by Bill Kitson
Having promised to lend our moral support, we returned to Laithbrigg. We were both silent on the return journey, mulling over our conversation with Barbara. It was only when we were approaching the village that I realized what Barbara had meant by her final remark. The impact of that, taken together with her earlier cryptic comment hit me like a physical blow. I gasped aloud and out of pure reflex, slammed my foot on the brake. This caused the cyclist I’d just overtaken to wobble precariously as he swerved to avoid my stationary vehicle. A rich flow of invective drifted in through my open window and I raised one hand in apology.
‘Adam, what on earth’s the matter?’ Eve demanded.
‘I’ll tell you after we get home. I need time to think this out. If I’m right, it explains everything.’ I started to laugh, ‘And if I am right, a lot of people are in for one heck of a shock.’
Chapter Thirteen
The following day we arrived at Linden House long before the time specified by Rhodes for his tour of inspection. That gave us ample opportunity to brief Barbara on the plan we had formulated for dealing with the solicitor, although even then we fell some way short of explaining everything we had in mind. Despite this, I think Barbara might have suspected something of the strategy I was going to use, and that convinced me my theory might well be correct. If it was, as I had explained to Eve the previous night, we would have to handle matters with extreme caution.
‘Why, Adam?’
‘Because, like I said earlier, the news is bound to come as a shock, and will upset a lot of people. At least one of them has proved determined enough to resort to desperate measures. That could represent danger to Barbara and others.’
We discussed tactics with Barbara. One more item was needed in preparation for the impending visit. ‘Do you have a copy of Rupert Latimer’s will?’ I asked. Barbara produced the document. I read the opening paragraph, which told me all I needed to know.
I had been prepared to take an instant dislike to Norman Rhodes before I met him, and he certainly lived down to my expectations. I’d even formed a mental image of the man as being small, tubby, and somewhat pompous. In fact, he turned out to be undersized, overweight, and extremely pompous; not to mention arrogant.
From the moment he opened the driver’s door of his Volvo estate and placed one highly polished shoe carefully on the concrete floor of the stable yard, I knew that Norman Rhodes and I were never destined to be friends. Nothing he said or did in the course of his visit caused me to alter my preconceived notion of him, except possibly to strengthen it.
I was aware that Eve shared my opinion of the solicitor purely by the expression on her face as she observed him enter the kitchen as if it was his own, and place his bulging briefcase on the table, before greeting Barbara with an excess of formality. Despite Barbara’s introduction, he ignored us, turning his back as he faced Barbara and delved into the expanding pockets of the case to pull out a sheaf of documents which he shuffled into order. He examined the first of these, his lips pursed in concentration before he looked up. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘Before I make a start on the inspection proper, I have received instructions from the prospective new owners of Rowandale Hall to establish precisely what items from the contents of Linden House belong to the estate, and which do not. Final evidence of anything you might claim to possess will rely on proof of purchase via receipts or invoices. I have made you aware that a challenge has been lodged to the validity of the bequest made to you in the will of the late Rupert Latimer, I believe?’
That gave me the cue I’d been waiting for to enter the fray. ‘Isn’t that rather jumping the gun?’ I asked.
Rhodes was so fat he could not turn his neck easily. Instead, he swivelled his whole body in my direction. ‘My instructions are to discuss this matter with Mrs Lewis. They certainly do not extend to persons who have no claim on the estate.’
It was intended to be dismissive, but things didn’t turn out that way. ‘Adam is here as my representative,’ Barbara told him.
‘I see; that rather changes things. I had hoped you would be more cooperative. However, I am quite prepared to return when other people are not about. I am not prepared to discuss confidential matters in the presence of strangers and can always obtain sanction to examine the properties without interference from outside parties.’
He scooped up the paperwork and stuffed it into his case before turning to head for the exit, only to find that I was leaning against the door. ‘Put your case on the table and sit down. You’re going nowhere until we get some basic facts relating to the estate straightened out.’
For a moment I thought that Rhodes might be prepared to dispute my statement, but one look at my face seemed to decide him that discretion was the better part of valour. He turned back towards Barbara and sank heavily into one of the chairs. Fortunately, they were sturdily built. ‘This isn’t going to help, you know,’ he told her.
Barbara ignored him. ‘Carry on, Adam.’
‘Right, I want to know what steps you’ve taken towards establishing certain basic facts before proceeding towards probate, because one thing you certainly cannot do is begin negotiating the sale of the estate or any part of it until that is granted.’
‘What precisely do you mean by that?’ There was just the vaguest hint of acquiescence in Rhodes’s response.
‘Well, to begin with, I’d like to see a copy of the death certificate.’
‘Why do you want that? Are you suggesting there was something untoward in the manner of his death? Because I can assure you it was perfectly straightforward.’
‘Nevertheless, I would still like to inspect a copy.’
I could tell that Barbara, as well as Rhodes, was puzzled by my insistence. Eve, who knew why I’d made the request, smiled at me encouragingly.
The solicitor delved into his case once more and after turning over what looked like a full ream of documents, managed to unearth the relevant sheet of paper which he passed to me.
