About a hundred yards ahead of me was the fallen pine tree Sawyer said marked the spot opposite where our mystery man had been seen. I stopped for a moment to trace the line from the road, squinting down my left arm and index finger, to locate the point on the wall where the stones were missing. When I reached the end of my imaginary line, there was someone by the wall again. I stood stock still. He paced up and down, then placed his hands on top of the wall to scrabble up to get a better view.
I pushed through undergrowth at the edge of the wood, catching the back of my hand on a thorn. A stream of bright red trickled down to my fingertips, summoning a picture from an earlier time and a different woodland. A girl, Heather, spread-eagled on the ground, blood oozing from the stab wound in her breast. I shook away the memory, edged in behind a tree to conceal my presence and crept forward, foot by painstakingly slow foot, in the hope I might get close enough to catch him. I reached within ten yards when the inevitable happened. A branch, long fallen from the canopy, cracked beneath my size nines. The man turned around, saw me and, in an instant, was crashing away through the undergrowth. I was caught off guard by how quickly he fled, which meant he’d gained vital yards before I set off after him. He had the added advantage of seeming to know where he was going and all I could do was try to keep him in sight as he weaved through the many paths.
After a hundred yards it was obvious I wasn’t going to catch him and so I had to stop and listen to him making his way off into the distance. I lay my back against a tree, gasping for breath, and resolved that when this case was over I’d commit some time to getting back into shape. More exercise and fewer of the Cudlip-style lunches would be the order of the day.
By the time I finally walked back to Grovestock House I was beginning to wish I’d telephoned for the car. The chase as well as the walk was much more than I’d bargained for. I contemplated sitting down, in the hope that someone would offer me a lift, but there was little traffic and this would only delay me.
As was my habit now I went into the House through the kitchen door and wasn’t surprised when the cook asked me to join her in a cup of tea.
‘Don’t mind if I do, Mrs Veasey, I’m fairly beat.’
I told her what had happened on my walk back and it wasn’t long before she laid the cakes out as well as the tea. So much for my earlier resolve to cut down.
‘Could I check something with you, Mrs Veasey?’
‘Anything at all, Inspector, what can I help you with?’
‘It’s something you mentioned in your statement. You said the man you spotted in the woods was standing looking over the wall. Do you remember? Saying he was standing, as if he was quite tall?’
‘Oh yes. He stood very still, as if watching but not wanting to be seen. As I said to Constable Sawyer, there are often people in the woods and I expect you can get a good view of the house from by the wall, so I never really thought anything about it, just that he was so still.’
At this point the door opened and the butler joined us. Mrs Veasey immediately clucked around him like an old mother hen, spilling out everything I’d told her. I couldn’t tell if she was scared, excited, or in love with the man but I’d have preferred it if she hadn’t been so free with my information. Especially to a man who was possibly still under suspicion. I should have stopped her, but she was halfway through before I could open my mouth. When she paused for breath he pulled a note from his pocket.
‘I’m pleased I found you, Inspector, the constable rang and left a message. Asked if you could call him back when you’ve chance. He said it was concerning the young man you sent him to look for.’
I cursed under my breath, though was grateful for Sawyer’s discretion with Parry’s name.
‘Thanks for that, Mr Jervis, I’m most grateful and I’m glad you’ve joined us. Could you please ask Sir Arthur to make himself available in about fifteen minutes and tell him I won’t keep him more than is necessary?’
‘What is it now, Inspector? I thought we’d dealt with everything last time we met.’
Once again the arrogance of the man got under my skin. We were in his library and he’d remained seated when Jervis brought me in. I was left standing, like one of his servants, but I took a seat anyway.
‘Sorry, Sir Arthur — you don’t mind if I sit down, do you? — but I’m afraid we might need to have these little inconveniences from time to time until these three murders are sorted out.’
