Mark was taken aback. "What's wrong with her?"
"Her liver packed up at the end of September and she's been in and out of Tommy's ever since. In between whiles, she lives with me. At the moment she's in a hospice for a couple of weeks' respite care, but the prognosis is pretty dire."
Mark was truly shocked. "I'm sorry."
"Yes."
"You should have told your father."
"Why?"
"Oh, come on, Leo. He'll be devastated."
The other man's voice took on an amused note again as if irony were a means of coping. "That's what Lizzie's worried about. She feels ill enough without Dad weeping all over her."
"What's the real reason?"
"I gave her a promise I wouldn't tell anyone. I wouldn't have told you except that I'm buggered if I'll let a fat cow tell lies about her."
"It's Mrs. Weldon who's fat," said Mark. "Why doesn't Lizzie want anyone to know?"
There was a long silence, and when Leo spoke again his voice wasn't entirely steady. "She'd rather die quietly than find out that no one cares."
When Fox was finally brought downstairs, James was asked to wait in the hall to see if he recognized him. He was given the option of standing in shadow but he chose instead to place himself in full view, with DS Monroe on one side and his solicitor on the other. Mark tried to persuade Nancy to join them, but she refused, preferring instead to take Bella's suggestion of positioning herself in the kitchen corridor to block any accidental view Wolfie might have of Fox being taken away in handcuffs.
"Take your time, sir," Monroe told James when Fox appeared between two policemen on the landing above. "There's no hurry."
But James knew him immediately. "Liam Sullivan," he said, as the man was marched down the stairs, "though I never believed that was his real name."
"Who is he?" asked Monroe. "How do you know him?"
"He's a thief who took my wife's charity and threw it in her face." He stepped forward and forced the two constables to bring Fox to a halt. "Why?" he asked simply.
A rare smile lit Fox's eyes. "You're like Everest, Colonel," he said in perfect mimicry of the old man's baritone. "You're there."
"What were you hoping to achieve?"
"You'll have to ask Leo and Lizzie that. I'm just the hired help. They want your money and they don't much care how they get it-" his gaze flickered toward the corridor as if he knew Nancy was there-"or who gets hurt in the process."
"You're lying," said James angrily. "I know Vera filled your head with nonsense about your similarity to Leo, but that's as far as your connection with this family went."
Fox's smile widened. "Did your wife never tell you about Lizzie and me? No, I can see she didn't. She was a great one for sweeping the family scandals under the carpet." His voice dropped into Irish brogue. "Your daughter liked her men rough, Colonel. Better still if it was Irish rough."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Fox glanced at Mark. "Mr. Ankerton does," he said with certainty.
James turned to his solicitor. "I don't understand."
Mark shrugged. "I don't think Mr. Sullivan does either," he said. "I suspect Vera's fed him a piece of gossip and he's busy trying to use it to his own advantage."
Fox look amused. "Why do you think Ailsa paid my bills? It wasn't charity. She was trying to keep the sordid details of Lizzie's love life under wraps… particularly her passion for men who reminded her of her brother."
Monroe intervened before James or Mark could say anything. "How do you know him, sir?"
James steadied himself against the newel post. He looked devastated, as if Fox had supplied some missing pieces in a jigsaw. "He claimed squatters' rights over the companion cottage to the Lodge during the summer of ninety-eight. My wife took pity on him because he had a woman and two small children with him-" He broke off clearly questioning the basis of Ailsa's sympathy.
"Go on," Monroe prompted.
"Ailsa persuaded me to let the family stay while she tried to find affordable housing for them. Meanwhile this creature-" he gestured toward Fox-"exploited a passing resemblance to my son to charge goods to the Manor accounts. My wife paid the bills, and by the time it came to my attention he'd vanished with his family, leaving debts she was unable to clear. I had to sell the cottage to honor them."
Monroe eyed Fox curiously. He'd spoken to Leo at the time of his mother's death, but he didn't remember him well enough to say if the resemblance was a strong one. "Was Wolfie one of these children?"
