by Sam Hurcom
‘This is a serious crime, Mr Miller, and to be frank, I need to ensure I gather all the facts accordingly.’ I jotted down Miller’s name at the top of a fresh page. ‘I understand you’ve a busy workload at the moment. Business is going well, I gather.’
He grew guarded at my passing comment. ‘You been investigating me then?’
I shook my head with a frown. ‘No, no. Mr Cummings explained you had recently expanded. The large greenhouses just along the trail.’
‘Oh,’ he muttered quietly. ‘Yes, things are going well. Mr Cummings has been very good in assisting with getting the work completed. He’s a good man, the Councillor.’
I feigned a smile.
‘You found the girl whilst walking with your hounds, correct?’
Miller grunted at me then.
‘What time?’
He sighed and nodded his head. ‘Not long after sun up, around six.’
‘Between six and six thirty?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘I’m aware of the injuries the girl had sustained before her death but tell me in your own words how you found her.’
He folded his arms and shrugged. Outside, a dreadful squeal was silenced by a sharp snap. We both turned at the sound: no doubt a large tree limb breaking and falling to the ground close by. It sounded awfully human, nonetheless.
‘They’ll be coming through the bloody rafters at this rate. Look, I told Vaughn before. She was bound up in a chain; her face and arms were all burnt up. Eyes gone, hair bloody. It wasn’t pretty – dogs would have started gnawing on her if I hadn’t got ’em off.’
‘Did you notice the size of the scorch marks on the ground, the blackened earth?’
He shrugged again. ‘She was burnt. It was nasty. I can’t say I remember really looking at the ground beneath her.’
‘Who did you speak to once you had found the body?’
He rubbed his head, his frustration becoming ever more visible. ‘Two of the lads were here. I went and fetched them. We weren’t sure whether it was best to move her body. We were nervous. It ain’t something you expect to find!’ He took a step back from me and slouched against a heavy wooden cask.
It was only then that I was able to have any real look inside the mill, though my mind was more focused on Miller and his demeanour. When questioning a man, more can be said from his eyes, his tics and twitches, the way he holds his arms or carries himself, than any fine words he may utter. Miller was clearly uncomfortable, nervous, though most people are when speaking to an inspector. More than this, though, I could see he was upset. His eyes grew wider as he spoke about Betsan’s body, his words began to shake just slightly. Perhaps finding her, not merely dead but left in such a gruesome fashion, had impacted on a part of him far deeper than the tough, hardy appearance he maintained.
‘The lads wanted nothing to do with it. They have their superstitions – most around here do.’
‘Of what nature?’ I asked firmly.
He huffed. ‘No one’s told you?’
‘I’ve heard plenty, I would hear it from you, though.’
He shook his head, in irritation it seemed more than anything. ‘There’s always been rumours of something hiding in these woods. Something dark and evil. It goes back to the ruin of the old fort, down past the Cwm Sior.’ He pointed a hand absently. ‘Barely anything now, just a few stones and rocks. They call it Calon Farw, this thing, whatever it is; when I was a boy my tadcu – my grandfather – believed it was real. Said it haunted the place, brought all manner of wickedness at times.’
‘But you don’t believe any of it?’ That was clear to me from the way Miller spoke.
Miller spat on the floor. ‘No. It’s foolish. The whole thing was nearly forgotten by everyone until a few years back.’
‘What brought it back to people’s minds?’
He folded his arms and shrugged. ‘Who knows – we had a couple of bad harvests, maybe that was it.’
I nodded in silence for a moment. ‘Do all your men believe in this evil, this Calon Farw?’
Miller threw his hands up in the air. ‘I don’t know – I think most do. We’re simple people here, Mr Inspector, the kind who hold on to our beliefs.’ He slunk back into himself. ‘Either way, it took some convincing for me to get the boys to help.’
‘What did you do?’
He looked down at the floor. ‘At first we tried to get the chain off ’er. Bloody thing was wrapped so tight, weren’t much we could do with it.’
I was scrawling in my notebook quickly, trying to keep Miller talking whilst he would. ‘Did you recognise it – the chain, I mean? Was it something you may use here?’
‘Chain’s a chain.’
I nodded. ‘Then what?’
‘Neither the lads wanted to move her. We had a bit of a row, but they were probably right.’ He fell silent then and I paused in anticipation, waiting for him to go on. He didn’t, though. He stood up straight after a moment and scowled at me, his hard exterior revived. ‘This storm is set to get worse and I have work to do.’
As he tried to pass me, I blocked him.
‘Did you fetch Vaughn? If so what time?’
He grabbed at me and I shoved him back.
‘Answer my question.’
‘Edward did! It was me, him and another lad, Will. Edward ran to get Vaughn and me and Will stood around like frightened children until they came back.’
‘What time?’ I held my ground, though I could see Miller’s hands ball into fists as the expression on his face grew deathly.
‘Edward left about fifteen minutes after we found her. Was probably half hour till him and the Constable came back. Councillor came down about another half hour later.’
‘And there was no one else here the entire time? No one?’
