He also had no intentions of sharing anything with Jim Stocker. He might have to buy his silence, but nothing to worry about right now, he mused. “Just got to keep that Inspector Linham off the scent.” Welsh knew that he was in pretty deep and it was a question of ‘steady the buff’s’, as Wellington had cried to his troops at Waterloo, when Napoleon’s troops attacked. He was not going to waiver now.
***
The next day Peter Cavendish was sitting at his favourite piano in the music school at Coombe Hurst, immersed in a new arrangement that he had composed for the upcoming Centenary. Pausing to make some changes to the score, he noticed Jim Stocker and Jane Ryman-Jones sitting in one of the rose covered Victorian gazeboes just beyond the flag stoned terrace. He was surprised, as he had never seen them together, apart from a casual exchange in the bar one evening. From all appearances they looked like a couple engaged in an amorous situation on a summer’s afternoon.
Peter was slightly envious, but even more so, it angered him on Ralph’s behalf.
Although he had semi-jokingly mentioned to Ralph that he might also be holding a torch for Jane, there was a grain of truth in it. She was a charming and attractive woman, and he was amazed that Ralph had not made more effort to win her back. Or at least re-kindle the old flames that must have still lasted over the intervening years.
It may have been the problems he was having with the music, or perhaps it was the previous evening’s drinking, which had left him a bit fragile, but he suddenly realized how angry he felt towards Jim Stocker. Here was this creep who was a known womanizer, a gambler and a drunk, daring to muscle in, probably with an ulterior motive, on what he saw as Ralph’s girlfriend, maybe even his future wife.
He felt so angry that he was just about to stride out and confront Stocker when suddenly the couple jumped up and Jane slapped Stocker’ face. Stocker staggered back and to Peter’s horror raised his fist to strike her back. But before Peter could go to her aid, he saw her side step the blow as she pushed Stocker off balance and he crashed headlong into a rockery bed that was also part of a larger Victorian water feature. Jane could obviously take care of herself without any help.
Peter’s anger was replaced with one of mirth by the sight of Stocker extracting himself from the pond, covered in green slime and looking most perplexed. Jane strode off and Stocker stormed off in the other direction, presumably to find a change of clothes and try to recover what was left of his dignity.
Peter noticed that Stocker was muttering and looking furious as he squelched up the gravel drive back towards Kenry House. Quite an event, and no doubt a scene that the Victorian’s who had inhabited the house back in its hay days would have enjoyed. He thought about the unexpected way Jane had put Jim Stocker in his place, and wondered if Ralph was prepared for such a challenge. He felt refreshed from that unexpected diversion, and went back to his real passion, composing.
A somewhat chastened Jim Stocker met up with Jack Welsh a few days later over a curry at Monty’s, a Nepalese restaurant that was a favourite with staff from the University. It was the sort of restaurant where you could always enjoy good food and a bit of good natured banter with the waiters between courses. On the other hand, you could also guarantee getting a quiet table for a serious chat if your business was of a more discrete nature. Jim Stocker was perusing the vast menu when Welsh joined him. Welsh got right down to business.
“I know you ‘aven’t let me down. What did you find out from Ryman-Jones?”
After their previous chat, Welsh had realized that Stocker probably knew more about what Ralph Chalmers had written in his brief to Granger about the connections being made between Perrone and the gold and jewels taken from the Hotel de Ville back in 1916 than he had let on. One of the secretaries had told him that the Centenary brochure was all about possible gold being taken in 1916 and that it might be linked to Kenry House and the dead officer. If that was the case, why was it that Stocker didn’t say anything about it, and why had he apparently swallowed the story about a lost will and his inheritance? So as Stocker started to say what he had found out, Welsh was already waiting for a possible double cross. Years of barracks room lawyering and army dealings told him that nothing was ever as straight forward as it appeared. There was always something that the other person was holding back. Stocker started into his spiel.
“Well I chatted her up like I said I would. And it seems that she found this slate tablet with some writing on it that she at first thought was Roman but turns out to be Arabic. It gives some directions and distances starting from the front of Kenry House and goes over towards the old ice house mound. You know that place where the Victorians used to put ice in the winter months so they could use it in those hot summers. Perhaps the officer hid his Will there and wrote it on the tablet in case he became too ill to tell anyone and wanted his relatives to find it”? The ice house is all locked up now, but there’s bound to be some keys to it somewhere. It could be our chance to hit the big time Jack, and get shot of this awful place.” He looked at Jack to see if he was prepared to let him in on it. This could be his chance to pay off those gambling debts and get a fresh start himself.
‘There is no way this side of ‘ell that I, Jack Welsh, am going to share anyfing wiv that loser’, he thought to himself. But he also knew that, at least for now, he needed Stocker’s help if he was going to find out more about what was going on, and just who might have access to information that might lead him to the jewels. So he played it low key but firm.
