by John Holt
She looked up, and shook her head. Tears were now slowly flowing down her cheek. Mollie moved forward and put her arm around the girls shoulder. “Mr. Kendall he never stole that ruby,” she said. “And he never killed himself.” She dabbed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Mr. Kendall, he was murdered,” she continued. “I want his name cleared, and the real criminals brought to justice.”
“I am sure that your father’s death was, and naturally still is, deeply distressing to you, Miss Wheeler,” he said, trying to be as gentle as he could be. “But it was over four years ago. Why are you bringing it up once again?”
She looked at Kendall, and shook her head. She wiped her eyes, and cleared her throat. “Mr. Kendall four years ago I was just thirteen years old. I did not know the full story of what had happened, and no one would have listened to me anyway.” That was certainly true, Kendall had to admit. “I am now seventeen years old. I have made some, albeit limited, investigations myself, and I know that my father was innocent.”
Kendall was unconvinced. He had heard similar protestations before, in similar situations. It was common for guilty people, or their relatives, to constantly declare their innocence. It was to be expected, par for the course. Guilty people seldom admit their guilt. Naturally some of them were actually innocent. Of that there was no doubt, but it was only a very small proportion. Kendall did not know the precise percentages, but the vast majority of them were found to be guilty as charged.
He looked at his visitor, her hands were still shaking, and the tears had started to fall once more. He slowly shook his head, and took a deep breath. “With respect Miss Wheeler, you would think your father innocent wouldn’t you,” he said. “Any child would, that would be a natural reaction.” He took another deep breath, and looked over at Mollie. Mollie nodded her head slightly. He turned back to face the young girl. “It’s a perfectly natural reaction, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. But unfortunately thinking something does not make it so.” He paused once again. “Unfortunately the courts aren’t really interested in somebody’s feelings, or sentiment. They want proof. They want evidence, real hard evidence.”
She slowly opened the bag that she was carrying. She reached inside and took out a small package. She placed the package on the desk in front of Kendall. “Mr. Kendall, my father died six days after the robbery,” she said. “During those six days he was under considerable stress, as I’m sure you can imagine. Stress both from the Bradley family who suspected him, and from intense police questioning.” She paused, and looked at the package. Then she shrugged her shoulders, and looked at Kendall. “My father wrote down his thoughts at that time, and his own suspicions. He also kept a diary. They are all here in that package.” She placed her hand on the package and started to tap it. “You will see from his diary that he was expecting a visitor on the day that he died. I believe that the visitor was his murderer.”
Kendall shrugged and waved his hand in the air. How many times had he heard similar stories? My father is innocent; my husband didn’t do it; it was two other fellows; I was miles away at the time. So he left a diary. So he wrote some things down. What about it? He did not need this. He had more than enough to deal with didn’t he? A kidnapping that wasn’t a kidnap, a robbery that happened four years ago, and there was a murder to solve.
He picked up the package, and then laid it back down. He looked over at Mollie. She smiled and gave a nod. Kendall gave a sigh. “All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll look at these.” He tapped the package. “But I really need something more,” he continued. “A lot more.” He looked at his visitor. He shrugged his shoulders again and shook his head. “Alright, let’s talk about the night of the robbery, shall we?” he said. “Do you remember anything about it, anything at all?”
Ann looked at Mollie, and then she looked back at Kendall. “I remember being woken up,” she said. “There was a lot of noise going on, doors slamming, people talking, shouting, and people running down the stairs.” She paused for a moment. Then she took a breath. “I was frightened.”
“Go on Ann,” said Mollie encouragingly. “Go on.”
“I got out of bed,” she continued. “I put on my dressing gown, and I ran to my father’s room.” She stopped for a moment. “It was next to mine, just along the corridor,” she explained. “We were on the top floor, in the attic.”
Kendall nodded and smiled. “Okay, so you went into your father’s room,” he said. “What happened then?”