‘No,’ he growled through gritted teeth. ‘Edward got the Constable and then they told the Councillor. That was all that happened, no bloody great lies like you’re looking for. If you wan’ know what I was doing the night before you can ask my wife, she’ll tell you that I was with ’er. That enough – have I told you what you wan’ hear?’
He moved towards me again and I didn’t stop him. As he wrenched open the door, I tried my luck and asked one final question.
‘Did you see anyone, Miller? In the days before the girl was killed. Anyone walking up and down the trail, someone you didn’t recognise?’
He turned to me slowly and spoke even more slowly.
‘I’m no bloody watchman. Got it? You got ten minutes for your pictures.’
He stomped out of the mill and I heard him yell scorn at Lewis still working in the torrent. I had more questions to ask but knew I was more likely to get a right hook than any answers – for now it seemed Miller had said enough.
I pocketed my notebook and set about erecting my camera stand. To my relief, all my equipment was intact and had taken no damage when I dropped it.
The mill mainly comprised one room, consumed mostly by the stone grind and its numerous gears and axles connecting to the water wheel outside. There were many sacks of flour and grain, a workbench stretching much of the far and left wall, littered with tools and equipment that didn’t seem out of the ordinary. Lengths of wood and ladders were held in the rafters above; a few chairs and a table were pushed against the far right corner. I quickly opened a small door, nestled just out of sight from where I had questioned Miller. It led to a stone chamber, filled with more large sacks of grain and several dark metal cogs of various sizes. It was all unremarkable.
Nevertheless, I took three photographs in all, moving my camera to different points around the mill’s main room. Whilst the exposure was not ideal, I thought it was enough to capture much of the room’s contents and detail.
After I had safely tucked my third exposed plate in its black paper pocket, and placed it securely in my case, Miller burst back in from the storm.<
br />
‘I have more work to do before the day is up.’
He spoke forcefully, and I made no protests. I dismantled all my equipment and awkwardly gathered my damaged case. I thanked Miller, who only stood watching me the whole time. Trying to raise my collar (to what end, for my very skin was soaked to the bone by this point) I made haste from his premises.
18
A Slip of the Tongue – June 22nd, 1904
To my surprise Cummings did what was asked of him, so that when I returned to the Twyn and made my way to the town hall at the base of Britway Road, I caught sight of Constable Vaughn, standing in the relative shelter of the hall’s arched entranceway. By now the rain had become even more bitter, biting against the skin in a way more accustomed to deepest winter than late June. I quickened my pace at the sight of lit lanterns and the young Vaughn waving excitedly to me.
He seemed genuinely pleased to see me as I stood next to him, placing a hand upon my shoulder before taking hold of my camera case.
‘I d-didn’t quite believe it when M-Mr Cummings told me.’ He spoke jovially as we walked through the open door. ‘You have made quite the recovery, Inspector.’
I coughed violently as I pulled off my heavy coat.
‘Not entirely, though I am sure to live.’ I was being a little coarse, yet in many ways I felt grateful for the man’s welcome, far kindlier than the glares and mistrust I had grown accustomed to since the time of my arrival. I felt in no mood for idle talk however and enquired if there were a fire in the hall. Vaughn led me through a large, stale foyer to a dim antechamber, lit solely by a small hearth with red embers glistening. I knelt beside it and sat in silence for a time as Vaughn spoke of my state of illness.
As I stared into the soft embers, I saw the terrible spectre of the fiery spirit once more, lunging at me in the cellar of All Saints church, eyes hollowed, encased in white flame. I felt a wave of fear pass over me, my chest tightening, my skin turning hot all over as though the fever were taking hold of me again. I closed my eyes, trying to breathe slowly. Was the spectre the result of my illness, an image of my own making? I wished to a god I had no faith in that were so, for the thought of a ghost haunting this place brought all manner of misery and fear into my heart. Horrors began to swirl about me, growing in size and depravity as I was forced ever deeper into a dark void of madness, one I feared I could be lost in for ever.
‘I’ve managed to g-gather twelve or so members of the village, though I don’t know how useful th-th-they will be.’
‘What?’ I asked with a sharp intake of breath as I returned to the room with a start.
Vaughn hesitated, before speaking slowly to me.
‘Mr Cummings said you wanted to gather members of the village. I tried the labourers, and f-found one or two, but most are out dealing with the storm. I didn’t know where to start but managed to gather twelve persons for now. I thought that w-would be enough this afternoon.’
I nodded as I rubbed at my eyes and continued to take deep, slow breaths.
‘You’ll have to forgive me, Constable. The illness has not fully passed.’ I slouched by the fire, before asking Vaughn where everyone was waiting.
‘In the—in the hall. They’re not too happy but I’m sure they’ll do what they can to help your enquiry.’
I thanked Vaughn and told him I would be a few short minutes. He left me alone in the room, where I removed my jacket and let my weak body sit lazily about the floor in front of the fire. My hands shook as I held them out before me.
Since the time of this whole affair, I have spent many hours reviewing what notes I made, what scraps of information I obtained and recorded over the course of the enquiry. Like a cipher, these notes at first glance seem random, chaotic. Yet in these pages lie the very keys that unlocked the truth of Betsan’s murder. Needless to say, I am grateful for the diligence, what some see as over-zealous manner, in which I carry out my enquiries. Everything can be of great relevance and as such, everything should be recorded.
