James puffed out his cheeks. ‘Gosh, this is all getting a bit serious.’
‘Getting?’ George whispered, conscious of the proximity of his fellow diners. ‘It got serious last night, matey. Now, I need you to spill the beans tonight. I want to know who’s done what, where and to who, and don’t hold back. I take it this meal is on you, by the way, ’cos I can’t afford these prices.’
James grinned and waved an acknowledgement that it was. As if on cue, their meals arrived on white, bone china plates edged with gold leaf. The smell of ham and Didier’s special gravy prompted George’s stomach to growl in appreciation. And, the more subtle aroma of fresh, delicate trout with a white wine sauce delighted James and reminded him that he must get out and do some fishing.
The band launched into Frank Sinatra’s ‘Witchcraft’ and the three of them glanced at each other wryly. James put his sherry down, dusted his fish with a sprinkle of salt and pepper and picked up his cutlery.
‘Right, George. I shall tell you everything I know; no holding back, no secrets. But let’s eat dinner first. I cannot, under any circumstances, allow this meal to go cold.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Beth insisted that, during dinner, their conversation excluded the events of the previous evening. Instead, they spoke of happier pursuits: Christmas preparations and next year’s holidays which, for James and Beth, would be an early trip to the Bay of Naples.
They extolled the kindness of their new acquaintance, Mrs Keates, and her sumptuous fairy cakes; Harry and Oliver and their Oxford exploits; the new vicar and Bert’s dubious activities - although James quickly diverted from this subject and chose something a little less troublesome, namely the delicious food on the table. He gestured with his fork.
‘You know, I interviewed Didier personally after my sister, Fiona, recommended him to me.’
He went on to describe how he’d come across his talents in a small restaurant close to where she was living at the time, in Yorkshire.
‘I poached him, excuse the pun, by giving him a free rein in the kitchen and paying a little over the odds.’
He closed his eyes in delight as delicate flakes of trout dissolved in his mouth.
‘All I have to do in return,’ he continued, ‘is allow her free food here when she visits - which, I hasten to add, she would have received anyway.’
Didier LeNoir, a rather aloof Frenchman, had trained alongside the best in the top restaurants in Paris and blazed an unbroken culinary trail at the country house. Since their re-opening after the war, he produced and delivered quality meals that guests complimented long after their dining experience.
LeNoir personally inspected every dish and, each day, trawled the markets, farms and fisheries for the freshest ingredients:from succulent south coast cockles and muscles to juicy, tender beef from cattle roaming the rolling South Downs.
‘He runs a tight ship, mind you,’ James continued. ‘Even I’ve been on the end of a tongue-lashing from Didier should I get in his way. Worth it, though. Look at these people in here. They will all depart from this place with absolute contentment and not a morsel left on their plates.’
George glanced around the room. Amidst the laughter and conversation, all of the guests were tucking into their meals enthusiastically.
With dinner completed and their plates cleared away, all three declined dessert, instead opting for port, coffee and a plate of cheese and crackers. James felt in his pocket for a slim tin of cigarillos and offered one to George.
‘Right, George, I suppose it’s down to business,’ he said. ‘Do you have a notepad to hand, or are your brain cells fit enough to file everything to memory?’
George lit his cigarillo and gestured for James to wait while he pulled out a small spiral pad and pen.
‘Okay, off you go. Start at the beginning - and don’t keep anything back. Just tell me all the details you have, no matter how trivial you think they are.’
James did as he was told, taking George back to the day that he discovered Alec Grimes and why, in particular, he’d harboured suspicions. He reminded George of the condition of the painting, the lack of red paint, the canvas being signed, the unfinished breakfast and the door being left open during such a cold morning.
Beth poured coffee for everyone. ‘And don’t forget that Grimes is a farmer. I’m not saying they don’t have hobbies, but I have to agree with James - it seems an odd time to be painting.’
