CHAPTER 5
The moment our hansom cab pulled into the short drive of the Connicle estate, just as dawn began to stretch up from the horizon, it was clear that Colin had been right, if woefully mistaken about the timing. Though the sun had not yet crested above the horizon, the house was already ablaze with light and there were half a dozen police coaches parked near the front door. It was astounding to find such a contingency of force. Was there any wonder the Yard’s reputation had receded over the years if this was how many men they determined were required to question the scullery maid, Alexa, and her husband, Albert? It seemed inconceivable, even for Inspector Varcoe, to have mucked up such a straightforward task.
“They cannot still be here from yesterday,” I grumbled into the early morning chill.
“No,” Colin muttered. “They aren’t.”
I turned to scowl at him, annoyed that he could be so certain at this hour, and that’s when I spotted the coroner’s wagon parked on the far side of the house. The opposite side from where the bloodied shed stood. Not a word was spoken between us as we cut across the front of the property, Colin’s eyes set rigidly on that gray wagon with its seven black letters etched across its side: CORONER. What, I began to fear, was Denton Ross doing here?
Colin and I skirted around the corner of the house and noticed a cluster of police along the tree line. Most seemed to be milling about, some with their arms crossed and others with their rounded navy caps pushed back on their heads, but there were several kneeling in the grass beneath a tree as though foraging amongst the roots for truffles or mushrooms. Inspector Varcoe was one of them.
“What can they possibly be up to . . . ?” I started to say, but let my voice fade out as I caught sight of the twisted legs lying prone there.
“It’s Albert,” Colin said, the astonishment in his voice unmistakable as he suddenly rushed ahead.
I hurried to catch up, the sight of Albert’s misshapen and bloodied body coming into view as I drew closer. He was lying on his stomach, though his head was turned to one side, his visible eye staring toward the horizon as though fixed on the blossoming dawn.
“Pendragon!” Varcoe barked as he stood up and brushed his hands along the sides of his slacks. “You investigating every ruddy accident now? ’Cause I got a boy stubbed his toe a couple houses down. Perhaps you could do some of your fine work on that situation,” he snorted.
Colin’s brow curled into a tight frown. “What are you talking about?”
“This dumb sod who fell out of this tree!” he snapped. “What the hell do you think I’m talking about?”
“Fell out of the tree?!” Colin repeated with stark disbelief.
Varcoe’s face went dark, which was offset by the blinding whiteness of his hair. “That’s what I said, you pompous shitheel.” He glared at Colin a moment before abruptly stepping back, crossing his arms over his chest, and allowing a crooked grin to slide onto his face. “Why don’t you tell these two tossers what you’ve determined so far, Mr. Ross.”
My stomach clenched as Denton Ross stepped forward, his pasty complexion, stringy hair, and unkempt form maintained in defiance of anything good or proper. “Must I?” he groused.
Inspector Varcoe’s smile faltered slightly as he gritted his teeth. “If you please, Mr. Ross.”
An irritated sigh escaped his blubbery lips as he began clipping off his official report as though under duress. “If you must know, my preliminary determination is that this man fell out of this tree from a height of some fifteen feet as evidenced by the contorted position of his body, the multiple fractures to his left arm, and the complete dislocation of the same shoulder. It wasn’t the fall that killed him, however.” He glowered smartly at Colin. “It was a blow to the left temple sustained from a rock when he struck the ground. In short, an accident,” he added with disdain.
“I see,” Colin sniffed. “And do you have this murderous rock? I certainly don’t see it by his head.”
“What?”
Colin’s eyes flashed darkly. “Where is the wretched stone upon which your supposition lies? Or are you merely espousing the basest possibility?”
“How dare you—”
“Answer the damn question,” Inspector Varcoe cut in.
Denton Ross flicked his eyes between Colin and Varcoe, a look of distaste pinching his mouth. “We’ll find it once the sun comes up.”