I explain all this to you now to give some indication of how that day in the town hall unfolded. Scanning through my notes, I can see that less and less information was written down as the afternoon wore on. I did learn that Betsan was seen the day before her body was found, confirming that her murder took place no more than sixteen hours before she was discovered. Beyond that, much was fruitless, mere hearsay and gossip, to the exception of one slip of the tongue.
I gathered my things on a rickety desk I pulled from the corner of the room, before setting a chair on either side. I set up my camera stand intending to document any scratch marks that may be considered possible defence wounds correlating to the blood found under Betsan’s nails. I intended to make each man and woman I questioned show me their arms, as high as the shoulder, as well as the entirety of their faces (removing caps or brushing away hair) and their necks. Such defence wounds could have been exacted on any part of the killer’s body, of course, though it was beyond absurdity to carry out full examinations of every villager. Nevertheless, I intended to be as thorough as I possibly could from the outset.
It began with the ironmonger, a stout, unshaven man in his early fifties. He had foregone his business that day in light of the storm. He thumbed with his cap and wriggled in his seat. He barely spoke, nerves it seemed holding his tongue.
‘You had no idea who she met with, who her friends were if she had any?’ This was perhaps the fifth or sixth question I had asked the man.
The ironmonger shook his head fervently. ‘No, sir. No. As I say, I really didn’t know her.’
‘Can you recall the last time that you personally saw her?’
Before the last word had even left my mouth, he was shaking his head again.
‘Very rarely saw her, sir. Would have been some weeks ago, perhaps longer.’
‘Really?’ I replied politely. ‘In a village as small as this?’
The man nodded. His face was flushed. I folded my arms and leant back a little.
‘Need I remind you that omitting evidence to a police enquiry is a criminal offence. Lying to an officer during questioning can result in substantial criminal charges—’
‘Please, sir,’ the ironmonger near whispered, his hands fidgeting dreadfully quickly with his cap. ‘I don’t want to lie about any of this – really I don’t know—’
‘If you don’t want to lie, tell me the truth. You claim you hadn’t seen the girl for weeks – that to me is unlikely in a village as small as this one.’
I leant over the table. There seemed little point in skirting the matter any longer.
‘Are you afraid to talk to me?’
The ironmonger’s eyes widened, welling up as though he were close to tears. He squirmed, clearly torn as to what to do or say.
He nodded slowly. ‘It’s out there. It killed the girl – it’ll take any of us if it so chooses. Please, sir—’
‘Whatever you fear,’ I said, then, sharply and with great authority, ‘is a fiction. There is nothing out in those woodlands that will bring any harm to you should you speak to me of the girl’s murder. What will be of graver consequence – of real danger – will be to allow the true perpetrator of this wicked act to walk free and take another life.’
My sermon did little to rouse the man; it only served to break his resolve so that his head lolled against the little desk and he cried and wailed like a small boy. It was a struggle to coax anything out of him after that. In time, he confirmed seeing Betsan the day before Miller came upon her in the woods. He’d never spoken to her before, having heard unsavoury things of her character. To this I asked him to elaborate and he mumbled something of her promiscuity.
‘Is this a widely held belief amongst the village, that she was promiscuous?’
‘I believe so,’ he said quietly. ‘People hear things.’
I asked of any strangers who may have come to
him in the days before the murder; to this he said there were none. I then began to ask of his time in the village; had he lived here his whole life, was he married, a family man? He had a wife but said nothing of any children. Could he attest to those in the village; did he believe anyone capable of such a crime? To this he said no one was capable of such a wicked thing.
I asked about the chain in which the body was wrapped – could it have been something taken or bought from him? Like Miller he spoke of the ease of acquiring such a chain, but that he could not recall being asked for one for many months. On and on it went, for I sought to know of his day-to-day dealings and if there was anything out of the ordinary leading up to and after the body was found. What was his business with those in and outside the village? What did he know of Michaelston, for I wanted his take on the abandoned hamlet …
‘People felt alone out there. They were afraid of … of, um …’ He couldn’t speak of the Calon Farw then, his lips trembling. ‘They just wanted to be more a part of the village. Felt safer that way.’
There were one or two more questions after that, and I closed by asking of his alibi. I decided he had enough of one: staying late at a game of cards, arranged by one of the farmers; rising before dawn to re-shoe some horses of that very same man. A few others had been in attendance that night.
After he had hesitantly shown me his arms, neck and the entirety of his face (revealing nothing that could be considered a defence wound), I thanked him for his time. ‘If you strike upon anything, recall something that seemed strange to you, please let me know.’
He nodded his head but remained where he sat. His face had bled of colour. I tried to speak a few words of comfort to him.
‘What you have told me today will surely be of the greatest help. Soon the guilty party will be apprehended; this village and those closest by, will be much safer for it.’
‘That may be,’ the man quivered after a moment. ‘But I doubt it.’
He stood from the seat slowly. His hands were shaking as he pulled on his cap.