Detective Inspector Skelgill Boxset 2

by Bruce Beckham

  And now he does wait for a response. DS Leyton is first to supply what might be considered rather an obvious answer.

  ‘Well – Mullarkey, Guv. We only had his word for his whereabouts before lunch. He could have been eavesdropping.’

  ‘Aye – Mullarkey.’ However Skelgill regards DS Leyton somewhat distractedly – for it is not the solution he seeks. ‘Aye – he moved the clock back, alright – it suited him best that way – but that’s not the point, Leyton. You have to look at this the other way around – I’m talking about Thwaites. We know from the statements of the family and the other staff that he was helping in the kitchen and setting out the buffet between 11:45 and 12:15. But he was in his butler’s pantry beforehand – likely as not he overheard the argument.’

  Now Skelgill stands up. He takes a small turn about the room, as though relaxing on a sofa and such deliberative cogitation are not easy bedfellows.

  ‘So Thwaites knows Perdita has just visited Declan – that they argued – and at 12:15 he takes in Declan’s lunch. He finds him dead. Naturally he assumes it’s Perdita that’s killed him.’

  Skelgill pauses to check the reaction of his sergeants. DS Leyton is looking a little bemused. DS Jones is listening acutely.

  ‘So what did he do? Did he raise the alarm? No – the exact opposite – he covered it up. He copied an authentic logbook entry from a year before, as if it were his regular dictation – he invented times that had Declan bird-watching between 11:55 and 13:55 – and he wound the clock forward to make it seem the attack took place at 2 p.m. – when Perdita was a couple of thousand foot up Grasmoor. It wasn’t himself he was creating the alibi for – it was her.’

  Now DS Leyton’s features have become troubled.

  ‘But, Guv – you said yourself – you could think of how she could have been here?’

  DS Leyton’s apprehension reflects a belief that his superior had made this remark more out of defiance than from some reasoned basis – and he knows Skelgill will not take kindly to being reminded of the fact. But Skelgill does indeed have a theory. He produces a wry smile and makes a scoffing sound.

  ‘I can’t help it Leyton – when something seems impossible it’s like a red rag to a bull. If Perdita had wanted to give herself an alibi – by pretending to be lost in a blizzard – sure, she did a good job of it. But she owns snow boots and a jacket with sewn-in avalanche reflectors. She was some kind of ski champion at university. And she knows her way about the fells. She made that distress call from near the summit at 1:45 – all she had to do was switch off her phone and jump on a pair of skis. She could have been at the boundary wall of Crummock Hall in six minutes.’

  DS Leyton exhales extravagantly.

  ‘Flippin’ heck, Guv – you kept quiet about that one.’

  Skelgill contorts his features in mock relief.

  ‘Probably just as well, Leyton.’

  Now DS Leyton chuckles.

  ‘Don’t want to confuse us daft country coppers, eh, Guv?’

  Skelgill reacts with uncharacteristic humility – he comes back to the sofa and gestures apologetically with two hands.

  ‘It was confusing enough, Leyton. We’ve been asking ourselves why did someone kill Declan; when the real question was why did Thwaites cover it up? In fact – why did he cover it up believing it was Perdita?’

  ‘I think I might know.’

  This is DS Jones, who has risen unobtrusively and wandered across to the grand piano where the photographs are displayed. Skelgill watches her with interest. DS Leyton swivels round. She returns with the photograph of Edward Regulus and Shauna O’More that they had examined on their first visit.

  ‘This is a bit of a long shot, Guv.’

  But Skelgill is nodding grimly – it seems she may have found the target. She lays the picture on the coffee table so they can all see it. Then she twice taps the glass with a polished nail, indicating the tragic couple.

  ‘These are her parents.’ She glances at Skelgill. ‘It’s not entirely clear from the quality of this image – though it would be easy enough to verify – but it looks to me like they’re both blue-eyed.’

  DS Leyton appears perplexed. But Skelgill is nodding almost imperceptibly.

  ‘So are Martius, and Cassandra, and Brutus, and Edgar.’