Ann shook her head. “Nothing happened,” she said, sounding slightly puzzled. “He was standing over by the window staring down on to the grounds.” She stopped and wiped a tear away from her eyes. “I went over to him and stood next to him. He looked down at me, and put his arm around my shoulder. He then looked back out of the window. I looked out as well, and I saw someone running from the house, across the lawn, towards the woods.”
“You saw someone,” Kendall repeated. “Do you know who it was?”
Ann hesitated, unsure, nervous. She looked at Mollie, and then she looked back at Kendall. “I couldn’t be absolutely sure, you understand,” she replied. “But I thought that it was Mister Carl. It certainly looked like him.”
“Mister Carl?” repeated Kendall. “Do you mean Carl Simmonds?”
She nodded. “Yes,” she replied quite simply. “Carl Simmonds.”
Kendall thought for a few minutes letting the information sink in. “Do you think your father also saw him?” he asked.
Ann said nothing for a while. She raised her hands up to her forehead, lowering her head slightly. She closed her eyes tightly. She was trying hard to recall exactly what had happened that night. After a short time she lowered her hands, and opened her eyes. “I’m not really sure Mr. Kendall,” she said. “But I think he must have.” She paused once again, and then nodded her head. “He must have,” she repeated. “I mean I saw him, and my father had been looking out of the window for sometime before I came into the room. I’m sure that he did see him.”
Just a little convenient wasn’t it, Kendall thought. Wheeler just happened to be looking out of the window, and saw the actual thief running from the house, thus proving that he wasn’t the thief himself. Kendall looked down at the floor and shook his head. Since day one of this whole case he had been misled, and lied to. Was this more of the same? “What time was this?” he asked.
Ann Wheeler thought for a few moments. “Well I didn’t actually know what time it was. I only found out afterwards,” she replied. “After the robbery was discovered, that is.” She paused. “It was just about three-thirty, the time the robbery took place.”
Kendall rubbed his chin. That was exactly the answer that he was expecting. Was she telling the truth, or was this just another ruse to deflect suspicion from her father. If he had been a gambling man the odds were currently six to four that she was lying. “And you are completely certain that it was Mister Carl that you saw?” he said. “There’s no doubt in your mind.”
“I told you, Mr. Kendall. I’m not absolutely one hundred per cent certain, I was very sleepy,” she replied. Kendall looked disappointed and grimaced. “Perhaps ninety-eight per cent.” Kendall started to laugh. She opened her handbag and took something out and placed it on the desk, it was a button. “I found this a few days after the robbery. It was at the side of the garage.” Kendall picked up the button and examined it for a few moments. He put it back on to the desk. It was a button, so what, he wondered. “I believe that it came from Mister Carl’s jacket,” she continued.
Kendall shrugged his shoulders. “So a button came off his jacket,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anything does it?” The odds were increasing, and now stood at seven to three. He looked at the button once again. “He could have lost it at any time. In fact it might have come from anyone’s jacket. It’s a fairly common button isn’t it?”
He looked at the button once again. He had to admit that it was a little unusual, although he was sure that he had seen something similar before,
although he couldn’t think where. He looked at her. “Okay so it was possibly Mister Carl that you saw, and I did say possibly. Why didn’t you say anything at the time?”
Ann looked down at the floor. Tears started to form in her eyes and slowly run down her cheek once again. She looked up. “Mr. Kendall you have to remember two things. Firstly, my father was the chief suspect at that time. Secondly, I was young, and totally alone.” She paused for a few moments. “My mother died when I was only five years old.” She shook her head, and looked at Kendall. “I was confused. When I saw Mister Carl, when I thought I saw Mister Carl, I guessed that he was probably an accomplice. An accomplice assisted by my father.” She paused once again. “Mr. Kendall as I said earlier I am only seventeen years old. At the time of the robbery I was thirteen. Nobody would take any notice of me then, especially knowing that my father was the chief suspect.”
That made perfect sense, Kendall thought. The odds were now back at six to four. “Go on,” he coaxed gently.
