Mydworth Mysteries--The Wrong Man

by Matthew Costello

  “And the rest of the story we know – or think we know.”

  “Right. But where’d that rumour come from? We need to chat to Mabel again,” said Harry. “And also Ollie’s pal, this Will Davis—”

  “Loxley mentioned him,” said Kat. “Said he tried to calm the friends down. Even gave Brown a false alibi to try and get him off the hook.”

  “Really? Well, that’s interesting. So many interesting things about this open-and-shut case. Tell me, did the police charge him?”

  “No.”

  “Lucky chap.”

  “Right. What I thought as well. Anyway, seems he’s a regular at the Station Inn.”

  “Oliver told me that too.”

  “So – what are we waiting for?” said Kat, turning the engine off. “Let’s walk up to the pub, find some witnesses, come back for the car.”

  “Oh dear. Out into the cold again? Well, anything in the cause of justice,” said Harry, popping his hat back on and climbing out.

  Together, arm in arm in the falling snow, they walked back up the road towards the village, over the old bridge, to the Station Inn, the rough-and-ready pub which – tonight at least, thought Kat – looked almost romantic in the falling snow.

  *

  Harry pushed open the door of the pub expecting the place to be crowded.

  After all, the Station Inn was the watering hole for the new factories on the other side of the railway line. Workers would drop in “for a quick one” on the way home. Some for quite a few more than a “quick” one.

  But tonight Harry could see barely a dozen drinkers seated at tables: just a couple of labourers at the bar; a few games of cribbage going on; in the corner, a bookish looking young man reading the paper, pipe in hand.

  He and Kat went to the bar where a brawny barman with rolled-up sleeves and tattooed forearms – a massive anchor on one arm, a giant “Mother” inscribed in a heart on the other – was wiping mugs with a cloth.

  “Two pints of mild, please, barman,” said Harry. “And one for yourself.”

  The barman nodded, and Harry could see him assessing these two strangers – especially the woman expecting to drink a pint... right here!

  “Kind of you, sir,” said the barman, filling the first pint. “I’ll put it in the wood, if you don’t mind.”

  The drinks came and Harry clinked glasses with Kat, then they both drank.

  “You the landlord?” said Harry as the barman resumed his pot wiping, surveying his domain.

  “I am,” said the man, and Harry heard a note of suspicion in his voice. “Freddie Fry.”

  The barman probably thinking: Who’ve we got here then? Excise, tax, police, licensing...?

  “Mind me asking... were you behind the bar the night Oliver Brown was in here?”

  The barman slowed his efforts at polishing, attention caught.

  “You mean the night Ben Carter was done for?” said the landlord.

  Harry nodded.

  “And who would be asking?” said the man, putting his cloth and mug down and stepping closer. “Not journalists, I hope. Because, you see, I don’t like journalists. And if you two are journalists there’s the damn door and you’ll be going through it on the end of my boot. You too, madam.”

  “Oh, don’t hold back on my account, Mr Fry,” said Kat. “I’m all for equality. Though I’d recommend you be careful with any of that ‘boot’ talk around my husband here. My boots are pretty tough too, you know.”

  “A Yank,” the barman said doing nothing to hide his disdain.

  Harry laughed. “Oh, you’ve got her there, Mr Fry – well-spotted! But no, we’re not journalists. Though I should also warn you – seriously – don’t get on the wrong side of my wife here. Trust me. Her bite? Much, much worse than her bark.”

  He saw the landlord force a smile, but tension was still in the air. Harry leaned forward, closing the gap between them.

  “So, here’s the thing, you see. Oliver Brown is set to hang for the crime of murder at dawn on Friday, as I’m sure you know. And my wife and I are trying to find any missing evidence that could save him from the gallows.”

  “Private investigators?”

  “No. Interesting thought, that, but just, er, well-wishers.”

  “Do-gooders you mean?”

  “Maybe,” said Kat. “Anything wrong with that?”

  “Who’s paying you?”

  “Nobody. We’re very affordable do-gooders, you see.”