‘But you’re not even sure there were three murders, are you? The only one you’re actually certain about is Tom’s. Don’t you think you’re trying to bend and shape the bare facts a little too far to fit your theory?’
‘Unfortunately, Sir Arthur, we now know you’re wrong in one very important respect.’
‘And in what respect would that be, man?’
‘I can show that Lady Isabelle was murdered.’
He slumped back in his chair. ‘Murdered? How? I mean … what makes you think that?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Sir Arthur, but let’s just say evidence has come to light which makes it fairly certain. So everyone is now a murder suspect unless they can prove otherwise.’
He seemed to regain his composure. ‘All right, Inspector, let’s get this over with. What is it you want to know?’
‘Thank you, Sir Arthur, there are a couple of points I need to clear up. Firstly, I’d like to ask about some identity tags we’ve found amongst Tom’s things. Do you know the ones I’m talking about?’
‘You’re talking about my army identity tags?’
‘Yours and those of a Mr Harry Stenson.’
‘Lieutenant Stenson, Inspector, not simply “mister”. He was my lifelong friend and served with me in France. I saw him blown to pieces in front of me at Passchendaele.’ He touched his face. ‘That was where I picked this up. Burned so badly even my own mother wouldn’t recognise me. Lost two toes as well, and a piece of shrapnel the size of a golf ball lodged in my back. Did you know that, Inspector?’
‘They were terrible times, sir.’
I had to pity the man for what he’d been through. He turned away and looked beyond the window into the far distance, as if trying to capture something lost.
‘As you say, Inspector, terrible times. For months I was in hospital with men dying all around me. I was supposedly one of the lucky ones. I was in France until I was well enough to be moved back over to England. When I started to get back on my feet I came home to Grovestock House to recuperate. But then the old man died and I was expected to take over running the place. I didn’t think I’d have the nerve to go to the Front again but I needn’t have worried. By the time I was anywhere near fit enough to consider getting around on my own the whole show was over.’
Sir Arthur shook his head and turned back to face me.
‘I picked up Harry’s identification tag on the battlefield, even though I shouldn’t have. Just something to remember him by. I’ve kept mine and his together all of those years, here, in a drawer in my library. When Tom started his research into the family, my wife told him he could look around to see if there was anything relevant. He must have picked up the tags then. I didn’t know he’d got them.’
‘Could I also ask you about Billy Sharp, Sir Arthur?’
‘Billy Sharp? Oh, the lad who helps out in the garden? Can’t say I really know anything about him. Perkins handles all of that side of things.’
‘You didn’t see him on the morning the murders happened?’ I emphasised the word ‘murders’.
‘I hardly saw anyone, Inspector; I’ve told you, I was up in my room before it all happened and went back up again afterwards before I went out. Is it important? Do you think this Billy Sharp had something to do with it?’
‘Not really, sir, although it is a possibility. I just think he might have seen something and run off because he was frightened. I hoped someone might have seen him so we can discount him as a suspect. It would also be useful for us to find him as a witness if he did see the murdere
r.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Mr Given, but I didn’t. Perhaps one of the staff might have. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘Actually, sir, there is one other thing.’
I asked him about the woman who’d been looking for him and who’d been directed to the house by Dave Sawyer.
‘That would be Agnes Black. She was a nurse in the hospital where I was convalescing. Very attractive young woman at the time and we became friendly. More than friendly actually. But it meant nothing, at least not to me. For some reason she started writing to me a couple of years ago saying all sorts of crazy things.’
‘Such as?’
‘That she was in love with me, always had been. Said she’d had a child but he’d died. Then she started making demands, saying I owed her something. Next thing I knew she had turned up on my doorstep. Fortunately I’d already told Isabelle about the letters so the two of us confronted Agnes and sent her packing.’
He looked upset when he mentioned his wife’s name.
‘And did she stop?’