“Later, another thought came into my mind,” she continued. “I thought that if it was Mister Carl that I had seen, then maybe Miss Eve was somehow involved.” She stopped and brushed away another tear with her handkerchief. “I could never tell on her.”
Kendall sighed. This was all very interesting, but it wasn’t really getting anywhere. She thought she had seen someone, and she had found a button. He shrugged his shoulders. Case closed, I don’t think. Your father is the prime suspect, you see the real criminal, but you say nothing because you are too young, and besides it might incriminate the mistress of the house. This was beginning to sound ridiculous. The odds had shot back up. He put his hands together and started to drum his fingers. He suddenly sat forward, and started to play with the button. “Anything else, Miss Wheeler?” he asked wearily.
She nodded, and reached into the bag once again. She withdrew a woollen blanket, and handed it to Kendall. Kendall looked surprised and was about to say something when she spoke. “I found that the day after the robbery,” she explained. “It was lying on the edge of the driveway, close to the woods.”
Kendall continued to look puzzled, and wondered if there was a point to all of this. Had he missed something along the way? So now we have a blanket to add to the button. Whatever next, he wondered. He looked down at her bag. A knitted cardigan maybe, possibly there would be a hat, or a scarf. Better yet, a pair of leather gloves, there’s always a pair of gloves in the best mysteries. The betting odds had now gone right through the roof.
“Amazing,” he said. “Truly remarkable, a blanket just lying at the side of the driveway,” he repeated. He looked over at Mollie and raised his eyebrows. Mollie merely glared back. He returned his attention to Ann Wheeler. “Had you ever seen it before?” he continued.
Ann paused for a few moments. “Yes,” she replied. “I think that it belongs to Mary.”
“Mary?” Kendall repeated. “Mary who?”
“Mary Dwyer,” Ann replied. “Miss Eve’s maid.”
Kendall shook his head. This was leading somewhere, the question was where. Probably a dead end, he thought. “And you’ve kept it all this time.” he said. “Did you ask Mary about it?”
Ann nodded her head. “Yes I did, the day after,” she replied.
“And,” Kendall said. “What happened?”
Ann shook her head. “She denied all knowledge of it. She said that she had never seen it before.”
Kendall sighed. I was right, he murmured. Just as he had expected it lead straight to a dead end. “Anything else Miss Wheeler?” he asked.
She nodded, and once again reached for her bag. After a few moments she placed something on the desk in front of Kendall. “I found these in the Summer House, in the woodland close to the house.
Kendall smiled. Okay, so they weren’t leather gloves, he had to admit. But they were still gloves nonetheless. He looked up at her. “Unless I’m very much mistaken they look like a pair of white nylon gloves, the kind used by photographers to handle their negatives,” he said. “Presumably they were used by the thief to prevent leaving behind any fingerprints.” He wondered if the bag was now empty, he certainly hoped so the excitement was getting a little bit too much for him. “Anything else?” he asked. Maybe it would be the cardigan this time.
Ann looked at him for a few moments, and then shook her head. “No I don’t think there is anything else,” she replied. She looked at Mollie and smiled. “I know it all sounds fantastic,” she said. “I know you don’t believe me.” Kendall suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He hadn’t thought it showed that much. She smiled at him. “Mr. Kendall, my father had nothing to do with the robbery. And he never killed himself. He never owned a gun, and he certainly would not have known how to use one anyway.” She looked at the package still lying on the desk. “All I ask is that you look though his papers, and consider the other points that I mentioned. Give it a fair hearing, and then make a judgement.” She stood up. “Thank you for seeing me,” she said, and started towards the door.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Six
All Very Confusing
As Mollie closed the door after their visitor had gone, Kendall gave a deep sigh. Could he really believe what Ann Wheeler had just said, or was it all fantasy? Was it just the truth as she would want it to be, and not the actual truth? After all she was only seventeen, still only a child really. Or had he been totally unfair to her? Had he judged her too easily, and perhaps too harshly? Had he been too blinkered? Only seeing what he chose to see. Had he been perhaps a little too quick in his judgement? Had he been too disbelieving, or too distrustful? Was there any truth in what she had said? Any truth at all?
