’
‘Because whoever forced Sinclair into the boat had to be strong,’ he retorted.
He was right, I wasn’t thinking clearly. ‘I’ll call Mullins, he can fetch them.’
I decided to try out the contraption I’d seen Jerome use in Sinclair’s office, there was bound to be one in there somewhere. I found it near the piano and dinged on the buzzer.
‘Sir?’ Mullins’s voice could be heard on the other end.
‘Could you tell Mister Max, Jerome and Finn to come to the drawing room, please?’
‘Very well, sir, and there is no need to shout. I can hear you perfectly clearly.’
‘Righto.’ I placed the receiver back on its hook. ‘Ingenious device that, Swift,’ I told him, on returning to the fire.
‘It’s an intercom, Lennox. They’re quite common.’
‘Where are they common?’
‘Offices, police stations. Places like that.’
‘Oh… I’ll take notes if you like,’ I offered.
‘Fine.’ He handed me his notebook, pen and some blotting paper. ‘Try to make them legible.’
Max arrived in short order, followed by Finn and finally Jerome, who had changed back into his city suit.
‘Sit down,’ Swift ordered.
They took various sofas and chairs at a distance from each other.
‘Right,’ Swift began. ‘Which one of you murdered Sinclair?’
That brought a storm of protest.
‘You have no right…’ Jerome remonstrated.
Finn’s pleasant features were marred with anger. ‘This is ridiculous, what are you going to achieve that the cops can’t?’
‘Lennox,’ he frowned at the notebook which I’d left on the low table between us.
‘Right.’ I made ready with pen and paper. ‘Fire away.’
‘Where were you all at six o’clock this morning?’ Swift demanded.
‘Asleep,’ Finn answered instantly.
‘I was reading a book in bed,’ Jerome replied with irritation.
‘I was working at my desk in my room,’ Max said. ‘I had some ideas for modifications to the carburettor and wanted to draw them up before I forgot. I can show you if you like.’
‘Not now,’ Swift answered before I opened my mouth.
I wrote sleeping, reading, drawing, then added, one of them is lying.
‘Did anyone hear or see anything suspicious?’ Swift continued.
‘No,’ came the predictable answers.
‘How is this helping?’ Finn asked.
Swift didn’t answer, I shut the notebook because Finn was right, we weren’t getting anywhere.
The door opened, Lydia and Persi came in with Foggy bounding at their heels.
‘We’ve come to help.’ Lydia sat down next to Jerome.
I made room for Persi beside me. I gave her Swift’s notebook and whatnots. She smiled, I smiled back. Fogg jumped up and wriggled his way between us.
‘Why would someone kill Sinclair?’ Persi didn’t beat about the bush.
‘For his money, of course,’ Max replied.
‘Are you saying Jerome did it?’ Lydia’s excitement turned to anger in a flash.
‘He’s going to get Sinclair’s business.’ Max remained matter of fact in the face of his sister’s wrath.
‘Says who?’ Finn jumped in.
Jerome had become agitated as the others sniped. ‘Sinclair promised to pass the business to me.’
‘Yeah, well he promised it to me.’ Finn leaned back with his arms folded.
‘What?’ Jerome twisted around to stare.
‘He liked what I did, I’m his son and a real businessman, not some toady bookkeeper,’ Finn sneered.
‘When did he tell you that?’ Lydia demanded.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ he replied, then shut his mouth.
Persi was writing quickly in a neat hand.
‘Well done, old stick,’ I told her.
A smile crossed her lips, but she didn’t look up.
‘Why would I kill Sinclair before he’d handed the company to me?’ Jerome had regained his diplomatic calm.
‘Do you have any proof of Sinclair’s intentions?’ Swift asked.
‘His word was enough,’ Jerome replied, his handsome face taut but under control. ‘And everyone knew about it.’
‘Finn didn’t,’ I remarked.
‘So he says,’ Jerome snapped. ‘It’s obvious he’s lying.’
‘Sinclair wouldn’t leave it to you,’ Finn jumped in. ‘He was my Pop, blood comes first.’
‘Stop,’ Lydia shouted. ‘Stop now. It’s awful. Everyone is squabbling and it’s all for nothing. This isn’t about Sinclair, it’s about Papa. It’s about Randolph, don’t you see?’ She burst into tears.
Silence fell, Jerome placed an arm around her shoulders and drew her to him.
Swift broke the
uneasy atmosphere. ‘Right, we’ll carry out interviews one at a time. All of you stay here and wait to be called.’
‘We’re not going to sit around at your convenience,’ Finn objected.
‘Yes, you are.’ Swift was on his feet. ‘Lennox.’
‘Persi, you should come,’ I told her.
She closed the notebook and rose to her feet. We followed Swift along the upper landing to the door of Sinclair’s office.
‘We’ll take statements for where they all were and what they were doing at the time of each murder.’ He was eager to get to work. He crossed the office to manoeuvre into the swivel chair and sat down. ‘Persi can take notes and…’
‘Swift,’ I interrupted. ‘I’ll leave you both to it.’
‘What…? But, you can’t,’ Swift objected.
‘No, Heathcliff, don’t…’ Persi protested.
‘You don’t need me. I’ll go and do some rooting about while you’ve got them all penned up in the drawing room,’ I told them and made my escape before they could argue further.
We’d probably got all the information they were going to give, the interviews would be tedious and I had better things to do. Fogg had followed me, I found Billie loitering in the hall.
‘Log store?’ I asked him.
‘Sir?’
‘You know where it is?’
‘Yes, sir.’ His sandy brows drew together.
‘Meet me there,’ I told him.
‘But I ain’t supposed…’
His protest came too late, I’d walked off. Fogg trotted behind me back to the kitchen of the old wing where my butler held knowledge pertinent to the case.
‘Greggs where’s the wine cellar?’ He had a glass at his elbow and was rubbing saddle soap into the leather binding of an aged tome.
‘Access is by invitation only, sir,’ he picked the glass up as he spoke.
‘Nonsense.’
‘Sir Bertram was quite specific that the wine was for confederates only.’
‘I’m not after the wine,’ I told him. ‘Point the way.’
He raised a wobbling finger. ‘There is a door leading out of the boot room, sir. It is situated behind the porch.’
I’ve no idea why I hadn’t thought about the cellars before, every big house had them. I found the boot room and the door and trotted downstairs to reach a brick-built cellar full of bottles of every hue and age. It was tempting to stop and pull a vintage Burgundy from the rack, but I stuck to my task and carried on until I came to a heavy door. It opened quite easily and swung back on oiled hinges.
The Tomb of the Chatelaine: A 1920s Country House Murder Mystery (Heathcliff Lennox Book 6) Page 16