by Bill Kitson
I noticed Eve watching me with a dubious expression on her face and hastened to add, ‘Of course, if you want to suggest to them that they come and see us to ask for help, then that would be quite a different matter.’
After Marjorie left, we brewed ourselves some coffee. As we were sipping it, Eve suggested that I might have been a little harsh on our previous visitor. ‘The poor woman was desperate for reassurance and some comforting words as much as a direct offer of help. You could have let her down a bit more lightly.’
‘I suppose so, but to be honest I’m a bit peeved. We’ve only been back a few hours and we’ve already had two people in here talking about murder, with one of them throwing in a ghost story and a case of lost identity as well.’
Eve’s expression changed and her attitude softened. ‘I agree that it would have been better to have been given a little more breathing space, Adam, but we have to live among these people and we can’t shut them out just because it’s inconvenient. Apart from any other consideration, it would create the wrong impression, and you know how people around here talk.’
‘I suppose you’re right. I just wanted a bit more time alone together, that’s all.’
Eve opened her mouth to reply, but I’ll never know what she was about to say, because before she could do so the doorbell rang again. She started to smile, and this turned into a fit of giggles when she saw the look of despair on my face.
Chapter Four
If I’d been given the chance to think about it, I might have guessed the identity of our next visitor before I opened the door but, deprived of that opportunity, I was surprised to see Detective Sergeant Holmes standing on our doorstep. He looked worried, as if uncertain of his welcome. As I had just been rebuked about my attitude to visitors, whether invited or otherwise, I smiled and invited him inside, curbing my sarcasm to nothing more than a muttered comment about having a revolving door fitted.
‘I appreciate that this is probably bad timing on my part,’ Holmes began. That had to be the understatement of the year. ‘To be fair, I wasn’t too keen on coming here, even though Johnny said he felt certain you wouldn’t mind.’
Did he really, I thought, and made a mental note to have words with Johnny. However, I listened without interrupting as Holmes continued. ‘It was actually DI Hardy who suggested I speak to you.’
That made it two names to cross off our Christmas card list, which was shortening rapidly. ‘Hardy said that if I was to tell you what we know, you might be able to come up with some ideas as to how to proceed. I can’t actually talk to him about it, because it would contravene all sorts of silly regulations to do with him still being on sick leave.’
‘I assume you’re referring to the murder that Johnny Pickersgill told us about?’ Eve enquired.
‘Yes. I called on Johnny before I came here and he mentioned that he’d given you an outline. What do you think?’
‘OK, we’ll listen and if anything occurs to us, we’ll tell you, but that’s as far as it goes,’ I warned him. ‘We don’t want to become involved to any greater extent than that.’
As I spoke, I noticed Eve’s expression, which conveyed more disbelief than I was comfortable with, but I ignored it and concentrated on what Holmes was saying.
‘Some of this you’ve probably heard from Johnny but I’ll tell you anyway to avoid leaving a salient point out. The dead man’s name was Mark Bennett. He worked in London and Leeds before being appointed as curator of Dinsdale Museum twenty-five years ago. Apparently he was highly regarded by both historians and the art world, which apparently is quite rare. He took early retirement before the museum closed for refurbishment. According to what we’ve been told, the main reason behind his decision was that he disagreed with the plans for the new building. He was a fierce opponent of it, mainly on aesthetic lines, and disagreed strongly with the councillors who had backed the plan.’ Holmes paused and looked across at us. ‘There are copies of correspondence between him and the various members of the local authority on the subject. They were amongst his effects at his house. The terms used in some of them are vitriolic. On Friday before last, the groundsman for the cricket club went to the deer park to cut and roll the wicket and discovered Bennett’s body slumped against the back wall of the pavilion. He had been stabbed, a single blow to the heart. According to the pathologist he was killed several hours earlier, say around late morning.’
‘That would have been in broad daylight. It sounds terribly risky,’ Eve suggested.
