The Good Wife

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘Oh, a year, no a little longer. Eighteen months perhaps. Martha asked me to look after it a year last Christmas, so yes eighteen months. She kept the key; I suppose she knew I would be tempted to look inside. But she also knew I wouldn’t break it to get inside.’ She looked a little shamefaced.

  ‘It is human nature to be curious,’ Henry told her. He opened the lid and peered inside, Nora looking over his shoulder.

  ‘It’s just papers and newspaper clippings,’ she said, sounding terribly disappointed. ‘I hoped it might be something really interesting.’

  Henry had taken out some of the papers and was examining them. ‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ he said, ‘Mrs Phillips, this is very interesting.’

  ‘Well, well,’ Emory said. ‘It just goes to show that some questions have very simple answers.’

  ‘It just occurred to me,’ Henry said, ‘that if the key was important enough to hide, but that it did not unlock anything in the Mason’s house, or in the summerhouse, that it must unlock something that Mrs Mason still had access to. She seems to have had a lot of acquaintances but perhaps relatively few friends. I wondered about Miss Styles, and indeed she would have been my next stop, but as Martha Mason and Nora Phillips seem to have spent a lot of time together, I wondered if it was possible that she had whatever it was this key unlocked.’

  ‘Had it been me,’ Mickey said, ‘I would have left this box with Miss Styles.’

  ‘And Miss Styles would have found a way of opening it, a subtle way that did not involve a kitchen knife or a chisel or anything obvious,’ Henry observed. ‘That old lady is, as Emory told us, as sharp as a tack. Nora is just clever enough to hide this, and not to try and open it and also not to tell her husband.’

  ‘It surprises me that she didn’t tell him,’ Mickey said.

  ‘I imagine had he seen the box, and asked about it, then Nora would have revealed all. But I suspect that Dr Phillips is a little like Dr Mason and it would never occur to them to go rummaging around in their wives’ wardrobes. It would also never occur to them that their wife would conceal anything from them, I think. In my experience men constantly underestimate women and especially the women in their own lives. Emory, do we have those five-pound notes to hand? Would you lay them out on the desk for me?’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘All of them. We’ll need to make space. But keep separate the ones found in her handbag and the ones found in the evening bag. Mickey, if you can drag that other table over here.’

  He had carried the little box back to the police station and then summoned Emory and Sergeant Hitchens back as well. The press pack had photographed him and called out questions, but they had not seen the box. It was a warm day and Henry had removed his jacket and slung it over his arm, managing to tuck the box out of sight beneath. He had taken little notice of the questions, only paused in the doorway to assure them that investigations were progressing and that a statement would be made the following morning. He wasn’t at that point quite sure what that statement would be.

  Now he began to empty the tea caddy, unfolding each of the clippings and the notes and placing them on the table while Sergeant Emory did the same with the large, white five-pound notes, a final one of which had lain at the bottom of the box. Henry placed that on the table beside the rest and then stood back and looked. He then took a note from his own wallet.

  Mickey Hitchens whistled softly. ‘Excellent work,’ he commented.

  Sergeant Emory looked puzzled for a moment and then said, ‘Forgeries? Are these counterfeit?’

  ‘Some of them certainly are. The printing is excellent, as Mickey says. The paper quality, now you see it in the light, is not perfect. I am not expert in these matters, Emory, but laying these out side-by-side you can begin to see.’ He tapped the note he just taken from his own wallet. ‘This I know to be genuine. I obtained it from the bank yesterday morning. One of those taken from Martha Mason’s handbag also looks genuine. Hold it up and observe the watermark and then compare it to one of the others.’

  Emory did so. ‘Fuzzy,’ he said. ‘It’s not as crisp. And the paper, now you mention it, feels a little different.’

  ‘But not so different that anyone would notice, not unless they looked specifically. And how often do you lay notes side-by-side?’

  ‘So how did she get so many? Was she part of the counterfeiting gang? Did she not put Mrs Phillips in danger by trusting that box to her?’

