The Gypsy Hill Murders (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 1)

by P. J. Thurbin

  Inspector Linham was quick to arrive at Jack’s bedside in the local hospital.

  “Well Mr. Welsh, you seem to be looking a bit stronger now. If you are up to it I would just like to ask you a few questions?” He asked.

  Jack tried to focus his mind enough to think of how he could explain what he was doing in the ice house and avoid saying anything about his searching for the treasure.

  While Jack was collecting his thoughts, Linham was working on various scenarios. He knew that there were two possibilities concerning what had happened in the ice house. On the one hand it could be that someone had wanted to kill Jack Welsh or on the other, and it was only a remote possibility, it was an accident caused by some students trying to get their revenge on what they probably saw as a crusty old caretaker. But he thought that quite unlikely to be the case. He began his questioning.

  ”Can you tell me what you were doing in the ice house? And just to let you know we found that the cellar entrance to the ice house had been bolted from the outside, so whoever did that is likely to be the person that struck you on the head.”

  Jack saw that he was cornered. It would need a lot of concentration to get out of this one and his head was starting to buzz again. But he pulled himself back into army interrogation mode. Name, rank and number, had been drummed into him for so long a time that he almost simply blurted that information out. But he managed to focus enough not to appear evasive.

  “I was just checkin’ out some fings in the cellar when I saw the door open and went in to check that some students adn’t been messin’ about down there, since we ‘ave ‘ad trouble like that before. I must ‘ave stumbled and knocked me ‘ead in the dark, and as I fell the door must ‘ave swung shut. Maybe one of the other caretakers ‘ad seen it unlocked and pushed ‘ome the bolts,” he mumbled.

  Linham was not going to be put off.

  “But how about the water? Someone was trying to flood the ice house knowing that you were in there,” he said.

  Jack knew that he was okay and that he had a way of deflecting any further questions.

  “Well I don’t know about the water sir, but those students are always getting’ up to pranks. And if you don’t mind, my ‘ead is really startin’ to ache and I’d like to rest for a while, Inspector.” Jack sank back on his pillows, knowing that his secret was safe, for the moment.

  Linham realized that for now he would have to wait, and that there might be a grain of truth in Jack Welsh’s story. He would need to investigate if any of the other caretakers had been on site and locked that door. As the two policemen drove back towards the Gypsy Hill site, Sergeant Wilson had been thinking about the length of time that Jack Welsh had been in the ice house.

  “Sir, if Welsh went into the cellar late Friday night and the site contractor noticed the water first thing Saturday morning, how come the coach driver taking the staff party to Heathrow saw nothing unusual when he came to pick them up outside Kenry House? He must have gone right past the ice house as he turned the coach round at the end of the drive? Then the next person to approach the ice house wasn’t until first thing Monday morning. So if it was someone from that group from the college that went to France who bashed Welsh on the head on Friday night, they must have been worried that he would be discovered next morning,” said Wilson.

  Linham paused as he thought over the Sergeant’s point.

  “So Wilson, your point is that if it was someone in that group, then they would have had to distract the driver and everyone else on the coach to avoid Welsh being discovered. We know that they would have all left their cars in the lower car park and waited outside Kenry House for the coach to Heathrow. Surely someone would have noticed the water gushing out. Or perhaps, if one of them had been the culprit, they could have got there early enough to turn the water off.

  “Well, Sir”, said Wilson, “unless we go to France to ask them about it, we’ll have to wait at least three or four days before we see them again.”

  ”Not quite”, said Linham.” We can find the coach driver and ask him what happened that morning before he left.”

  Jack Welsh recovered from his ordeal fairly quickly. He needed to get back to the college to find a way of getting one of his staff to tell the police that they had been the one who had inadvertently locked the door to the ice house entrance while he lay unconscious on the floor. He wanted the police to keep well away from investigating the inside of the ice house, as they would discover the officer’s satchel, or what might be left of any evidence that would connect them to the officer and the treasure. That would make them ask more questions and uncover links to Jim Stocker.

