A Stab in the Dark

by Karen Chester

  “Uh-huh.”

  She caught the faint hesitation in his response, the flicker of his gaze. She didn’t know Ollie Saunders, but she sensed he was hiding something.

  “Did you notice something out of the ordinary?” she insisted.

  Again he shook his big, shaggy head like a bear tormented by bees. “Mind your own business!”

  “This is my business.”

  “You’re a nosey old bint.”

  Indignation boiled up in her chest. “And I could call you a rude clodhopper, but I’m far too polite.”

  “Huh A what now?”

  “I could also call you an oaf, a bumpkin, and a lout, but again that would be impolite.” Oh dear. Why was she poking the bear?

  Ollie sucked in a breath. A thick vein pulsed in his forehead. “Well...” He swiped his tongue over his rubbery lips. “Well, you can call me names, but I know who the murderer is.”

  “What?”

  “I saw her.”

  Araminta frowned. “Who?”

  “I saw her in the library, running away, white as a sheet.”

  “You were in the library?”

  “No, course not. I saw her through the window as I was passing by. She didn’t notice me. Too busy running off to cover up the crime, I suppose.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  He rubbed the back of his hand across his jaw. “She done it for me. Never thought she’d have it in her. But you never know what you can do when your back’s up against the wall...”

  Araminta dropped the candlestick. She reached out, grabbed at Ollie’s dirty shirt, and jerked him forward until there was just an inch between their faces.

  “For Pete’s sake, who did you see?”

  He blinked, tried to shrink back, but she held onto him.

  “Your auntie,” he muttered. “I saw your auntie.”

  She gaped at him as her mind went blank. Then she released him so abruptly that he stumbled back.

  “You saw Lady Winthrop in the library, running away from the stairs, looking...agitated?” Her chest was tight, strangling her voice.

  “She looked like she seen a ghost.”

  “You’re lying.” He must be lying. It was one thing for her to suspect her aunt, but to have an actual witness...

  Ollie jutted out his lantern jaw. “No. I seen what I seen.”

  “Then you must be mistaken. You saw someone else.”

  “I know what her ladyship looks like.” He edged away from her, still clutching her cell phone and the silver mug. “I done you Winthrops a favour,” he said, sounding aggrieved. “I coulda gone to the coppers, but I didn’t, did I?”

  “Only because you’re up to your neck in it.”

  “I didn’t do nothing.”

  “You did plenty.”

  He’d been shuffling back, as if to get away from her, but now he paused, and his scowl darkened. “You going to stitch me up, aren’t yer? You going to make up some story about me just to save your precious auntie. Well, I won’t have it, you hear me? I’m sick of it! Sick of people shafting me in the back. Sick of people thinking I’m too dumb to know better. You all think Ollie Saunders is just a pillock. Especially you! Swanning around like you’re Lady Muck, putting on all them airs and graces. You wouldn’t know a proper day’s work if it hit you in the face! You think you can dump me in it because I don’t know any better? Well, it’s not going to happen, Miss Snotty Pants!”

  His hot breath fanned her face as he loomed closer.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Araminta demanded.

  His nostrils flared. “Doing? I told you what I’m doing, and now I’m gonna bloody well do it!” Breathing heavily. he cracked his bony knuckles.

  Oh, no. Was he...was he actually going to attack her?

  Panic flared. Instinct took over. She pressed back against the cabinet, raised her right knee, and kicked him as hard as she could between the legs.

  Ollie froze, and an odd sound gurgled out of him. The blood drained from his face. He crashed to his knees, then keeled over onto his side, both hands clutching at his groin. A whimper escaped his white lips, like a deflating balloon.

  “B-bloody...heck...” he wheezed, his eyes rolling at her.

  His mountainous bulk blocked her way, but in two swift strides she had clambered over him while he was still moaning and shaking. Her phone lay somewhere buried beneath him, but she wasn’t stopping for that. She dashed out of the butler’s pantry and slammed the door shut. It didn’t have a lock. In a few more minutes, Ollie would recover, and he would be crazy with rage.

  She dashed through the servants’ quarters, calling out for Hetty. Hearing no one, she raced up the narrow stairs two at a time and burst through the green baize door at the top.