  The barman seemed to consider the idea. “All right. Used to like old Ollie. How can I help?”

  “Jolly good,” said Harry. “Back to square one, as they say. Were you here that night?”

  “I was.”

  “And you saw what happened?”

  “I did.”

  Pulling teeth, thought Harry. Come on, man!

  “You know Oliver – and Ben?” said Kat.

  “Sure. Regulars, they were.”

  Harry glanced at Kat, wondering how many days it would take to drag some relevant information out of this man.

  But then a voice from behind them:

  “Regulars – yes. And usually, regular gentlemen, the pair of them.”

  Harry turned, to see the bookish young man from the corner, standing, newspaper clamped under one arm, pipe in one hand – and the other hand outstretched to shake theirs.

  “Will Davis,” said the man. “I’m a friend of Oliver’s.”

  Harry took the man’s hand to shake, about to introduce himself, but Will beat him to it.

  “Sir Harry and Lady Mortimer, if I’m not mistaken,” he said.

  “You got it,” said Kat. “But how—”

  Will smiled. “Whole town knows what you’re up to,” said Will.

  “That right?” said Harry, not sure how to take this news. “And here I thought we were being ever so discreet.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” said Will. “Best thing that could have happened. Only chance we’ve got of seeing justice done. Not that we’ve got much time, of course.”

  “Indeed,” said Harry. “In fact – we were hoping to have a little chat with you about that night, if you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? Dear me no, I’ve been wanting to talk to you too.”

  “Now a good time?” said Kat.

  “Absolutely,” said Will. He turned and gestured towards his seat in the corner.

  “Look – got a nice cosy spot there, bring your drinks, ask what you will, I only hope somehow I can help.”

  Harry looked at Kat who nodded.

  Maybe now they might get somewhere...

  10. What Will Saw

  Kat sat opposite Will Davis, taking him in as Harry brought a new round of drinks to the table.

  In his late twenties perhaps, he had the slightly tousled air of an academic, though his tweed jacket and twill trousers looked to be good quality. Horn-rimmed glasses suggested timidity, but a bright bow tie and matching kerchief in his top pocket gave him a bit of a dashing air.

  Not from Mydworth, she thought. Far too cosmopolitan.

  Which turned out to be right.

  “So, Will, do you work in Mydworth?” Harry asked.

  “Oh no. Not really. I’m an insurance salesman,” said Davis, laughing. “Consolidated Mutual. Lot of travelling around, you see. So, beware, I’ll have you two signed up for a life policy before you know it!”

  “Just passing through, then?” said Harry, smiling.

  “Been based here for the last six months. Originally from Manchester, via Cambridge. Head office is up in London but, luckily, I don’t have to go there much. Imagine, in this weather!”

  “Sounds like a nice little job,” said Kat.

  “Oh, it is,” said Will. “I absolutely love it! Roaming the south of England in the old Austin, selling policies, my destiny in my own hands, the freedom of the road! ‘Freelance’ they call it. Free lance – like a knight of yore, you see?”

  “Doing good deeds, saving maidens?” said Kat.

 
“Ha, yes, that’s me – occasionally!” said Will, his eyes twinkling.

  Kat could imagine how attractive his spiel was. Guy could sell policies on that smile alone, she thought.

  “You have a house here?” said Harry.

  “Just lodgings. A very pleasant room with private bathroom at the residence of the very elderly, very deaf – and very nosy – Mrs Pinder, on Crab Tree Lane. One guinea a week, all in, breakfast included, no guests. Especially no guests – she was quite clear about that point!”

  He laughed again, then tapped out his pipe, scraped the bowl with a pocket knife, and started filling it from an old leather pouch.

  “But look, we’re not here to talk about me, are we? We’re here to try and save a good man from an untimely death at the hands of the hangman. I assume, like me, you are convinced that Oliver is innocent?”

  Kat looked at Harry, then back at Davis.

  “We are starting to think so. Though, so far, the evidence isn’t cooperating.”

  “I know,” said Davis. “But, ask me what you will. Fire away. And let us, all three, hope that there’s something in what I tell you that might stop this dreadful miscarriage of justice.”