  If it was Stocker who had bashed him on the head and had discovered the treasure, he probably had them with him now. Jack knew that Stocker had gone to France and wondered if he had been fool enough to take them with him, or if not, if he had stashed the box somewhere safe till he got back. What worried him most was that Stocker might find a way to sell the treasure and put the proceeds in a bank account. If that happened then Jack’s chances of getting his hands on his inheritance would have gone forever.

  It didn’t take Jack long to locate and persuade one of his staff to tell the police the story that he had made up about having been locked in by mistake. One or two of his staff had shady backgrounds and there were quite a few favours for past indiscretions that Jack could call upon in time of need. Then he found his master key and went up to Jim Stocker’s office. He searched through all possible hiding places but to no avail.

  Chapter 12

  Arriving at the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris is always a bit of a culture shock. The high level of noise and the Gaelic buzz of conversation combined with that distinctive smell which was a mixture of perfume, coffee and freshly baked bread, swept over the party from London. From what Ralph could see the trip had been uneventful in spite of Jim Stocker’s attempts to get drunk on the hospitality drinks supplied by the British Airways stewards.

  Peter and his wife, Marcia, had paid for an upgrade to First Class, and Ralph noticed that they had been having a blazing row since before they had even got to the departure lounge. David and his wife Mary were obviously enjoying being away from the kids and liked being waited on. Ralph mused on how quickly David and Mary must have gone from being students at University, to becoming a quiet and domesticated couple. What puzzled Ralph was Katie. She had hardly acknowledged him when they arrived at the coach, and on the plane she had chosen to sit next to Jim Stocker. As she was getting on the coach he had asked her if her husband was coming on the trip, but she had just given him a withering look and pushed past him. He thought it best not to ask any more questions, hoping that by the time they arrived in Peronne she would have cooled down.

  Getting from the airport to the Gare du Nord was relatively easy using the Metro. Ralph managed to get a few cups of coffee into Jim Stocker at the station so that when they eventually boarded the local train to Peronne he was almost sober. Marcia spent most of the journey on her phone, and Peter seemed to have sunk into one of his depressions, staring out of the window at the passing French countryside.

  Katie was engrossed in her own thoughts, so Ralph contented himself with going over the itinerary for the visit. David and Mary seemed to be having a great time, eating fresh rolls and soft ripe cheese, drinking glasses of red wine, talking to their travelling companions and laughing at each other’s jokes.

  They had travelled some 125 kilometers from Paris before arriving at Peronne, a commune in the Somme department of Picardie. The town had been a stop off point in the Middle Ages for pilgrims on a route that linked Canterbury in England, with Rome. The irony that some 800 years later here they were making a modern pilgrimage, was not lost on Ralph. As the train pulled into Peronne Flamicourt station, he wondered what the long weekend had in store for them.

  It was a short taxi ride to the Hotel Saint Claude, situated in the Place Louis Daudre. Granger, along with the Vice Chancellor and his party, had arrived some hours earlier, an
d Ralph grimaced at how much easier it must have been flying directly to Saint Quentin airport by executive jet. Once they had unpacked everyone met for drinks before dinner. Rupert Granger was obviously seeing the weekend as a chance to promote himself with the Vice Chancellor.

  “So you managed to find your way around France, then?” Granger was in one of his jovial moods, or at least trying to project a sense of bon homie in front of the VC and Roger Mallory, the Chief Executive of the Baylis the building contractors.

  There was an awkward silence until David’s wife Mary decided to break the ice.

  “We had a great journey, the flight was excellent and it was good to see the pretty French countryside on the train from Paris. We had forgotten how big France is and it was like putting the clock back 20 years for both of us,” she said with a friendly smile.

  After a drink at the bar everyone soon started to relax and chat about the upcoming events.

