Beast of Robbers Wood

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  Ravyn turned on the recorder, stated the interview’s date and time, then his name. The others also gave their names, Stark adding the name of the WPC observer.

  “Mrs Treadwell, you have been cautioned,” Ravyn said.

  “Yes.” Her voice was faint, like paper being crumpled.

  “You understand why you are here?”

  “Where is Jimmy, Mr Ravyn?” Gail asked. “He’s a good man, a good husband and father. I know he can seem harsh to people who don’t know him, but…”

  “Mrs Treadwell.” Ravyn’s tone was a sword sheathed in velvet. “This is not about your son. This is about you Do you know why you are here?”

  Gail shook her head.

  “A verbal answer, please,” Stark requested.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Chief Inspector, my client is suffering from extreme mental stress and exhaustion,” the solicitor said. “I insist we postpone this interview until such time as…”

  “What?” Stark cut in. “So you can have time to shop around for a psychiatrist who will certify her as unfit to plead, Mr Brooks?”

  “I resent your…”

  “Please!” Ravyn said, cutting off the solicitor. “Your client has been examined by a doctor, at my request, and has been deemed fit for questioning.” He turned to the older woman. “Do you feel ill, Mrs Treadwell? Do you require medical attention?”

  After a moment she shook her head.

  “Mrs Treadwell,” Stark reminded. “A verbal answer.”

  “No,” she said. “I do not need to see a doctor again.”

  “Your son has been arrested for the murder of Annie Treadwell, his daughter,” Ravyn said. “Your granddaughter.”

  “That is impossible, Chief Inspector.” She shook her head. “The Beast. It was the Beast that got Annie.”

  “Jimmy tried to make it look that way, just the way the victims always looked in the stories you told him as a boy,” Ravyn said. “In those fireside tales, the victims of the Beast were always slashed.”

  “I saw…” Her breath caught in her throat. “I saw Annie’s body was…” She sighed, then looked down. “You say what you want, but I know it was the Beast. The claw marks. I saw them.”

  Stark reached into a box by his side and withdrew an evidence bag. When he set it on the table between them, the contents clanked. The noise was not loud but it made Gail jump. She stared at the thing in the bag, unable to turn from it.

  “This made the claw marks,” Ravyn said. “A garden fork. It was found in one of the outbuildings, hidden under several empty burlap fertilizer bags. The flesh and blood adhering to the tines have been analyzed by our forensics laboratory. They are Annie’s.”

  Gail shook her head, all the while staring at the garden tool.

  “The tines exactly match the wounds on the body,” Stark said.

  “The fingerprints are your son’s,” Ravyn added.

  “Jimmy didn’t kill her!” Gail swept the bag off the table. It flew across the room. “Jimmy wouldn’t do that! He’s not like that! He’s no murderer!”

  Stark started to rise, but Ravyn motioned him back. The WPC grabbed the bag, placed on the table, then returned to her post.

  “You’re liars, all of you!” Gail cried. “I’m his mother. I know my own son. Jimmy did not kill her!”

  “Not with this, he didn’t.” Ravyn slid it to Stark. “Mutilating her body with the garden fork came later. First, he strangled her. Your son wrapped his hands around your granddaughter’s throat, squeezing, cutting off her air. She probably tried to scream…”

  “Stop it!”

  “My Ravyn, I must protest…”

  “While you slept,” Ravyn said. “He murdered Annie—your granddaughter—while you slept, oblivious to it all.”

  Gail sobbed while the solicitor protested.

  “Do you know what Annie’s murder was for her?” The dead evenness of Ravyn’s tone cut through both sobs and protestations. In the ensuing silence, he said: “It was a release from a life of pain and misery, from a life of living with a monster.”

  “We loved Annie.” Gail’s voice was a thin whisper. “Annie was happy. She had everything she needed.”

  “Your granddaughter was abused regularly,” Ravyn said. “She was beaten, grabbed and punched. She wore long sleeves to conceal the bruises on her arms. Her back was covered with bruises.”