  DS Leyton now stares at each of his colleagues in turn – he might almost be checking their eye colour, as some sort of cross-reference for what DS Jones is about to say. She continues.

  ‘It used to be thought impossible for blue-eyed parents to have a brown-eyed child. It’s actually not – however it is exceptionally rare. And Perdita has brown eyes.’

  And now Skelgill chips in.

  ‘She’s also left-handed. And my guess is Thwaites was a redhead when he was younger.’

  DS Leyton’s brow furrows as the rather shocking implication sinks in – and not least that, while DS Jones has perhaps just worked this out, Skelgill has obviously suspected for some time.

  ‘Cor blimey, Guv – what are you saying – that Thwaites was her father?’

  Curiously Skelgill begins to shake his head.

  ‘I reckon what matters, Leyton – is that he thought he might have been.’ Skelgill now grimaces and combs the fingers of both hands through his hair; it is a gesture that seems designed to assuage the notion; that it has been preying uncomfortably upon his mind. ‘Another one of my daft-copper ideas – I picked up on some local hearsay – I figured that Thwaites could be the illegitimate son of ‘Mr Padraig’ as he called him. That would have made him younger half-brother to Sean and Declan – reason to suspect him for Declan’s murder – since he could make a claim on the estate. But I got that completely wrong – his father was a Yank – an airman who was stationed hereabouts in the war.’ Now Skelgill sinks back into the sofa and clasps his hands over his midriff. ‘Thing is – when I began to suggest it to him he became really unnerved – but it never occurred to me that he thought I was going to ask him about Perdita.’

  DS Leyton leans forwards, his expression full of doubt.

  ‘But that would mean him and – well – Shauna – you know, Guv?’ He lowers his gaze as though he is embarrassed to be any more explicit in present company.

  Skelgill chuckles at his sergeant’s prudishness.

  ‘These things happen. Leyton.’

  ‘But the age gap, Guv?’

  Now Skelgill folds his arms rather defensively. He flashes a glance at DS Jones.

  ‘Aye – but do the sums, Leyton. You’ve met Thwaites as an old bloke – Perdita’s now thirty-three. Wind it back – he would have been in his early forties – and Shauna in her thirties.’

  ‘That’s no big deal, Guv.’

  This is DS Jones who interposes. Skelgill regards her pensively for a moment – though he continues with his exposition.

  ‘We also know that Shauna often came here alone – just her and the kids. Edward Regulus largely stayed away. There was talk of tension between them. She even went to Dublin to have the baby – what was that all about? And then Perdita – she told me that Thwaites always paid her special attention – she could never understand why.’

  DS Jones is listening keenly, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Think Perdita has any idea, Guv?’

  Skelgill shakes his head. Then he throws out his hands.

  ‘Look – whether it’s true or not makes no odds – but if Thwaites believed it were, then it explains his behaviour.’

  ‘Be easy enough to find out, Guv – DNA tests.’

  This is DS Leyton – and perhaps he has not detected Skelgill’s reticence about the matter. Now Skelgill shrugs rather dismissively. It seems his policy is one of letting sleeping dogs lie, for he declines to be sidetracked by this rather intriguing facet of the mystery.

  ‘I considered that the drowning – ‘The Accident’ – was the result of some fight between Edward Regulus and Shauna O’More. Perhaps even that he lured her out on the lake with malicious intent. But now I don’t think so.�
��

  ‘Why not, Guv?’

  ‘Because it was meant for Declan. The boat was sabotaged – by Mullarkey.’

  Though it can only be conjecture, on this point Skelgill seems adamant. He jerks his head in the direction of the piano. Then he rises again and like DS Jones has just done, collects a photograph and returns.

  ‘There’s more to these pictures than the family. I asked Mullarkey to help me identify his uncle – the lawyer who was his predecessor on the O’Mores’ account. I sent him a shot of this – according to Thwaites it was taken around the time of ‘The Accident’. He never got back to me – claimed he’d not received the text. When I went to their offices in Dublin I found some staff photographs from about the same era. The lawyers’ names were listed on a caption.’ Now Skelgill places a finger carefully upon the glass, beneath the face of one of the young men grouped about the Land Rover with Edward Regulus, and rotates the frame so that his colleagues may see. ‘It wasn’t just his uncle coming to Crummock Hall back then – so was Mullarkey. Yet he told me he had no involvement while his uncle was their representative – that he didn’t even know Edward Regulus and Shauna O’More. This is him.’

