The Haunted Lady

by Bill Kitson

  ‘How did I do?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Not bad. But looking at this lot’ – I gestured round the room – ‘I imagine Susan Bennett will soon become a very merry widow.’

  Eve shook her head in dismay and selected a slice of quiche from the table.

  Also among the mourners was Tom Fox and, as things transpired we found ourselves close to him. He recognised me, and I introduced Eve. ‘I understand you’re writing about crime as well as solving it,’ the councillor said lightly. ‘That must be fun. Did you know Bennett well?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I replied, ‘it was one of your former colleagues who suggested we should come here, acting as police spies.’

  The word ‘spies’ seemed to upset Fox, but after a moment he said, ‘Would that be Johnny Pickersgill by any chance? I saw you talking to him at the museum just before Casper’s body was discovered.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ I agreed. ‘He’s our village bobby, when he’s not playing at detectives with DS Holmes,’ I added by way of explanation. ‘Did you know Bennett well?’

  ‘Not really, and certainly not professionally. Bennett was more of a friend of a friend.’

  I looked at his enquiringly, but Fox seemed unwilling to elaborate.

  Later, as we returned to Eden House, I voiced an opinion that I thought would be difficult to answer. ‘I’ve not heard anyone mention that Andrew Kershaw had the slightest interest in art, have you? Not only that, but going on from what we heard about Valerie Kershaw’s interest, can you explain why there are no paintings on display at Elmfield Grange? You’d think there would be something to show for such professed passion for art.’

  Eve gasped. ‘You’re right, Adam, and I’ve just realised what’s been troubling me ever since we visited Elmfield Grange. I knew there was something wrong with that drawing room. All the time we were talking to Chloe’s aunt and uncle, I had the feeling there was something amiss, but I couldn’t place it. Not only were there no paintings on the wall, but the ones that had hung there had been taken down. Why, I’ve no idea, unless the family is harder up than they will admit and have had to sell them.’

  ‘That would tie in with their possible dealings with Bennett,’ I agreed, ‘but what makes you sure the paintings have been removed?’

  Eve gave me a pitying glance. ‘It’s easy to tell you don’t do the cleaning around here. The wallpaper surrounding where the paintings hung has faded over the years with the light, but in the places where it was protected by the pictures the pattern and colours were stronger. I could understand if they were planning to redecorate, but there was no sign of that happening.’

  Despite talking about it for some time, when we retired to bed, the missing paintings were yet another unsolved mystery.

  The following morning, we had just finished breakfast when the phone rang. Eve answered it, before passing me the receiver. ‘It’s your friend from the newspaper, Simon Baines.’

  I was puzzled as to the reason for his call, but his opening sentence cleared up the mystery. ‘I had a visitor yesterday,’ Baines told me. ‘He said he was from the Foreign Office, and wanted to know more about why I’d been asking about Andrew Kershaw. He was extremely insistent, and I’m afraid I had to give him your name.’

  ‘You don’t think he was from the Foreign Office?’

  ‘No chance, I reckon he’s more likely to be from one of the MI numbers. What have you got yourself into, Adam?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea, Simon. All I’m trying to do is establish a young girl’s identity so she can obtain a birth certificate and get married. I hardly think that counts as infringing the Official Secrets Act.’

  ‘Obviously somebody doesn’t view it in that light. Unless, of course, it’s another case of state-sponsored paranoia.’

  I told Simon I’d inform him if I turned up anything of interest, but as I was no wiser than before, I doubted whether this was more than an empty promise.

  I was determined to get on with writing the plot notes for my next masterpiece. I had only just positioned myself behind my desk when any hopes that I would remain undisturbed were shattered. The doorbell rang. I let Eve answer it and she came into the study with a complete stranger hard on her heels.

  I only had time to notice that the man appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties, and that he was well, but not ostentatiously, dressed before Eve introduced him. ‘This is Mr Cooper – he says he’s from the Foreign Office and wants to speak to you.’ Although Eve’s tone was non-committal, I was struck by her phraseology. It seemed obvious that she didn’t believe Cooper’s claim.

  ‘How can I help you?’ I asked, although I had a shrewd idea what Cooper was going to say.

  ‘You’ve been asking questions about Andrew Kershaw.’ He made it sound like an accusation. ‘I’d like to know why you’re interested in him.’

  ‘Before I answer that, perhaps you would do me the favour of showing me some credentials. We only have your word for it that you’re from the Foreign Office.’

  He looked mildly affronted, but produced a photo identity card. That alone interested me, as I’d never seen a government official carrying anything that sophisticated. Having examined it carefully I handed it back. It certainly looked genuine enough, but then I was no expert. ‘That does appear to be in order on the face of it,’ I remarked. – I can do implicit accusation just as well as Cooper. ‘However, I still can’t answer your question, because as far as I’m aware, anything regarding Andrew Kershaw is no business of yours.’

  His lips tightened with angry frustration. With some effort he restrained himself from a barbed retort, realising that this wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped. ‘Why do you say it’s none of my business?’