‘George, don’t forget about his shoes, too,’ added James. ‘That’s something that did slip my mind the last time we discussed this. They had a bit of mud built up around the heels, but nowhere else and the buttons on his jacket weren’t fastened properly. So that suggests someone had bundled him into that jacket and dragged him across to the chair.’
George heaped a spoonful of sugar in his coffee and studied the swirling drink as he stirred it in.
‘Did you see any marks in the ground to suggest that?’
James winced and admitted that he didn’t. ‘To be honest, George, I had Mrs J with me. She was in a bit of a state, so I thought I ought to get her away. She was clearly distraught, poor woman.’
‘Yes,’replied George thoughtfully, tapping his pen on the table. ‘I’ve put out a search for the Jepsons. You haven’t heard from them, have you?’
James glanced at Beth, who shook her head forlornly. ‘I can’t believe they would have anything to do with this. I mean, she’s been our cleaner for fifteen years—’
George stopped her. ‘How did she react when you found Grimes?’
‘Shocked,’ said James. ‘I mean, genuinely shocked.’
Beth continued. ‘And she was all of a dither when she arrived at our place that morning, wringing her hands with worry.’
George sat back and pondered. ‘Could that be because of her husband? She knew he was with Grimes that morning. She pretty much admitted they’d had an argument. That could be why she was in a state.’
James went to protest. However, he realised that, no matter how much he wanted to resist the fact, George did have a point. He reluctantly agreed that, looking at it that way, it did appear suspicious.
‘Anyway, going back to your question,’ he replied, ’no, we haven’t heard a word from Mrs J - not a phone call or letter. That’s strange in itself.’
‘But sweetie, what motive could they have?’ said Beth.
James, bewildered, shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. We know that Mr J and Grimes had an argument that morning. I assumed it was to do with the play. What else could it be?’
George drew a line in his notebook. ‘Well, until we get hold of ‘em, we’re not gonna know. But that all sounds a little odd. Who else is on your list?’
‘Donovan Delaney. Now, he’s had a couple of run-ins with Grimes about one thing or another. No love lost there. Put him in hospital at one point because he insulted Kate.’
‘Who,’ George reminded them, ‘has a criminal record, which includes violence. The pair of ‘em seem to have hidden tempers.’
James agreed and commented that Donovan was built like a heavy-weight boxer. ‘One punch would knock you out, I’m sure. Did Kate go to prison for this robbery with violence business?’
George shook his head, explaining that it was her first, and only, offence.
‘I had a chat with her about it today,’ said George, ’just discreetly, while Donovan was in the cellar. She said she’d got in with the wrong crowd and helped to rob some bloke’s house. Apparently, he kept all his cash there - didn’t believe in banks. Anyway, they thought he’d gone out but he was still at home. Got disturbed and Kate knocked him over the head with a frying pan.’
‘Good Lord!’
Beth added her surprise at the events, but commented that Grimes appeared to have nothing of any value in his house. James confirmed that, from his poking about, the house and its contents were in a sorry state. George shrugged, suggesting that money was always a strong motive for murder.
‘You can be sure that
it’s money, love or power that lands someone in the dock.’
Beth gave a start of surprise. ‘Graham Porter lent Grimes a lot of money.’
‘Goodness, yes,’ said James. ‘And he’d threatened to kill him a couple of weeks ago because he never got a payment. And the morning Grimes died, he was on his own. Wife and kids had gone off early to go to Brighton.’
‘Yep, know all about that,’ replied George. ‘Graham admitted to threatening Grimes, but swears blind he didn’t go to the farm that morning. No witnesses, though, and he’s got more motive than anyone.’
George continued jotting information down in his notebook as Beth tapped James’ hand.
‘What about Ian Connell? You said he acted strange when you went to see him.’
George glanced up. ‘That’s the architect bloke, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ James said, ‘although I’m not sure that he knew Grimes terribly well. However, he was owed money for some plans he drew up. I saw them - very detailed. He was asked to do quite a bit of building work around the place.’
James went on to explain about where Ian worked and the relationship between him and his secretary.