“Oh, bloody hell!” Varcoe growled as he waved a couple of his men over. “You lot start looking for a rock around here with blood and god knows what other kind of matter on it. And you, Mr. Ross . . .” He leveled a damning gaze at Denton. “I don’t give a ruddy shite what you think. I want the facts!” He shoved himself past all of us before suddenly turning and adding, “And don’t you or your toady touch a damn thing, Pendragon. I’ll not have you fouling this scene to prove your conjectures.”
“Conjectures?”
“There is currently NO indication of any connection between this man’s death and the ritualistic killing yesterday of Edmond Connicle,” he seethed. “And I will thank you to remember that.” He shifted his gaze to Denton Ross and stabbed a finger toward him. “I want your full report on my desk by midday. Do you understand? !” He didn’t wait for an answer but instead stalked off toward the driveway muttering his fury.
“I’ve hardly slept this entire night,” Denton Ross fumed in the inspector’s wake. “And now, because of you, I have a blasted deadline. So piss off!” To my surprise Colin immediately stepped back, so I did the same. While I was certain Denton hoped we would move off completely, I knew he was grateful to get whatever he could.
The young man who assisted Denton slumped forward with a stretcher rolled up under one arm. He set it on the ground next to Albert’s remains and kicked it open with an irrefutable look of disinterest. “Ready,” he muttered before they knelt down and grabbed Albert’s body, Denton at his shoulders, the assistant grabbing the twisted legs. Rigor mortis had already begun to set in, leaving Albert looking like a broken wooden doll, stiff and contorted in ways he was never meant to bend.
“You must forgive me,” Colin spoke up delicately once they had set the body onto the stretcher. “I didn’t notice any particular sort of trauma point on the prone side of the face. Where did you get the idea that he struck a rock when he fell?”
Denton’s face puckered. “I am not about to explain my process to an amateur and his sycophant.”
Colin allowed the ghost of a grin to settle on his face. “Speculation can hardly be called a process. Surely you can see that this man did not die as a result of blunt trauma to his head. He was murdered elsewhere and quite deliberately placed in that deformed position to make it appear that he had fallen from that tree.”
“You don’t know anything.”
Colin sighed with unaccustomed patience. “Have you asked yourself why he was in the tree? I don’t see any shears or a saw, so he couldn’t have been trying to prune it. Do you suppose he was just up there waiting to enjoy the sunrise?”
“Well, how the hell would I know that?!” Denton bristled with annoyance. “It’s not my job to explain the whim of every nutter who runs into trouble.”
“Runs into trouble? He’s dead, man.”
“I know what he is!” Denton snarled, spittle flying from his lips. “Lift!” he shouted at his aide, and the two of them roughly hoisted the stretcher up.
As they began to move off, Colin spoke up once more. “You will find abrasions on the prone side of Albert’s face and chest consistent with having been dragged behind a horse. I’d say you’ll also find contusions from a rope around one or both of his ankles or wrists. That man was murdered and dragged here, Mr. Ross, as surely as this day is upon us.”
Neither Denton nor his assistant gave so much as the whiff of a response as they headed for the corner of the house where their wagon was parked. I knew it would be too much for Colin to stand and after a moment was not surprised when he could not stop himself from calling out, “I look for
ward to reading your findings!”
“Well . . .” I said as they disappeared from view, “it would appear you were right about Albert keeping something from us last night. I can think of no other conclusion to draw.”
“Indeed,” he grumbled irritably. “Only Varcoe and that morgue monkey could be fooled by such a thing. And even Varcoe appears to be having second thoughts.” He glanced back to where Albert’s body had lain before turning and starting for the house. “Let’s get inside and speak to Alexa and Mrs. Connicle before Varcoe manages to pollute the whole of this confounding investigation.”
“Pendragon!” The inspector’s voice assaulted us again before we could reach the portico. Even so, Colin kept moving, his chagrin evident as we climbed the porch. Only then did he bother to glance back at Varcoe and the two bobbies bearing down on us. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“To knock on the door,” he said as he did so. “I am under the employ of Mrs. Connicle and would like to pay my respects to her.”
