In The Shadow of Evil

by Frank Smith

  A light over the door came on as he approached. It was operated by a sensor that detected movement, and the pool of light was just enough to illuminate the wooden gateposts marking the beginning of the gravelled track on the far side of the lane. But the moment he moved toward them and started up the track, the light went out, and he was left in total darkness.

  The old man paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the less powerful beam of the torch before moving on. Originally, the short track had led only as far as the old hay barn, but it had been widened and extended by some two hundred yards five years ago, with the intention of turning the top end of the field into a caravan site.

  But it had proved to be too isolated, and the only caravan up there now was that of Vanessa King, an artist and free spirit, who seemed to enjoy the solitude, although Thorsen had noticed that she did have a number of male friends, who visited her from time to time.

  He paused to brush the rain from his face, and was about to move forward when he heard a sound. He stopped, cupping his ear against the wind. The sound came again, soft, then suddenly sharp and unmistakable. ‘Toby?’ The beam of the torch probed the darkness. He called again, and the dog answered with a short, sharp bark.

  ‘Come on, then, boy,’ he coaxed as he made his way forward, swinging the beam from side to side. ‘Toby!’ he called again impatiently. ‘Stop messing me about. Where are you, boy?’

  Toby barked again, then suddenly Thorsen saw the flash of white on Toby’s face as the dog came rushing at him. ‘Toby? What . . .?’ he began, but the dog dashed around his legs, then shot off into the darkness. ‘Toby!’ he called, angry now as he lumbered after the dog. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Where’s the maj . . .? Oh, Jesus Murphy!’

  Major Farnsworth, splattered with mud and gravel, lay on his side next to a rusted water tank half-buried in the weeds. There were deep gouges in the mud beside him where a car or truck had spun its wheels before snaking into the rutted track. Thorsen knelt in the mud, feeling for a pulse in the side of the neck as he’d seen them do on television, but his fingers were cold and wet and he couldn’t feel a thing. He fumbled for the major’s wrist to try again, then shone the light on the major’s face and called loudly to him several times, but there was no response.

  He clambered to his feet. He needed help. He hoped that Mr Bromley hadn’t gone to bed. He turned to go, but Toby ran ahead, then turned to face him crouching low, teeth bared, barring his way. Thorsen started forward, but Toby was there before him, growling.

  ‘Toby! Don’t be so bloody daft,’ the old man scolded as he attempted to go round the dog, but Toby circled his feet so closely that Thorsen was forced to stop.

  ‘For God’s sake, what’s got into you?’ he demanded. ‘I’m going for help, so get out of the way.’ But every time Thorsen moved, the dog was there in front of him. The old man had watched Toby do the same thing hundreds of times before, but that was out there on the hillside when the dog was herding sheep.

  He stood still. ‘What is it, boy?’ he asked in a gentler tone, knowing that something must be wrong for the dog to be acting the way he was. Perhaps Toby had been hurt as well. ‘Come here, boy,’ he said softly, stretching out his hand, but Toby jumped away and ran toward the barn. When Thorsen didn’t follow, the dog returned, barking even more shrilly than before, then ran off in the same direction. Shaking his head, Thorsen followed the dog by the light of the torch, and saw that the small door in the side of the barn was open. Torn between the need to get help for the major as soon as possible, but curious about Toby’s strange behaviour, Thorsen moved toward the dog.

  Toby stood beside the door until Thorsen reached down to take his collar, then ducked away and disappeared inside the barn. ‘For pity’s sake, Toby!’ Thorsen grumbled as he pushed the door wider and went inside. Toby stood facing him in the middle of the floor, head up, tail wagging in much the same stance as when he was waiting for someone to throw his ball. But there was something behind him. A shadow beyond the beam of the torch? No, not a shadow, something more substantial.

  Thorsen reached along the wall and found the light switch. Toby settled on the floor as if to say he’d done his job and now it was up to Thorsen to take over.

  The body, shapeless in dishevelled clothing, lay on its side in a pool of blood, congealed, and looking almost black beneath the dust-encrusted bulb dangling on a length of flex directly overhead. The head was facing him, the eyes wide open, staring, but the features were distorted by dried rivulets of blood and matted hair. Even so, there was no doubt in Thorsen’s mind as to who it was. There was only one person around these parts who had auburn hair like that.