‘No. The letters kept coming so about nine months ago I’d had enough and had my solicitor write to her threatening legal action if she didn’t desist.’ Sir Arthur stopped short as a thought seem to have come to him. ‘You don’t think she could have had anything to do with this, do you? My God, I know she was a little irrational, but murder?’
I said I didn’t know, but she might be worth following up. He gave me the last address he had for her and asked if I needed anything else. I told him there wasn’t and thanked him again for his time. I couldn’t decide if I believed what he’d told me but had no real reason not to accept it as the truth. At least for the time being.
I’d wanted so much to believe Elizabeth that her brother had nothing to do with the murders. Regardless of Sawyer’s misgivings I’d released Michael Parry and now he’d gone. I rang Sawyer and I could hear the exasperation in his voice.
‘He’s in the wind, sir. Seems he was seen with Miss Parry shortly after we released him, then jumped on the bus to town. What do you want me to do?’
I told him to put a call out to the police stations around the county to keep an eye out for Parry, then to get on with other stuff until I called him.
I was fuming. When I found Elizabeth in Tom Barleigh’s room she was clearing the dead man’s clothes from his wardrobe onto the bed before packing them in tea-chests. She looked up and half-smiled when I walked in; but when she saw my mood, her expression tightened.
‘Where is he?’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Elizabeth. Where’s Michael?’
‘He’s gone and you’ll not find him again.’
‘Gone? Gone where?’
‘America. I gave him some money I’d saved up and told him to get away.’
I lashed out at the pile of clothes on the bed, scattering them onto the floor.
‘How could you be so stupid, Elizabeth! Do you know what you’ve done? He must have told you I’d interviewed him and was satisfied enough to let him go. Things have changed so I needed to talk to him again. Now I’ll have to issue an arrest warrant and have him brought back. Then it will look much worse for him for running away.’
She bit her bottom lip and stared me coldly in the eye.
‘You do what you have to do, Inspector. I’ve told you Michael is innocent.’
Elizabeth picked up the debris from the floor, threw it back on the bed and pushed past me onto the landing. She spat her final words over her shoulder, shaking her head in desperation.
‘I think it’s better if we keep our relationship as it is. You just come looking for me when you have police business to discuss.’
Wally Bailey was exactly where Sawyer’s father had said he would be: propping up the bar of the Rose and Crown, surrounded by like-minded philanthropists supporting the brewery. It was only half an hour after opening time so I was hoping he’d still be coherent when I introduced myself and asked if we could have a word. His drinking companions exchanged knowing looks and Wally was trembling so much he spilled half his pint as we made our way to a table in the corner. Sawyer had told me he’d been pulled in a few times for being drunk and disorderly but had been sent home without charges once a few hours in a cell had quietened him down.
‘So, Wally, a little birdie tells me you don’t like Sir Arthur Barleigh, you shout your mouth off about him all the time.’
He cast his eyes around the bar at his mates, who now all seemed to have something more interesting to look at on the other side of the counter. Despite his shaking he tried to tough it out.
‘Who told you that?’
‘It’s true then?’
‘What if it is? What’s this all about?’
‘Answer the question, Wally. Do you have a grudge against Sir Arthur Barleigh?’
‘I wouldn’t call it a grudge. I don’t like him much, never have, not after what he did.’
‘And what was that?’
‘He came back here, loads of local lads shot to pieces, and takes all the glory just because he’s badly injured and still alive. Even his two best mates killed and he gets himself in the papers like a big brave man. Then he comes into money and marries a beauty while some of us have to scratch a living like always. Mentioned in despatches out there, I was, and you know what, Inspector, I didn’t sleep a full night through for two years after I got back, shells exploding in my head all the time.’ He held out his shaking hand at full stretch. ‘What do you think caused this?’