‘Very true in most locations, but the cricket ground is secluded from one side of the park. The building is in a very quiet spot with evergreen trees surrounding it on three sides, so anyone at the back of it couldn’t be overlooked, particularly at this time of the year, when the foliage is dense.’
‘OK, what can you tell us about the victim?’
Holmes glanced down at the sheaf of papers in his hand, on which I guessed he had made notes at various stages of the inquiry so far, before responding to my question. ‘Mark Bennett was married, but separated, so he lived alone. He’d been married twice before and, by all accounts, had a string of other ... er ... relationships. The house he owned on the outskirts of Dinsdale was immaculate, both inside and out. It was mortgage-free too, which interested me, but I’ll get back to that later. According to neighbours he did most of the gardening himself, but he also had a man who helped him out on a weekly basis. I spoke to the gardener and he told me he’d last visited the property a couple of days before Bennett was murdered and at the time he seemed well and content. He also said ...’ Holmes paused, ‘... that Bennett was not alone. He had a visitor, a lady whom the gardener later identified as Mrs Valerie Kershaw. The gardener seemed to think they were on friendly terms – very friendly terms.’ Holmes placed strong emphasis on the last three words.
‘Johnny Pickersgill did say something about Bennett’s reputation regarding women,’ I said.
‘Yes, there were letters, cards and photos that suggest he had a large number of previous lady friends. Many of those affairs took place while he was married to one or other of his wives. He had an address book that was mostly filled with women’s names.’
‘What was the point you were going to come back to, about the mortgage?’
‘Oh yes, that interested me. I suppose it’s quite rare these days to be mortgage-free. Not being a homeowner I’m not up on such things. It’s a large detached house, with three double bedrooms, and in a very much sought-after part of the town, so I guess that makes it worth a lot. Bennett bought it outright five years ago. In addition to that, he had substantial amounts in both bank and building society accounts. The bank account shows evidence of some large transactions, both paid out and received.
‘Those are the facts we know. The rest is rumour and circumstantial evidence, and most of it surrounds Valerie Kershaw and her husband David. Mrs Kershaw had been seen with Bennett several times recently, always alone and usually either at his house or in town, but away from the main street, if you understand me. That led people to believe there might be something going on between them. However, there is one piece of hard evidence we found difficult to ignore. On the day of the murder, around midday, David Kershaw’s vintage Lagonda was seen near to the entrance to the deer park. That, together with the alleged affair between his wife and Bennett, leads us to believe he killed her lover in a fit of jealous rage. I’m afraid that is as far as we’ve got, but in view of the evidence, we’re reluctant to look elsewhere. Now, from what I’ve told you, can you come up with any ideas?’
There was a long silence as we digested the facts, before I looked at Eve. I could see she had formed an opinion, so I asked her, ‘Do you want to go first, or shall I?’
‘No, you open the batting, Adam.’
I smiled at the cricketing analogy, and then turned to the detective. Actually, turned on him would perhaps be a more accurate phrase, as, with Eve’s assistance, I set about demolishing his theory. ‘I find it difficult to believe that you’v
e arrested Kershaw on such flimsy evidence. First of all I believe you can discount jealousy as a motive for the crime and secondly, if the eyewitness who saw the car recognised David Kershaw, you can discount him as being the killer. Allow me to explain.’ I emphasised each point on my fingers. ‘If the motive had been jealousy, there would have been far more than one stab wound. If I found someone had been messing about with Eve they would end up with more holes in them than a colander. Secondly, if you are setting out to commit a murder and hope to get away with it, you wouldn’t drive to the crime scene in a car as noticeable as a vintage Lagonda. That would be like putting a huge sign up saying, “Yoo-hoo, here I am, off to kill someone”, and, at a guess, I think David Kershaw might be a touch more astute than that. And how did he lure Bennett to that spot? I reckon that if Bennett had been carrying on with Mrs Kershaw he’d want to avoid her husband, even in a crowded place let alone a remote location such as that deer park. If I were you, I’d release Kershaw immediately, start again and look elsewhere, possibly beginning with Bennett’s estranged wife and her predecessors, plus the names in that address book, for a spurned lover, or alternatively discover the source of the wealth suggested by those bank balances. Either of those could provide a motive. In particular I’d look closely at where Bennett’s money originated. Keeping one wife and a house is expensive enough. Paying two lots of alimony would ruin most men and if he was also involved with other women that would simply add to the expense.’
