‘Kate said, in the pub, we weren’t gonna get the kids baptised until they were old enough to make their own minds up about their faith.’
James raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s a very modern approach. I can’t imagine Grimes being terribly impressed.’
Donovan let out a shaky laugh and nodded. ‘You’re not wrong there. But, you know, that’s what started it. Ever since then, he just kept giving out the sarcasm. Preaching his Christian ways to us. I don’t mind that, James, I really don’t. Some of my best friends are churchgoers, but they’re Christian people inside. D’you know what I mean?’
James nodded. ‘You mean Grimes should have practised what he preached?’
‘That’s right. There didn’t seem to be any goodness in him.’
George’s eyes narrowed. ‘So what’s this got to do with the morning Grimes died?’
Donovan took a deep breath and described how, after closing time the evening prior to his death, Grimes had hammered on their door.
‘By the time I’d got dressed and went downstairs, he’d gone. But—’
‘How did you know it was Grimes?’ asked George.
‘Because he’d slipped a note through the letter-box.’
James frowned. ‘A note? What sort of a note?’
Donovan looked close to tears and James and George gave each other a worrying glance.
‘It accused Kate of being evil, bringing her children up outside of the true Christian faith, not worshipping God.’ His eyes pleaded with them. ‘I mean, what sort of sick person was he? I could see it upset Kate - well, I was gonna have it out with him, there and then, but I didn’t. Kate said leave it.’
‘So you decided to venture out in the clear light of day?’ James stated and Donovan confirmed that that was what he’d planned. James’ index finger ran around the rim of his glass. ‘And what did you do?’
Donovan’s shoulders relaxed. ‘I didn’t do anything. I got out there and found him dead. He was in the chair at the back of the house.’
George scribbled his notes and the wheels and cogs of his thought process inched around his head.
‘What I don’t get,’ George finally said, pointing his pen at Donovan, ‘is why you didn’t report it?’
Donovan took another deep breath. He leant forward.’Because someone else was there.’
‘Good Lord,’ said James. ‘Who?’
Donovan shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know.’ He glanced at George. ‘I heard something, someone in the house, I don’t know who. I went in the kitchen and shouted out, you know, hello and everything, but it went really quiet. I didn’t like it, to tell the truth. There was definitely someone there and I wanted nothing to do with it, so I thought I’d keep quiet. And when the Doc said it was a heart attack, well, I thought I’d stick to my story and that’s that.’
‘I say, old chap,’ said James. ‘I know you didn’t recognise this feller or anything, but did you hear him say anything?’
‘I just heard a couple of swear words and drawers opening and closing.’
‘Mmm,’ George mumbled. ‘Like he was searching for something?’
Donovan nodded. ‘Yeah, exactly like that.’
James leant back and folded his arms. ‘Well, that all sounds pretty straightforward, George. What on earth are you doing arresting him?’
George poured himself another shot of whisky and flicked back through the pages of his notebook.
‘We received the report of some blood samples taken at Grimes’ farm a couple of days ago.’ He looked at James. ‘That graze on the head that Alec had. He was hit by that hideous figurine of a robin on a holly bush - the one that was on the kitchen surface. There are small traces of Grimes’ hair and some blood on it. That blood belongs to you, Donovan.’
The statement confused James and, from Donovan’s expression, he clearly felt the same. James scratched his forehead.’I don’t understand.’
‘Donovan’s fingerprints are also on the robin,’ George added.
Donovan’s face turned white. ‘But that would have been the cut I got when I changed the barrels.’ He spread his hands, where a recent gash was beginning to heal. ‘It was still bleeding. I do the barrels in the morning. And your robin, it was on the edge of the work surface, so I just pushed it back.’ He swallowed hard. ‘You’ve got to believe me, George.’ His frightened eyes pleaded at James. ‘For God’s sake, this is nothing to do with me.’
James chewed his bottom lip. Good Lord, this is the sort of evidence that convicts a man. There’s nothing I can do or say that will release Donovan tonight. He leant forward and clasped his hands together.