  THREE

  Detective Chief Inspector Neil Paget was awake when the bedside phone rang. He snatched it up, hoping to keep it from waking Grace, but she stirred beside him and said, ‘It’s all right. I’m not asleep.’

  Paget put the phone to his ear and said, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Paget?’

  ‘Sir . . .? Suddenly he was wide awake.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from the chief constable,’ said Chief Superintendent Morgan Brock. ‘We have a suspicious death at Bromley Manor over Clunbridge way. Two people involved, one dead, one seriously injured. The dead woman is Mr Bromley’s stepdaughter. The other, a Major somebody-or-other, is badly injured. Better get over there right away. I had Control call DS Tregalles, and SOCO, so there’s no need to waste time ringing them. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to tread carefully on this one, Paget, because the chief constable will be monitoring the investigation personally.’

  Paget slid out of bed. ‘Is there something I should . . .?’ he began, only to find that Brock was gone and he was talking into a dead phone.

  ‘Trouble?’ asked Grace as she raised herself up on one elbow. ‘Where do you have to go?’

  ‘A girl’s been killed at a place called Bromley Manor near Clunbridge. Sounds as if someone out there must have some clout if they called the chief constable directly. You ever heard of it?’

  ‘The name sounds familiar, but I can’t think why, exactly. But do be careful, Neil. It’s a rotten night, and you’ll be driving across country.’

  ‘Good thing you’re not on call this week,’ he said as he began to dress. ‘Brock’s called your lot out already.’

  Grace pulled the covers up around her, and smiled wickedly as she blew him a kiss. ‘I’ll think of you out there as I snuggle down in this nice warm bed,’ she said. ‘Just turn off the alarm before you go.’

  Paget waited until he was on the road before calling Control for directions to Bromley Manor. ‘It’s a big old place off to the right about a mile and a half out of Clunbridge on the road to Selbury Cross,’ Control told him. ‘PC Hurley will meet you there. He says to go past the entrance to the manor, then turn sharp right down Manor Lane. He’ll have his flashers on, so you shouldn’t have any trouble.’

  In the event, not only was the police car there, but the ambulance and several other cars and vans were clogging the lane, and he only just managed to squeeze his car in behind the police car. A uniformed constable got out of one of the cars to greet him. ‘PC Hurley, sir,’ he said. ‘DS Tregalles is inside with Doctor Starkie, and SOCO should be here any minute now.’

  ‘Right. So, what have we got, then, Constable?’

  ‘Best get in the car, if you don’t mind, sir,’ Hurley suggested, opening the door. ‘It’s a bugger trying to keep the notebook dry.’

  The two men got in and Hurley switched on the overhead light. ‘There are two victims,’ he said. ‘One is a young woman, a Miss Antonia Halliday, twenty-three years old. She’s in the barn, and she was dead when we arrived. Not much doubt about that. Killed with a sickle, she was. I didn’t touch it; it’s still there on the floor. All but took her head clean off.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Believe me, sir, it is not a pretty sight, as you’ll see for yourself.’

  ‘A sickle?’ Paget echoed. ‘Who uses a sickle these days?’

&n
bsp; ‘It’s an old one,’ Hurley told him. ‘Thorsen, the man who found her, told me it’s been hanging on the wall for years. It’s a rusty old thing, but the edge of the blade is still very sharp by the look of it.’

  ‘And the other victim?’

  ‘Major Farnsworth – fiftyish I should think, but that’s just a guess. He was unconscious and bleeding from the head when we arrived. He suffered other injuries; nothing broken as far as the medics could tell, but they reckoned he’d been lying there for some time, and his breathing wasn’t all that good. One of them said it looked as if he’d been hit by a car.’

  ‘Who is this man who found them?’

