“Did you mention to anyone that the watch was missing?”
Mr Bentwhistle was silent for several long moments. Mark began to wonder if he would have to prompt the man to reply when he suddenly seemed to jerk out of his trance and remember they were waiting for an answer.
“I have three men on my staff and they overheard the conversation with the watch’s owner when they reported it missing. I have searched the entire funeral parlour, but there is no sign of any watch. I take such matters very seriously you see, and conducted the search myself to ensure that it was done properly. I was a little perturbed by the message last night seeing as I had only used that particular jar that very same afternoon. As soon as the séance was over and we were allowed to go I did pop in to the parlour, just to see if the watch was in the jar as suggested.” He sighed and shook his head. “I cannot find that blasted thing anywhere,” he mumbled and stared off into the distance again as though he was miles away.
“But there is a watch and it has gone missing?” Mark’s voice was loud in the silence of the house. It helped to keep Mr Bentwhistle’s attention on him rather than the wall the man kept staring at.
“Oh, yes. The client swears it was on the body of a customer when we brought him into the parlour, but she must have been mistaken.”
“Who is the client?”
Mark sighed when Mr Bentwhistle went vague again.
“Pardon?”
“I asked who is the client is?”
Mr Bentwhistle studied him for several long moments. “Helena Cridlingham, on the outskirts of the village. It was her grandfather’s fob watch.”
“If you do find the watch, please let me know. I need to know which messages at that meeting were false, and which were real.” Mark replied. “I am sure you understand the gravity of the situation given Minerva’s death and the threat that was issued through the messages?”
Mr Bentwhistle nodded absently. “Am I free to go about my business now, or do I have to stay here for a while longer?”
“No, you are free to go – for now,” Mark replied smoothly and followed Isaac out of the front door. They didn’t bid Mr Bentwhistle goodbye and left him staring blankly at the hallway wall again.
Isaac puffed out his cheeks and slid a glance at Mark.
“Do you really think he is that blank?”
“No, I think that Alan Bentwhistle is a man with a lot on his mind. We just don’t know what.”
“Strange about that watch,” Isaac muttered. He sucked in a deep breath and shook his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the lingering effects of the strange encounter in the funeral director’s house. Was it the man or his profession that was so unnerving?
“Where next?”
“I think we need to caution the gossip next, don’t you?” Mark replied. He prayed that Mr Montague had done as he was told and stayed at home, safely away from all of the gossip mongerers.
“What? Do you mean that the whole of Tipton Hollow may not already know yet?”
Mark smiled and shook his head. “Tell me, do you think all villages operate like Tipton Hollow, or is it just this place?”
As they walked through the village toward the high street, Mark studied the rows of mismatched houses. Of varying ages, they ranged from workmen’s cottages, old thatched cottages, terraced houses to huge mansions that bespoke of timeless grandeur and wealth more suited to more affluent towns. The huge village green held a cricket pitch and was bracketed by several benches on which sat a governess and her charges, who were out enjoying the sunshine of the day.
At first appearance, there was nothing untoward about the place. It was only if you stood still and absorbed the essence of the place that you became aware of the chill in the air, and the faint fog that hung over the village, and the moors surrounding it like a menacing harbinger of doom.
“I think that all villages have gossips in, just not many of them have murderers.” Isaac sighed. He studied the cobbled road beneath their feet as they walked. He couldn’t help it, he had to ask. “Which one of them do you think did it?”
“I have no idea yet Isaac, but I can promise you that by the end of the day, we will have narrowed our list of suspects down to at least a handful. It’s either that or I am not a Detective Inspector.” He knew that he was being a little bit arrogant with his declaration but knew that the people at the psychic circle were fairly easy to read: the gossip, the slightly creepy undertaker, the waspish spinster, the fake psychic, the gaggle of giggling ladies, and the matronly, bored housewife. All were there. All were potential suspects. All except for one: Harriett. She was far too open. Her eyes were far too forthright, too honest, for her to lie to anyone and do it with any kind of conviction. He knew instinctively that under questioning, even if Harriett lied through her back teeth, he would know the truth from the look in her eye and the guilty blush she wouldn’t be able to hide. Right now though, he couldn’t rule out her aunt’s involvement in Minerva’s death. He was fairly certain that the lady had secrets, but as yet he had to uncover what they were. Until he did, she had to remain on his list of suspects.
“Good Morning, Mr Montague,” Mark said when the door to Mr Montague’s flat at the back of the haberdashery opened. Mark fought a smile at the sight of the man’s floral smoking jacket and slightly effeminate slippers, and followed the older man up the narrow flight of stairs into the sitting room.
“I need to ask you a few questions about last night,” Mark began. “I need to ask you to recount events of last night starting from the moment you arrived.”
“What? All of it?” Mr Montague’s brows rose and he waved the men into seats before he slumped onto what appeared to be his favourite chair beside the fire. No sooner had he sat down than a tabby cat jumped onto his lap, curled up and promptly fell asleep.
