Alec nodded agreement. The fire in the kitchen was already laid and Susan did the honours this time while Alec looked around. The kitchen was meticulously tidy. The table had been scrubbed so often that the grain had been raised, and the floor was spotless. He could see Eddy’s wellingtons and walking boots in a little porch-style lean-to that extended from the back door, sweeping brush and mop and bucket strategically placed beside them. No stray pots on the draining board, no rubbish in the bin.
A meticulous man.
One small thing jarred against the rest. ‘He must have had a visitor,’ Alec said.
‘A visitor?’ She looked to where Alec pointed. ‘Oh, he used the big pot.’
‘Two mugs.’
Susan nodded, taking in the fact that neither was pink striped; that particular cup still hung below the teapot shelf. Someone he knew well, then. A friend. She frowned. ‘It must have been a late visit. He always made sure he washed up, put the rubbish out and set the fire for the morning before he went to bed. He liked his habits, did Eddy. Everything in its place.’
‘As you say, it must have been late.’
‘Odd, though. He’d usually have washed the cups and rinsed the teapot out before going up, however late it was. He hated mess.’
‘Well, two mugs and a teapot. It’s hardly mess. If he was tired . . .’
‘To Eddy, that would have been mess.’ She frowned, looking around for further evidence of Eddy’s late night visitor. ‘There’s a biscuit wrapper in the bin. He always emptied the bins last thing.’
‘Did he often have late night visitors?’
‘I don’t think so. Occasionally someone from the detectorist club would stay over. Some of them come a long way and a lot of them are doing it on a tight budget. He’s got a spare room he leaves made up just in case.’
She led the way upstairs. Alec followed, noting the frayed stair carpet that was implicated in Eddy’s death. It would have been very easy to have tripped and fallen.
At the top of the stairs was a long landing with four doors leading off. Susan opened the second, revealing a room with a single bed beneath the window, made up and ready for a guest. A wooden chair placed beside the bed served as both seat and bedside table. Closer to the door, a large cupboard that Alec thought might be a linen press occupied an inordinate amount of space. Curious, he opened the doors, finding nothing more interesting to his casual glance than piles of sheets and blankets.
‘No sign of anyone up here,’ Susan said. They returned to the landing.
‘Do you mind?’ Alec said, indicating the other doors.
‘What? Oh, no, I suppose not. We’re supposed to be looking for . . . whatever . . . after all.’
The furthest door was the bathroom. Alec guessed it must be directly above the kitchen and sharing the same feed from the water tank he assumed would be in the roof space above. It looked, to Alec, as though the bathroom occupied space divided off from one of the bedrooms, the house probably being too old to have had indoor plumbing when it had been first built. The bathroom was tiny. The bath squeezed into a corner and the toilet next to it. A washbasin so close to the door it prevented full opening. A quick look in the bathroom cabinet revealed a single toothbrush, paste, extra soap and a basic first aid kit with plasters and ointment.
The room next door was the guest room. Next was a large double room that had been Eddy’s. A candlewick bedspread had been pulled back across the puffy pink quilt, but the sheets and blankets had been undisturbed. So, Eddy had come up to bed, but not actually gone to sleep before his visitor arrived. ‘How was Eddy dressed the night he died?’
‘Um, pyjamas, dressing gown, slippers. Why?’
‘Just curious.’
‘You think there was something . . . that it wasn’t an accident?’
Alec shook his head. ‘That’s a massive leap,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I just get my policeman’s head on, you know.’
‘The other room was Karen’s.’ Susan seemed reluctant, to Alec, to go in. He opened the door anyway and halted on the threshold, looked back at Susan, who shrugged.
Dust everywhere, layers of it. Stratified and heavy on bed and wardrobe and chest of drawers, even on the pink carpet. The curtains were open but they too were heavy with grime, and the net between had yellowed and was now falling into holes after years of exposure to the light.
