by Bill Kitson
‘Was that why he drank so much?’ Eve asked.
David smiled rather sadly. ‘Did anyone tell you what he drank?’
The question was odd enough to make us stare at him. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Eve managed after a while.
‘If you asked anyone who remembered Andrew they’d all tell you the same thing, that his only tipple was gin and tonic. Except that more often than not there was only tonic water in the glass.’
‘The drunkenness was an act?’
‘Pretty much, although he did drink a bit. His argument was that if someone thought they were dealing with a man who was virtually legless they would be off guard. In the end it didn’t help, though. The heart attack would have happened whether he’d been drinking or not.
‘Debbie’s condition deteriorated far faster than anyone anticipated. We’d only been here a matter of weeks when she died. After that, Andrew was a broken man. He had lost the one thing he loved in life. Despite having you, Chloe, things were never the same.’
‘Did he tell you what he suspected was the cause of Debbie’s death?’
Kershaw looked for a moment as if he was going to refuse to answer that, so I gave him a prompt. ‘Did he tell you he knew she had been poisoned and was suffering from radiation sickness?’
‘Yes, he soon spotted the cause from her symptoms. That was due to his work. He told me there had been other cases of radioactive material being leaked that had led to several deaths and that agents were warned how to spot the signs.’
‘I’m surprised those cases didn’t get reported.’
Michael’s comment caused David to smile rather sadly. ‘They might have done if the authorities hadn’t covered them up by ascribing the causes to various infectious diseases.’
‘Did Andrew guess how Debbie contracted the poison?’
‘Yes – at least, he thought it was the letters smuggled out of East Germany that were the source. I found him burning them in the grate,’ David gestured to the end of the room, ‘and I was curious as to what he was doing because he was wearing gloves even thought it was a warm autumn day.’
‘He surely can’t have believed that her mother was involved?’ The horror in Eve’s voice was obvious enough to cause Kershaw to smile slightly.
‘No, he thought that it was either the East German secret police, or possibly the Russians, who had tampered with the letters. He guessed it must have been the notepaper, because there would have been collateral damage if the envelopes were radioactive.’
‘We came to a similar conclusion,’ I told him, ‘but we still don’t know why they believed it necessary to go to such extreme lengths.’
‘Andrew told us he believed that he was the real target, not Debbie. To them, he said, she was expendable as long as they could get to him.’
‘His tale must have been difficult to swallow,’ I suggested.
‘You would think so, wouldn’t you, but we had the evidence in front of us, in the shape of poor Debbie’s condition. Andrew also told us that the information he’d found wasn’t intended to be seen by anyone, let alone an agent of a foreign power such as Great Britain. He told me, “If the facts I learned in that file were to be made public they would cause a shock wave equivalent to a nuclear explosion. They might even precipitate another World War. Apart from the immediate damage, as with a nuclear blast, the contamination would last a lifetime”. Naturally I pressed him for more details, who wouldn’t have? But he refused to tell me. He said, “Dave, I love you too much to expose you to the danger this knowledge brings with it. Luckily the Communists don’t know my true identity. If they did, everyone connected with me would perish. Be aware at all times that the danger is ever-present. Even years from now, when you believe the threat must have passed, unless that information has been made public, the peril remains as potent as the day I found that file. Apart from all that, if you knew the truth you would never get another good night’s sleep”. That was the last meaningful conversation I had with Andrew.’
When I asked David about the artwork, he confirmed he knew about the two Bellini miniatures, and that the reason for their sale was to pay the ransom for Debbie’s family to be allowed to “escape” to the West. ‘When the payment had been made and nothing happened, Andrew realised he’d been double-crossed. He couldn’t do anything about it without exposing his identity and that would bring danger to all of us.’
‘Did he say anything about any other works of art?’ Eve asked.
‘Not to me he didn’t, although he spent a fair amount of time talking to Mark Bennett and Casper Harfleur, so I guess there might have been other pieces.’