“I take it that it was murder then?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, if it was natural causes, you wouldn’t need to ask me for more details, now would you?” Mr Montague sighed with startling clarity.
Mark took a moment to study the neat room. It wasn’t overly large but nothing was out of place. The assorted pieces of furniture, although old, were well cared for and gave the room a comfortable, homely glow. Mark took a seat in one of the chairs beside the fireplace, and found his attention captured by a large green, highly decorative jug on the small round table beneath the window. There was something about the way the sunlight glistened against the ornate flower design that caught his attention and held it.
“It’s a lovely piece, isn’t it,” Mr Montague sighed, noting the direction of Mark’s gaze and nodding in pleasure. “It was my mother’s, you know. It’s about the only thing I have of significant worth. I like the way the sunlight catches its colours.”
“It’s lovely,” Mark replied, and meant it. Although he removed his notebook and pencil, he found his eyes being drawn back to the window and the vase that had captured his interest. With a slightly disconcerted cough, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “I am afraid to tell you that this is now a formal investigation, Mr Montague. As such, I would request that you don’t discuss our conversation, or the events of last night, with anybody.”
“Are you taking statements from everyone?”
“Yes, we are. Why? Is there something we should know?” Mark’s eyes met and held Mr Montague’s and he read the flicker of hesitation in the man’s dark brown eyes.
“I don’t want to gossip, I really don’t, not over something as important as Minerva’s death, but I think that there is something deuced odd about that Madame Humphries. I don’t know for definite you understand, but I am sure that I have seen her somewhere before, but without the head scarf and smock-type thing she wore last night. Hideous thing, that was. Heaven only knows where she got that material from; shockingly poor quality.”
“Quite,” Mark interjected crisply before Mr Montague could ramble any further. “Do you know where you have seen the clairvoyant befo
re?”
“I have tried to think, again and again. It has plagued me all night. I am fairly certain that it wasn’t in Great Tipton. She was working somewhere, only I cannot remember where.”
There was nothing untoward about that. Psychics were often known to have a secondary job, but he made a note to look into Madame Humphries’ true persona.
“We will look into it. Now then, if you start at the beginning.”
“That’s it!” Mr Montague all but shouted. His face was wreathed in a proud smile. “She was selling tickets at the cinema in Great Maldon. Not Hungarian then, I can tell you. She was pure cockney or I am a Dutchman.”
Mark fought a smile and wondered if they were going to get out of there before dusk.
“Tell me a little bit about the circle? Why did you form it?”
“Oh, well, I was talking with Harriett and Tuppence, one day and we were discussing Miss Haversham’s continued mourning of her mother. Died over a year ago now and Miss Haversham continues to grieve to this day. We talked about whether there was such a thing as life after death. Harriett read my newspaper and the article on a psychic demonstration in London that was held the other week and heralded a remarkable success. I jokingly suggested that we should have our own demonstration. Tuppence laughingly said she didn’t believe in spirits other than those that came in bottles. We argued a bit about the pros and cons of demonstrations. Anyway, it was all a bit of a joke really.” His gaze flicked from Mark to Isaac. “You know, something to do to find out for ourselves if there really was anything in it. It’s all poppycock, I know, but the ladies were all for it and I must admit I was rather curious myself, especially after the arrests of those fraudsters in London. Shocking business that was.”
“Did you not consider that Madame Humphries might be a fraud?”
“Of course we did.” He leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper. “We had a little joke about it, I don’t mind telling you.”
“But you went along with it anyway?”
“Oh, yes, of course we did. Myself, Tuppence, Beatrice, Harriett and Constance, all thought it was a bit of a joke but were curious to see what happened. Babette and Mrs Dalrymple came along out of curiosity more than anything else.”
“What about everyone else? Why do you think they agreed to take part?”
Mr Montague frowned at that and clearly considered his reply. “Well, I think Alan, Mr Bentwhistle, was curious, but Miss Smethwick?” He shook his head. “She is a strange bird, that one. It doesn’t seem like her cup of tea at all, if you know what I mean. Far too airy fairy for her and she has been so damned odd of late, but I just cannot put my finger on why. She spent most of the evening telling everyone to stop what we were doing and that it was all nonsense.”
“Did she get a message?”
“No, she is about the only person who didn’t get one,” he replied. He continued to rhythmically stroke the cat’s soft fur as he stared off into the distance, as though looking through a window into the past. “Everyone else got bits here and there but, to be frank with you, none of it made much sense.”
“Who do you think ‘H’ is who is in danger?”
“Oh, that nonsense,” Mr Montague sighed. “I haven’t the faintest idea. If you ask me, it is someone having a laugh at all of our expenses. The glass wouldn’t give us any more information, even when we asked. I think it may have just been a poke at any one of us with the letter ‘H’ in our names, you know, just to get us thinking. I don’t believe for a second that it was a genuine threat.”
There was a slightly uncomfortable tone in his voice that warned Mark that the man was genuinely fearful.
“It seems a bit of a sinister threat to issue anyone just for a laugh, if you ask me,” Mark replied gently.