"I don't believe I ever saw them, but I know it worried my wife intensely that three such vulnerable people should be under the influence of this man."
"Did you inform the police?"
"Of course."
"What names did you give?"
"I don't remember now. My wife passed all the papers on the housing application to your people, so the names will be there. She may have kept copies. If so, they'll be in the dining room." With a sudden movement he stepped forward and slapped Fox across his face. "How dare you come back? What lies did you tell my wife this time?"
Fox straightened his head with a malevolent smile. "I told her the truth," he said. "I told her who fathered Lizzie's little bastard."
Monroe caught James's hand as he lifted it again. "Best not, sir."
"Ailsa wouldn't have believed you," said the old man angrily. "She knew perfectly well that nothing as disgusting as you've suggested ever happened."
"Oh, she believed me, Colonel, but I didn't say you were the father. That was Lizzie's idea-she didn't think Mrs. Bartlett would get worked up over anything less."
James turned helplessly to Mark.
"Who did you say was the father?" Mark asked.
Fox stared him down. "I've been watching you all day-you could hardly keep your hands off her. She does me credit, don't you think, Mr. Ankerton?"
Mark shook his head. "Wrong eye color, my friend. Elizabeth's are blue… as are yours… and Mendel's law says it's impossible for two blue-eyed parents to produce a brown-eyed child." Gotcha, you bastard! Either Leo had been lying for the fun of it, or this ignorant sap knew as much about genes as he did. "You shouldn't have relied on Vera for information, Fox. She never could get her head around dates. The Irish tinker came and went two years before Elizabeth's pregnancy-" he leveled a finger at Fox's heart-"which is why Ailsa wouldn't have believed you either. Whatever she died from… however she died… she knew there was no connection between her granddaughter and you."
Fox shook his head. "She knew me both times, Mr. Ankerton… paid me off the first time… would have paid me off the second time if she hadn't died. She didn't want her husband knowing how many skeletons there were in the family closet."
"Did you kill her?" asked Mark bluntly.
"No. I wasn't here that night."
Nancy moved out from the corridor. "Vera said he was trying to blackmail Ailsa. She seemed quite lucid. Apparently Ailsa said she'd rather die than give him money… so he made Vera lock the door and leave Ailsa to him."
Fox's gaze flickered briefly in her direction. "Mrs. Dawson confuses me with Leo. Perhaps you should be putting these questions to the Colonel's son, Mr. Ankerton."
Mark smiled slightly. "If you weren't here, where were you?"
"Probably Kent. We spent most of the spring in the southeast."
"We?" Mark watched a bead of sweat drip down the side of the man's forehead. He was only frightening in the dark, he thought. In the light, and under restraint, he looked diminished. Nor was he clever. Cunning, possibly… but not clever. "Where are Vixen and Cub?" he asked, when Fox didn't reply. "Presumably Vixen will support the Kent alibi if you tell the police where she is."
Fox shifted his attention to Monroe. "Are you going to do your job, Sergeant, or are you are going to allow the Colonel's solicitor to question me?"
Monroe shrugged. "You've been cautioned. You have a right to silence, just like anyone else. Go on, sir," he invited Mark. "I'm interested in what yo
u have to say."
"I can give you the facts I know, Sergeant." He marshaled his thoughts. "First fact. Elizabeth did have a brief liaison at the age of fifteen with an Irish traveler. He persuaded her to steal for him, and her brother took the blame to protect her. Vera certainly knew about the liaison, because she told lies for Elizabeth whenever Elizabeth went out. The whole episode caused a catastrophic breach of trust between all members of the household which was never repaired. Vera, in particular, felt badly treated because the Colonel accused her of the theft… and I doubt Mrs. Lockyer-Fox behaved toward her in the same way again. I'm sure she felt Vera encouraged Elizabeth to act as she did."