‘I agree – especially the part about the money,’ Eve told him.
‘There were some extremely substantial cash deposits,’ Holmes agreed, ‘but they weren’t regular, nor was there any indication in his paying-in book as to where the money came from. The bank, of course, wouldn’t reveal anything even if they knew.’
‘They’re not allowed to,’ Eve told him. ‘I definitely think that’s where you should concentrate. As far as I’m aware museum curators don’t get paid handsomely. One thought that crossed my mind is that he could have been buying and selling works of art. That would explain where the money came from, and might also provide a motive if one of those deals went sour.’
‘Sour in what way?’ Holmes asked.
‘If, for example, someone believed they’d bought a masterpiece only to discover it was a forgery. That happens a lot, apparently.’
As they were talking, another thought crossed my mind. ‘Was Bennett’s car found close to the crime scene?’
Holmes looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I forgot to mention that. No, Bennett’s car was in the garage at his house.’
‘Did he have any connection with the deer park? Either with the estate owners or the cricket club?’
‘None that we can trace.’
‘That makes me wonder what he was doing there, and second, how did he get there? As I recall the estate is well out of Ripon city centre.’
‘The best part of four miles, I’d guess,’ Holmes agreed. ‘We wondered how he’d got there, and were beginning to think he must have had a meeting.’
‘That’s a long walk, because I doubt that there are many buses. How was he dressed?’
‘As normal, I guess. Suit and tie, ordinary shoes.’
‘Not equipped for walking, then.’
‘I agree with Adam,’ Eve added, ‘and that suggests a pre-arranged meeting either with a lover or a business partner. I hardly think that around midday is the favourite time for a romantic tryst, nor do I think a man set on misbehaving with a lady friend would put on a suit and tie, so I’d concentrate on the business angle.’
‘One other thing: what did Bennett have in his pockets?’
‘A packet of cigarettes, lighter, a biro, and a clean handkerchief, plus his wallet with over a hundred pounds in it. Obviously robbery wasn’t the motive and there was nothing to suggest a rendezvous, if that’s what you mean.’
‘There is another possibility. He could have been killed elsewhere and dumped at the cricket ground.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that. I’d better check with the pathologist. You’ve certainly given me plenty to think about. Thanks for taking the trouble to listen. I’ll try not to disturb you again.’
‘One more question before you go. Was Bennett’s house locked when you went to search it?’
Holmes nodded. ‘Yes it was. Why do you ask?’
‘Where were Bennett’s house keys? You listed the contents of his pockets, and there were no keys among them.’
‘Oh, I hadn’t spotted that. Do you think ...?’
‘That whoever killed Bennett took his keys? Yes I do, and I also believe that if you could discover what they wanted the keys for, you’d have the motive for the murder.’
‘That’s yet another unanswered question. I’m glad I came here, I really am.’ Holmes sounded despondent.
As soon as Holmes had left I suggested that we make a bolt for it while we had the chance. ‘At this rate we’ll not get a walk today unless we set off soon.’
Chapter Five
It is never wise to form pre-conceived notions as to what a person might look like. No sooner had we returned from our walk, than the doorbell chimed again. Eve started to laugh. I couldn’t understand why, for I saw absolutely nothing amusing in it. When she opened the door, Rev. Michael Phillips was standing there. Alongside him was a very pretty girl, but it was only when he introduced her that I realised she was Chloe Kershaw, his fiancée.