  Mickey shook his head. ‘Probably not. Taken alone, the contents of the box would not be incriminating, just suggestive. It might be taken simply for a young woman’s obsession with a particular man, or should I say men. Many people keep clippings, and the single note in the bottom might be just as innocent. This however, I would think would be worth more than all of these things together.’

  He opened a small jewellery box that had been sitting in amongst the papers.

  ‘Pastes,’ Emory said.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Henry took the box from Mickey and examined the loose stones. ‘Diamonds. This little box would have meant danger to Nora Phillips had it been known about. This little box is probably what they broke into the Masons’ house to look for.’

  He closed the box and set it down on the table, drew up a chair and began to pay attention to the other contents of the tea caddy. ‘The names of these clippings tally with those men that we know she helped obtain divorces for. It is perhaps understandable that she kept those. The rest are more recent. Emory, that looks like letters, see who they are from. Mickey, these clippings are much more recent, and mostly relate to Kirkland and some to Lord Elliston and also to his son Timothy Elliston. Now that is a name I know. That is the name that Felicity Conway gave me, as being the man with whom Nora had a brief affair until she found out that he was beating his wife. She gave evidence against him which resulted in his wife receiving a proper settlement and also, it’s likely, leaked information to the press. We must look at the details of the case, but that is it in brief.’

  ‘The letters are from Kirkland,’ Emory said. ‘And they are a little heated, if I may say so. Passionately heated,’ he clarified.

  ‘Indeed. And all of these people involved, we know are likely to have been at the racecourse last week. Did Martha know they would be there, did they know Martha would be there or is it a chance coming together of the past and the present?’

  ‘When did Mrs Phillips say she obtained this box?’ Emory asked.

  ‘The Christmas before last,’ Henry told him.

  ‘Well, some of these letters are more recent than that. This one dates from October last year. And this one from March of this.’

  ‘Does it indeed. So was Nora lying to us, or did Martha simply seize the opportunity to go into her friends’ room and add this to the store of secrets she was keeping? Emory, will you go and enquire with Mrs Phillips and see if that is possible.’

  Henry glanced at his watch.

  ‘How long would it take us to drive across to Lord Elliston’s estate?’

  ‘It’s around twenty-five miles away,’ Emory told him. ‘An hour and a little more.’

  ‘It would be best if we put our knowledge into some kind of order tonight,’ Mickey said. ‘Be certain we all understand what it is we’re dealing with, and then arrive with the morning milk. Men are less on their guard first thing.’

  Henry nodded agreement. Because he had been delayed returning from London, it was already late in the day. Mickey was right, better to wait until morning and spend the evening collating the information they already had.

  A soft tap on the door, and a constable entered. He had a note but seemed unsure who to give it to. Emory relieved him of it.

  ‘It seems our Dr Mason gave up the ghost about an hour ago,’ he said. ‘The surgeon has arranged for a preliminary examination to be done this evening, should you gentlemen wish to be there. This being a murder.’

  ‘This being a double murder now,’ Mickey said sombrely.

  FIFTEEN

  Every
thing having been locked up in the police station strong room, Mickey and Henry had a quick bite to eat and then departed for the hospital. Mickey had seen the wounded man before he had been taken away, but now the corpse had been washed the injuries were even more evident.

  ‘We don’t have to guess at the weapon,’ he told Henry. ‘It was a poker from his own hearth. As I said we think he came downstairs and disturbed whoever it was. Came down, as he thought, armed, but his assailant took his weapon from him and used it against him.’

  Henry had seen the weapon; it was currently wrapped in brown paper and locked away as evidence. It was long and heavy, and had a solid iron knop for a handle and it was this which had been used against Dr Mason’s head and shoulders and arms. A mass of bruising covered his chest and shoulders and Henry could see that the right arm was broken, his left probably also. Deeply indented fractures of the skull had been the cause of death in all probability, and Henry was shocked that the man had even survived for the few hours he had.

  ‘Did he manage to say anything?’