David later invited Jäger to stay at the Grange. I could tell the invitation pleased him, but he refused. Through Eve, he explained the reason for declining the offer. ‘My presence could invite the very danger your brother feared.’
Eve’s translation satisfied both parties, but having seen Jäger’s expression when the invitation was extended I remembered something that had happened the previous day. It perturbed me, and I knew we were still a long way from discovering the whole truth, not only about Andrew Kershaw and the extent of his secret knowledge, but also about Herr Jäger.
Before we left, I took David to one side. ‘I hope you enjoyed your London trip?’ I asked.
His expression was guarded as he replied, ‘Er, yes, quite satisfactory.’
I smiled as I extended my hand. ‘I’m glad about that. Oh, and by the way, you might be pleased to know, I am reliably informed that Tom Fox is expected to make a full recovery.’
I noticed his lips twitched with a slight smile as he shook my hand, firmly and replied, ‘That’s good to hear.’
Chapter Twenty-three
Our visit to the Grange was curtailed dramatically following a panicky phone call from Marjorie Phillips. Having spoken to his mother, Michael turned to us. Even before he spoke, we could tell something was dreadfully amiss. ‘There’s been another murder,’ he blurted out. ‘The flower arranging class went to St Mary’s and one of the ladies discovered a body in the Lady chapel. It was a man and he’d been stabbed like all the others by the sound of it.’
The terrible news posed an immediate problem. If Eve and I took Michael to the church, we would have to leave Jäger without anyone to translate for him. He waived that need when Eve explained the gravity of the problem and assured her that he would be fine staying with Chloe and her family until our return.
As we arrived at St Mary’s, a police car pulled into the lane before we reached the church door. Seeing the occupants, I signalled to Eve and the vicar to wait. We watched the trio approach us. Hardy, I noticed, still walked with a limp. It was Johnny Pickersgill who spoke first, cutting short my greeting to DS Holmes.
‘I might have known you two would be here.’ Johnny’s tone was sour enough to provoke Eve to respond in kind. Johnny obviously hasn’t learned that it’s unwise to provoke a redhead with a fiery reputation.
‘Don’t blame us because you haven’t drunk your morning ration of tea. Is that what’s causing you to bellyache or did Mrs P send you out of the door with a flea in your ear?’
I had developed a sudden interest in the church architecture, a hobby I noticed Michael had also acquired. Hardy was brave enough to intervene. ‘What’s the situation inside?’ It was a courageous attempt to sidetrack Eve, but it failed.
‘We don’t know because we only arrived seconds before you. I thought three detectives would have noticed that between them.’
‘Hang on, Eve, that’s not fair,’ I told her. ‘It’s only two detectives and an imitation one. You can’t class Johnny as a real detective.’
‘That’s a good point, Adam. I forgot Johnny’s usual job is supervising the school crossing patrol.’
‘OK, OK, I’m sorry.’ Johnny’s apology appeased Eve slightly.
‘Shall we go inside?’ We accepted Hardy’s question as an invitation. The sole occupants of the church were two middle-aged ladies, one of whom was attemp
ting to console the other, without noticeable success.
In answer to Michael’s gently posed query, the less distressed of the ladies pointed towards the Lady chapel. ‘Joyce went in to collect the vase from the altar so we could remove the dead flowers and replace them. That was when she found ... it.’
‘We’re going to need statements from both of you, but it will purely be a formality. For now, if you would care to go with PC Pickersgill and give him your contact details, you can leave. I’m sure you’d rather be at home than in here.’
Slightly comforted by Hardy’s tone as much as by his words, the women followed Johnny towards the entrance, where he noted their details before ushering them from the building.
‘Right, let’s have a look in the ... oh, dear God!’ Hardy stopped dead, both movement and speech interrupted by the bloodbath in the Lady chapel.
‘The first thing we need to know is the identity of the poor guy,’ Hardy stated.
‘I believe his name is Lumsden. Both Susan Bennett and Chloe Kershaw were interviewed by him. He’s supposed to be a private detective from London, or at least that’s what he purported to be.’