“The hell you are. You’re going in there to ferret about and I won’t have it.”
“We have a magisterial order allowing us great latitude to—”
“I know what you have!” he howled back. “But that won’t stop me from hounding your every blasted move.” He abruptly leaned forward and pounded on the door himself. “And that’s precisely what I intend to do.”
“Oh, come now, Inspector—”
“Do not be impudent with me, Pendragon, or you will need a magisterial order just to wipe your buggered nose!”
I could tell Colin was on the verge of an unfortunate reply just as the door was swept open by Miss Porter, wearing a surly frown that blemished her otherwise lovely face. “Gentlemen! We are a household in mourning,” she scolded. “Must we suffer additional disregard with such a racket?”
The inspector reddened as he puffed out his chest and gave a rudimentary nod. “Of course. My men sometimes forget themselves in the midst of an investigation,” he blustered inanely, as neither of his men had accompanied him onto the porch. “Just the same, this is an investigation and we shall require the household to rally in order for us to proceed.”
Miss Porter’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit as she took a curt step back to allow us entry. Whatever she was thinking, her decorum remained intact as she showed us to the library. Varcoe had waved one of his men to follow, which meant there would be four of us confronting whomever Colin meant to query. Hardly the sort of informal environment conducive to confession.
“Who is it you wish to see, Inspector?” Miss Porter asked as she prodded a fire back to roaring life.
“Not me,” he answered with pointed artifice. “Mr. Pendragon here. Who will it be, Pendragon?”
Colin’s displeasure was evident from the vitriol in his eyes to the rigid way he was standing. Still, his voice remained smooth and cordial as he turned to Miss Porter with a smile. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to speak with us a moment?”
Miss Porter sucked in a breath that seemed to carry the weight of the day. Nevertheless, she gestured for the three of us to sit, Varcoe’s man having remained at the door, as she perched herself on the edge of a settee.
“How is your mistress faring?” Colin asked.
“It was a terrible night. We had to send for the doctor after she learned about her husband. She was inconsolable and I feared for her safety.” She brushed a wayward hair from her eyes and seemed to grow smaller. “The doctor spent an hour with her and gave her something strong for her nerves, but it was still quite some time before she fell into sleep. She is not awake yet and so is unaware of what has occurred this morning. We have already sent for the doctor to ensure he is here when she arises. I am certain she will not bear this second shock at all well.”
“I’m sorry.” Colin nodded. “I know this is hard on all of you, but I must impose a few questions so that we may bring these terrible events to a swift and just conclusion.”
“I understand.”
He offered her a tight smile as he began. “Did you see Albert this morning before he went outside?”
She shook her head. “Albert is on to his chores long before I’m about. There are days when I don’t even see him until supper.”
“Do you know what time his day usually begins?”
“You’d have to ask Alexa or Mrs. Hollings. Mrs. Hollings sees that he gets something to eat before he heads out.”
Colin nodded. “Very good. One last question. Were you aware that Albert was planning on trimming trees this morning?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t confer with me about his work.”
Colin flashed a thin smile as he fished a crown out of his vest pocket. “Then I thank you for your time,” he said as he began to coax the crown effortlessly between the fingers of his right hand. “May I trouble you to ask Mrs. Hollings if she would speak with us a moment?”
“Certainly.” She stood up and brushed idly at her skirts. “Gentlemen . . .” she said as she excused herself.
“You’re about as smooth as a baboon’s behind,” Varcoe snorted once Miss Porter was gone. “It’s a bloody wonder you can solve a case with that kind of piffle.”
Colin grinned as the shiny coin continued to glide between his fingers. “Perhaps you’d care to compare our rates of success ?”
The inspector’s face pinched and his brow furrowed. “Awfully full of yourself, given you’ve nothing but treacle and fluff to show for your efforts.” He swiveled toward the young constable still hovering at the door. “I hope you’re taking notes,” he blustered. “Pendragon’s every word is priceless.”