  “Other children,” Gail said. “The other girls must have done it. You know how cruel children can be.”

  “Annie was sexually abused.”

  Gail stared at Ravyn, eyes glassy, jaw slack. “No.”

  “According to our pathologist, she was sexually assaulted just prior to death,” Ravyn said. “Of that there is no doubt.”

  “The evidence collected match samples taken from your son,” Stark said. “Match exactly.”

  Gail opened her mouth, but no words emerged. She started to rise from her chair. The WPC started forward, but the solicitor put his hand on Gail’s arm and urged her back into the chair.

  “This has gone far enough, Chief Inspector,” Brooks said. He fixed both men with a steel-eyed glare. “Granted, there is evidence of crimes by Mrs Treadwell’s son, but that has nothing to do with her. She had no knowledge of her son’s activities.” He glanced at his client, then back to the detectives. “From what I know of the family, it’s likely James not only took extraordinary steps to hide his activities, but controlled and intimidated his mother to such an extent that she was afraid to pry into his doings.”

  Gail stared at the solicitor, but said nothing.

  “I agree with you, Mr Brooks,” Ravyn said.

  “I don’t quite…”

  “James Treadwell was as much a terror to his mother as to his wife, controlling what they knew,” Ravyn continued. “With your client, we must also add a certain ‘blindness’ all mothers extend to their children. She did not want to know what he did.”

  “Then I don’t understand why we are here,” the solicitor said. “It seems you have more than enough evidence against James for Annie’s murder without any input from my client. Besides, as you said, it all happened while she was sleeping.”

  “Yes, but she was not sleeping when PC Vainglory returned to the house,” Ravyn said.

  Brooks frowned. “The resident constable in Midriven? I fear I do not understand.”

  “The constable brought Ella Treadwell to me on the morning of her daughter’s disappearance,” Ravyn said. “He has not been seen since. There is only one place he could have gone, back to the house on Water Street.”

  “You’ve no proof though,” Brooks said.

  “We have one drop of blood from the kitchen,” Ravyn said.

  Gail looked up sharply.

  “Even when you wipe down with bleach, you have to be careful to get every precious drop,” Stark said. “All we need is for you to overlook one drop and…well, we got that drop, don’t we?”

  “The blood has been typed to PC Vainglory,” Ravyn said.

  “That does not prove anything,” Brooks said. “It could have got there at any time. He could have accidentally cut himself on a visit to the house. He was a frequent visitor. I understand he and James were friends, of a sort.”

  “The drop was fresh, not fully coagulated,” Stark said.

  “You can’t prove anything without a body,” Brooks asserted. “A drop of blood is not evidence of murder.”

  Ravyn nodded. “It would be easier with a body, but we can prove PC Vainglory did not have any visible wounds when he left the Ned Bly, that the drop of blood was shed that morning, and that he has not been seen since. There are signs of an extensive clean-up in the kitchen with bleach. A lone knife was in the dish washer.”

  “You wouldn’t run a dishwasher for just one knife,” Stark said.

  “Cases have been proved with much less,” Ravyn added.

  Brooks licked his thin lips. “What does any of this mean to my client, Chief Inspector?”

  “We alread
y have James Treadwell dead to rights for Annie’s murder,” Ravyn said. “We would like to know the location of the constable’s body. We suspect it is still somewhere in the house or on the grounds, given the probable time of the murder, but were not able to find it during our search.”

  “It may not be there,” Brooks said. “With one drop of blood, you may not even be able to prove a murder.”

  “With a drop of water, I can demonstrate the existence of an ocean, or the Sahara with a grain of sand,” Ravyn said. “A murder would be so much easier.”

  “So you want Mrs Treadwell to tell you where it is?”

  “That’s it,” Stark said.

  “And to make a statement that her son killed the constable,” Ravyn added.

  Gail gripped the edge of the table. “No!”