He put a hand on James's arm to keep the old man silent. "Second fact. Elizabeth had a baby when she was seventeen which was put up for adoption. She was very promiscuous as a teenager and didn't know herself who the father was. Vera, of course, was privy to the birth and the adoption. However, I suspect she's confused the two episodes in her mind, which is why this man thinks the Irish traveler was the father." He watched Fox's face. "The only person left alive who can identify the traveler-apart from Vera, whose testimony is flawed-is Elizabeth herself… and she describes him as a much older man who was father to most of the children in his entourage."
"She's lying," said Fox.
"Then it's your word against hers. If she fails to identify you, the police will draw their own conclusions about the truthfulness of everything you've said… including the death of Mrs. Lockyer-Fox."
He was rewarded with a flicker of indecision in the pale eyes.
"Third fact. Vera's resentment against her husband and the Lockyer-Foxes has grown exponentially since her dementia became noticeable in ninety-seven. The date is documented because it was at that time that a decision was taken to allow her and Bob to have the Lodge rent-free until their deaths. The Colonel has just said that Vera filled this man's head with nonsense about looking like Leo. I suspect it was the other way round. He used his likeness to Leo to fill Vera's head with nonsense. I don't pretend to understand why, except that he found out how easy it was to make money the first time and thought he'd have another go." He paused. "Finally, and most importantly, neither Leo nor Elizabeth has ever met or spoken to Mrs. Bartlett. So whatever scam this man is operating, it has nothing to do with the Colonel's children."
"Mrs. Bartlett seemed very certain," said Monroe.
"Then she's lying or she's been conned herself," said Mark flatly. "I suggest you put Fox into an identity parade to see if she recognizes him. Also Wolfie's mother, when and if you find her. He and a blue-eyed blonde could probably pass muster quite successfully to someone who's only ever seen Leo and Elizabeth from a distance."
"Can you prove they weren't involved?"
"Yes." He put a hand under James's elbow to support him. "The Colonel's daughter is dying. She's been in and out of hospital since September with incurable liver disease. Had she met Mrs. Bartlett in October, it would have been within the confines of St. Thomas's Hospital."
It was a clever piece of welding, a false back to the forward luggage compartment, but it was sussed by a sharp-eyed female colleague of Barker's who questioned why a small strip of paint-the width of a chisel-had rubbed off midway down one panel. It wouldn't have been visible in daylight, but in the gleam of her torch the sliver of exposed metal winked against the gray paintwork.
"Neat," said Barker admiringly, as minimal pressure from a knife released a spring catch that allowed the entire panel to be eased away from the lip that anchored it on the other side. He leveled his torch into the foot-deep, meter-square space that was revealed. "Looks like he's been raiding half the stately homes of England."
The policewoman climbed inside the compartment to squint behind the left-hand panel. "There's more in here," she said, feeling inside and releasing a second catch at floor level. She pulled the panel toward her and lowered it flat. "How much of this belongs to the Colonel, do you reckon?"
Barker ran his torch over the paintings and bits of silverware that filled the cavity. "No idea… but you'd think the old boy would have noticed if things were going missing." He moved to the next compartment. "If the depths of these two were the same when the bus was built, then I'd say there's a false back here as well. Do you want to give it a try?"
The WPC crawled obligingly into the luggage space and fiddled with the knife again. She gave a grunt of satisfaction as the panel sprang open. "Jesus!" she said, looking at what was revealed. "What the hell does he want to do? Rob the World Bank?"
Barker lit a line of sawn-off shotguns and pistols that were attached by clamps to the rear wall. "Trade," he said dryly. "This is good currency. No wonder he's been haunting the Manor. The Colonel's family built up the largest collection of guns and rifles in Dorset. I imagine that's what Fox has been looking for."
"Then I don't have much sympathy for the Colonel," said the policewoman, releasing the second panel and laying it flat. "He's asking to be robbed."
"Except it's not on the premises anymore," said Barker. "The old boy donated the entire collection to the Imperial War Museum after his wife died. I guess no one bothered to tell Fox."