  DS Leyton is captivated.

  ‘So it is, Guv! You can recognise him, once you know what you’re looking for.’

  Skelgill returns the photograph to its approximate place on the grand piano. He remains for a few moments to gaze out of the window. When he turns his features are troubled.

  ‘My one regret is that I alerted him – made him think that we were on to him. And Thwaites was still alive then.’

  His sergeants simultaneously protest; Skelgill seems surprised that they rally so vehemently to his side. DS Leyton jabs a forefinger in his direction.

  ‘Guv – there’s no way you could have known – like you say – you weren’t even suspecting him at that point.’

  ‘Leyton I was suspecting everyone.’

  Skelgill grins – rather sheepishly, it must be said – and DS Jones seems eager to focus upon a point that will restore his dignity.

  ‘The sinking of the boat, Guv – how could he have brought that about?’

  ‘Simple enough. Bore half a dozen holes just a touch above the waterline. Plug them with bread paste – or boilies like carp anglers use. Lick of varnish for disguise – and that would give temporary waterproofing. Remember what I told you about the draught? As soon as someone gets aboard, the boat sinks lower in the water. The patched holes are now below the waterline. Give it half an hour and the bread will dissolve. Bingo.’

  DS Leyton’s heavy features are disconcerted, his dark brows compressed.

  ‘So he tried to murder Declan all that time ago – to get at the diamond.’

  Skelgill inhales – as though there is much yet to tell, and that he wrestles with a suitable opening line.

  ‘Leyton – I’ll explain in a minute what the Prof just told me – he’s got a colleague in Dublin who’s a historian with a legal interest. Mullarkey’s firm have been lawyers to the O’Mores since the 1600s. Happen Mullarkey didn’t know exactly what Declan had inherited – but I’m pretty sure he’d studied the archives and discovered there was something seriously valuable.’

  ‘So he hatched the plot to sink the boat.’

  ‘Aye – and it went spectacularly wrong. He killed Edward and Shauna. Just think about it – all hell’s let loose, it’s all over the media – and Declan suspects he was targeted. Remember – how he went bird-spotting – maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but that he was spooked. And he wouldn’t have known who was after him. Thereafter – he kept up his guard. He became more of a recluse. His study was either occupied or locked – or watched by Thwaites from his butler’s pantry. Meanwhile Mullarkey only had limited excuses to be over here. He had to play a long game. At some point he got access to the keys – took a plasticine impression and had copies made.

  ‘Come to the present day. Sir Sean is dying. Declan decides he’d better make a will. He consults Mullarkey – maybe he writes to him or phones. He tells him he’s thinking of bequeathing the books to one of his great nephews or nieces. Mullarkey reads between the lines – he must realise that the diamond is hidden – concealed inside one of the books. It might be obvious – but it’s effective when you’ve got so many. Folk must have wondered how come Sir Sean inherited the estate and Declan got nothing but an allowance – especially since they were twins – but maybe he didn’t get such a bad deal.’

  Now DS Jones comments.

  ‘It makes you think that no one else in the family knew about the diamond.’

  ‘I reckon we can be confident that Perdita didn’t. Declan may not even have planned to tell her immediately – happen not until he was on his death bed.’ Skelgill places his hands on his head and intertwines his fingers. ‘What we do know is he called for Mullarkey – Saturday, the day before his murder. But Mullarkey realises we’ll hear about this meeting, so when interviewed he gives us a distorted version of it. He says Declan told him he intended to draft a will and give him to him – but that he never did. In fact, Declan had already done it – as we overheard Mullarkey tell Perdita. It wasn’t a formal document, but it was properly witnessed by Sir Sean and Thwaites – good enough to be legally binding. Perdita was to inherit the books. My guess is that the wording would cover the diamond – “all my worldly goods” – that kind of thing.’