Tattered posters had fallen from the walls. Some still clung grimly by their Blu-tacked corners, and once-loved soft toys, also covered in their veil of dust, stared at him from the end of the bed. The only disturbance to the archaeology of dust was the arc created by the door as it disturbed the layers on the carpet.
‘He shut the door the day of the funeral and never went in again,’ Susan said. ‘Funny, you’d have thought he’d have found it hard to sleep in the room he shared with Martha, but that seemed to just give him comfort. Karen’s room was different. He never let anyone in here and never went in himself.’
‘But you knew what to expect when I opened the door.’
Susan shrugged. ‘Curiosity,’ she said. ‘I peeked in once, years ago. I think if he’d known he’d have been really upset, but I only opened the door a fraction.’
‘Well,’ Alec said. ‘I doubt we’ll find what we’re looking for in there. Where should we start, do you think?’
‘He had a desk in the other front room,’ Susan said. ‘I guess we should start there.’
With a last quick glance through the door, Alec began to close it and then something suddenly jarred and he took one last lingering look around the room. Dust covered everything, carpet included; it seemed impossible that anyone could have gone inside without disturbing it and leaving telltale footprints behind.
What was it he had noticed? The urge to look again had been in response to something so tiny as to be almost subliminal, and it was only Alec’s experience, his habit of standing and just surveying a scene, that had caused it to register at all.
He withdrew his gaze to that portion of the room that could be reached from the door. On a chair close by, a nightdress and dressing gown had been tossed – probably, he thought, on that last morning before Karen left. Both were cobwebbed and flocked with the same soft layer, except for just one small area, which showed signs of fairly recent disturbance, the gentle strata not lying so thickly. He could see the pocket on the pink dressing gown, edged with something silky and embroidered with bright purple flowers. It was the satin binding that he had noticed – the sheen of it, against the almost powdery covering of every other thing in the room.
Alec could hear Susan’s footsteps on the stairs. She had paused, as though puzzled he had not followed. Alec held on to the door frame and leaned in, fingers touching the satin edging on the pocket and then feeling inside.
At first he thought he might have been mistaken; there was nothing there. Then, ‘Got you,’ he whispered. He slipped what he had found in to his pocket – not sure why he didn’t want to share the discovery with Susan, only aware that there was the possibility Eddy had hidden it there and that his secret should be kept for just a little longer. Then he followed Susan back down the stairs.
When Eddy had been a much younger man he had felt certain there was a solution to everything. Life had fallen into place for him. Good degree, good job, happy marriage, wonderful child, even though she’d been a little late coming on to the scene. From such a height of grace it seemed inevitable, in afterthought, that the fall should be so heavy and so far.
Cancer, the doctor said. Then, that it had metastasized. Then, that there were only months, and then weeks – and nothing that had fallen so neatly into place before could compensate for the chaos that those few words had brought.
Then, ‘I’m sorry sir, but your daughter Karen. There was a car accident. I’m afraid . . .’
The fall from grace complete, and none of it of his making or in his power to change.
Eddy disintegrated. There was no other word complete enough to explain what happened to him. He dissolve
d into the morass that was grief and loss and emptiness, and when he finally climbed his painful way back out again, it was as though that man of certainty he had been was a mere shadow of a memory.
He wrote, ‘I have lost all purpose. I am empty, a vessel that has been spilled out on to the ground.’
But he found something to fill that space. I’m not saying it was a good thing, just that this is what he did, and if I’d known all of it then I might have intervened. As it was, I knew Eddy now had something that was driving him, something that made it worth him getting up in the morning, and I told myself that it was his research. We joked about his treasure hunts and about what he’d do if he found his millions buried in some muddy field. If I’d known the truth, I think I would have acted.
‘You think?’
‘I don’t know. That’s just it. I really, really don’t know.’
NINE
‘So, what did you find?’ Naomi asked Alec later that afternoon when Alec had returned from Eddy’s house.
‘Who says I found anything? You heard me tell Jim and Bethan we still hadn’t tracked the long-lost relatives down.’
‘I did, but I know you.’