  The dinner was superb with a wide selection of local dishes: Pot au feu, a sort of beef and potato stew, Ficelle Picardie, a pancake filled with ham and mushrooms, covered in béchamel sauce and baked, and for the more hardy eaters Andouillette d’Amiens which consisted of meatballs made from minced pork with white bread, eggs, onions and of course quantities of garlic. The excellent local red wine helped to relax what might have in other circumstances been a tiresome gathering. Ralph sat down next to Jim Stocker. Jim seemed to slump as the meal progressed, and it was obvious that he was troubled about something more than having to present a paper the next day.

  Ralph was still worried about Peter and Marcia. They seemed determined to keep as far away from each other as possible. He noticed that after Peter sat down next to Mary, Marcia went over to sit in the chair on the other side of David, even though there was an empty chair next to Peter’s.

  Ralph had never warmed to Stocker but felt obliged to try to talk to him when they retired to the lounge for coffee after dinner.

  “Jim, are you ready for the presentation tomorrow? It’s a bit daunting having to go first but I hear that our French guests for tomorrow all speak fluent English, so that should make things easier.” Ralph could see that Jim was pleased that someone had at least been prepared to speak to him, particularly after the things that Granger had said about it being his last chance to redeem himself.

  “Thanks, Ralph. Yes the paper is ready to go. It’ll give me a chance to show Granger that we statisticians and economists have something practical to say,” he replied. Having been given the chance to talk about his topic, Stocker relaxed and outlined to Ralph what he was going to cover at the presentation to the guests from Dideret. He had been under a lot of strain because of his debts, his family life, and more recently, all of this business with Jack Welsh. He wanted to confide in someone, but dared not reveal the true story.

  “You see Ralph, I’ve come into some money from an uncle who died recently, and I’ve been thinking about using some of it on a big gamble. I know that everyone thinks that I’m a fool for gambling, but I’ve been trying to perfect a method that increases my odds of winning. I’m so confident that I’ve got it right that my paper tomorrow will illustrate how foolproof my method is. I hope to get some feedback from the guys from Dideret since I know that it’s an area they like to focus on.”

  Ralph noticed that Stocker was getting unusually excited about simply presenting a paper and hoped that he would keep his voice down. He wouldn’t do himself any favours by making a spectacle of himself. The rest of the party was obviously tired from their travels, and apart from Katie, who was reading her book, the others had retired for the night. It was as though Ralph was seeing a completely different person to the Jim Stocker who normally swaggered around at the college making jokes at other people’s expense. Something had obviously had a big impact on him and Ralph wondered what it was. Stocker continued with his story.

  “Ralph, coming into this money has given me the chance to sort out a lot of things in my life; not the least trying to put right some of the damage I’ve inflicted on my wife and kids over the past few years,” he said, lowering his voice as he mentioned his family.

  Stocker went on to explain how he had sold the family house in Chelsea and raised a large mortgage to buy a part derelict mansion with 40 acres of farmland in the rural Kent countryside. The plan was to live with his wife and two young kids in a mobile home while he renovated the mansion and had a new house built in the grounds. Then they planned to rent it out to families from America who wanted to sample what it was like to live in a Georgian mansion.

  “You see we would have lived in the new house once it was finished and my wife would be able to get back to her career with one of the big banks. She is an American and could demand a big salary,” said Stocker, who was obviously proud of his wife’s achievements.

  But for Stocker it appeared that all had not gone to plan. The renovations had over-run on costs, and living in a mobile home created such a stress that they argued most of the time. Stocker had then decided to try to gamble his way out of debt. As the gambling failed to pay off he had started to drink more, and eventually his wife had left him, and she and the children had gone back to live with her parents in America. The house and land had been repossessed by the bank and he was now living in a rented one bedroom apartment in Kingston, not far from the college.

  “So you can see that I have made a pretty big mess of things, and now I have people after me who want to get back the gambling money I owe them; and they’re not nice people. Coming here to France has got me some breathing space and I intend to put things right once and for all,” he said, with a note of such determination in his voice that it worried Ralph.