  ‘He was unconscious when he reached us, he remained that way until eventually he succumbed to his injuries. Frankly I don’t know why he wasn’t dead before he arrived.’ The surgeon turned the dead man’s head so that Henry could see the worst of the injuries. ‘Skull caved in, and there are at least two other fractures. There was no attempt to strike at the body, the arms as you can see are defensive wounds. His assailant simply swung for the head. This wasn’t an attempt to stop the poor man, or even to wound. Whoever did this didn’t care if he died. In fact I would go so far to say they wanted him dead.’

  ‘There is no sense that his attacker might have questioned him, sought to gain information first?’

  ‘No sign of torture, if that’s what you mean. No, my reading is that the doctor came downstairs, armed with his poker. That there was likely more than one assailant, one took his weapon away from him, hitting him around the head and shoulders and left him lying on the floor.’

  ‘It’s possible the doctor sought to run first,’ Mickey said. ‘The body was found close to the French doors, that’s the way we are certain they came in. My guess is they disarmed him, he ran, he was struck down.’

  That all seemed very plausible, Henry thought. The doctor’s clothes and possessions had been wrapped in another brown paper parcel and laid out on a side table. Henry undid the string and briefly examined what was inside. Blooded pyjamas and underwear, nothing else.

  There seemed little to keep the surgeon for, a post-mortem would be carried out the following day but Henry doubted it would add anything to the current fund of knowledge. He and Mickey returned to the hotel and, Mickey as always still being hungry, asked for sandwiches and tea to be sent to Henry’s room.

  ‘To date,’ Mickey said, ‘what we have is likely to be a major counterfeit operation and the implication in that of a lord of the realm, his son and a cousin are involved. And a connection with the racing gangs, a razor-man and a bunch of other violent ne’er-do-wells. A right mixed stew we have here. So how does Mrs Mason fit in? She is known to Kirkland and to Elliston’s son. She seems also to be known to Mrs Kirkland. Do we bring the ex-Mrs Kirkland into this mix as well?’

  ‘For the moment, no. We have enough geese to chase.’ He watched as Mickey bit into one of the thick cheese, mustard and ham sandwiches. ‘How is it you are always ready to eat?’

  ‘Brain food,’ Mickey said. ‘And your brain would function better if you’d eat more too.’

  ‘My brain functions well enough.’ But Henry poured himself some tea, topped up Mickey’s cup and, reluctantly at first, helped himself to a sandwich. He bit into it and decided that Mickey might be right. His brain might need fuel after all. ‘And how does Mr Harry Benson fit into all of this?’

  ‘It’s hard to see how. I’ve set him in a box to the side for now, he may prove relevant later,’ Mickey said. ‘If Mr Harry Benson is involved, then my bet is he is being blackmailed or conned, rather than doing the blackmailing or the conning. I doubt Mr Harry Benson has the cunning for conning.’

  ‘It seems from her letters that Martha Mason became very much involved with Kirkland again, and very recently. It’s more than likely that the child is his. Why would you take such a risk? What is such an attractive proposition, that she became embroiled? Was she simply bored with being a doctor’s wife? Was it money she wanted?’

  ‘Any or all of that combination, I would think. She might have thought she was ready to settle for less than she actually wanted, that Dr Mason was a good proposition. He might even have got her out of a sticky situation if what your Felicity Conway says is correct, then she was about to lose her position because of unprofessional conduct. After all, she was merely the hired help, there to be photographed in an evidentiary capacity and then to quietly disappear into the background. Not a difficult job, but it seems she could not manage that. Did she want these men because they had money? Did she want them because it was adventure? I can’t believe this woman was just simply foolish, and had her head turned by these individuals. She seems otherwise to present as intelligent, honourable even. A good woman as they say, at least on the surface of things.’

  ‘Whatever her motivation, we can assume that she got into deep water.’

  ‘Deep enough to drown,’ Mickey agreed. ‘And husband after her. One thing puzzles me, where did the gun come from?’