30
The eventual fallout from Fox's arrest spread a great deal farther than Shenstead when the bus was systematically taken apart and a genuine trail of evidence was uncovered. He was careless in what he had chosen to carry with him. A second mobile with a store of numbers and a trail of calls that allowed the police to track his movements. Keys to a lockup that were painstakingly traced through the manufacturers to give a location. Passports. Driving licenses-some in the names of women. Most worryingly, as far as the police were concerned, items of bloodstained clothing that seemed to be trophies, all hidden in a recess in the floor.
For the inhabitants of Shenstead, the fallout was more immediate and concentrated after the police went house to house late on Boxing Day evening to inform them that a man had been taken into custody following the murder of Bob Dawson. The news was greeted with shock by everyone. They pressed for more information-"What man…?" "Was anyone else hurt…?" "Was it connected with Ailsa's death…?" "What about Vera…?"-but the officers were reticent, merely asking all householders to make themselves available for interview the following day.
The story spread beyond the boundaries of the valley as soon as the press got hold of it. Journalists stalked the hospital in the early hours, searching for information on the arrested suspect and a woman called "Nancy" whose arm had been broken in a hammer attack. The police would only confirm the name of the murdered man and the fact that the suspect was a traveler from the site at Shenstead. However, word leaked out-via Ivo and his mobile when he spotted an opportunity to make money through checkbook journalism-that "Nancy" was Colonel Lockyer-Fox's illegitimate granddaughter, and parallels were drawn between the attack on her and Ailsa's death in March. Why was the Colonel's family being targeted?
The issue of illegitimacy added spice to the story and the search was on to find her biological mother and her adoptive mother. Fortunately, Ivo remained coy about her rank and surname, recognizing that he wouldn't be paid for information over a telephone line, which gave Bella time to take him apart before he could sneak out and make contact with a reporter. She confiscated his mobile and suggested the Colonel lock him in the cellar for the night, but, in the absence of Mark, who had driven Nancy to the hospital, James chose instead to match the money offered by the newspaper.
"You are no different from your friend Fox," he told Ivo as he wrote a check to cash with an accompanying letter to his bank. "You both believe in destroying lives to benefit yourselves. However, I would have given Fox everything I have in exchange for my wife, and I consider this a small price to pay for my granddaughter's peace of mind."
"Each to his own," said Ivo, tucking the check and the letter into his pocket and grinning maliciously at Bella, who was leaning against the library wall, "but you'd better approve this if the bank phones. You offered it fair and square so ther
e's no going back."
James smiled. "I always honor my promises, Ivo. You'll have no trouble at the bank as long as you honor yours."
"It's a deal, then."
"Yes." The old man stood up behind his desk. "Now will you please leave my house?"
"You've gotta be joking. It's two o'clock in the morning. My wife and kids are asleep upstairs."
"They're welcome to stay. You are not, however." He nodded to Bella. "Will you ask Sean Wyatt to come in here, my dear?"
"Why do you want the copper?" demanded Ivo.
"To have you arrested if you don't leave immediately. You have exploited my distress over my wife's murder, my gardener's murder, and the attempted murder of my granddaughter to coerce blood money out of me. You either leave now and cash that check as soon as the bank opens, or you spend the night with your friend at the police station. Whichever way, once you've left this house, you will not come back into it."
Ivo's eyes darted nervously toward Bella. "You'd better not make out I had anything to do with Fox. I didn't know him from Adam before the selection meeting."
"Maybe not," she said, easing herself away from the wall and opening the door into the hall, "but the Colonel's right. There ain't much difference between you and him. You both reckon you're more important than anyone else. Now, come on, shift your arse before I decide to tell the coppers about the nicked stuff in your bus."
"What about my wife and kids?" he complained, as James rounded the desk and forced him to walk backward. "I need to tell them what's going on."
"No."
"How am I supposed to get hold of them without a bloody phone?"
James looked amused. "Perhaps you should have thought of that first."
"Shit!" He allowed himself to be shepherded into the hall. "This is a fucking kangaroo court."
"Will you stop with the whining!" said Bella disgustedly, pulling the bolts on the front door and dragging it open.
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