‘That’s no big deal, Guv.’
This is DS Jones who interposes. Skelgill regards her pensively for a moment – though he continues with his exposition.
‘We also know that Shauna often came here alone – just her and the kids. Edward Regulus largely stayed away. There was talk of tension between them. She even went to Dublin to have the baby – what was that all about? And then Perdita – she told me that Thwaites always paid her special attention – she could never understand why.’
DS Jones is listening keenly, her eyes narrowed.
‘Think Perdita has any idea, Guv?’
Skelgill shakes his head. Then he throws out his hands.
‘Look – whether it’s true or not makes no odds – but if Thwaites believed it were, then it explains his behaviour.’
‘Be easy enough to find out, Guv – DNA tests.’
This is DS Leyton – and perhaps he has not detected Skelgill’s reticence about the matter. Now Skelgill shrugs rather dismissively. It seems his policy is one of letting sleeping dogs lie, for he declines to be sidetracked by this rather intriguing facet of the mystery.
‘I considered that the drowning – ‘The Accident’ – was the result of some fight between Edward Regulus and Shauna O’More. Perhaps even that he lured her out on the lake with malicious intent. But now I don’t think so.’
‘Why not, Guv?’
‘Because it was meant for Declan. The boat was sabotaged – by Mullarkey.’
Though it can only be conjecture, on this point Skelgill seems adamant. He jerks his head in the direction of the piano. Then he rises again and like DS Jones has just done, collects a photograph and returns.
‘There’s more to these pictures than the family. I asked Mullarkey to help me identify his uncle – the lawyer who was his predecessor on the O’Mores’ account. I sent him a shot of this – according to Thwaites it was taken around the time of ‘The Accident’. He never got back to me – claimed he’d not received the text. When I went to their offices in Dublin I found some staff photographs from about the same era. The lawyers’ names were listed on a caption.’ Now Skelgill places a finger carefully upon the glass, beneath the face of one of the young men grouped about the Land Rover with Edward Regulus, and rotates the frame so that his colleagues may see. ‘It wasn’t just his uncle coming to Crummock Hall back then – so was Mullarkey. Yet he told me he had no involvement while his uncle was their representative – that he didn’t even know Edward Regulus and Shauna O’More. This is him.’
DS Leyton is captivated.
‘So it is, Guv! You can recognise him, once you know what you’re looking for.’
Skelgill returns the photograph to its approximate place on the grand piano. He remains for a few moments to gaze out of the window. When he turns his features are troubled.
‘My one regret is that I alerted him – made him think that we were on to him. And Thwaites was still alive then.’
His sergeants simultaneously protest; Skelgill seems surprised that they rally so vehemently to his side. DS Leyton jabs a forefinger in his direction.
‘Guv – there’s no way you could have known – like you say – you weren’t even suspecting him at that point.’
‘Leyton I was suspecting everyone.’
Skelgill grins – rather sheepishly, it must be said – and DS Jones seems eager to focus upon a point that will restore his dignity.
‘The sinking of the boat, Guv – how could he have brought that about?’
‘Simple enough. Bore half a dozen holes just a touch above the waterline. Plug them with bread paste – or boilies like carp anglers use. Lick of varnish for disguise – and that would give temporary waterproofing. Remember what I told you about the draught? As soon as someone gets aboard, the boat sinks lower in the water. The patched holes are now below the waterline. Give it half an hour and the bread will dissolve. Bingo.’
DS Leyton’s heavy features are disconcerted, his dark brows compressed.
‘So he tried to murder Declan all that time ago – to get at the diamond.’
Skelgill inhales – as though there is much yet to tell, and that he wrestles with a suitable opening line.
‘Leyton – I’ll explain in a minute what the Prof just told me – he’s got a colleague in Dublin who’s a historian with a legal interest. Mullarkey’s firm have been lawyers to the O’Mores since the 1600s. Happen Mullarkey didn’t know exactly what Declan had inherited – but I’m pretty sure he’d studied the archives and discovered there was something seriously valuable.’