  ‘According to what my informant told me, when he asked your colleague,’ I stressed the last two words, ‘he was informed that Kershaw had never worked for the Foreign Office. Therefore, what I wanted to discover about him has nothing to do with your department. Of course, Simon Baines might have been misinformed for all I know. You can’t have it both ways. Either Kershaw did work for the Foreign Office or he didn’t – which is it?’

  It was abundantly clear that I had done nothing to appease his anger, but he managed to keep a tight rein on his emotions. He took a deep breath before replying, which I guessed was mainly to give himself chance to think. Even when he did answer, he spoke slowly, as if examining every word before uttering it.

  ‘Andrew Kershaw was not a diplomat as such, and so was not directly employed by the Foreign Office. He was used as a courier, delivering messages and other documents to and from diplomatic posts abroad. I trust that answers your question. Now, would you mind answering mine, please?’

  I explained about Chloe’s dilemma, and assured him that there was no deeper, more sinister motive behind our inquiries than simply to help the girl obtain details or, better still, documents that would allow the marriage to go ahead. I ended by asking if there was any way he could help in that respect.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Kershaw had left our service by the time returned to England and married Deborah.’

  ‘What I find intriguing is that your department is apparently so interested in Kershaw after such a long time. Why is that, if he was nothing more than a low-level courier?’

  ‘We always follow up when someone expresses interest in our employees, whether current or former,’ he replied. ‘There is nothing you could discover that would warrant involving your friend Baines.’ He smiled and allowed himself a small joke. ‘I thought if I told you that it would save you the trouble and expense of a long-distance phone call.’

  I returned his smile politely. Before leaving, Cooper took a business card from his pocket and passed it to me. ‘In case you have any queries or need more information you can call me on that number There is little more to be revealed, so I would be happy if you can restrain your journalistic instinct and contact me. I can’t promise to answer your questions in full, because there are certain areas of acti
vity that still remain the province of Her Majesty’s Government.’

  After he’d gone, Eve returned to the study to find me opening one of the windows. ‘What did you make of all that?’

  By way of an answer I thrust the window wide. ‘I thought I ought to do this in case the aroma of bullshit lingers,’ I explained.

  Eve gave me a look of mock surprise. ‘You mean you don’t believe what Mr Cooper told us?’

  ‘I’m not even certain his real name is Cooper. If that’s the case, it was the only truthful thing he said.’

  ‘Yes, I didn’t think he was being totally honest. Was there anything in it you found particularly suspicious?’

  ‘All of it, from start to finish, and even the fact that Cooper appeared here, is significant. Why bother to come all the way from London when he could ask the same questions over the phone? Then there was his insistence that Kershaw was nothing more than a courier. That was nonsense. For one thing they have diplomatic bags to put sensitive information inside, so there’s no need for couriers, except to carry the bags. And Cooper more or less contradicted himself by giving me his card and asking me to phone him before running to the press. That almost certainly means he believes there is something to discover.’

  ‘I got that point too; was there anything else?’

  ‘His protestation that he knew nothing of Kershaw’s personal life, and particularly his marriage, was enlightening, although he didn’t intend it to be. In fact, it was what he didn’t say that was the most illuminating.’

  ‘What do you mean about Kershaw’s private life?’

  ‘The fact that Cooper told us that he knew nothing of Kershaw’s marriage, because it happened after he returned to England. That can’t be true, because Chloe and Michael checked with Somerset House. The record of Kershaw’s marriage might not contain the correct details for Chloe’s mother, but the fact that nobody by the name of Andrew Kershaw was registered as having got married suggests that either there was no wedding, which would render Chloe illegitimate, or that the marriage took place abroad.’

  ‘Perhaps Cooper was telling the truth, and he really didn’t know anything about Kershaw’s personal life?’

  I shook my head. ‘If that statement was correct, how come he knew Chloe’s mother’s name was Deborah? We didn’t mention it.’

  ‘Oh, of course. I didn’t twig that.’

  ‘Going back to what was omitted from the conversation leads me to wonder whose phone line has been tapped – Simon’s or ours.’

  Eve stared at me in disbelief. ‘What on earth makes you think our phone might be tapped?’

  ‘Cooper said it wouldn’t be worth me phoning Baines if I found out anything regarding Kershaw’s past.’

  ‘Yes, I remember that, what of it?’

  ‘How did Cooper know that I’d promised Baines I’d let him know if we discovered anything? Cooper couldn’t have known I’d said that, unless ...’

  ‘... someone was listening in on that conversation.’

  ‘Absolutely correct, Eve, and why would anyone go to so much trouble to overhear a conversation about a low-level courier, nothing more than a messenger boy, and moreover one who has been dead for nearly twenty years?’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Not quite, because he left out other salient details, probably deliberately. He didn’t explain why Kershaw was whisked away from his National Service. Possibly he thought we didn’t know that. But because we do know, it highlights another weakness in his tale. A courier wouldn’t be seconded so dramatically. Neither would a courier need Kershaw’s extensive linguistic skills. Someone of his ability would be wasted in such a menial role. And of course Cooper’s protestation of ignorance about Kershaw’s personal life was a lie. He said he knew nothing of what happened after Kershaw returned home, but his eyes told a different story. Cooper’s story was about as full of holes as a Swiss cheese.’