  By the main staircase she paused for breath, her lungs aching, her skin slick with perspiration. Her legs were trembling, and her right foot was throbbing from the kick. A gust of cold air eddied over her. Only then did she become aware of other sounds in the distance—footsteps and voices, agitated, officious.

  She limped towards the noise. The front door to the Hall was open, allowing the rising wind in. Against the backdrop of the darkening skies stood a knot of people—Lord and Lady Winthrop, DCI Clegg and DS Kumar, with Hetty and Isla in the background.

  DCI Clegg had the strutting, puffed-up stance of a rooster on a dunghill. At the sight of him Araminta found herself in a quandary. Clegg was the long arm of the law and, regardless of the antipathy between them, would deal with Ollie Saunders. But Ollie, once caught, would instantly point the finger of suspicion at Lady Winthrop. Still, he had to be caught.

  Araminta tried to call out but only managed a croak, which sputtered from her parched throat, barely audible above the wind.

  Hetty hurried to shut the door, then scurried back to the group. DCI Clegg rocked back and forth on his heels, too busy smirking at Lord Winthrop to notice anything else.

  “I want a word with you, Mr Winthrop,” the chief inspector said, hardly bothering to disguise his gloating.

  14. Wild Speculations

  WITHOUT A WORD, LORD Winthrop stalked into the nearby drawing room. Lady Winthrop followed suit, leaving DCI Clegg to frown in their wake. The chief inspector huffed, shook his head, and marched after them. DS Kumar quickly followed. Isla hung back, balling her hands in the pockets of her sagging cardigan, until Hetty nudged her.

  “Don’t like the look of this,” the housekeeper muttered. “We’d better go in, just in case. Come on.” Grasping the secretary by the arm, she pulled her along.

  Araminta ran after them and rushed into the drawing room. Everyone turned to look at her.

  “What’s happening?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

  Lord Winthrop waved an arm extravagantly. “I’ve no idea, but no doubt the perspicacious chief inspector will impart his wisdom to us in due course.”

  Oh dear. Her uncle had been drinking again. As if his flushed cheeks and glittering eyes weren’t enough, his flowery vocabulary was a dead giveaway. She’d left him stone cold sober only a couple of hours ago, which meant he must have hit the sauce hard and fast.

  Mindful of the gardener she’d left writhing in the butler’s pantry, Araminta turned to DCI Clegg. “Inspector, there’s something urgent I need to tell you—”

  Clegg cut her off with a sharp hand gesture. “Never mind that. I’ll decide what’s urgent or not.” He swivelled back to Lord Winthrop. “It’s probably best if I talk to you in private, Mr Winthrop.”

  “And deprive you of the opportunity to lord it over everyone else? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  DCI Clegg shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m only trying to spare you.”

  “How magnanimous of you, I’m sure, but not necessary. Edwina, Araminta, ladies—” Lord Winthrop gestured towards Hetty and Isla. “Do sit down.”

  Lady Winthrop folded herself gracefully onto the blue settee by the fireplace. After a moment’s hesitation, Araminta sat next to her. Hetty and
Isla remained by the door. Hetty was frowning, while Isla looked like she was going to throw up.

  Lord Winthrop dropped into his favourite armchair and crossed one leg over the other. “Now, Chief Inspector, we’re all ears. Don’t be shy. Illuminate us with your brilliance.”

  DCI Clegg scowled at him. “All right, since you don’t want to do this in private, I’ll just come out and say it—”

  “Before you start,” Araminta broke in, unable to contain herself. “I really do think you should hear what I have to say first.”

  DCI Clegg turned on her. “Why must you insist on interrupting?”

  “It’s important. It’s about Ollie Saunders.”

  “Who now?” DCI Clegg demanded impatiently.

  “He’s downstairs, in the butler’s pantry. At least, that’s where I left him, after I kicked him in the, er, nether regions.”

  “What?” Hetty cupped her ear. “Nether what?”

  “Gonads!” Lord Winthrop boomed out for the benefit of the housekeeper. “She kicked him in the gonads.”

  Someone gasped.

  “You kicked the butler in the gonads?” DCI Clegg’s eyes bulged like grapes in his plump, red face.

  “But we don’t have a butler,” Hetty objected.