I took a cursory glance before handing it back to him. ‘That’s no use. That isn’t the document I was referring to. That is the death certificate for Rupert Latimer. I want to see the death certificate for Brian Latimer.’
Both Rhodes and Barbara stared at me in open-mouthed astonishment. ‘Because,’ I continued, ‘if you are unable to produce conclusive evidence of the death of Brian Latimer, we have to assume that he is still alive, and as such, will inherit the Rowandale Hall estate in its entirety. The statement at the opening of Rupert Latimer’s will makes it abundantly clear that the document was drawn up in the belief that there were no natural heirs to the estate. If Brian Latimer is alive, that will is invalid.’
‘But Brian Latimer is dead. He died in Mexico years ago.’
‘Prove it. Show me the death certificate.’
‘I don’t have one, not as such. What I do have is a statement from a captain of police in the area where the body was found. It was sworn before an attorney.’
‘I’d like to see it, please. Do you have it with you?’
He nodded, and burrowed into the case again. It took over five minutes for him to find the document, which didn’t surprise me, as I was beginning to suspect he’d emptied the contents of his filing cabinet into the case before coming to Linden House.
Eventually, he passed it to me. ‘It won’t do you any good,’ he commented with a hint of malice, ‘it’s written in Spanish. The English translation is back at my office.’
‘That’s no problem, I read Spanish well enough.’
I scanned the document with interest. The body had been placed in the mine only a few weeks before it was found, which contradicted what I’d heard. Sometimes, it seemed, even the local gossip merchants got their facts wrong. Another point I hadn’t known was that fingerprint identification had not been possible because both hands had been removed. I turned to the second page before finding the item I was looking for. I read it, before glancing across the room.
‘Barbara, do you have a photocopier?’
‘Would you be kind enough to take a copy of this document?’ I looked at Rhodes, ‘I take it you have no objection?’
He remained silent, which I took for consent.
Barbara was only out of the room for a couple of minutes, and on her return handed me both copies of the report. I passed the original to Rhodes. ‘If I was you I wouldn’t waste any more time or money applying for probate or even preparing the estate for such, and I’d tell those people who are so keen to buy the estate that it isn’t for sale. Certainly not as things stand.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Rhodes regarded me with disdain.
I tapped the report I was holding. ‘This isn’t worth the paper it’s written on, certainly as proof that Brian Latimer is dead. The only evidence linking him to that corpse is the driving licence found on the body.’
‘That should be enough.’
‘Hardly; not when you read the rest of the report.’ I walked across the room and picked up a photo from the dresser, before setting it down in front of Rhodes. ‘Mrs Lewis, this is a photo of you with Brian Latimer when you were kids, right?’
The photo was of two children, of about twelve years of age, I guessed. As they were both clad in swimming gear and were standing on a beach, I assumed it was a holiday snap. The girl was quite clearly Barbara and with her was a boy with his arm lovingly across her shoulders.
‘That was taken on holiday in Scarborough when I was eleven. Mum and Dad took me, and Brian.’
‘How tall were you at that age?’
‘About four feet four, think.'
‘By the look of this photo, I’d say Brian was a couple of inches taller than you. How tall was he when he was fully grown, can you remember?’
‘He shot up when he was about thirteen, and by the time he left school he was a touch over six feet tall, I think.’
‘That’s interesting, because the Mexican police captain states that the corpse was only 1.7 metres tall, which is around five feet eight inches.’
‘He could have made a mistake,’ Rhodes said, a touch of desperation in his voice.
‘He might have done, and it could also be that the medical examiner who conducted the autopsy, and who the police captain relied upon for much of his information, was colour-blind.’
‘Colour-blind: what has that to do with it?’
I pointed to the photo. ‘Because if the medical examiner got it right, I’d be very interested to know how Brian Latimer’s eyes changed colour from blue to brown. If you can’t explain that, I think it’s safe to assume that the body found in Mexico was not that of Brian Latimer, and there is thus every reason to suppose that he is still alive.’
There was a long silence after Rhodes slunk out of the house. He had barely commented on the shock news, other than to say he would look into the matter. Eventually, Barbara said, ‘Thank you, Adam, that was terrific. Do you really believe that Brian is still alive?’ Her eyes were wide; innocence shone out of them. Which only proves how good women are at acting.
‘Of course I do; in fact I’ll go further. I know very well that he’s alive, as you do. And the reason I know that is that you spent a week in Rowandale Forest taking care of him.’
Barbara gasped, but managed to ask, ‘How did you know?’
I took that as an admission of defeat.
‘You told us so yourself, although you didn’t know it, and it took a while for the significance of what you said to sink in.’
‘What did I say? What gave the game away?’
‘When I said I thought you’d been in Rowandale Forest and that the tramp might have been Stan Calvert, you implied I was close to the truth but far from it. That suggested you had been there, but with someone else. The only other person who knows the forest that well is Brian Latimer. Then you said the future of Linden House was out of your hands and out of Rhodes’. Those two remarks convinced me, the evidence of the height and eye colour was merely confirmation that I was right.’