He simply did not know. But if he were to be absolutely honest with himself there might be something in what she had said. Firstly if it had been Carl Simmonds she had seen running across the lawn, then that would certainly clear up the question as to why Eve Simmonds waved that night. He shook his head, it was all very confusing.
He opened the side cupboard to his desk, and took out a new brown folder. He carefully wrote across the label Charles Wheeler, and the date. Underneath he added The Marinski Affair. He then took a blank sheet of paper and held his pen ready. He looked down at the paper, hesitant, unsure of what to write. Five minutes went by, and still he had written nothing down. He continued to stare at the blank sheet of paper sitting in front of him.
“So at the time of the robbery Wheeler was in his room, just staring out of the window,” he said. “That just doesn’t make any sense at all.” He paused for a moment. “Unless he merely arranged for the security lights, and the cameras, to be switched off, and then unlocked the front door, ready. Then he simply went back to his room to wait. Someone else actually carried out the robbery.”
Mollie looked at Kendall. “So he must have had an accomplice then,” she suggested helpfully.
Kendall wasn’t convinced. “Let’s just say, for a moment, that you’re right, he had an accomplice.”
Mollie nodded. Good, now we’re getting somewhere at last.
“Then why did he never mention anything about it, in his so called full confession?” Kendall continued. “Why take the entire blame himself?”
Mollie had no idea. Did it matter? Maybe he just never thought of it. Maybe he just didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble with the police. Perhaps they weren’t getting anywhere after all. It was all terribly confusing.
“There’s one other thing that bothers me,” Kendall said.
“Just the one, you are incredibly fortunate,” Mollie said. “There are dozens of things that bother me.” She looked at Kendall, and frowned. “All right, so tell me, what is it?”
“Why did he keep the earrings back in his room? Why didn’t he hide them with the rest of the jewels?” Mollie had no idea. “I think that it was done deliberately,” Kendall continued. “I think that somebody left them there, to put suspicion on to Wheeler.”
Mollie shook her head. She was trying hard to foll
ow the conversation, but failing badly. Not ten seconds ago we were saying that Wheeler had done it, with an accomplice. Now we seem to be saying something entirely different. “So are you saying that it wasn’t Wheeler after all?” she asked. “He never carried out the robbery. Is that right? What about the suicide? And what about the confession that he left?”
Kendall thought for a few moments. He looked towards the door, and nodded. What had she just said? “He never owned a gun, and he certainly would not have known how to use one anyway.” He looked at Mollie. “She was right, you know” he said. “Ann Wheeler was absolutely right. Her father didn’t carry out the robbery. He didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered, and the murder was made to look like a suicide. As for that so-called confession, well anyone could have written that. Why even Bradley couldn’t believe that Wheeler had committed the crime.” He paused. “What was it that he said? The thought of him robbing me would never enter my head. That was it.” He paused once more, and looked down at his desk.
“What else did he say?” He thought for a moment or two, and then nodded once again. “He had hurt his arm a day or so before the party. His right arm.” Kendall nodded. The odds that Wheeler was not the criminal were now heavily in his favour. “But If Wheeler was not the guilty party, and if he had not committed suicide, then the robber must have killed him. What’s more the real culprit is still on the loose.”
“So where did the gun come from?” Mollie asked. “I mean Wheeler never had one, according to his daughter. So where did he get it?”
“He didn’t get it from anywhere,” Kendall replied. Mollie looked puzzled. “It’s simple. The murderer had the gun. He shot Wheeler, and left the gun behind. That’s all. There’s no great mystery about it.”
“So Ann Wheeler was right then,” said Mollie, a huge smile spreading over her face. “I’m so glad. I knew it all the time.” She looked over at Kendall and nodded her head. “You did too, didn’t you,” she continued. “I felt so sorry for her.”