  “No, Ollie Saunders, the gardener!” Araminta said. “He tried to attack me. Well, I thought he was about to attack me, so I—”

  “What’s that you’re holding, my dear?” Lady Winthrop’s cool voice broke through her agitation.

  Araminta glanced down. “Oh!” she exclaimed and held up the little silver mug which she had forgotten all about. How extraordinary. She must’ve clung onto it even as she’d lashed out at Ollie and scooted past him. “I found this in the butler’s pantry. Ollie surprised me there, holding an exact copy of this mug. He said he was about to return it, but I think he was looking for the twin. A matching pair is worth so much more. We had words, and he became terribly angry. I’d heard he had an unsavoury past, and I was afraid he was going to attack me. So I decided to force my way out of there.”

  More gasps and exclamations.

  “The butler’s pantry, you say?” DS Kumar was already moving towards the door. “Downstairs?”

  “Yes, I can show you.”

  “No, you stay here. Just give me directions.”

  “Go down to the Great Hall,” Hetty said excitedly. “By the main staircase there’s a green baize door. It leads down to the servants’ quarters. The butler’s pantry is just past the servants’ hall.”

  DS Kumar nodded and slipped out of the drawing room.

  “Oh, my stars! Ollie Saunders!” Hetty flapped her apron. “I always thought there was a shifty look about him. Did he hurt you, Miss? I’ll give him what-for with my rolling pin if that lummox so much as touched a hair on your head.”

  “What the devil is happening?” Lord Winthrop exclaimed, rubbing his hair in a dazed fashion. “Ollie Saunders attacking you, stealing our silver? I can’t believe it!”

  Lady Winthrop sighed. “I did try to warn you about him, George.”

  “I thought the chap simply needed a fresh start. How disappointing! You’re not hurt, are you, my dear?” He leaned forward, his eyes glistening with concern.

  “I’m fine, Uncle George.” Araminta glanced at DCI Clegg. “But you haven’t heard the most interesting bit. You see, Ollie claims he didn’t know the silver mug was stolen from Missenden Hall. He said it was given to him by none other than Joel Taylor.”

  “How extraordinary!” Lord Winthrop uttered.

  “Which gives Ollie a very good motive for wanting to kill Joel. You see—”

  “We don’t need your wild speculations,” DCI Clegg interrupted. “If this fellow really did nick the silver, we’ll get to the bottom of it in due course. In the meantime, I have some questions for Mr Winthrop.”

  “But surely this is more important!” Araminta protested.

  “Oh, sorry, and here I was thinking I was in charge of the investigation, seeing as I’m the detective and you’re...oh, that’s right, you’re just an ordinary citizen.”

  Lord Winthrop spluttered and cleared his throat. “Now, look here, Inspector—”

  DCI Clegg wheeled around. “Chief Inspector, if you don’t mind. Now, as I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted, I’ve received some fresh information, and I need you to clarify a few things for me.”

  “That was uncalled for,” Lord Winthrop muttered. “Most uncivil!”

  “Never mind, Uncle George,” Araminta said quickly. “I’m quite used to DCI Clegg.”

  “Very well.” Lord Winthrop huffed, recrossing his legs. “Go on, Inspector.”

  DCI Clegg flicked back his jacket and splayed his hands on his hips. “In your original statement you stated that you knew nothing of Joel Taylor before he turned up dead in your library. That you’d never seen him, spoken to him, or heard of him. That he was a complete stranger to you. Is that right?”

  Lord Winthrop coughed and plucked at his shirt collar. “If that’s what I said, then that is correct.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Of course.” Lord Winthrop glared at the detective. “What are you driving at, Inspector?”

  DCI Clegg spread his feet wider. “Is it true that Joel Taylor came to you several weeks ago?” He paused, like an actor reaching a dramatic moment. “Is it also true that he told you who he really was—your illegitimate son, the result of an extra-marital affair you had forty years ago?”

  Silence, sharp and cold, reverberated around them. Despite the lofty ceilings of the drawing room, Araminta felt as if she was suffocating, her blood drumming in her ears.