  ‘Only one thing puzzles you? No, but you are right. The ownership of the gun seems an odd thing. She hid it away, didn’t carry it with her, and didn’t hide it in the box with the rest of the documents. And then there are the diamonds, how or where did she get them? And when? She cannot have had them with her when she first married. No, my guess is that Kirkland gave her those too. Possibly the weapon as well. He must have known the kind of men he was involved with, maybe he wished her to defend herself. Maybe he believed that no one would ever suspect a doctor’s wife could be involved in anything underhand, especially not one with such a reputation.’

  ‘But he knew her past, others could have found out too. Once you factor that in to the equation, then she looks like a much more suspicious proposition.’

  ‘Well she is certainly that now,’ Henry said. ‘Her husband too, so whatever she may have done or may not have done they are now our responsibility.’

  Mickey nodded. He took his leave, taking the rest of the sandwiches with him. ‘I will see you at dawn,’ he said.

  SIXTEEN

  It was only seven o’clock in the morning when they arrived at Cropwell Bishop, and at Campsey Hall, country seat of Lord Elliston. Turning in through the open gates, and down through a long, tree-fringed drive, Henry saw horses, thoroughbreds. Then past a stable yard, and a manège.

  ‘Well, the workers are already hard at it,’ Mickey said. ‘Beautiful beasts,’ he added, nodding at the horses. ‘Though I’ve never felt the urge to ride one.’

  The driver brought them to the front of the house and parked the car at the foot of twelve steps leading up to a neoclassical building. ‘Posh,’ Mickey observed. ‘Moneyed.’

  Henry led the way up the steps and rang the bell. The door was opened by a butler who informed them the family was not yet fully risen, though his master was at breakfast and he would see if they could be received.

  ‘See if we can be received,’ Mickey said. He sounded more amused than annoyed. ‘There are a lot of people about, for this early in the morning. And I don’t think most are stable hands.’

  Henry was still standing on the steps and he glanced back over his shoulder. He could see into the stable yard from where he stood on the steps, the master of the house must delight in the observation of his horses, he thought. Those looking after them were easily identifiable by their clothes, and general disposition. Beside the stable block was what must have been a carriage house, with accommodation over it for the coachman. This was now used for the garaging of cars and Henry could see that there were several men inside, eating breakfast and playing car
ds. They wore cheap suits and were looking over suspiciously at the car and driver and Mickey and Henry.

  The butler returned and led them through to a dining room. A sideboard was set with chafing dishes and three men sat at a long table. Henry recognized Lord Elliston from photographs he had seen and also Kirkland. The third man he assumed was Elliston’s son; this was confirmed a few moments later. ‘Sit down, gentlemen. Breakfast with us, or at least have some of this really very good coffee.’

  Henry accepted the coffee and took a seat at the table. Mickey said thank you to the coffee and then went to look out of the windows, the view on to parkland and more horses seemed to delight him. ‘Fine beasts,’ he said. ‘I was saying to my chief inspector as we came along the drive, wonderful animals, but they would look slightly big to me, I’ve never felt the need to ride one.’

  Elliston laughed, and the slight look of apprehension left his face. ‘Indeed, they are fine beasts. And I have ridden since I was a boy. I recommend it, there is no finer exercise. A chief inspector, now I am impressed. But what can I do for you?’

  ‘It is actually Mr Kirkland we came to see,’ Henry said quietly. ‘And the matter is a little delicate.’

  ‘We are all family,’ Elliston said. ‘And I’m sure John has no secrets. Anything you wish to say …’

  John Kirkland looked somewhat doubtful, but he did not contradict his relative. Instead he poured himself more coffee. ‘Of course. But I can’t imagine what you want with me.’

  ‘Mrs Martha Mason,’ Henry said. ‘I believe she was known to you.’

  ‘No, I don’t believe so.’

  ‘You wrote her letters. A number of letters. The contents were rather … passionate. And lead us to believe that your relationship was of long-standing.’

  ‘No doubt forgeries,’ Kirkland said flatly.

  ‘No doubt,’ Lord Elliston agreed. ‘A man in John’s position, well … women sometimes try to force their attentions. To take advantage. No doubt this woman—’