  ‘The way you describe it makes it all sound like something from a James Bond film. All this business about spies, secrets and phone tapping.’

  ‘Speaking of phones, I also found Cooper’s business card interesting.’

  ‘Why, does it show which government department he works for?’

  ‘No, Eve, it doesn’t show anything except the phone number. Not even Cooper’s name.’

  ‘Let’s have a look.’

  I passed her the strip of card. Eve stared at it for a moment and then looked at me. ‘I think this’ – she tapped the card – ‘is the final proof not only that Andrew Kershaw was a spy, but also that our recent visitor is one as well.’

  Eve was right, but it was a long time later before we realised exactly how accurate her summary of the situation was. Once we did, I could even put a title to which of the Bond films it resembled.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Less than half an hour after Cooper had gone, the doorbell rang again. I put my pen down with weary resignation. Any idea I had of trying to work that day was already crumbling. Eve, protective as always, had answered the door and when I emerged from the study I found her in conversation with the caller. To say I was surprised by the identity of the visitor would be a huge understatement. Had I been asked to gamble on who it might be, Susan Bennett would have been a rank outsider.

  She apologised for having disturbed us. I told her she wasn’t interrupting, which earned me a disbelieving stare from Eve as she ushered her into the lounge.

  Susan went on to explain the background for her call, and why she had chosen to come to us. ‘I was talking to Tom Fox after the funeral,’ she began, ‘and he told me you were the best detectives around here. He said he wished he’d had you on his team when he was in the force. Then, when he told me about some of the cases you’d been involved with, I thought that you might be the best ones to consult about a book Mark left with me. I’ve brought it along, but before I show you it, I want you to promise to keep it confidential.’

  ‘We can do that,’ Eve replied.

  ‘As long as it doesn’t contain his confession to a dozen unsolved murders,’ I added.

  Susan smiled politely at my joke. ‘I don’t think there’s anything as bad as that in it.’

  ‘Then you can trust in our discretion. What is it you’ve brought us?’

  ‘I’m not quite certain, because I can’t make head or tail of the entries, but I’m scared to hold on to it any longer.’

  ‘Scared? Why?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Because I had a visit yesterday from someone asking lots of questions about Mark and his business dealings. He was rather threatening, especially when I told him I had no idea what he was talking about. I certainly don’t know anything about how Mark and Casper Harfleur were involved with Andrew Kershaw.’

  ‘Who was this man? Was he someone local?’ I asked.

  Susan shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen him before and he certainly isn’t from around here. He said his name was Lumsden and that he was a private investigator, based in London. He’d been asked to make enquiries on behalf of a client who wanted to check the provenance of an item he’d acquired. I asked who the client was, but he wouldn’t tell me. Nor would he tell me what the item was. I didn’t like to pursue it any further, because to be honest, I found him really scary. That’s why I didn’t want to hold on to this any longer.’ She pointed to a carrier bag she’d deposited on the floor by her feet.

  ‘Did this man Lumsden tell you where to contact him in case you found anything?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Oh yes, I forgot. He gave me a business card with an address and phone number on. It’s inside the book.’ She handed me the bag.

  The book was of the type used by businesses to record their financial transactions. I opened the ledger and removed a small card from inside. One glance at the details rang alarm bells. ‘I don’t know about the phone number, but this address is phony,’ I told Susan.

  ‘Why, Adam?’ Eve asked.

  I stared at the card. ‘I know this place. It’s a rather nice hotel. It’s certainly not a
n office building. I’ve actually stayed there.’

  Susan continued, ‘It was after the man had gone that I remembered Mark giving this book to me, and what he told me at the time. That, along with this Lumsden’s visit, really frightened me, and then I recalled what Tom had said about you and I decided you might be able to help.’

  ‘What did Mark say to you?’ I asked.

  ‘It was several years ago, but I can still recall his exact words. He said, “I want you to take care of this. You mustn’t tell anyone you have it, it could prove very dangerous – for both of us!”. I thought he was being over dramatic, Mark did have a tendency to exaggerate. I never thought his life would be in danger. Do you think he might have been murdered because of something in this book?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  Susan’s distress brimmed over into tears. Eve consoled her, giving me chance to have a quick glance at the ledger. A brief scrutiny of a couple of pages at random told me the book would require careful study, if only to decipher Bennett’s spidery handwriting, let alone the text.

  When Susan had recovered her composure, I promised that we would keep the book secure and would not involve the authorities, whether the contents pointed to illicit activities or not. ‘Furthermore,’ I added, ‘if there is anything in here that shows Mark in a bad light we promise to keep it to ourselves.’

  Susan sighed, a sad expression on her face. ‘I suppose even if it was something criminal, the police couldn’t arrest him now.’

  Quite naturally, once Susan had left, our first task was to examine the book. Whereas we might have expected a diary, or some other form of journal, what we looked at seemed at first sight little more than a jumbled mass of letters and numbers. ‘He’s used some form of code, but at the moment I’ve no clue as to what these characters represent.’