‘One thing that may be important,’ he added, ‘although I’m not sure why at the moment. He said that Sutherlands were going to leap in and put the farm up for auction. They were getting all the paperwork ready to submit. Pretty surprised when I mentioned that Keith Grimes existed and that the farm would surely go to him.’
George raised his eyebrows. ‘May be worth pursuing. What sort of motive would Connell have?’
‘I have absolutely no idea. He’s not been in the area long.’
‘What about the Doc?’
‘Philip! Honest as the day is long, old chap. Doesn’t know Grimes, so there’s no link there. Holds no grudge. No, George, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree there.’ James topped their glasses up with port. ‘Darling, who else is there?’
Beth looked up, inspired.
‘Well, Professor Wilkins! He lied to us.’
George flipped over to a new page. ‘What d’you mean, lied?’
‘Well,’ said Beth, leaning in like a village gossip, ‘he told us he’d been a lecturer at one of the Ivy League universities in America. When I asked him which one, well, he gave me the name of one that didn’t exist. And, I know I’ve said this already and I’m being terribly biased, but the man has no manners. I know you think he’s an unlikely suspect, but someone that rude and dismissive could also be very ruthless. That’s a man who, I believe, would stop at nothing to get what he wants.’
‘Mmm,’ George mumbled, ‘he left just after the bonfire was lit, too.’ He turned to James. ‘Tell me more about what you discussed with Wilkins.’
James went through the conversation; the finer details of inverted pentagrams, devil worship, the fragments of pottery and the various locations of Roman settlements around the south of England. He fished the pieces of pottery out of his pocket and placed them on the table. George picked up a fragment and rolled it over in the palm of his hand.
‘So, we now think this devil worship stuff is out and you think that these bits of pottery have something to do with it?’
‘Well, it was Charlie Hawkins that sparked my interest,’ replied James. ‘He told me to speak with Wilkins. Well, the old Prof went banging on about Roman villas and farms left, right and centre. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’
Beth cut herself a sliver of French Brie and placed it on a round cracker. ‘So, do you think Grimes is sitting on a Roman villa?’
George looked at James, hoping for an enlightened answer, but James simply shrugged.
‘According to Wilkins, there are no settlements here. The nearest one is at Lewes. He seemed a bit cross when I suggested there could be - but I’ve asked him to look at some of his reference books.’
James let out a startled gasp.
‘That’s another thing. Grimes had pinched half the reference books in the library. Most of them were to do with Satanism and suchlike, but there was one that related to all things Roman. I think that’s our link! It has to be.’
George frowned. ‘There could be a motive. I suppose this stuff is worth something if it’s found?’
‘Search me, old man. I can’t see what a lot of broken pottery can be valued at. I mean, if there are only half the settlements that Wilkins said there are in this area, there must be an abundance of the stuff. That, in itself, dilutes the value.’
‘Charlie Hawkins - any thoughts?’ asked George.
Beth leapt to the defence of Charlie, describing him as a wonderful character and devoted father, who had no ambition but to ensure the welfare of his children.
‘He’s been a widower for some years now,’ she added, ‘and he’s done a wonderful job of caring for Tommy and Susan.’
James confirmed Beth’s view. ‘It must be hard for him.’
George apologised in advance but insisted on taking the opposite view. ‘He recognised the value of the pottery in your hand. He’s read up on Roman history. He’s finding life tough as a widower - and miffed with Grimes for nicking his reference books.’
‘That doesn’t make him a killer.’
George put his pen down and described a young, good-looking man, suave and debonair; whose family belonged to the Plymouth Brethren; who won a scholarship to the Queen Elizabeth Grammar School; who won a further scholarship to Wakefield Cathedral, where he was a choirboy. He became a motor mechanic and then an insurance salesman.
‘Does this man sound like a solid individual to you, James?’
James nodded and, with a quick glance at Beth, both agreed that this man sounded like a gentleman.
George went on to explain that the man was fired for allegedly stealing from the cash box at the insurance company. He moved to London and became a bogus solicitor, where he was arrested and sent to prison.