‘Listen Donovan, you must tell all of this to my solicitor when he gets here. And try to think, really think, about what you heard when you got to the farm. Concentrate on any of the words that you heard. Everyone has a tone, an inflection in their voice, which could trigger something. Do you understand?’
Donovan nodded, the circles under his eyes appearing darker. He was resigned to the fact that he would be spending the night in the cells. James stood up and shook hands with him.
‘The Merryweathers are looking after the children,’ he said. ‘We’ll all rally round and make sure Kate’s all right. Don’t worry, old chap, we’ll be doing our best by you.’
George picked up the glasses and bottle. ‘D’you want a cuppa, Donovan?’
Donovan nodded as he stared at the table.
‘I’ll get one down to you. We’ll do the statement when the solicitor arrives.’
As he walked back to the front desk, James slipped on his car coat and flat cap and felt the stirrings of a headache form at the back of his neck. At the desk, George asked the sergeant to locate Kate Delaney and bring her out to be taken home. He took out a handkerchief and sneezed, then looked at James.
‘Thoughts?’
James looked him straight in the eye. ‘I believe him. He was clearly at the farm, George, the evidence shows it. He admits it. But that’s not our man. I can’t prove it, I can’t explain it. It’s just instinct.’
George raised his eyebrows. ‘Instinct is often a copper’s best friend.’ He didn’t commit himself further.
‘Have you found the old Prof yet?’ asked James.
A flash of irritation crossed George’s face. ‘No. But Grimes’ late night visit to Donovan has inspired me.’
James tilted his head in question.
‘I think I’ll pay him a visit at midnight,’ continued George. ‘That’s the only way I’m gonna interview him at this rate.’
Kate, looking drawn, tired and with no fight left in her, joined James, who put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Hello, old thing. Bearing up?’
She rested her head on James’ shoulder as he squeezed her close.
‘Let’s get you back,’ he said. ‘I’ll update you on the way. Cheerio, George.’
They arrived at the vicarage at around 9pm. Charlie Hawkins had remained with the Merryweathers, after locking the village hall, to help look after Donovan’s children, Josh and Sally. They were upstairs playing with his two children, together with Luke and Mark. Kate gratefully accepted a strong sedative left by Philip Jackson and went straight to sleep in the spare room.
James rang Beth to assure her that he’d be home shortly and updated her on everything he knew. In the meantime, he had an audience waiting for him in the living room.
Over tea and toasted teacakes, he took Stephen, Anne, Charlie and Bert through the events at the station.
Charlie Hawkins puffed out his cheeks and shook his head.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘I had Jepson down for it. I mean, he’s argued with him and done a runner. It’s obvious.’
‘Oh Good Lord, you haven’t heard, have you? Mrs J rang Beth earlier. Seems Stan Jepson’s mother died suddenly - that’s why they left without any notice.’
A murmur of surprise and relief swept around the room. Bert swallowed the last of his teacake and picked up another.
�
��Well, I’m with Jimmy boy,’ he said. ‘I think Wilkins ‘as a case to answer for.’
‘H-his behaviour does seem a little erratic, ’added Stephen.
Charlie shook his head. ‘But Donovan Delaney…Do you believe him?’
James didn’t know what to think and he shifted on his chair as all eyes bore into him for an answer. Donovan had a temper. But did that temper manifest itself into killing? If Grimes had threatened his wife and children, perhaps it would. He rested his cup and saucer on his lap.
‘I want to believe him, of course,’ he replied, ’but the evidence with blood and fingerprints doesn’t look good for him. But I’m not a legal chap, so I don’t know if that’s enough to convict him. It may be deemed circumstantial.’
Charlie unfolded his cap and announced that he ought to be getting the kids to bed. He called up to Tommy and Susan, who raced downstairs. However, they soon quietened down after being told that Mrs Delaney was sleeping and was not to be disturbed at any cost. James nudged Bert.
‘Come on. I think we all need a little peace and quiet after such an eventful evening.’
Bert snatched another teacake and smiled cheekily at Anne, who picked up another and gave it him. ‘You obviously missed dinner,’ she whispered with a grin.
As they congregated in the hallway, Stephen put his hands in his pockets.