  Ralph could see that Stocker had come to a turning point in his life, but his experiences told him that gambling his way forward was probably not the best option. He tried to offer Stocker some advice, although he realised that he was facing an almost impossible task.

  “Look Jim, now that you have some inheritance money, why not use that to settle your gambling debts then try to sort things out with your wife? There must be some way that you can get her to see that you made a big mistake and now you want to put things right,” said Ralph. He could see that Stocker was not listening. He had probably heard it all before. Now he was getting quite animated.

  “Look Ralph, this is my big chance to put it all right in one big gamble, and I know that the odds will be on my side this time. Believe you me I know I’m right.”

  Stocker went on to explain why he was so convinced that he had a plan that would work. As a mathematician Stocker was well aware of the various methods that could be used to calculate the odds, in a given situation. But now he had focused on a very specialized approach. He outlined, to Ralph, how he had arrived at his winning formula.

  “See Ralph, back in the 1940’s two mathematicians, John von Neumann and Stanislaw Ulam had been working on the Manhattan nuclear bomb project at the Los Alamos National Laboratories in America. They were trying to work out the distance that nuclear particles would travel following a nuclear reaction. They used mathematics to calculate the probabilities involved and Ulam named their approach the Monte Carlo method. He chose this name after his uncle who’d gambled away the family fortune at the casino in Monte Carlo. I’ve adapted the method they used to work out how to win on roulette, and after the conference I’ve booked a trip down to Nice and then on to Monte Carlo where I’ll make my play,” said Stocker striking a dramatic pose with his outstretched arms.

  Ralph glanced at Katie and she seemed to be smiling as she heard Stocker’s exclamation. Ralph had heard about people trying to beat the odds at casinos. His doubts must have been obvious. Here was a man caught up in his own beliefs. Stocker was not to be put down.

  “It’s been done before, Ralph. Joseph Jagger did it way back in 1873 by taking all the money kept on the table by the croupier, and then Charles Wells did it three times after that. They did it by noting the bias in one of the casino’s roulette wheels. You know
that song ‘The man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo’? Well this time that man will be Jim Stocker. The maths has improved a lot since then, and I’ve worked out a random sampling method that I’ve made into an app on my iphone. So it’s a certainty not a gamble that I’ll be applying.”

  Stocker was obviously captivated by his ideas and Ralph just hoped that when Stocker lost his inheritance he would have some way of recovering from the depression that would follow. Ralph found himself warming to Stocker but could think of little else he could do to help his colleague, who continued to pour out his dreams and hopes. It seemed to Ralph that Stocker was the closest he had ever seen to a lost soul seeking redemption. But then Stocker struck a lighter note in his view of the future.

  ” And once I have made a killing at the tables I am going to celebrate and get myself a front row seat to watch the motor racing. Those guys in the Monaco Grand Prix certainly know how to zip around those narrow streets,” he exclaimed, clapping Ralph on the arm.

  Stocker insisted on them having a night cap and finished the evening with a toast to wealth and riches. It was almost midnight, and as Ralph settled into his comfortable hotel bed he reflected on how the Treaty of Peronne that the King of France and the Prince of Monaco had signed back over 400 years ago was now somehow being exploited by Jim Stocker, a teacher from Gypsy Hill. That those officers who had stumbled on a treasure beyond their wildest dreams, in a shell torn town back in the First World War also had links to Gypsy Hill and Kenry House. He could almost hear the trumpets blasting at the signing of the Treaty and the shells exploding over the town museum, as he drifted off into a deep sleep.

  Next morning everyone tucked into their hot buttered croissants and coffee, with gusto. The guests from the Sorbonne and Dideret University had arrived early and were being welcomed by Rupert Granger and the Vice Chancellor. Katie had been asked to introduce Mary and Marcia to the other wives who were in the party, and Ralph noticed that she seemed to have got back some of her old zest. If she had overheard Stocker telling Ralph about his struggle for survival, she had obviously decided that it was not her concern. Stocker had retired to his room to prepare, and Ralph took the opportunity to talk to Peter and David about what Stocker had told him.