“Look Jim, I know all about that old ice ‘ouse. We’ve fought of puttin’ a new boiler system in there and doing away wiv the old system we ‘ave now. So gettin’ ‘old of the key isn’t the problem. But you need to remember that you ‘ave a lot to lose if your shenanigans get back to Granger. Like I told you, I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t, provided you ‘elp me out wiv a little bit of information that I ‘ave a right to know any’ow. But most of the staff ‘ere ain’t likely to share anyfink they learn with the likes of a lowly caretaker like me, where they just might talk to one of their own.” He said, while trying to pretend that the exchange was a quid pro quo. “So what ‘ave you found out?”
Stocker tried to regain some ground.
“Not much, although I don’t think that she has told anyone else about what’s on the slate, either. She may have told Ralph, but she seems like the sort who would want to keep it to herself until she gets a chance to have a bit of a sniff around. She probably wants to make sure she gets all the credit if her project does come up with something worthwhile, and she wouldn’t want to make herself look stupid in front of her colleagues back at Reading if it turns out to be nothing. But it’s a bit of a stretch from Neolithic and Iron Age remains on the site, which they are currently thinking, and gold from 1916 war torn French towns,” he said.
Now Jack was really worried. If Stocker had not believed his story about the Will and how he hoped to inherit some property or money, then he must realize that he was after any gold and jewelry that might be found on the site. If it was in the ice house and Ryman–Jones was on the prowl, then there was little time to waste. He had to get whatever information she had and start looking for himself.
Jack recalled that when he had first taken the job at the University he had looked inside the ice house. It was an oval, almost circular shape, with a long drop to the bottom. The walls were of red Victorian brick and at the bottom there was a tunnel that appeared to go directly back to the cellars under Kenry House. But he had never investigated further since it was cold and damp down there, and at the time he had no reason to think it might hold anything more interesting than a bit of graffiti or rubbish from the previous tenants.
It was possible that the tunnel was used when the ice house was full, to dig out enough at a time to use in the house to cool things, and he heard that the Victorians liked to use it to make ice cream. But he would think about that more later. For now he had to deal with Stocker.
“Well Jim, I do appreci
ate your ‘aving a little chat with Ryman-Jones. I fink all that talk about gold and jewels is so much baloney. Just like those academics to make something out of nufing. And Granger just wants to make the Centenary front page news so that ‘e can clinch that deal wiv Saint Winifred’s ‘ospital and get all those young nurses in ‘ere. Just what you’d like eh, Jim? If there is anyfing to be found it’ll be in the ‘ouse, the stables, or the clock ‘ouse. No one would be stupid enough to try an ‘ide anyfing in that bloomin’ old ice ‘ouse. Specially some poor chap who, if we can believe Inspector Linham, was goin’ to be losing ‘is legs frew them wounds.” Having toned down the whole thing, Jack felt that Stocker was now where he wanted him.
It suddenly struck Jack that Linham had never said anything about wounds in the legs and that it was his grandfather who had told him that. Fortunately for him Stocker was busy drinking his beer and either didn’t hear that part, or else it didn’t register. No cocks were going to crow over this one, mused Jack. The prize was nearly his, and he was ready for collection time. He couldn’t wait to get started looking in the ice house. But he couldn’t resist one last jab at Stocker.
“By the way, how’d you make out wiv Ryman–Jones, any’ow?”
“Don’t ask,” spluttered Stocker. “That woman must have been coached by Mohamed Ali. I won’t go into it, but don’t try to tangle with her; she packs a mean right hook. I have met some women in my time but that one, well she’s all yours mate.” He paused to finish his beer, and then continued. “And to top it off, I slipped making my way back from having a chat with her and it cost me a new suit since the cleaners said they’ll never be able to get the stains out. I don’t reckon you’ll cough up for the replacement, but it would only be fair if you picked up the tab for the beers this time.”
They finished their meal, and to his surprise, Welsh fished out a couple of notes and left them on the table. The statue of the Buddha, near the table where they had been eating, smiled serenely at the attempts of the two conspirators to beat what fate had in store for them.
Chapter 9
A few days later as the dawn chorus heralded in another summer’s day, it was rudely interrupted by the deafening noise of an ambulance siren. A site worker had arrived at Kenry House to find someone injured lying on the ground next to the door of the ice house. He had dialed 999 and the ambulance and police were now on the scene. Margaret had arrived early to polish up Granger’s report and was hurrying to her office when one of the officers intercepted her and asked if she knew the victim. She had a look and told him that it was Doctor Jane Ryman–Jones, and that she was an archeologist from Reading University who was working on a project at the University. Margaret always seemed calm in a crisis. Probably a result of working for years as Granger’s secretary, and dealing regularly with his emotional outbursts, but seeing Doctor Ryman-Jones injured had really shaken her.
Jane was unconscious as the ambulance sped off towards the A&E Department at nearby Kingston Hospital. There was little traffic about at that time of the morning, and as the sounds of the siren died away, Inspector Linham, contemplated the situation that he now faced.
“Looks like we could possibly have an attack on a woman to deal with here, Wilson. Not one of your standard molesting cases. My guess is that either she met someone who was up to no good and tried to stop them, or she was mistaken for someone else, and was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mind you, if she doesn’t survive, perish the thought, we’ll have another Kenry House unsolved murder on our hands,” said the Inspector.