‘W-well, this is a rum do.’
Anne linked her arm through Stephen’s and shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it’s him, James. Donovan seems such a lovely man. He doesn’t have an ounce of hatred in him.’
James held her hand and kissed the top of her head. ‘Don’t worry, old thing, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. He’ll be back with us in no time.’
He saw Bert raise his eyebrows. Clearly, he didn’t think the same. Stephen opened the front door wide; rain lashed down in sheets. Charlie ruffled his children’s hair and put his cap on.
‘Right, I’m off,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you in church on Sunday.’ He pulled his collar up and steered his children out.
James and Bert dashed out after him and side-stepped puddles, while Stephen and Anne watched from the shelter of the front porch. James saw Charlie’s children climb in the back of their Austin 7 as Charlie forced the starting handle on the car, but without success.
‘I say, Charlie, do you need a hand?’
The engine fired and Charlie gave the thumbs up and got in his car. James turned on his heels, remembering he’d left his keys on the table at the vicarage. He and Bert jogged down the path, where Stephen waved them at him.
‘F-forgot these?’
As James retrieved them, Charlie called out.
‘James?’ Charlie stood, drenched, by the gate. ‘I remembered who it was that asked me about the jewellery. You know, valuations, auctions an’ all that.’
‘And?
‘It was Ian Connell.’
Small hairs stood up on the back of James’ neck. ‘What?’
Charlie wandered down to the front door, the engine of his car still running. ‘Yeah, while ago now. He had some woman with him, good-looking woman. She was at your Bonfire Night. Didn’t recognise her at first, cos she’d dyed her hair. Anyway, I looked up the books he’d had out. Apart from building stuff, architecture and the like, he borrowed a lot of books about archaeology, Roman sites. Wanted some information on land registry or something from the reference bit.’
The rain drizzled down James’ face. ‘When was this? Recently?’
‘Nah, about three months ago. See you, Sunday.’ Charlie trotted back to his car.
James stood transfixed. His breathing shortened and his mouth went as dry as the Sahara. Bert turned to face him.
‘You all right, Jimmy boy?’
A sickening wave of horror rose up as he grabbed Bert’s arm. ‘It’s Ian. Ian Connell. He’s the murderer. Oh good Lord, he’s at home with Beth!’
Anne let out a stifled cry as Stephen pushed them toward James’car. ‘Anne, st-stay with the children.’
Bert stopped him. ‘We’ll take two cars. We may need ‘em.’ He grabbed the keys from James. ‘Give me your keys, you’re in no state to drive.’
James snatched them back. ‘I didn’t win the Monte for nothing. Stephen, don’t try to keep up, just arrive safely.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
James sped up the drive so fast he nearly skidded out of control. For a split second, everything appeared normal; a glimmer of relief shot through him. Perhaps he’d over-reacted? A welcome light shone from the hall and kitchen, suggesting nothing untoward.
Suddenly, his stomach plummeted. He screeched to a halt by the front steps to see the front door ajar. He jumped out of the car and, with Bert close on his heels, bounded up the steps and through the front door.
‘Beth? ’
He flung open the lounge doors and the sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks.
‘Oh, good Lord.’
A struggle had ensued - an overturned armchair, a smashed glass, the large canvas of the copse ripped and discarded. Breathing heavily, he dashed through to the empty kitchen, then on to the dining room. Nothing. He took the stairs, three at a time, calling for Beth. But he knew - knew, deep down - that Connell had taken her.
‘Jimmy boy,’ Bert shouted up the stairs. ‘In the study.’
James ran down the stairs to join Bert, who gestured to the far wall. ‘Check your safe. I’m calling George.’
James looked around him. The painting that hid the safe lay on the carpet by his desk. He edged toward the strongbox and fumbled with the combination, the adrenaline surging through him jumbling his thoughts. He took a deep breath, ordering himself to stay calm, and mumbled the year of his only podium finish. He turned the dial clockwise, then anti-clockwise.
‘One…nine…three…one.’
The door clicked and he swung it open. The jewels were gone. He flicked the remaining papers with a snarl. ‘Damn it, Connell! You’ve got the jewels, why take Beth?’