  ‘A chap named Thorsen, sir. He’s the gardener and general handyman from the manor. Lives in one of the cottages just down the lane. Pretty shaken up, he was, too, poor old chap. Says he was out looking for the major. The major’s wife became worried when he didn’t come home after taking Thorsen’s dog for a walk earlier in the evening, so Thorsen came up the lane to look for him.’ Hurley pointed to a gravelled track that was barely visible in the headlights through the rain. ‘That’s it over there, sir. Seems like the dog stayed with the major after he was knocked down, and it was the sound of the dog barking that led Thorsen to him. I’ve put markers round the spot.’

  ‘But the young woman is in the barn, you say, so what prompted Thorsen to go inside?’

  ‘He says it was the dog again. Thorsen says he was about to go to the manor for help when the dog more or less herded him back to the barn. He says the door was open, and he followed the dog inside and found Miss Halliday. That’s when he went up to the house and got Mr Bromley.’

  ‘Bromley,’ Paget repeated. ‘Should I know that name?’ he asked Hurley. ‘It sounds familiar.’

  ‘Probably because he’s a local magistrate, as well as being a brain surgeon, sir. Well, he was when he was in London – come to that, I suppose he still is, except he doesn’t operate in London anymore. And he wants to talk to you as soon as possible. Says he has information regarding who might have done this.’

  ‘Does he? In that case we’d better get on with it. Where is he now? And where is this man, Thorsen?’

  ‘They’re both up at the house. My partner, PC Renshaw, is with them. Quite a shock for the old man, finding a body like that, and for Mr Bromley, ’specially as it’s his stepdaughter, so I thought it best to get them back inside.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Paget agreed. ‘So let’s take a look before we go up to the house.’

  He suited up in the car. It was no easy task, even when Hurley got out to give him more room, but it was better than getting soaked in the process.

  Even if they’d had more light, there was little to be seen where the major had been found, but the area had been marked off and would be examined thoroughly by SOCO later on.

  They moved on to the barn and went inside.

  DS Tregalles, who had been talking to Reg Starkie, the pathologist, came to greet Paget. ‘Nasty one, boss,’ he said quietly. ‘The victim lost a lot of blood, but Starkie says it could still have taken the girl several minutes to die. Come and take a look for yourself, but watch your step. Looks like the killer was looking for something in her suitcase and carryall.’

  The lights were on but they were no match for the sheer size of the cavernous building, and Paget found himself having to pick his way gingerly through clothing and shoes and jars of cosmetics littering the floor to where Starkie was packing instruments away.

  ‘Paget,’ Starkie greeted him tersely. ‘Or should I be addressing you as “Superintendent” Paget now? I hear you’ve taken over from Alcott.’

  ‘Acting unpaid until they find a replacement,’ Paget told him.

  Starkie grunted. ‘They shouldn’t have to look far,’ he growled. ‘So good luck to you.’

  ‘Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, Reg,’ Paget said. ‘I appreciate it.’ He took a deep breath to calm the tremors in his stomach as he bent to examine the body at his feet. ‘Meanwhile, what can you tell me about this young woman?’

  ‘Not much you can’t see for yourself,’ the doctor told him. ‘She was attacked from behind and to one side. There is no indication that she tried to defend herself. The blade entered just below her right ear, clipping the jawbone and severing the carotid artery, the external jugular, and the tip of her chin. And she was finished off with a blow to the head with the same sharp-pointed instrument.’ He pointed to the sickle beside the body.

  Antonia Halliday lay partly on her left side. One arm lay straight out as if pointing to something in the distance, while the other was tucked beneath her. She wore a light jacket over a denim shirt, jeans, and trainers, and every pocket was turned inside out.

  ‘Thorsen told me they were like that when he found her,’ Tregalles said. ‘Obviously, the killer was looking for something, but I don’t think he found it, because every single thing has been taken out of the suitcase and the carryall. Even the lining’s been pulled out, and every jar has been opened, so whatever he was looking for was small. So, the questions I have are: Why was she here in the barn? Where was she going? Why was she killed, and what was her killer looking for?’

  ‘All very good questions,’ Paget agreed as he looked around. Whatever the original purpose of the barn had been, it now seemed to be a catch-all for everything from an assortment of rusting farm machinery – including a tractor that looked as if it hadn’t moved from that spot in years – to odd bits and pieces of furniture, an upright piano missing a top, canvas awnings, lawn chairs, assorted bits of wood and metal, and several tyres.