‘During his prison sentence,’ continued George, ’he thought up what he believed to be the perfect murder.’
James stopped him and smiled. ‘You’re talking about the acid bath murderer, Haigh.’
George gestured that he was. ‘What does that tell you?’
Beth sighed. ‘I guess that tells us that anyone from this list is capable of committing murder.’
‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
James pondered the statement. ‘And the question that follows is how well do we know the people that live so close to us? Villagers and neighbours, who join in with our festivities and events.’
Beth shivered. ‘I don’t want to think about it. All of the people we’ve spoken about are wonderful human beings in their own way. We have no reason to suspect them of any wrongdoing.’
The three of them sat in silence for a short while, sipping coffee and finishing off the cheese and crackers.
George flicked through his notes. ‘What about Chrichton, the teacher? Did you know he studied archaeology? That was one of his subjects at university.’
James felt obliged to tell him about Chrichton’s run-in with Alec Grimes over the treatment of his son and his genuine concern over Keith’s safety. George nodded.
‘Well, from what I found out yesterday, Keith Grimes was no angel and Chrichton did give him a good whacking the day he left school.’
James and Beth gave him a questioning look.
‘Yeah, sounds like Keith trashed the classroom,’ continued George. ‘One of life’s angry young men. Chrichton lashed out at him with his cane.’
James shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘But surely Chrichton had good reason for dishing that out? That’s what teacher’s do.’
‘I said lash out. Keith broke some of Chrichton’s personal stuff in some sort of rage. This wasn’t a controlled couple of strokes, James. This was an attack - he ended up having stitches across his forehead.’
James shook his head in disbelief. ‘Well, that doesn’t sound like the Chrichton I know.’
Beth reminded him of the question they must all ask th
emselves. ‘How well do we really know these people?’
Adam arrived with a silver tray and cleared the table. The restaurant had slowly emptied and, looking at his Cartier watch, James realised they’d been sitting there for three hours.
‘Oh Lord. Adam, do apologise to Didier for keeping him waiting. If you want to start tidying up around here, don’t mind us. When you’ve two seconds, bring our coats over, will you? You push off home if you go over your time.’
Adam gave an appreciative smile and returned to the kitchen.
George took a deep breath. ‘Is that everyone?’
‘I believe so,’ replied James. ‘But about Peter Mitchell - I think you need to dig further with him. He was acting strangely last night, looked very furtive when he came out of those woods. He also collared me on Sunday, more than a little concerned that you were going to question him.’
George acknowledged all of this and put his notebook away.
‘Has Bert found anything? He’s normally one for sniffing people out.’
James shook his head. ‘Not that I know of, no. Haven’t seen much of him, lately. Seems a bit preoccupied with business.’
George groaned and stated that he had no wish to know what his business was, still convinced that half of the fireworks from last night had come from a robbery in Portsmouth.
‘George,’ Beth said, ‘what about Stephen’s attack? That is connected, right?’
He confirmed that, yes, it was most definitely connected and looked at the pair of them grimly.
‘I agree with you. I don’t think there’s a supernatural element to this, but someone wants us to think there is. Building a golem and sticking Keith Grimes on top of a bonfire to burn like a witch. We’re dealing with an evil mind, make no mistake about it.’
‘I say, what’s happening about Keith?’ asked James. ‘Are we keeping him quiet?’
George confirmed they were.
‘The group that know about what happened are sworn to secrecy. I want the villagers to know that we’ve found a body, but that’s it. I’ve given a press release to say that the body of a man was found burnt in the village of Cavendish. I didn’t say where - I didn’t think you’d want the publicity. I’ve not said whether he’s alive or dead; left it completely ambiguous. But the report will suggest that he’s dead. I’m hoping that our killer will think it’s Grimes and assume the same.’
LORD JAMES HARRINGTON AND THE WINTER MYSTERY (Lord James Harrington Mysteries Book 1) Page 20