A Debt Is Finally Paid (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  He waited. Footsteps circled the fox pen and occasionally the poor wretch caught inside would chirp and whimper. Emerson knew when it was best to stay quiet and small. It didn’t pay to draw attention to himself when his late father had been in earshot.

  “Shut up you mangy beast!” an unseen man hissed. The sound of something hitting the wire fencing and bouncing hard against the ground made Emerson flinch. It wasn’t old Chattersworth’s voice. The child crouched down into a small ball, completely invisible under the low swags of the massive fir tree’s limbs.

  From his left, a white pebble rolled quietly between his feet and emerged right below his gaze. Turning his head slowly to see Tallant, also tucked down, Emerson began to speak. The older boy gestured with a finger over his lips for Emerson to stay quiet.

  “The women didn’t show up,” a man’s voice said.

  “One of us should wait. We need to get rid of her. She’s the only one left who can recognize you,” another man said in a strange accent.

  “I can’t spare you. We’re wasting time. Those boats will be inspected tomorrow or worse, they’ll be moved. Let’s get back to the village and help Victor and Pete.”

  Three sets of legs walked past the hiding children and along the edge of the wood. As soon as Tallant and Emerson saw the figures disappear above the slope line, Emerson spoke. “Who was that?”

  Tallant whispered, “I don’t know, but one is a cop.”

  “Should we release the fox?” Emerson asked, returning to the reason he’d come out in the first place.

  A grin broke out over the Romani boy’s face, revealing perfectly white straight teeth and a healthy set of dimples framing the corners of his smile. “Let’s do it.”

  Scrambling out from under the fir tree’s protective limbs, Tallant and Emerson quietly walked in the direction of the fox trap. As they approached the enclosure, the fox gurgled and made the guttural noises known to its species.

  “Hush there, little one. You’ll be free in a moment,” Tallant said, talking in a low, even tone. The animal picked up on the boy’s quiet, gentle energy and soon settled down near one of the far corners of the trap.

  The wind was picking up, moving the fog out of the river valley. As the dark-haired boy lifted the latch on the trap’s gate, the night sky cleared and the moon’s bright light shown down, bringing clarity to the landscape. The two boys, distracted for a brief moment by the sudden brilliance of nighttime’s beauty, gazed toward the river where moonbeams made the water’s surface sparkle with white flakes that undulated with the ever-moving current. Like a mythological creature summoned from the mist by a dark wizard, a black elongated shape like a great beast emerged from a shadowed bend in the river.

  “What’s that?” Emerson whispered with a twinge of awe.

  Tallant didn’t answer. They both studied the silhouette’s movement, waiting for its true identity to reveal itself. It was Tallant who realized the truth first.

  “It’s a boat. It may be one of ours.”

  “Let’s go see,” Emerson said, excited by the thrill of investigating this new mystery.

  “First, let’s set the fox free.”

  Tallant pulled the gate open and the boys stepped away so when the animal was ready, it had a straight shot to scamper out of the hateful trap. They watched as the fox hesitated and carefully tucked itself deeper into the corner of the enclosure. It seemed uncertain of whether to trust the two human enough to pass in front of them.

  The two boys didn’t wait. The fox would leave once they were gone. With light hearts and aided by the strong light beaming down from the bright moon, they ran the short distance to the river’s edge and studied the boat caught in the strong back current.

  “It’s the Empire and she’s somehow floated all this way,” Tallant said. “Come on, Emmy. Let’s get on the boat. I know how to start the engine. With your help, I can take her back up the river.”

  Emerson thought for a moment. “Won’t those men be looking for it there?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  The two boys were quiet for a while trying to think through their problem.

  “What if we tie the boat up next to the embankment under those willow trees? It would be hard to see it in the darkness with the limbs coming down over it,” Emerson said.

  “I like that idea. Come on let’s get to work.”

  Waiting for the boat’s bow to rub up against the embankment, Tallant leaped and grabbed the guard rail. He clung to the side with both hands and with the kind of agility best exhibited by strong, fearless young boys, olympic gymnasts and highly-trained navy seals, Tallant flipped himself onto the deck of the Empire with ease.