Colin’s face tightened, but he managed to keep silent for the few minutes it took before Mrs. Hollings finally came ambling into the room. She moved like her feet hurt, listing from side to side as though improperly balanced. And though she was generous in size, she was not nearly as ample as our Mrs. Behmoth. Her long white apron was surprisingly smudged given that it was not yet eight, which implied that she was a woman very much into her work.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Hollings,” Colin said as she came to a halt at the room’s center. “I only wish it were under better circumstances.”
“As do we all,” she sighed heavily.
“Please . . .” He gestured to the chair next to me.
She flicked her eyes between all of us, her expression vacant, before tsking and dropping herself onto the edge of the proffered seat.
Colin fluidly slid the coin back into his vest pocket and asked, “Did you see Albert this morning, Mrs. Hollings?”
“Course.”
He allowed something of a smile. “I take it you see him every morning then?”
“Well, ’e don’t feed ’imself and I don’t let nobody putter about in me kitchen.”
“What time was that?”
“Four thirty. Same as every day.”
“And how did he seem this morning?”
She gave Colin a curious look as though she thought he were balmy. “Same as ever,” she said flatly.
Now it was Colin’s turn to pause, though at first I could not tell if it was frustration or disappointment clouding his eyes. “Did he mention what sort of chores he was planning to attend to today?”
She snorted. “I made ’im a crock a porridge. I didn’t pester ’im with questions.”
Colin’s mouth flat-lined. “Naturally. Then there was nothing particular about this morning?”
“Nah,” she answered at once.
Varcoe’s surly chuckle intruded into the brief silence.
“Was climbing into trees to trim them a regular part of Albert’s duties?”
She shook her head. “Nah.”
“Do you ever remember him climbing into the trees?”
Mrs. Hollings stared straight at Colin. “I don’t know what ’e were up to ’alf the time, but I don’t remember ’im climbin’ no trees. Wot’s the point in that?”
Colin’s face gradually rel
axed into something I recognized as satisfaction. “How many years has he been here?”
“Close ta three, I guess.” Her expression began to curl in on itself as she seemed to consider her own words for the first time. “So wot was ’e doin’ up there then . . . ?” she asked.
“Can you say for certain that Mrs. Connicle didn’t tell him to get out there and clean those trees up?” Varcoe cut in.
“She ’asn’t been outta ’er room since you came by with the news ’bout the mister last evenin’.” She wagged an accusatory finger at him.
“Maybe she told him the day before. Or Mr. Connicle perhaps.. . .”
“Inspector . . .” Colin piped up. “Don’t you think it’s a bit much if we’re both peppering this good woman with questions?”
Varcoe scowled at him before settling back in his chair. He gestured to his constable in the doorway and I saw the young man jot something down in his notebook. It seemed the inspector meant to have his questions answered at some point or another.
“Now, Mrs. Hollings”—Colin looked back at her and flashed a gentle grin—“I want to ask you to think hard about this morning one more time. Did Albert seem different in any way? Agitated perhaps? Distracted? Particularly quiet . . . ?”
“ ’E were always quiet.” She waved him off. “I don’t think ’e spoke the Queen’s tongue all that well. But ’e did do somethin’ strange now that ya mention it. ’E stood at the back door and stared out a couple minutes like ’e were lookin’ for somethin’. I thought it were ’cause a what ’appened yesterday, but ’e weren’t starin’ toward the shed. ’E were lookin’ at them trees on the other side.” She shrugged. “Maybe ’e were thinkin’ ’bout cuttin’ ’em.”
“And there it is,” the inspector pronounced grandly.
Colin shifted his gaze toward Varcoe but held his tongue. It took better than a moment before he finally turned back to Mrs. Hollings with what remnants of civility he seemed capable of mustering. “I’d like to ask you one last question, Mrs. Hollings. Did Albert’s wife confide in you over the last twenty-four hours that she was concerned for her husband’s safety?”
The Connicle Curse Page 5