“Yes sir”, was always a good response to Inspector Linham’s musings. Wilson knew by experience that his chief was only talking out loud. The last thing that he wanted was a comment back. Wilson knew that there were no answers and that it would only be after a painstaking enquiry that they might be able to find some clue as to what had taken place. Inspector Linham went through his well practiced spiel.
"Cordon off the area officers,” he said to the two constables who had been first to arrive on the scene. “And find out who was on the site last night and first thing this morning. Should be able to get that from the head caretaker when he gets in. And make sure that Miss Raynor has contacted Granger, and then set up an enquiry room. The one we had here for the previous incident should be fine.” He turned to a police constable who was standing nearby. “And get us some tea lad, and I expect that Sergeant Wilson could manage a cup, too. Go to it officer, you know the drill. And I shouldn’t need to tell you, but cordon off that access road. We don’t want anyone involved in a road accident as well. That would really spoil everyone’s day.”
Things seemed to be getting under control.
Later that morning Linham was ready to begin his interviews. He quickly sorted out those who just had to make a statement of their whereabouts in the past 24 hours from those he needed to speak with in greater depth. He saw Ralph Chalmers hurrying towards the cordoned off area and decided he had better intercept him before some hysterical bystander got to him first.
“Good morning, Professor Chalmers. I am sorry to have to tell you, but Doctor Ryman-Jones, has been seriously injured. I understand that you and she were friends?”
“What happened? Will she be all right? Where is she now?” Ralph’s mind was racing. All he could think of was trying to get to Jane.
“Hold on a minute, Professor. I know you must be pretty upset about what has happened to one of your colleagues. But the best way to help her is to help us. I’ve heard from the hospital and they are doing their best for her and will let us know if she shows any signs of improvement. She is stable and that’s good news.”
“But what happened? How was she injured?” A thousand thoughts were going through Ralph’s mind. Surely he wasn’t meant to lose Jane, just when he had found her again.
“But I need to go to her,” Ralph told Inspector Linham with an urgency in his voice that surprised the Inspector.
Linham managed to calm Ralph down enough to get to the room being used for interviews. Once they were settled down he started the interview.
Leaning forward across the desk, he stared directly at Ralph.
“Excuse me but I have to ask. Was your friendship any more than platonic and had you been involved in any arguments in the past few weeks?” Having posed his key question he leant back to see the effect it had.
Ralph was in a daze. Jane was injured and here he was being asked if he had anything to do with it.
“Well as you have asked, yes. Jane and I were once very close, back thirty odd years ago when we were both students at Cambridge. But we went our separate ways and were only reacquainted when she was asked to come to Kingston to research the site where that skeleton was unearthed. We went to dinner together on Friday evening, and naturally I was hoping it might eventually grow into something more. But no, we have hardly had time to get reacquainted, let alone have any rows.”
Inspector Linham leant forward again.
“Can you think of what Miss Ryman-Jones may have been doing here last night, or early this morning, and if you know of anyone who had reason to want to harm her?” He said.
Ralph told the Inspector about the tablet and the Arabic inscription that Jane was trying to interpret, and about the possible links to the treasure taken from a museum in France. He realized that he had not actually answered any of the Inspector’s questions, but he couldn’t seem to focus. All he could think about was Jane, lying in the hospital, perhaps deathly ill.
When Linham spoke there was a note of disbelief in his voice.
“But with all due respect, Professor Chalmers, trying to link a hundred year old skeleton of that officer with all that talk of treasure seems a far cry from archeology. Do you think other people knew about this and would try to harm her to find out more? Farfetched as it may be?” He intended this remark more as a rhetorical question than part of the interview.
Ralph explained that a lot of people probably had heard the story concerning the treasure by now, but
that was likely to be as far as their interest went. Linham drew the interview to an abrupt close.
”Thank you Professor. I expect that you will want to get over to the hospital. I know that you are quite understandably worried about Miss Ryman-Jones,” he said brusquely.
Ralph was relieved that the questioning was over but he couldn’t understand why the whole affair left him feeling as though he was guilty in some way. He was determined to shake that feeling off and get to the hospital so that when Jane came round he would be by her bedside. The only thing he wanted was that she should recover.
Policeman’s intuition kicked in and Inspector Linham decided that he wanted to hear from Doctor Jim Stocker and his relationship with the victim. There was something about Stocker that made him feel uneasy. Sergeant Wilson joined him, and as the interview began, Stocker appeared unusually nervous. He appeared to be uncertain about why he was being questioned, and was evasive in his answers.
“But I hardly knew the woman,” he exclaimed. “I saw her last week in the refectory bar where she was being pretty chummy with some of the staff. Ralph Chalmers and Peter Cavendish in particular,” he added with a nervous shrug of his shoulders.
Linham decided to press Stocker a bit more.
“I heard that you had an argument with her only a few days ago and that it got so heated that you tried to hit her,” Said Linham.
Both policemen knew from experience that a direct accusation often unhinges someone who is trying to hide something. This was a case in point. Stocker tried to counter the accusation.
“Just a stupid misunderstanding Inspector. We were discussing tennis swings and I happened to get a bit over demonstrative”. That’s all, he said, trying to trivialize the gravity of the incident.
The Gypsy Hill Murders (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 1) Page 8