  Lord Winthrop’s hands scrabbled at the faded fabric of his trousers, picking and pawing. His lips moved wordlessly. Finally, he burst out, “How dare you? I should thrash you for your damned impertinence!” He grabbed hold of the armrests and tried to haul himself upright, but the physical effort seemed too much for him. “It’s an absolute lie!”

  “We searched Joel’s house, found a document on his laptop. A kind of diary, if you will. It made for some interesting reading.” The chief inspector was enjoying himself rather too much. “Joel wrote down the dates and times he’d met you—twice, in the past few weeks—and how you’d reacted. You weren’t too happy to see him, were you, Mr Winthrop?”

  Lord Winthrop glared, his throat working convulsively. Araminta glanced at her aunt. Lady Winthrop might have been carved from ice; she sat motionless, neither breathing nor blinking.

  “Joel was a con man,” Araminta spoke up. “He lied and cheated and stole. He preyed on vulnerable women, using them for his own selfish needs. He sucked money out of desperate people. He had no conscience. How can you believe anything he wrote?”

  DCI Clegg threw her an irritated look. “That’s why I’m here. To clarify these allegations with your uncle.”

  He turned back to Lord Winthrop, but Araminta’s uncle clamped his lips shut, almost as if he were afraid of what might burst out from him. Araminta caught his gaze flickering towards Lady Winthrop, and the fear in his eyes made her breath catch. What did it mean? Had Uncle George lied? Did he kill Joel?

  “Do you deny seeing Joel Taylor twice before his death?” DCI Clegg said. When Lord Winthrop’s silence persisted, he continued, “All right, then. What about Kathleen Taylor, mother of Joel Taylor, recently deceased, lived all her life in Dorchester? Do you deny ever meeting her, say forty-odd years ago?”

  Lord Winthrop had gone quite ashen. With mouth clenched, cheeks haggard, and bony fingers clawing at his armrests, he looked like a grim ghoul.

  “Because if it’s true, it puts an interesting angle on the murder,” DCI Clegg continued, bouncing on his toes. Oh, how he was relishing this, Araminta thought bitterly. “What did Joel want from you? Was it money, a share of his inheritance? Or did he just want you to acknowledge him? Whatever it was, you couldn’t have him hanging around spreading rumours, spoiling your reputation, making you look ba
d to your missus. You wanted him gone. So, what happened when he showed up at your open house? Must’ve got your goat, seeing him swanning about like he belonged here, hmm? Must’ve really brassed you off. Did you have it out with him, then? A bit of argy-bargy before it all went pear-shaped? Did you grab the knife in a fit of rage and let him have it? Is that how it happened?”

  Lord Winthrop stared at the empty fireplace. Eventually he barked out, “I’m not answering these outrageous questions. Not without my solicitor present.”

  “Fine,” DCI Clegg snapped. “Have it your way. We can continue this conversation down at the nick with your spivvy lawyer.”

  “What? Go to a smelly police station, like a delinquent you picked up off the street? Out of the question, man.”

  “Don’t make this any worse than it already is.” DCI Clegg pushed up the sleeves of his jacket. “You’re just making a fool of yourself.”

  “You have no right.”

  DCI Clegg marched towards Lord Winthrop. “If you won’t co-operate I’ll—”

  “Chief Inspector!” Lady Winthrop’s voice cut through like a steel blade.

  As everyone froze, Lady Winthrop rose to her feet. Thin and taut, she faced the fuming detective. “I’ll save you the trouble. I already know about my husband’s indiscretion. Joel Taylor told me a week ago.”

  Lord Winthrop fell back in his armchair. “Eddie,” he choked out.

  His wife glanced at him, her mask-like expression cracking briefly. “It hasn’t altered my opinion of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I can’t...I don’t know what to say...”

  “Chin up, George. We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?” Lady Winthrop gazed at her husband with only the faintest quiver in her jaw.

  “So Joel told you everything?” DCI Clegg broke in. “Including what he wanted?”

  “Yes. The young man visited me one day when my husband was out. He wasn’t interested in family; he merely wanted money. I stalled him by saying I needed time to get the funds, and he reluctantly left.”

  “Why didn’t you tell your husband?”

  “Because...” Lady Winthrop hesitated. She toyed with the heavy ruby ring on her finger. “The open day tours were about to begin, and there was so much to prepare, so I decided to wait until a more convenient time.”