‘How is he?’ Eve asked. ‘Adam and I were very concerned about him. When Adam saw those dreadful marks on his back he knew he must have been subjected to some terrible torture. We wondered how that treatment had affected him mentally. Adam thought he might have been held prisoner in North Vietnam.’
Barbara’s face clouded over, her distress apparent. ‘He spent three years in a prison camp there before he managed to escape. It’s taken all this time for him to return to England. His memory was badly affected, to begin with, and he had no idea who he was, even when he reached the forest. He was in the American army and he doesn’t think they even know he survived. For most of the time he was a prisoner they kept him in a cage that was no more than six feet high and four feet wide. They covered it with blankets so that he was in the dark for twenty-three hours a day. Once a week or so they took him out and beat him. Even now, after all this time, he can’t bear to be in an enclosed space for any length of time.’
‘How is his memory now?’
‘Improving all the time. I didn’t intend to stay away, but I found him in the forest. When I saw him at the stables that day when he saved me from Charles, I had my suspicions, I had to find out. I had an idea whereabouts he might be, if it were him.’ She blushed. ‘It’s in the heart of the forest, a place we used to go to when we were young. He’s built a little cabin there, it’s really quite cosy, but when I found him he was suffering a bout of malaria, another souvenir of the war. I stayed and nursed him until the attack passed.’
‘It must have been cold and miserable in the forest at this time of year,’ Eve observed. Her face was expressionless; too much so, I thought.
Barbara smiled and with a touch of pride said, ‘Not a bit of it. Brian has made the cabin really snug. With an open fire it’s really comfortable.’
‘But you must have been exhausted, nursing Brian, and with nowhere to sleep, to rest even.’
Barbara didn’t reply, but her face was crimson with embarrassment.
‘Eve,’ I said sternly, ‘stop tormenting Barbara. It isn’t nice.’
As we returned to Laithbrigg, there was only one topic of conversation. I hesitated before tackling the subject; aware that Barbara and Eve had been friends for a long time. ‘Judging by Barbara’s reaction, I’d say there was more to her interest in Brian Latimer than merely concern for a friend. In fact, going from her expression when you were teasing her, I think that when she was caring for him, she also…er…they were…’
‘Sleeping together? Of course they were, Adam. That much was blatantly obvious. I’d go further; I don’t think it’s the first time. Far from it.’
‘How do you work that out? They haven’t seen one another for years and years.’
‘That only proves my point. Barbara isn’t the type to jump into bed with someone unless there is far more to the relationship than sex. It would have to be someone she cares deeply about. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she and Brian were lovers before he went away. Perhaps if he hadn’t gone they would have been married long since. And perhaps she would never have got involved with a loser like Charles Lewis.’
‘Those are fairly strong assumptions, Evie.’
‘True, but if you think about it, she and Brian were more or less brought up together. Barbara was a very attractive girl; one any man would have wanted. Going from what we’ve been told about Brian Latimer I think he’d be just her type.’
‘If you’re right, let’s hope it all works out for them. They’ve been through enough, so maybe they’re due some happiness.’
‘You know, Adam, sometimes you’re quite romantic.’
‘Ah, that’s because I hoped to appeal to your sweet nature so that I could have my wicked way with you later.’
‘I thought the fact that I am always tired was because I wasn’t used to the country air. Now I reckon it’s because I never seem to get a full night’s sleep.’
‘I haven’t heard you object. Quite the opposite, wasn’t i
t you who woke me up and seduced me two nights ago?’
‘Did I? I thought I dreamed that.’
‘Going back to the subject of Barbara and Brian, the only reservation I have about their relationship is what Ogden’s reaction would be if he found out they were lovers. I doubt whether he would give it the same seal of approval that we have. In fact, I’d be prepared to bet he would see it as a prime motive for them to have murdered Barbara’s ex-husband.’
I believe I’ve said before that I ought to stop making these prophecies. They’re turning out to be far too accurate; far too often.
Chapter Fourteen
We’d arranged to go to Harrogate the following day; our prime objective being to discuss the design of an extension to Dene Cottage with an old schoolfriend of mine, who was beginning to gain an excellent reputation as an architect. The meeting was a success, to the extent that he was happy to take the project on. That was fine by us, and equally important, Eve was happy with the choice of someone she felt confident would do the project justice.
To make a day of it we went shopping. Eve, who had been used to the wide range of retail outlets in central London, was surprised and impressed by the scope and quality of the spa town’s shops. To cap it off, I introduced Eve to the delights of Harrogate’s famous Betty’s Café, before we took a leisurely drive home.
On our return, we unloaded our purchases, which for the most part comprised Christmas presents for Eve’s family, hopefully soon to be my in-laws. We were busy storing them in the spare bedroom when we were interrupted by the doorbell.
‘It’s far too late for visitors. Send them away; whoever it is,’ Eve told me as I went downstairs, which promised well for an early night.
Unfortunately, that was far easier said than done. The caller was John Pickersgill, and the news he brought was alarming enough to drive all thoughts of a romantic interlude out of my mind. ‘Ogden’s made an arrest,’ he greeted me.
I gestured for him to enter.
‘He’s gone one better this time; he’s actually charged someone with all three murders.’