‘I should hope so by now.’
‘So?’
Alec flopped down on the edge of the bed and Naomi joined him. ‘I don’t actually know,’ he said. ‘I only had a quick look before I put it in my pocket.’
‘You didn’t show Susan?’
‘Err, no. And, before you ask, I don’t know why. It was just in such an odd place and I almost missed it.’
He told her about Eddy’s house. About the threadbare furniture and frayed carpet and the visitor who must have come very late to drink tea and eat biscuits. And about Karen’s room, frozen in time beneath a layer of dust and cobwebs – ‘like that woman in the Dickens novel.’
‘Miss Haversham? Hardly, she’d been jilted.’
‘But you know what I mean. Anyway, what I found was this.’
She heard the rustle of paper. Something thin and then something else. He laid his finds between them on the bed and Naomi reached out to touch. ‘A photograph,’ she guessed, feeling the glossy front and more matt reverse. ‘Small, one of those photo booth things? No, it feels too thick for that.’
‘I think it’s a Polaroid,’ Alec said.
‘Oh, right. Sam had one of those. Film cost a fortune and you only got eight shots. Fun though. A newspaper clipping?’
‘Yes, Sherlock, it is indeed.’
‘And a key. A little key.’ She frowned. ‘What is that? A suitcase key or briefcase or something?’
‘Um, maybe, but what it reminds me of is that five-year diary you have from when you were a kid.’
‘Ah, my secret diary.’
‘That you kept for about a week.’
‘Oh, it was longer than that.’ She felt the key again. ‘It might be,’ she agreed. ‘OK, so what does the clipping say and how exactly did you find it? I mean, I know in a dressing gown pocket, but . . .’
‘I know what you mean. Folded together. Key and photo inside the newspaper clipping.’
‘Karen might have put them there. I mean, you may well be right about the dressing gown being disturbed, but might Eddy have known about them?’
‘Not likely. The clipping is about Karen’s death and the photo is of her too.’
‘Oh? Read it.’
‘I’ll summarize,’ Alec said. ‘Basically, there were four friends. One, a seventeen-year-old called Oliver Bates, had just passed his test. He’d driven them all to the cinema and they were coming home, didn’t make it. The car was found wrapped round a tree and the report says that Oliver and the front seat passenger – Jill Wellesley, Oliver’s girlfriend – died instantly. Those in the back were Karen and her friend, Sara Coles. Karen and Sara had been staying with Jill. Karen died at the scene before help arrived. Sara survived in hospital for three days before they turned off her life support.’
‘Oh, God, that’s horrible,’ Naomi said quietly. They’d both attended similar incidents; both had had to tell parents that their kids would not be coming home. ‘What caused it?’
‘Well, no one seems to know. None of them had been drinking. There were skid marks on the road but the local police don’t even know if they were linked. And there was nothing to suggest a collision. It was, apparently, a notorious accident black spot. He maybe tried to take the bend too fast and lost control. If another vehicle was involved, maybe something he had to swerve to avoid, then they didn’t stick around and no one called for help. If they had, it’s possible Karen and Sara could have survived. As it was, a taxi driver called the police, but they reckon that was maybe an hour after it all happened. There seems to have been some speculation about them being run off the road; an unnamed source alleged there’d been a drunk driver picked up on suspicion later on, but there’s nothing very specific.’
‘That makes it even worse,’ Naomi said. ‘And the picture?’
‘Well, there’s a picture in the paper of all four of them, then this little Polaroid of Karen and Sara. And this key.’
‘But the key to what? And why did Eddy hide it in the dressing gown pocket?’
‘Well, the only conclusion I could reach is that no one would have gone into that room. Anyone opening the door would have seen what we did, just a lot of dust and memories. I doubt one in a hundred people would have looked any further. The other question is, who visited Eddy on the night he died? If Susan’s right, then he’d never have gone up to bed before washing up the mugs and rinsing the teapot out, but he did neither, which leads me to believe that he didn’t get the chance. Either his visitor was there when he died, in which case, why not report it, call an ambulance? Or . . .’