‘So he hatched the plot to sink the boat.’
‘Aye – and it went spectacularly wrong. He killed Edward and Shauna. Just think about it – all hell’s let loose, it’s all over the media – and Declan suspects he was targeted. Remember – how he went bird-spotting – maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but that he was spooked. And he wouldn’t have known who was after him. Thereafter – he kept up his guard. He became more of a recluse. His study was either occupied or locked – or watched by Thwaites from his butler’s pantry. Meanwhile Mullarkey only had limited excuses to be over here. He had to play a long game. At some point he got access to the keys – took a plasticine impression and had copies made.
‘Come to the present day. Sir Sean is dying. Declan decides he’d better make a will. He consults Mullarkey – maybe he writes to him or phones. He tells him he’s thinking of bequeathing the books to one of his great nephews or nieces. Mullarkey reads between the lines – he must realise that the diamond is hidden – concealed inside one of the books. It might be obvious – but it’s effective when you’ve got so many. Folk must have wondered how come Sir Sean inherited the estate and Declan got nothing but an allowance – especially since they were twins – but maybe he didn’t get such a bad deal.’
Now DS Jones comments.
‘It makes you think that no one else in the family knew about the diamond.’
‘I reckon we can be confident that Perdita didn’t. Declan may not even have planned to tell her immediately – happen not until he was on his death bed.’ Skelgill places his hands on his head and intertwines his fingers. ‘What we do know is he called for Mullarkey – Saturday, the day before his murder. But Mullarkey realises we’ll hear about this meeting, so when interviewed he gives us a distorted version of it. He says Declan told him he intended to draft a will and give him to him – but that he never did. In fact, Declan had already done it – as we overheard Mullarkey tell Perdita. It wasn’t a formal document, but it was properly witnessed by Sir Sean and Thwaites – good enough to be legally binding. Perdita was to inherit the books. My guess is that the wording would cover the diamond – “all my worldly goods” – that kind of thing.’
DS Leyton is looking increasingly perplexed – some point has been brewing that plainly confounds him.
‘But why Perdita, Guv?’
Skelgill drops his hands and pats his thighs absently.
‘She might have offended Declan by calling him a dinosaur – but the family tradition meant a lot to him. And then compare her to the rest of them. She’s made the most of her Irish heritage. She’s a writer – she loves books. And she’s the only one not driven by money. He summons her on the Sunday morning after Sir Sean’s funeral – but they’re both of them bloody-minded and end up having a row. Instead of buttering him up, she stands her ground – she probably goes up in his estimation. Mullarkey must have got wind of the meeting – he creeps along and eavesdrops – and hides on the little spiral staircase when she storms out. Then he goes in to see Declan – maybe on pretence of discussing some legal point. He knows it’s just a matter of time before Declan tells Perdita about the will – he takes his chance and whacks Declan – chucks the stick on the fire – steals the document – and slips along to lunch as though nothing has happened. Now he’s got some breathing space – Declan appears to die intestate – and he can probably get the books moved to Dublin.’
DS Leyton has been pa
tiently holding up a hand – for permission to speak. Now that Skelgill pauses, he pitches in with some gusto.
‘But Thwaites – he must have known about the will!’
Skelgill seems not to perceive his sergeant’s intervention as an obstacle to his logic.
‘Aye – exactly – and given what we’ve just said about him and Perdita, all the more reason that he wouldn’t tell us. What stronger motive could she have to bump off Declan than that she was his heir? Plus Thwaites would have no inkling he was in mortal danger from Mullarkey – not while he thought Perdita was the murderer.’
DS Leyton remains troubled.
‘But, Guv – what I’m saying – Mullarkey knew that Thwaites knew there was a will – so he had to die – it wasn’t because you rattled Mullarkey’s cage with that stuff about the photograph.’
Skelgill is pensive for a moment. He evidently does not want to seem too eager to accept this explanation – but DS Leyton has a supplementary question.