  “Please, Mrs Treadwell,” the solicitor said. “Do not let them provoke you into saying anything rash.” He looked back to the two detectives. “Why would James kill PC Vainglory?”

  “Delbert Vainglory was a friend of James, of a sort, as noted, but a more accurate term would be a tool,” Ravyn said. “In fact, the constable was one of several informants in the village he used to keep an eye on his daughter. In a normal relationship, this might be an overexertion of his parental responsibilities, but the evidence of physical and sexual abuse casts it in a different light.”

  “He could not control Annie when she was away from home, so he had a bunch of his cronies watch her for beer and bob,” Stark said. “He was afraid Annie would say or do something that would reveal his dirty little secret.”

  “When Vainglory spirited Ella Treadwell out of the house that morning, he took a terrible chance, incurring James’ wrath,” Ravyn said. “James Treadwell was a man who spoke his mind with his fists, a trait that got him barred from the Ned Bly.”

  “That is no secret,” Brook said. “Everyone knows his temper.”

  “Why run the risk of a beating?” Stark asked.

  The solicitor shrugged and shook his head.

  “He helped Ella escape because he feared for her life,” Ravyn said. “He may not have known Annie was dead, but considering his intimate knowledge of James he must have suspected.”

  “Yet he did not tell you,” Brooks said. “Surely he would have done so even if he had only a vague notion of Annie’s fate.”

  “His ties to James were stronger than his devotion to his job, and certainly stronger than any obligation to me, a stranger,” Ravyn said. “He could not accuse his friend without proof. I termed him a tool, but Vainglory’s view of James was as a friend, not uncommon among men with local power. He no doubt wanted to give James a chance to dispel his suspicions. Obviously, that did not happen. As to what happened, precisely, we may never know.”

  “Unless there was a witness,” Stark said. “What happened, Mrs Treadwell? Did you see the murder? Or just clean up afterwards?”

  “My client has absolutely no knowledge of anything her son…”

  “In the case of PC Delbert Vainglory we have evidence of his murder, but no obvious suspect,” Ravyn said. “There were two people at home when Vainglory returned to Water Street after leaving me at the Ned Bly.”

  “What are you saying, Chief Inspector?”

  “We have as much circumstantial evidence against your client as we do against her son.” Ravyn paused, giving the solicitor time to consider possibilities. “What would make a difference would be a statement and the body. We want to know where it is.”

  “Why would Mrs Treadwell have killed the constable?” Brooks asked. “What possible motive.”

  “Love,” Ravyn said. “To protect James. The constable posed a threat to her son. An accusation from Vainglory could send James to prison, but, more importantly, he was a threat to James’ standing in the village. She would do anything to protect that.”

  Brooks looked at Gail, saw the tensed jaw, the brimming eyes.

  “Mr Ravyn, would it be possible for me to have a few minutes alone with Mrs Treadwell?” Brooks asked.

  Ravyn nodded. He stated the time and switched off the recorder. He stood, Stark following suit. “We will return in five minutes. The WPC will stay in the room, but by the door where she will not be able to hear anything said.”

  “Thank you, Chief Inspector.”

  Ravyn and Stark stepped into the corridor. A constable came up and handed Stark a slip of paper. Stark read it, screwed it into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Sir, I need a moment,” Stark said.

  Ravyn frowned. “What? Now? This very minute?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s urgent,” Stark said. “It shouldn’t take me much more than five minutes. The brief will be at least that long talking to the old bird.”

  Ravyn sighed. “Very well, but…”

  “Quick as I can, sir.” Stark jogged down the corridor.

  Ravyn wondered where Stark was bound. He leaned against the wall, let his eyes half close and remembered. The constable again ran to Stark and handed him a note. What was that expression on the constable’s face? Eagerness? Not unusual for a man so new on the force, Ravyn decided, but hardly appropriate for such a menial task. Nervousness? Maybe, but, again, not appropriate.