  *

  Kat saw Harry lean back, and she took that as a signal that she should begin the questioning.

  “Will, that night, was anything out of the ordinary?”

  Another puff, and he shrugged. “No. A normal Saturday night at the local. Place busy: darts, laughter, smoke...” He took the pipe out of his mouth, a half-smile. “Did my bit there. So, no, nothing unusual.”

  Kat nodded at that. Will seemed affable, eager to help.

  “But sooner or later things turned nasty, yes? An argument broke out, between Oliver and Ben?”

  Will’s eyes lowered at that, as if his memory was now becoming overcast with the recollection of how the evening turned.

  And it’s just that “turn” I’m interested in, Kat thought.

  “Well, yes.” A small smile crept onto Will’s face. “You know how it is with pals, out for the night, all those pints? I mean, is there a pub in all of England where a fight doesn’t break out on a Saturday night?”

  Kat nodded. Will seemed weary of the inevitable violence. Almost... philosophical.

  Based on Harry’s description of Oliver Brown, Will seemed a strange choice for a friend. Though perhaps the real connection was through Ben, who had moved on to a different life from his old farmhand friend.

  “Well, you know, Will,” she said, “I spent a lot of Saturday nights working in a bar in the Bronx. Saw my share of fights break out. Comes with the territory.”

  Kat saw Will fire a glance at Harry, as if she might be having him on.

  “Really? You worked in a pub?”

  “Yes. My dad’s place. And while we didn’t get many farm workers in the Bronx – well any – still, the crowd, I imagine, not that much different than here? But here’s my point. Those fights I helped break up with my dad – they didn’t just come out of nowhere.”

  Will didn’t respond to that.

  “No matter how many bats and balls the crowd had.”

  Will’s eyes widened as he leaned close.

  “Excuse me? Bats and–?”

  Kat laughed. “A shot with a beer chaser. We like our baseball as much as our drinks.”

  “Interesting.”

  For a moment she thought Will might extract a notebook to scrawl down the just-learned Americanism.

  Like a linguist in the wild doing research.

  “See – there was always something that lit that fire... got the argument going. An old grudge, grievance, a slight from a long time ago – or yesterday.”

  Kat leaned forward.

  “So, that fight. Oliver... Ben. Where did it come from? What was the ‘match’ that set it off?”

  *

  Appropriately, Will’s pipe sputtered out to a last little puff, and he dug out his pouch, gave it a quick refill – a light, and he was back in business.

  Kat used the moment to take a sip of her beer. The ale more bitter than the brands sold at the Lucky Shamrock back in New York.

  And definitely warmer.

  While Will puffed, Harry took the opportunity to add, looking at Kat, “You were there, Will? Just before it happened.”

  With the additional nudge, Will nodded. But Kat could see that his earlier keenness had diminished.

  “Yes,” he finally said. “I was. But this ‘match’ you are asking about? Look, I really don’t like talking about other people’s personal affairs, you know. Their business is their business.”

  “Understandable,” Kat said. “But Oliver’s life is at stake here.”

  She watched him as he wrestled with his unease. Then he shrugged.

  “Okay. I knew that Ben and Ollie went way back. And that somehow in the middle of it all was Mabel.” Will looked at Harry, then back to her. “Maybe you two know all about that.”

  Cherchez la femme, indeed, thought Kat.

  “I thought that was all ancient history. Ollie and Mabel have a beautiful little girl. Ben was doing well with the electrical work. ‘Riding the wave of the future’, is what I always said to them.”

  “But something came up that night?” Kat said.

  “Well, yes, out of nowhere, really. I mean, I could tell Ollie seemed tense. Drinking a bit too fast, you know?”

  Kat nodded.

  “Ben seemed his old self. But then Ollie got angry. Said something about something he had heard. Not sure how. Just a rumour, I suppose. Maybe from one of the chaps he worked with? Some blokes like to stir up trouble. You know the Green Man?”

  Kat nodded.