‘Do you think Thwaites noticed the clock had been changed for a second time – back to 12 – when I took him to check over the study? That would have had him worried, Guv.’
Skelgill is nodding slowly.
‘Quite likely – except he wouldn’t have known when it happened – he might have thought it was when he ‘discovered’ Declan’s body and they all came running. He was too busy play-acting to notice – so it could have been any one of them as far as he was concerned.’
‘Think it was Mullarkey that wiped that glass, Guv – that had no prints on it?’
Skelgill produces a wry grin.
‘Leyton, here’s my idea about the glass. Thwaites comes into the study at 12.15 with Declan’s lunch – sees his master laid out on the floor – he slams the tray down on the desk and the glass of water rolls off.’
‘But why no prints, Guv?’
‘Because that was one of his duties – he polished the glassware and he always wore those white butler’s gloves.’
‘Cor blimey, that’s some red herring, Guv.’
Skelgill’s mood continues to loosen, and he makes a further admission.
‘Never mind red herring, Leyton – I thought it was deliberate, too – it could have been a quick way to disguise droplets of snow melt – off someone’s boots who’d come in through the garden door. Part of my daft skiing theory.’
His sergeants respond with smiles – but the ring of the telephone interrupts this theme – it is an old-fashioned single trill like in the early American movies. DS Jones glances at Skelgill – he gestures to her to go ahead. His gaze follows her movements as she walks across to the bureau where the handset is located. She picks up the base by its stem, lifting it to her lips, and raises the wired earpiece accordingly. Then she turns to face her colleagues. They hear just one side of the dialogue.
‘DS Jones.’
‘Oh, hi – good, thanks – you?’
‘Good.’
‘Already?’
‘Ah – no – we can’t get a data signal – it’s this fog.’
‘Okay – just give me the top line.’
And now she listens for a minute, punctuating the silence with nods and the occasional “Aha” and “Right”. Finally she thanks the caller – it is evident that it is one of her DCs, and they have related to her some information. She signs off and returns the old Bakelite telephone to its place.
‘Wow.’ She exhales and seems to take a couple of deep breaths as she returns to her seat. Her colleagues look on expectantly. ‘That was the station, Guv – there’s a preliminary report from Forensics on the examination of Mullarkey’s bedroom here at Crummock Hall. They found a balled up strip of packing tape at the back of his fire. He must have intended to burn it – but it rolled down behind the grate, and just melted superficially. It’s got Mullarkey’s prints on it – and on the sticky side, traces of varnish and wood fibre that exactly match the bottom of Thwaites’ bedroom door, and the floorboards below it.’
Skelgill is nodding – he looks like this is a confirmation rather than a revelation.
‘So that’s how he did it. He blocked the chimney during the day – then taped up the door after Thwaites had gone to bed. Must have gone back for the tape in the early hours, and switched it for the door-stopper on the inside – to make it look like an accident caused by Thwaites trying to keep himself warm.’
DS Jones has more to add.
‘We think the nest material came from the chimney in the attic room that Edgar was using as an office. There were similar remnants of twigs and straw in the hearth.’
‘Aye – he had a fan heater, remember? Probably because they couldn’t get a fire to draw properly in there.’
The team becomes introspective for a few moments. Though they have solved the crime it is a source of dismay that they were unable to prevent what is almost certainly the murder of Thwaites. However it is some consolation that they intervened when they did – Fergal Mullarkey had more than enough evil intent – and bullets – to bring an entire dynasty to its end on Friday night. Who knows what staged internecine killings he had planned for the five siblings. Might the police have arrived to discover four of them shot as they slept, and a fifth – their ‘killer’ – having apparently committed suicide down at the lake?
Now DS Leyton breaks the silence.
‘Once he thought he was in the clear, Guv – over Declan and Thwaites – why do you reckon Mullarkey didn’t just sit tight – maybe even wait until the books were transferred to Dublin?’
Skelgill shrugs and looks hopefully for tea – but DS Jones indicates there is none left.