The mental image I’d formed of the girl was of an English rose type, pale of complexion and flaxen-haired, willowy, possibly even slightly horsey. I couldn’t have been wider of the mark. In reality, Chloe was dark-haired, with an almost Mediterranean look about her, emphasised by her slightly olive complexion, her dark, heavy eyebrows and eyes so deep a brown they were nearly black. Add to that a voluptuously curvaceous figure and you can understand my surprise. Perhaps she had inherited her looks from her maternal side, for I couldn’t imagine they came from the Kershaw genes. Their Viking ancestry wouldn’t have accounted for Chloe’s appearance.
We invited them in, and in response to the vicar’s cautiously worded enquiry I assured them that we could spare them some time. As I was speaking, I was conscious of the sardonic look Eve was giving me. I tried to ignore it and asked what we could do for them.
‘We wouldn’t have come,’ Michael began, ‘but for my mother. She pretty much bullied us into it.’
I tried to picture Marjorie Phillips in the role of an intimidating harridan. Eve reckons I have a vivid imagination, but somehow I couldn’t envisage that gentle lady we had met in the role her son cast for her.
‘The problem is where to start,’ he continued. ‘We didn’t want to burden anyone with our troubles, but Mother said you had offered to help us.’
That didn’t quite tally with what I remembered of our conversation, but I let that ride, merely commenting, ‘She actually mentioned three things. There’s the murder, of course, and the haunting, and also this difficulty with Chloe’s passport.’ I thought I’d phrased that quite tactfully until I saw Eve wince.
‘Tell us what you can and we’ll see if there is anything we can do,’ she urged them.
I was surprised, because Eve hadn’t seemed at all keen to become involved – but then, the longer I live with her, the more I become accustomed to surprises.
‘It isn’t to do with that horrid murder,’ Chloe took over the conversational reins from Michael, ‘nor is it about the strange things that have been happening at the church.’ She glanced at her fiancé and smiled. ‘I leave everything to do with St Mary’s to Michael.’ She had a pleasantly low, musical voice that was barely more than a whisper at times. ‘We wondered, that is, we were hoping ...’ There was a long sigh. ‘It seemed to us that if you could guide us it might help because we don’t know where to start. Obviously it’s terrible what happened to that poor man,’ – she lifted her chin defiantly – but it doesn’t involve us, any more than it involves my aunt and uncle, despite what you might have been told by the po
lice. They’re not the sort of people to go in for casual affairs and certainly not for such violence. You would understand that if you knew them, and knew how kind they have been to me, bringing me up since my ... since Mother and Father died.’
‘From what we were led to believe, your father was older than your uncle. If that was the case, why didn’t he leave the estate to your mother?’ I asked.
There was no sinister motive behind this, as Chloe’s answer proved. ‘Because my mother died when I was still very young and later when my father died the estate wasn’t his to leave. My grandfather was still alive. He only outlived my father by a matter of months, so the estate passed to Uncle David, as the senior surviving relative. It was a bad time for them, because they were hit by two sets of death duties within the same year, but, of course, I didn’t know anything about it at the time.’
Chloe paused, before moving on to the worst part of her tale. ‘In truth, I’m no longer sure whether I would have been entitled to inherit anyway.’ I noticed that she was holding Michael’s hand as she spoke, and her grip was so tight that the knuckles showed white. ‘If, as the passport office said, my birth certificate is a forgery then there is no evidence to prove that I am Chloe Kershaw – nothing that proves who I really am. I wouldn’t care so much, but it means we can’t get married. There is no way we can stand up in church before a minister and exchange vows that would be based on a lie.’
As a newlywed myself, their dilemma seemed appalling and I could tell at a glance that Eve shared my viewpoint. I had this swift mental image of the officiating priest asking, ‘Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, Miss Whoever-you-are?’
Possibly some less scrupulous people might have ignored that stumbling block and proceeded regardless, but that would have hardly been fitting for a parish priest and his wife-to-be. In addition, it would only be a postponement of the inevitable. All sorts of official documents required accuracy such as Chloe could not provide. ‘How did you get a driving licence?’ I asked.