  He tossed one of the boat’s lines to Emerson who, by using one of the willow tree trunks as a simple pulley, was able to slowly pull the boat to the shore. Once the bow bumped against the embankment, Tallant jumped onto the ground and tied the boat securely by its lines to two willow trees hugging the edge of the river.

  “Would you like to come on board, Emmy? I know where my Mum keeps the biscuit tin. I’m hungry. Are you?”

  “Yeah, starved. I’ve brought us treats, too.”

  Inside, Tallant pulled down the stained glass lantern hanging over the dining banquet and, striking a match, lit the lamp’s wick. The soft glow from the light made the boat’s interior cozy and warm. With attention to detail, Emerson and Tallant went around to each porthole window and pulled the heavy curtains closed, thereby effectively sealing the lamplight within the cabin.

  Emerson saw the oven clock’s time. “After I have a biscuit, Tallant, I’d better get back. It’s already eleven-thirty. Celine might wake up and miss me. She’ll take away my DS for a week if she finds out I slipped out of the house.”

  “Okay. I’d better walk you back, Emmy. Those men might be hanging about.”

  Emerson sat in the corner of the banquet nibbling thoughtfully on his biscuit. “I don’t want to run into those men. Do you think we might be able to start the engine and drive the boat down the river? There’s a dock below Healy. I can see it from my window. If we make it there, I might be able to get back into the house and pretend to be asleep.”

  “It’s worth a try,” the ever-capable Tallant said. “Finish up that biscuit and help me release the lines. I’ve been driving this boat since I was six, so not to worry.”

  With the confidence of old deck hands, the two young boys neatly untied the lines and got the boat’s engine started. They maneuvered the craft from its hiding place. Tallant knew how to handle the steering wheel like a true pro of nine years and soon under the moon’s benevolent light, the Empire and her crew bravely headed downstream to the port of Healy.

  Chapter 29

  “DOES ANYONE HAVE A HOT water bottle?” Polly asked while standing in her robe and house slippers. She was making herself comfortable in one of the constabulary’s cells for the night and was busy preparing her accommodations for a comfortable night’s rest. She’d given up going to a hotel simply because the only hotel she would want to stay at was run by her friend, Tessa, and if she woke Tessa up at this time of night, Polly would never hear the end of it.

  Donna was the only real constable left at the station as every other officer had rushed off to the river to search for the missing boat. Sam kept her company most evenings, and he was still with her even though it was now past eleven. It was already past the end of her shift time and Sergeant Cross would be there soon, allowing Donna to head home.

  Readying herself to leave, Donna simply shrugged at Polly’s questions and pointed her to the officer’s lounge where she might find almost anything in one of the many over-stuffed, gadget-filled drawers. With a resigned air of a capable woman who had spent years multi-tasking the jobs of children, family, work and housekeeping, all needing something at once, Donna went back to her present thankless job of soothing Helen’s ruffled feathers.

  “I’m leaving, Constable Waters. Chief Johns has no reason to hold me. I’ve told him everyt
hing regarding my whereabouts yesterday. Martha has vouched for me,” Helen said, indicating Martha sitting on one of the tattered reception room chairs.

  Martha was painting her nails a flaming red color. The tableau of frazzled red hair, discarded shoes and Martha lounging back on a mangled feather pillow sporting Garfield’s cartoon face, didn’t exactly engender reliability and confidence in Helen’s argument regarding Martha’s credibility. Exchanging expressions of uncertainty and awkwardness, the two women returned to their debate.

  “Mrs. Ryes, trust me, I would let you go, but I’m waiting on the Chief’s answer. He left so quickly that he didn’t get to finish getting your statement. I don’t have the okay to release you. It won’t be long, but I do need you to please be patient.” Packing her purse, Donna was ready to leave for the evening.

  “Are you going home?” Helen asked in an incredulous tone. “Who’s going to run this place once you’re gone?”