‘I suppose there was always the chance of the family digging their heels in – it would have made it more difficult for him if the collection was kept here. Plus there’s other things that must have rattled him – like I said, the photo – and then me rocking up unannounced in Dublin. I reckon he spotted me on the ferry – and kept quiet about it. There was something odd about him that niggled me. And Toby Vellum – don’t forget. He appears out of the blue – and not only is he an old chum of Edgar’s – but also his firm is Declan’s long-standing supplier of books. Mullarkey puts two and two together and makes five – he’s probably thinking that Vellum and Edgar are in cahoots – that they know something about the diamond and are preparing to act.’
Again they each consider this explanation – and it is DS Jones that makes a supplementary observation.
‘I also believe, Guv – that Fergal Mullarkey was not a sane person – this obsession must have been eating at him for decades – I think by the end of it his mind was running riot.’
Skelgill nods.
‘Aye – you’re not wrong there, Jones. Greed got the better of him and he showed his hand.’
Skelgill’s phraseology does not go unnoticed by his colleagues – for, thus far, they have not directly asked him to what extent he suspected it would be Fergal Mullarkey that fell foul of their stakeout. Or was it was just an optimistic shot in the dark? After all, the group was back together for Thwaites’ funeral, and the time was ripe for the guilty party to make some move. So now DS Leyton seizes his chance – in a tactfully oblique fashion.
‘I must say, Guv – Mullarkey was the last person I expected – he had me convinced he was totally above board.’
Skelgill grins generously.
‘The lake, Leyton, the lake. And good old Greenwell’s Glory. I had this powerful feeling that Declan was the target of the drowning – ‘The Accident’ – and if that was right, then this crime wasn’t about the family clearing Declan out of the way to speed up the inheritance of Crummock Hall – or even for some perverse revenge – it was about Declan, and his will. And there was all this background noise about the books – even Mullarkey overdid it – pressing me, telling me that the family wanted them put in safekeeping. And that Declan’s murdered so soon after it emerges he intends to bequeath the collection to one of his great nephews or nieces. If ‘The Accident’ and the books were connect
ed – then the family couldn’t be in the frame.’
DS Leyton is nodding.
‘They were just a bunch of kids, Guv.’
‘And there was something that Thwaites mentioned to me – a throwaway remark. He said Declan would scold the maid when she was dusting the shelves – and he’d complain to Thwaites – he’d say, “All my wealth is in my books”. It was a kind double bluff – he meant it. Literally.’
DS Jones cannot suppress a giggle – she gives him credit for his apposite choice of adverb – and follows up with a more tangential inquiry.
‘And what you learned in Dublin, Guv?’
There is a suggestion of ingenuousness in her tone – albeit that Skelgill has not been particularly forthcoming about his unofficial expedition across the Irish Sea.
‘Not everything I learned in Dublin would have kept me on the right track.’
His reaction is a little prickly – and she folds her hands upon her lap. She seems unprepared for this and does not have a ready reply. But now his expression softens, and his tone becomes almost teasing.
‘Just like you discovered in London, I don’t doubt.’
Now DS Jones’s cheeks seem to take on a faint flush – and Skelgill continues in his conciliatory manner.
‘What we can’t know when we get handed a case – is that it’s not one jigsaw but three or four jigsaws all mixed up in the same box, with no picture on the front – but now we’ve got the pieces we want – we can bin the rest and move on.’
Though his graphic analogy is somewhat facile, it seems his point is insightful – at least as far as DS Jones is concerned – for she relaxes, and nods, and smiles with some relief.
‘It’s been an eye-opener, Guv – but not my kind of scene.’
DS Leyton is not entirely on their wavelength – but nonetheless he chips in with what he thinks is an appropriate contribution.
‘It’s another world, eh, Guv – the rich and famous.’
Skelgill abruptly rises. This catches his subordinates unawares. There is a strange light in his eyes, perhaps of anticipation. He grabs his jacket from the back of the sofa, and pulls on his fur-lined trapper hat, rather askew.
Murder at the Wake (Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates Book 7) Page 27