  Paget turned to Starkie. ‘What can you tell me about the time of death?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s not been dead long. Two to four hours ago at most. You won’t go far wrong if you assume she died between eight and ten this evening.’

  They heard the sound of several vehicles arriving. ‘That’ll be SOCO,’ said Hurley, and went out to meet them. Paget moved to the door to watch as the forensic team, led by the Scenes-of-Crime Officer, Inspector Charlie Dobbs, began setting up portable lights in the lane to illuminate the area where Farnsworth had been found. Dobbs, a tall, thin, gaunt-looking man, saw Paget standing in the doorway and came over to look inside. ‘Don’t know that we can do much outside in all this rain,’ he said dolefully. ‘So I think I’ll tell them to start in here.’ He sneezed. ‘Summer cold,’ he explained, and sneezed again. ‘Tried everything, but the bloody thing won’t shift.’ He pulled out a large handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘And the first thing we’re going to need is a lot more light than this,’ he continued as he looked around. ‘Good job we have our own generator.’

  Hurley appeared at Paget’s elbow. ‘Chief Super’s here, sir,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. It was more of a question than a statement, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. Paget found it hard to believe as well. He’d never known Brock to visit a crime scene before. In fact he had never seen Brock anywhere except in his office surrounded by his beloved charts and graphs.

  Both Hurley and Tregalles melted into the background as Brock appeared. The chief superintendent was holding an umbrella above his head with one hand, while the other was waving about in an attempt to maintain his balance as he picked his way fussily across the rain-soaked grass. ‘Well, Paget?’ he said sharply as he shook out his umbrella and joined the DCI in the shelter of the doorway. ‘What are you doing out here? Mr Bromley tells me you haven’t been in to see him yet, and he distinctly told one of the constables to tell you that that he knows who killed his stepdaughter. Some fellow by the name of Nash, who broke into the house and threatened Miss Holliday while they were at dinner.’

  ‘Halliday,’ Paget corrected gently. ‘And Constable Hurley did relay the message, but I’m sure you will appreciate that I can hardly talk to Mr Bromley before I’ve looked at the crime scene and discussed the manner of death with the pathologist. In fact, sir, now that you’re here, I’d like you to see the body for yourself. The manner of de
ath is somewhat unusual, and I’m sure Dr Starkie would be pleased to explain . . .’

  But Brock was shaking his head and grimacing as he looked toward the body on the floor. ‘No, no, that won’t be necessary,’ he said quickly. ‘Time is getting on and the chief constable will be awaiting my report, so I must get back. And, as I said, Mr Bromley is expecting you, so I won’t take up any more of your time, Chief Inspector. I’ve assured him that, once he’s given you the information on this fellow, Nash, you will be taking action immediately to bring him in. So the sooner you get over there the better, and I can tell Sir Robert that you have things well in hand.’

  Brock moved to the open door and was about to open his umbrella, when he paused. ‘You do realize who you’re dealing with, don’t you, Paget?’ he asked. ‘I mean you do know who Charles Bromley is?’

  ‘I’m told he’s a surgeon and a local magistrate,’ Paget replied, ‘but I don’t think our paths have ever crossed.’

  Brock eyed Paget suspiciously as if he thought the chief inspector was being deliberately obtuse. ‘For your information,’ he said coldly, ‘Mr Charles Bromley is one of this country’s top neurosurgeons. At least he was before he retired after that unfortunate business with Halliday in London a few years ago, as I’m sure you will remember, being on the scene at the time, as it were. The Bromley name is highly respected in this part of the world, and you would do well to bear that in mind.’

  ‘Indeed, I will, sir,’ Paget replied. ‘And would I be correct in assuming that Mr Bromley is also a personal friend of the chief constable, since it was Sir Robert he rang to report the murder of Miss Halliday?’

  ‘They’ve been friends for many years,’ Brock conceded, ‘which is why Sir Robert is taking such a keen interest in the result. But if you are implying that this investigation should be treated any differently from any other, Chief Inspector, I can assure you that is not the case. Is that understood?’