Mr Montague looked him straight in the eye. “I really don’t like to think of anyone at that séance being capable of such a twisted joke, really I don’t. I can only assume that it was from Madame Humphries herself.”
“Why though?”
“We asked for messages over and over again but nothing happened. Who would question something so random? Everyone was on edge as soon as the message was received, it heightened the tension, but who is to say if the message had any substance? A few of us had ‘H’ in our names, and things go wrong all the time. Anything could happen and we would put it down to the message we received as a premonition of sorts.”
“I see your point. It would be difficult to disprove such a vague threat relating to so many people.”
“Exactly. The rest of the people at the séance just wouldn’t do that kind of thing, I am certain of it.”
“Describe what happened to us. We weren’t there so we need facts from a reliable witness.” Mark watched the older man draw himself upright and almost preen with importance. He sighed and settled back. From the look of glee on the older man’s face, they were going to be a while yet. He threw Isaac a rueful glance and sat back in his chair to listen.
“So when Mrs Bobbington fell out of her chair, apparently dead, what happened then?”
“Chaos ensued. Alan, Mr Bentwhistle, examined her but even I could see that her eyes were fixed and blank. She had already left us, God bless her soul.”
“What was Madame Humphries doing?”
“I don’t know. Everyone was focused on poor Minerva.”
“We have been told that Madame Humphries was glowing strangely and talking in a funny voice. Did you notice anything else unusual?”
“That was mighty odd, I don’t mind admitting it,” Mr Montague replied with a sigh. Surprisingly, he was somewhat matter-of-fact about the details from the evening before and gave the information in clipped, precise tones that echoed Mr Bentwhistle and Harriett’s account of events almost to the letter.
“What colour was it?” Mark studied the man. He knew that the information he would get would be accurate.
“Greenish, yellow, I think. It was dark so the colours stood out a bit more. To begin with it was yellow. I thought it was a light being held behind her by that assistant of hers, but then the colour turned to green and seemed to emanate around her, even under her chair.”
“Was there anything beneath her chair?”
“Not as far as I could see. Of course, that assistant of hers, Miss Hepplethwaite, was hovering around her all the time, so it was difficult to see. They had a carpet bag between them but I didn’t see anyone rummage in it.”
“Was Madame glowing once Minerva was dead?”
Mr Montague paused at that and studied Mark carefully. “Babette and Beatrice were sitting beside Madame and suffered no adverse effects. I don’t think the glow had anything to do with Minerva’s death.”
“I know. I am trying to think of things that might cause someone to be able to do that. I am fairly certain that the glow was nothing spiritual, but it may have come from something in the carpet bag. If you didn’t smell anything, it points to the possibility that some sort of false lighting was used.”
Mark studied Isaac for a moment and turned his attention back to Mr Montague when Isaac faintly shook his head.
“Well, I think it is fair to say that you can go about your business now, but I must warn you against discussing this matter with anybody. At the moment, you are a witness, and if you need to go to court you should not leave yourself open to be accused of confusing facts with other people’s gossip. I would inform you that this is now a criminal investigation. If you think of anything that might be important to the investigation then please contact either myself or Detective Brown firsthand.”
“Can you tell me how Minerva died?”
Mark hesitated, but could see no reason why the man shouldn’t know. Alan Bentwhistle, Harriett and Babette did.
“She choked to death,” Mark replied darkly.
“Oh what?”
“Her drink.” Mark paused and waited while Mr Montague absorbed the news. The stunned look of shock on his face was genuine.
“I drank sherry too and I am fine,�
�� Mr Montague murmured weakly. “How could she choke on something so innocuous?”
“There was something else in her glass that she choked on. We think it was put there deliberately.”
“Oh, good God,” Mr Montague dropped down into his chair and swallowed harshly. “Poor Minerva,” he muttered in hushed tones. “Poor, dear, Minerva.” He turned slightly hardened eyes on Mark. “I will do whatever it takes to help you find the person responsible.”
Mark’s lips twisted wryly. “Just leave the investigation to us, Mr Montague and stay safe, that’s all we need. It would also help if you kept quiet about this so as not to forewarn the person responsible that we are on to them.”
“Oh, of course, of course, gentlemen. You can rely on my upmost discretion.”
Mark mentally winced and hoped to heaven that was the truth. Minutes later they took their leave of a rather shaken Mr Montague, and stood outside in the relative quiet of his back yard for several moments.
“We need to look into Madame Humphries’ background,” Mark sighed. He mentally ran through the number of people they had yet to speak to. “At this rate, we will be lucky if we get to bed before midnight.”
“Mr Montague seems harmless enough,” Isaac replied thoughtfully. For the first time that day he actually felt as though they were starting to get somewhere. “Cross another one off the list?”
“Right now, we can’t cross anyone off the list of suspects, no matter how banal they might be, you know that,” Mark sighed. “Right, onwards and upwards. Let’s go to Miss Haversham next; she is just down the road.”
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