He wasn’t the first man I’d seen with shell shock but I couldn’t help thinking back to what Dave Sawyer had said. They were all heroes. Men like Wally Bailey had come home expecting their lives to be different and they were, though not necessarily better in the way they’d hoped. Who knows, he might have drunk himself senseless and railed at the world even if he hadn’t had his experiences in the trenches but, then again, he might not. Either way, all I could see in front of me now, with drink-flushed cheeks and a half empty glass quivering in his hands, was a sad, middle-aged man carrying a chip on his shoulder. Not a murderer.
We carried on with routine questions for another few minutes, though my heart wasn’t in it. When I asked him where he’d been on the day of the murders he called the landlord over.
‘Here, Geoff, tell the Inspector where I was when Tom Barleigh and his mum were bumped off.’
The landlord shrugged. ‘I expect you was in here as always. What day was it?’
I gave him the date and time.
‘Oh, definitely, he was in. He’d had a bit of luck on the races the day before and spent his way through it. Passed out by lunchtime he was.’
I didn’t bother to point out the pub shouldn’t have been open long enough for him to be drunk by that time. Villages have always been a law unto themselves as far as that’s concerned. Consequently I gave Bailey the usual “don’t go anywhere because we might want to talk to you again” speech then left him to his beer and friends, wishing I could have stayed and joined them at the bar.
Fourteen
The next morning, I made my way to Jack Sumner’s office on the first floor of a rather dingy warehouse on the edge of Warwick. A secretary, who I’d been told was his wife, Marjorie, showed me into his office. She called him “Mr Sumner” and he dismissed her like some Eastern potentate dismissing a servant. I took an instant dislike to the man.
His room belied the building which housed it and reminded me of the only slightly grander room of Sir Arthur Barleigh. Sumner was seated in a plush leather chair behind a desk he could hardly reach across when he stood to shake my hand. I was intrigued by the oil painting of Jerusalem on the wall behind him.
‘Good morning, Inspector Given. Marjorie tells me you wanted a word.’
I explained that the case had now turned into a murder investigation so I’d been wondering why he’d felt the need to contact my Superintendent to have the investigation stopped. I could see him bristling at t
he impertinence of my question.
‘Apologies if this upset you, Inspector.’ He didn’t look remotely contrite. ‘It seemed to me you were sniffing around at Sir Arthur Barleigh’s place all the time, making yourself a nuisance. I understand you demanded Sir Arthur stay in the house until you’d interviewed him, telling the butler it was routine — but it was obvious you were digging around for dirt. I thought there must be a promotion in it somewhere for you.’
‘Well, at the time it was just routine, Mr Sumner. But now it’s different and I can’t help thinking perhaps you knew that already.’
He laughed. ‘What? You think I had something to do with this whole affair? As far as I was concerned it just wasn’t good enough. Sir Arthur wanted to be left alone to put his life back together. It appeared obvious they were acts of madness by two hysterical women. One murder and two suicides. Everyone but you agreed with that and I wanted you out of there.’
‘I was proved right though, wasn’t I? Lady Isabelle, Tom Barleigh and Jenny Bamford were shot for reasons unknown by persons unknown. Was it you?’
‘Why? Because I tried to protect the feelings of a good friend? Don’t be ridiculous, man.’
‘But you also had a row with young Tom, didn’t you, shortly before the day he was murdered? I hear it was quite serious and when you left you were telling him he’d regret it. What was that about? Did you make him regret it?’
Sumner looked like he’d been slapped and some of his earlier arrogance left him. He leaned forward with his elbow on the desk and rubbed his forehead.
‘Inspector, Tom Barleigh was his father’s son and we were very close. Sometimes it felt to me as if I was back in my early twenties and it was Arthur and me talking. I was devastated when he died, still am. But you can be close to someone and have major disagreements. I have to say I’d agreed with Isabelle that he shouldn’t be marrying Jenny, I didn’t like her at all. Thought her most unsuitable. So when Isabelle asked me to try one last time to dissuade him about the marriage, I agreed. And that was it. He called me a few names I’d rather forget and it all ended acrimoniously.’
A Shadowed Livery Page 15