He slammed the door, spun the lock and marched back to the hall, where he collided with Stephen who bundled through the front door.
‘W-where is she?’
James blinked back the tears and ran his hands through his hair. Nausea stuck in his throat.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ’Where on earth would they go?’
He heard Bert, behind him, on the telephone.
‘We’re ‘ere now, George. He must’ve taken ‘er somewhere. Yeah, all right.’ He hung up and turned to James. ‘George says sit tight, they’re on their way.’
The veins in James’ temple throbbed.
‘Sit tight! My wife is out there with a killer and he wants me to sit tight.’ He grabbed his keys and went to leave. Stephen blocked his way.
‘J-James, the police know w-what they’re doing.’
‘Do they?’ James shouted. ‘They’ve already arrested the wrong man. I have to find Beth.’
Bert wrestled the keys from his hand, then grabbed hold of James’ lapels and slammed him hard against the wall. Stephen stifled his shock.
‘Jimmy boy, think ‘ard. Concentrate. Get rid of your anger, your emotion, and just think. You can’t go out blind. Where’re you gonna look for Connell? Where’s ‘e likely to be?’
James breathed hard. Think, man, think. He blinked, his gaze darting around the hall, unable to focus on anything. This can’t be happening. No, think, for God’s sake, think. Where would he go? He closed his eyes. Where, Connell? Where are you?
He butted the wall with the back of his head. Focus, damn you, focus. He gave a start of surprise as he stared long and hard at a painting.
‘That was in the lounge,’ he mumbled. He gripped Bert’s arm. ‘She’s left a clue for us.’
Bert followed his gaze. Grimes’ small canvas of the copse lay on the floor beneath the coat rail. They eye-balled each other.
‘The copse!’
Bert flung open the door, pushed James through it and stabbed a f
inger at Stephen.
‘You wait ‘ere for George. Tell ‘im we’re at the copse.’
James shouted after him. ‘Tell him that Diana, at Sutherlands, is in on this too.’
A hundred yards before they got to the copse, Bert switched off the Jaguar’s headlights. The pebbles and stones beneath the tires popped as the vehicle crept along, keeping as close to the hedgerow as possible. The engine purred as if it knew the necessity of silence. The windscreen wipers worked hard to clear the screen, but their view became a permanent blur as the rain splattered their vision. James grabbed Bert’s arm and pointed.
‘There!’ he whispered. ‘I just saw a light. I’m sure of it.’
Bert pulled off the road and onto the verge. He turned off the engine and ordered James to stay still. ‘Let’s make sure.’ He wound the window down. ‘Rain’s easing off.’
‘There, there it is again,’ said James. He went to open the door, but Bert yanked him back, twisting in his seat to face him.
‘Right. Now you listen up, Jimmy boy. This is my area of expertise. You get out of this car quietly. You close the door quietly. We do everything by hand signals and no die-hard acts of bravery. Got it?’
James’ body trembled in anticipation and fear, but he nodded, grateful that he had Bert alongside him. If he’d been on his own, he’d be in those woods already making a hell of a racket. He reached into the glove compartment and took out two torches.
They slipped out of the car and nudged the doors closed. Bert edged to the rear, where he opened the boot and flashed his torchlight about. The beam settled on a large spanner, which he picked up and gave to James.
‘Put that inside your jacket.’ James didn’t bother to ask where the tools had come from. He presumed Bert had placed them in his car earlier.
For himself, he chose a long, iron ratchet. Clicking the boot shut, he gestured for James to keep their torches down and to follow him.
They tip-toed along the tarmac road for about twenty yards, then on to the saturated, muddy lane that led to the copse. James looked up to the night sky. Thankfully, the moon’s brightness remained dulled and hidden behind the clouds. He stayed close to Bert and remained low and lithe, like a black panther stalking its prey. Every few seconds, Bert stopped, squatted down, studied the way ahead, then started off again.
LORD JAMES HARRINGTON AND THE WINTER MYSTERY (Lord James Harrington Mysteries Book 1) Page 24