‘You think he may have been pushed down the stairs?’
‘I’ve got nothing to support that theory except for two mugs and a teapot. But I might just have a word with the attending officer, you never know.’
‘There’ll have to be a post-mortem, won’t there?’
‘Well, in theory, yes. It’s technically an unexplained death, and Eddy hadn’t seen the doctor in years, Susan said. But most likely it’ll be a fairly cursory exam. Cause of death is self evident. Eddy broke his neck in the fall. There’s a patch of frayed carpet at the head of the stairs and the coroner will just bring a verdict of accidental death and that will be that.’
‘Unless you stir things up.’
‘Maybe, if I stir things up. Problem is, we’re not going to be here for long and it isn’t my jurisdiction and—’
‘And this is bothering you more than you thought it would. Alec, phone work. Tell them you’re taking your TOIL time and adding it to your holiday.’
‘Oh, they’ll just love that.’
‘You’re entitled. What are they going to do? Sack you?’
Alec laughed, thinking that his boss would have a good go at that. ‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll stay on for a bit longer, see what comes up, but it’ll probably be a waste of time. I’m probably just looking for trouble where there isn’t any.’
‘Occupational hazard,’ Naomi agreed. ‘But anyway, we’re still only on page two of your list. I haven’t driven the tank yet. Or been to that abbey that brews its own mead, or whatever it is.’
‘Remind me not to let you do both on the same day. Right, I’m going to make a couple of phone calls. Get ready to duck.’
‘A couple?’
‘Yes. One to tell work I’m not coming back when they thought I was and another to the attending officer. Susan had his card. Let’s see if we can get a bit of professional courtesy extended.’
From Roads to Ruin by E Thame
We know from Catherine Kirkwood’s account that Elmer managed to get into the trial of her father and witnessed the proceedings. That was a brave act. Had he been recognized he might have lost his own life, and I think we can allow ourselves to speculate here, just a little, as to his motivation. By this time, he and Catherine had been travelling together for
about twelve days – they had fled north to Bristol, then turned east, but we can’t be sure what circumstance finally brought them south again, to Dorchester, to see the infamous Judge Jeffries in session.
History rightly remembers these events as the Bloody Assizes.
Catherine must have been aware of what was going on and must have been in despair. Did Elmer obey her order when he entered the courtroom and stood with others in the public gallery, or did he obey something far more acute and ephemeral? From later material, the content of which leads us to speculate upon a marriage between this high-born daughter and her father’s manservant, we have to conclude that it was the latter that drove him to such a desperate measure. I hope they loved one another; the romantic that lurks in the heart of every historian must hold sway here and wish that happiness in some measure compensated for such desperate grief.
One thing we do know for certain is that Elmer had bad news to take back to Catherine. Her father had been sentenced to a traitor’s death. To be flogged and then hung, drawn and quartered. Judge Jeffries had handed down twelve such judgements in that morning alone, and though five of those were then commuted to transportation to the colonies in the West Indies, and one man managed to pay for his freedom, Henry Kirkwood died a scant five days later. It is my hope that Elmer had taken Catherine north again by then and that she did not witness this final terrible scene, but her letters seem to hint that she was there, at least at the beginning.
She writes, ‘I saw him on the cart, dressed only in a torn shirt of stayned linen. The hangman playced the halter about his neck and it was all I culd do not to cry out for mercy. His freyndes had failed him. I wrote letters and begged Lord Castleton and the Layde Claire if they culd but buy him and have him sent instead to work the plantations. Many such gifts having been made to those loyal to the king, their lives were perhaps sayved, and I begged them to buy my father’s bond that he might at least have a chance of life even if so far away I could not hope to see his face in my lifetime. But they did not reply. Elmer warned me that they wuld not, but even so theyre ill response all but drove me to despair. We left before we saw the rest, I half faint with heat and feare and sorrow, and Elmer carried me hence.’
Blood Ties Page 6