  “Ollie claimed that Ben had been seen there, with Mabel.”

  “Go on,” Harry said quietly.

  “Well, you can imagine. Hell broke loose, it did. Ben exploded, denied the whole thing, and then he got angry that Ollie would even think that. Course, my role in the evening suddenly changed.”

  “Peacemaker?” Kat said.

  “An attempt at least. But it all took seconds, you see? A flash-fire, and Ollie – he was at Ben’s throat, a big hand wrapped around, and me—” Will shook his head at this “—stuck in the middle. Tell you, I had my work cut out for me.”

  “Did the barman help?”

  “Dear old Freddie? Think he called the police when he saw the first fist raised. The whole thing was about to spill outside for a full-on battle... but then the constable walked in. Said a few words, and suddenly it ended.”

  Kat saw on Harry’s face that he wasn’t sure about something.

  “Ended? Just like that?”

  “Funny thing is, it did. I suppose the threat of a night in jail worked. Anyway, I took the chance to buy a round, get the party back on.”

  As Kat listened to this, a few things didn’t make sense to her.

  “Hang on. Oliver was able to just let go of all that suspicion?”

  “Maybe he decided a rumour was just a rumour? Anyway, he went quiet, and all that fierceness vanished. Remarkable really.”

  Will put down his pipe.

  Yes, indeed, thought Kat. And unfortunately, it fitted quite well with the theory that Oliver could let go of that anger... because he already had murderous plans for later.

  Harry pulled his chair close. Voice lowered, a look to the other tables, barrelling on with the drinks, smokes and hearty laughs.

  “Will – now we get to perhaps the most important part of the evening. What happened when Ben and Ollie left.”

  11. The Moments Before a Murder

  Harry thought that whatever Will knew about the next minutes – the next hour – might be key to understanding Ben’s murder.

  “I gather you left before Ben and Ollie?” he said.

  Will nodded. “Once I’d bought the round, and the two of them were more or less back to normal, I felt, well, my work was done. Had a big trip coming up next day, so an early night suited me. I also thought, once the pub closed, Ben would go
his way, Ollie his.”

  “And what state were they in then?”

  “Not too far gone. When I left, at least. But, word is, when Oliver finally walked out, he looked wobbly as hell. Must have been hitting the stuff hard. Maybe you heard that too?”

  Harry didn’t indicate one way or the other. He saw Kat had her eyes fixed on the man.

  “Apparently Ollie staggered out first, ready to sail home. Ben lingered a bit.”

  “That’s odd,” Kat said.

  Will cocked his head in her direction.

  “Odd, Lady Mortimer?”

  “Yes. Oliver Brown leaves ahead of Ben. Heads home. And yet he doesn’t get home until sometime later.”

  Will frowned, as if not understanding the implications.

  “Plenty of time in fact,” Kat added, “for Oliver to go down to Slip-Knot Alley, find a place to hide, and just wait for Ben. And there you are.”

  Harry saw Will lick his lips at the unsavoury logic of it all.

  “I for one never believed that. I think he fell down, dozed a bit then dragged himself home.”

  “Maybe,” Kat said with no real assurance.

  “Just one final thing, Will. One last question.”

  “Of course.”

  “Why did you lie to the police? Why give Oliver a false alibi?”

  *

  Harry watched as Will looked away, the mood on his face unreadable.

  Taking his time, Harry thought.

  “When I moved to this village, all those months ago, I didn’t really know anyone.” He nodded to the bar. “Then I started coming here, meeting the regulars. Kind of place where you can be left to your own devices, or not. But you know pubs... Well, Sir Harry, maybe you don’t.”

  Harry turned to Kat, smiled.

  “Oh, no worries on that account.”

  Will laughed.

  “So, I met Ben. And then, through Ben, Ollie. Seemed to me at first rather a strange pair to be pals.”

  Kat leaned forward at that.

  “What do you mean? Strange?”

  “Well, Ben had – you know – made something of himself. Basically, he ran that little electrical shop for the owner. He often said to me he hoped that it might become his business one day, if things went well.”