  As cool as ever and completely unruffled by the night’s high intensity and Helen’s circumstances, Donna picked up her favorite coffee mug, smiled comfortingly and said, “Sam’s here until midnight but not to worry, Sergeant Cross will be here soon. I’m locking the constabulary so you’ll be safe.”

  Putting her plaid coat on and slinging her purse over her shoulder, Donna continued, “Do yourself a favor, Helen. Pour a nice cup of chamomile tea, lay down on your cot and relax. You won’t do yourself any favors going on like this. The Chief will get back with us as soon as he can.”

  Briskly making her way to the front doors of the constabulary, Donna flashed Martha and Helen an upbeat smile, waved goodbye and disappeared out into the dark. In less than a minute, Helen watched Donna’s car weave through the narrow entrance to the constabulary and melt away into the fog. Sam walked over and locked the door. Giving Helen a shy smile, he meandered back to his desk and sat down to fiddle with his phone.

  She knew when she was beat. With a great sigh, Helen turned to see Martha still performing her make-shift manicure. The room reeked of nail polish.

  “We’re never getting out of here, Martha. This is absolutely ridiculous. Why am I all of a sudden a suspect?”

  “Helen, my dear,” Martha said with a deep sigh, putting another dab of red lacquer on her index finger, “You’re not a suspect. Merriam is just pushing his weight around. I’m working on it. Cool your jets and go check on Polly. I want to make sure she isn’t nipping on that brandy we know Johns has stashed in his office. It’s time pistol-Polly is in bed.”

  Throwing her hands up in the air, Helen went in search of the Chief’s mother.

  Martha held out her hand to appreciate the final color on her nails and deciding it met her satisfaction, she smiled and perused the room to see what else was going on. Sam Berry was the only person left and he was busy texting on his phone.

  Martha’s affection for Sam was great. It hadn’t always been so, but Martha and Helen owed Sam a debt of gratitude for saving them from an icy death and this rectified any earlier problems between them.

  “How do you like working here, Sam?” she asked, getting up to come over where he was sitting. Finding a comfortable chair across from him, she sat down.

  The tall, handsome young man blushed lightly and replied, “I like it, Mrs. Littleword.”

  “Sam,” she rebuked him gently while blowing on her nails to dry them, “you know you’re to call me Martha. We’re beyond the formalities. Saving someone’s life has a tendency to toss all that to the wind."

  Her gaze lifted from the hardening shellac and she considered the pressed uniform and the clean shaven face of the once shabby Sam. “I heard you’re working on your course work for the junior officer program. That’s fantastic.”

  With a big smile at the warmth and encouragement in her voice, he said, “I am and I will be going to Manchester for more training in March.”

  Martha beamed. She enjoyed young people. “You’re going places, Sam. How will your Aunt Harriet not to mention your girl friend Penny, get along without you?”

  The glum face returned, but this time his manner indicated he wanted to shake something off. “Uh, I’m actually not seeing Penny anymore, Mrs…I mean, Martha. There’s someone I’d like to get to know better, but she is way out of my league.”

  Martha cocked her head to one side and regarded Sam. “I don’t think anyone is out of your league. You’re a good person. What makes you like this new girl so much, Sam?”

  He hesitated for a moment then said softly with awe in his voice, “She’s beautiful.”

  “Inside or outside?” Martha asked in her matter-of-fact way and waited for the reply.

  “Outside for sure, but I don’t know much about the inside. I haven’t been able to talk to her much.”

  “What you know isn’t enough,” Martha said simply. “A woman of any substance won’t tolerate being liked, or loved for that matter, for her beauty alone. What’s her name?”

  He didn’t offer the name immediately. Martha waited.

  After some hesitation, he said the name. “Celine. Her name is Celine Rupert. She’s Mr. Cousins’ new nanny.”

  Martha shook her head. “Dear, dear Sam. I’ve met the charming Celine, and she isn’t someone who’ll appreciate anything less than true sincerity. You’re going to have to look deep inside yourself and ask a few hard questions. Like what you find special about her. She’s beautiful, that’s true, but she won’t be interested in someone who only sees that side of her.”