  DS Leyton is looking increasingly perplexed – some point has been brewing that plainly confounds him.

  ‘But why Perdita, Guv?’

  Skelgill drops his hands and pats his thighs absently.

  ‘She might have offended Declan by calling him a dinosaur – but the family tradition meant a lot to him. And then compare her to the rest of them. She’s made the most of her Irish heritage. She’s a writer – she loves books. And she’s the only one not driven by money. He summons her on the Sunday morning after Sir Sean’s funeral – but they’re both of them bloody-minded and end up having a row. Instead of buttering him up, she stands her ground – she probably goes up in his estimation. Mullarkey must have got wind of the meeting – he creeps along and eavesdrops – and hides on the little spiral staircase when she storms out. Then he goes in to see Declan – maybe on pretence of discussing some legal point. He knows it’s just a matter of time before Declan tells Perdita about the will – he takes his chance and whacks Declan – chucks the stick on the fire – steals the document – and slips along to lunch as though nothing has happened. Now he’s got some breathing space – Declan appears to die intestate – and he can probably get the books moved to Dublin.’

  DS Leyton has been patiently holding up a hand – for permission to speak. Now that Skelgill pauses, he pitches in with some gusto.

  ‘But Thwaites – he must have known about the will!’

  Skelgill seems not to perceive his sergeant’s intervention as an obstacle to his logic.

  ‘Aye – exactly – and given what we’ve just said about him and Perdita, all the more reason that he wouldn’t tell us. What stronger motive could she have to bump off Declan than that she was his heir? Plus Thwaites would have no inkling he was in mortal danger from Mullarkey – not while he thought Perdita was the murderer.’

  DS Leyton remains troubled.

  ‘But, Guv – what I’m saying – Mullarkey knew that Thwaites knew there was a will – so he had to die – it wasn’t because you rattled Mullarkey’s cage with that stuff about the photograph.’

  Skelgill is pensive for a moment. He evidently does not want to seem too eager to accept this explanation – but DS Leyton has a supplementary question.

  ‘Do you think Thwaites noticed the clock had been changed for a second time – back to 12 – when I took him to check over the study? That would have had him worried, Guv.’

  Skelgill is nodding slowly.

  ‘Quite likely – except he wouldn’t have known when it happened – he might have thought it was when he ‘discovered’ Declan’s body and they al
l came running. He was too busy play-acting to notice – so it could have been any one of them as far as he was concerned.’

  ‘Think it was Mullarkey that wiped that glass, Guv – that had no prints on it?’

  Skelgill produces a wry grin.

  ‘Leyton, here’s my idea about the glass. Thwaites comes into the study at 12.15 with Declan’s lunch – sees his master laid out on the floor – he slams the tray down on the desk and the glass of water rolls off.’

  ‘But why no prints, Guv?’

  ‘Because that was one of his duties – he polished the glassware and he always wore those white butler’s gloves.’

  ‘Cor blimey, that’s some red herring, Guv.’

  Skelgill’s mood continues to loosen, and he makes a further admission.

  ‘Never mind red herring, Leyton – I thought it was deliberate, too – it could have been a quick way to disguise droplets of snow melt – off someone’s boots who’d come in through the garden door. Part of my daft skiing theory.’

  His sergeants respond with smiles – but the ring of the telephone interrupts this theme – it is an old-fashioned single trill like in the early American movies. DS Jones glances at Skelgill – he gestures to her to go ahead. His gaze follows her movements as she walks across to the bureau where the handset is located. She picks up the base by its stem, lifting it to her lips, and raises the wired earpiece accordingly. Then she turns to face her colleagues. They hear just one side of the dialogue.

  ‘DS Jones.’

  ‘Oh, hi – good, thanks – you?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Already?’

  ‘Ah – no – we can’t get a data signal – it’s this fog.’

  ‘Okay – just give me the top line.’

  And now she listens for a minute, punctuating the silence with nods and the occasional “Aha” and “Right”. Finally she thanks the caller – it is evident that it is one of her DCs, and they have related to her some information. She signs off and returns the old Bakelite telephone to its place.