‘What’s a private detective from London doing here?’
‘I don’t know.’
Neither Hardy nor Holmes thought to enquire as to how I recognised Lumsden, which came as a relief. Eve and I made our excuses and left once the forensic people and pathologist arrived. Michael walked to the door and asked us to tell Chloe that he would be staying at St Mary’s until the police had completed their work.
‘It’s going to take a lot of hard work and a few buckets of bleach to clean that mess up,’ Eve commented.
Michael grimaced. ‘That’s only the half of it. I’m going to have to ring the bishop. Not only must I report this ghastly crime but I believe the building might have to be re-consecrated before I can consider holding services inside it again, or the lady chapel at the very least.’
We left Michael pondering sadly on the violation of sacred ground and returned to Elmfield Grange to collect Jäger. Having given Chloe Michael’s message we revealed the identity of the victim. Although they were all greatly shocked by our graphic description of the crime scene, only Jäger was surprised to learn that it was Lumsden. ‘Whoever did this must be a professional,’ he asserted after Eve explained. ‘To overpower someone with his training would be far from easy. Not only had he a high-level of training, but he had a well-earned reputation for his skill in close combat.’
‘If Lumsden was taken by surprise and thought there was no danger from the person confronting him he would be off guard and easy to overpower.’
We had only been back at Eden House for a few minutes when Hardy phoned. ‘We’ve finished at the church. Although it was messy, the pathologist thought the murderer knew what he was doing. What that implies, I’ve no idea.’
‘I’m glad you’ve phoned. I meant to ask if there’s any news of Tom Fox.’
‘The latest bulletin is that he should pull through.’
‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for some time.’ I paused before correcting myself, ‘In fact, it’s the only good news I’ve heard in a while.’
After relaying Hardy’s update, I searched desperately for a topic of conversation that would take our minds off the dreadful sight we had witnessed. The memory was too strongly implanted but Eve solved the problem for me.
She had been staring into space, obviously deep in thought. ‘The diptych,’ she exclaimed suddenly.
‘What about it?’
‘We know Andrew Kershaw arranged to have the paintings restored but what was the point of having the frames replaced. Although the artwork is vastly improved, they are still the same size paintings.’
I nodded in agreement.
‘Then surely they would have been more authentic if left in the original frames. So why do it?’
‘I presumed it was because he wanted the church to have the benefit. The ones in those photos didn’t look particularly good.’
Eve explained our conversation to Jäger who was already leaning forward, keen to hear what was going on. His movement, which anticipated Eve’s translation convinced me that there was more to Chloe’s uncle than we suspected.
‘Eve, do you think there is something else inside those frames?’
‘I don’t know, but I think it would be foolish not to find out.’
We headed for the garage. Checking the frames themselves revealed nothing of significance. ‘Perhaps if we separate the frames we might have more success.’ I suggested. Very carefully I unfastened the screws holding them together. We now had two pictures inset in deep frames. I turned one over and inspected the back and pointed to the sheet of hardboard that held the pictures in place. ‘If we remove that we should be able to see if there is anything concealed behind the original canvas.’
With the aid of a small knife I removed the tape that held the backing plate in position Once it was free I lifted the piece of hardboard clear. Sure enough there were two smaller framed canvases beneath it. ‘I bet those are the other Bellini miniatures,’ Eve exclaimed.
Not surprisingly there were no takers for her bet. I removed them from their place of concealment and we stared at them in amazement.
‘They’re beautiful,’ Eve whispered.
I turned one of them over and noticed writing on its back plate. The scrawl covered the securing tape. ‘Look at that.’ I pointed to the tiny scribble.
‘It was probably done when it was framed,’ Eve said.
‘I don’t think so. If these are the original frames they were mounted long before Laszlo Biro invented the ballpoint pen, and this is written with one.’
With the aid of a magnifying glass from my office, I examined the script. ‘I think Chloe’s father should have been a doctor because his handwriting is almost illegible.’