  Stark took the paper, unfolded it and read the message. Almost immediately, he screwed the paper up and stuffed it into his pocket. Ravyn watched the memory again. Stark unfolded the paper and turned his body as he read. Not something Stark wanted anyone else to see, he thought. Ravyn played the memory like a revolving door, concentrating on the message in Stark’s hands, partially opened just before he turned.

  The note was typed. Nothing distinctive about the typeface. It could have been typed on any of the machines still in service for filling out reports and other paper documents. It was a single line of type. The fold of the paper hid the first few words.

  Caught in the web of memory, Ravyn frowned with dismay.

  …closing the window now.

  “Sir?”

  Ravyn started. The WPC had opened the door and now stood facing him. The memory of a latch clicking caught up with Ravyn.

  “Mr Brooks says they are ready, sir.”

  “Thank you, Constable.”

  She glanced down the corridor.

  “DS Stark was called away.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ravyn and the WPC entered the room. Gail Treadwell sat still, hands in her lap, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. Brooks’ shoulders were slumped, head slightly bowed, but he straightened up when Ravyn returned.

  Ravyn sat down, activated the recorder, stating the resumption time of the interview and the names of those present.

  “Mr Brooks, will your client assist us in the investigation of PC Delbert Vainglory’s murder?” Ravyn asked.

  “Yes,” the solicitor said. “In the cellar of the Treadwell home is a hidden room. Originally an area for storing roots, it was covered over during changes made to the house, first in the 1840s for gas installation, then again in the Edwardian Era for modern plumbing and the electric. The wall behind the furnace is only a façade. If you push a certain brick, the wall swings open. The body is hidden in that room.”

  “James Treadwell put it in there?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Mrs Treadwell will show us how to open the room?”

  “She has instructed me to show you the proper brick or tell you how to know it,” Brooks said. “Whichever you prefer.”

  Ravyn nodded. “Is she also prepared to make a statement about the events leading to PC Vainglory’s death?”

  “Yes, she is fully…” He glanced at his client. “She is prepared to make a full confession to the murder of PC Vainglory.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mrs Treadwell admits to killing the constable with a knife in the kitchen,” the solicitor said. “Afterwards, she placed the knife in the dishwasher and proceeded to wipe the kitchen thoroughly with bleach. She thought she cleaned up all the blood but…”

>   “Stop,” Ravyn said.

  “Yes, Chief Inspector?”

  Ravyn looked at the silent woman and leaned forward slightly. “Gail, you no more killed Vainglory than did I.”

  “Chief Inspector Ravyn!” the solicitor said, his tone crackling like lightning. “My client no longer wishes to answer your questions. She has instructed me supply you with details and to oversee the drafting of her confession, which she will then sign.”

  “But James Treadwell is the one who…”

  “Her son placed the body in the hidden room,” Brooks said. “He did so because she was unable to move it herself. He knew it was wrong to do, but he wanted to protect his mother. Moving the body was his only involvement with the murder.”

  “Gail, look at me.”

  She remained motionless.

  “Gail!”

  “Chief Inspector, my client will answer no more questions and wishes to return to her cell,” Brooks said. “Please end the interview and I will attend to the drafting of the confession.”

  “Mr Brooks, you cannot allow her to do this.”

  The solicitor stared at Ravyn, then looked away. “I must abide by my instructions, Mr Ravyn. I must do my job, just as you must do yours.” He paused. “No matter our own feelings.”

  After a moment, Ravyn said: “Interview terminated.”

  He switched off the recorder, reluctantly.

  “Constable, please escort the prisoner back to her cell.”

  * * *

  Stark slowed when he entered the corridor and saw the door to the interview room hanging open. He was away longer than anticipated, but certainly not any longer that it should have taken for that brief to talk some sense into the old bird. He looked around the edge of the door, saw Ravyn sitting alone, arms crossed, legs extended, chin resting on his chest.

  “Come in, Stark.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I did not expect…” When Ravyn did not move, he paused. “Are you all right, sir? Couldn’t you get her to grass on her son?”