  Sam nodded, and with a sheepish grin said, “Thanks, Martha. I’m learning to listen to the advice of older women.”

  “Ooh, you’re going places. Smart man, Sam.”

  Martha patted him on the shoulder and got up to go collect her things over by the couch. The desk phone rang startling them both making them laugh at their own jumpiness.

  Sam lunged for the receiver saying, “I’ll get it.”

  “Hello, Marsden-Lacey Constabulary. This is Sam Berry speaking.”

  A flush of red bled up into his cheeks. “Yes, we’ll send someone right over.”

  Sam hung up the phone and jumped up from his desk. He radiated intention. “That was Celine Rupert at Healy House. She says Piers Cousins’ young charge has gone missing. They need help finding him. Supposedly Detective Richards is already there, but they need help.”

  Sam’s moment was nigh. Martha saw the surge of hope fill him with the valiant spirit of a chivalrous knight. His lady love needed him.

  “Slow your horse down there, Galahad. You can’t run off and leave your post tonight. Do you have anyone else on duty?” Martha asked.

  For a moment, uncertainty flashed across Sam’s face, but all was good again in less than a second. “I’ll leave you with the key and you lock the door. Everything will be fine. One of the night constables will be here shortly. They know Donna’s schedule.”

  Like an excited puppy barely able to restrain itself for the sign it was okay to dash out and play, Sam watched Martha for her consent to go, whether it be verbal or facial.

  An idea fostered by opportunity and encouraged by need dawned on Martha so she said, “Sam, give me the keys and I’ll lock up. You go to Healy and help find Emerson. Get going.”

  With a massive smile of joy on his young face, the boy levitated over the banister and pitched the keys behind him as he bid her adieu. He was gone in less than five seconds. Martha, as the temporary warden in charge, tossed the keys a few times into the air and, with a sassy swing of her hips, walked over to the main front doors of the Marsden-Lacey police office and neatly turned the main lock, effectively securing those inside, inside, and those outside, outside.

  “Helen!” she called, turning and making her way down the hall to the holding cells. “Let’s roll! We’ve been sprung!” With a mischievous smile playing on her lips, she added under her breath, “I said I’d lock up the constabulary, and I will, but I’ll be on the outside when I do it.”

  Chapter 30

  “CROSS!” JOHNS BELLOWED
, MAKING ALL the other constables flinch as they continued their work to stabilize and protect the crime scene near The Traveller’s Inn. The night was getting long and the police officers were weary from lack of sleep.

  “Sir, Cross left,” a young constable named Evans answered.

  “Left? Why in the ever-loving-world would Cross leave?”

  “Um, it was his turn to man the constabulary, Sir,” came the tentative reply.

  “Oh. Where is…”

  But before the Chief barked another order, a cry came up from the lower dock area where the remaining two boats were still tied up.

  “Chief, we need you down here. We’ve found two men gagged and tied on the boats. They’re alive,” yelled one of the officers from the deck of the two narrowboats left tethered to their bollards.

  “This night just keeps on giving,” Johns muttered as he descended to the lower ground. The investigation team was doing an excellent job. His phone rang. It was a number from Nottingham Police Station.

  “Chief Johns, this is Dr. Townsend in Nottingham. Do you have a moment?” a female voice said on the other end of the phone, forcing him to stop his stride downwards. He grimaced.

  “Yes,” he said in an irritated way.

  “I wanted to share some evidence with you regarding the Laura Rossar-mescro death. It’s late but we thought it might be handy information to have going forward on your investigation.”

  His interest piqued, Johns stuffed his colicky attitude. He would make a concerted effort to be pleasant. Holding up his index finger, he turned back to the young detective and yelled, “Detective, restrain the two men you’ve found and bring them up to the detention van when it arrives.”

  Dr. Townsend continued. “I know you spoke with Cynthia when you came to Nottingham and she gave you a complete update on our findings thus far. However,” she paused, “we didn’t have data back on the fingerprints from the sword used to kill Laura.”