‘How do you know he wrote it?’
‘It’s taken a while but I’ve managed to decipher it. The message reads, “These miniatures were reframed on my instructions by Casper Harfleur. The contents of the frames are both priceless and worthless”. It’s signed by Andrew Kershaw.’
‘Adam, that doesn’t make sense. Of course the Bellinis are worth something.’
I was puzzled as to why Kershaw had written that message.
The question was obviously exercising Eve’s mind too. She posed it and I was about to reply by admitting that I had no idea when the odd positioning of the writing gave me a clue. ‘It’s a seal,’ I told her.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think Kershaw wrote that message as a precaution. If someone were to tamper with the frames he would know about it because once the tape was broken or removed, it would be impossible to replace it without the break being obvious.’
Once more I set to work, but this time I took even greater care to avoid damaging the contents of the frame. I knew the Bellini miniatures could be worth a small fortune but dared not speculate about other possible treasures within.
After what must have seemed like an age to my audience I managed to free the tape and lifted the back plate clear. ‘Bingo,’ I breathed.
Inside, between the back plate and the canvas were three old exercise books of the type much in demand by schoolboys everywhere. As I lifted them clear I heard an exclamation from Jäger that almost caused me to drop them.
‘Das ist mein!’ he said.
Eve and I stared at our guest in total astonishment. ‘How do you mean, “That’s yours”, how can it be yours?’
‘That book is one that I used in school.’ Jäger pointed to the top right-hand corner of the book. There, written very faintly in pencil were the initials IJ.
Sure enough, when we opened the first of the slim volumes the opening pages were filled with Jäger’s schoolwork. I looked at him and shook my head with mock sadness as I pointed to the bottom of one of the pages. ‘Only six marks out of ten for arithmetic. That isn’t very good.’
When Eve translated, Jäger l
aughed and shrugged the criticism off, replying that his arithmetic had improved greatly since then. However, the laughter stopped once we got past the first few pages, the handwriting changed and so did the subject matter.
‘I’m beginning to think we’ve seriously underestimated Andrew Kershaw. To hide his reports inside a schoolboy’s exercise book is extremely clever. Nobody opening this and checking the first few pages would give it a second thought.’
‘What’s he writing about?’ Eve asked.
‘That’s the next problem. Not only is Kershaw’s handwriting appalling but he seems to have compiled some form of code to disguise the subject matter. Without a key it could be impossible to decipher. One thing is clear though, Kershaw didn’t intend these reports to be read easily even if they fell into the wrong hands.’
We set the books aside and repeated the operation on the second miniature which yielded three more books. ‘I have to say that if these all contain the results of Kershaw’s espionage work he seems to have been remarkably successful,’ Eve commented.
She repeated this remark to Jäger, who nodded agreement. ‘I believe he was, although of course I didn’t know that at the time. It was later, when I joined the Stasi, that I first heard rumours about a British spy who had gained many secrets. Stasi officers would talk about a super-agent. Although senior officers used to scoff at this and claimed the British agent had been captured and tortured until he talked and was then shot by firing squad, nevertheless the rumours persisted.’
‘That sounds to me like a scare story. Regimes such as the Russians or East Germans would never admit to being outmanoeuvred. It would damage their image of infallibility. Obviously if Kershaw was a highly successful agent, the authorities wouldn’t dare acknowledge the fact.’
Jäger spoke again and Eve looked concerned to begin with, but then relaxed and by the end of his speech both of he and Eve were smiling. ‘He says it is his duty as a loyal citizen of East Germany to kill us both and retrieve those documents for the greater good of the communist cause. Or at least it would be, he says, if he were a loyal East German citizen. However, as he has never been loyal to the communist cause and is no longer an East German citizen, he wants us to take charge of those books and deliver them to British Intelligence. He is quite keen to know what they contain, though. He has one reservation. If they contain nothing more than love poems from Andrew to Devorah he thinks they should go to Chloe.’