The Twisted Way

by Jean Hill

  Robbie had stirred up his suspicions about Felicity Brown. His mind reverted to the day of Matthew Mace’s so-called accident. A walker who had come forward when she read about the incident in the local paper told him that she had seen a woman in a Barbour coat not far from the river that day but it had not been possible to identify her as Felicity, though he was suspicious that it was the wretched woman and that she had in some way been involved. In his opinion she was a dangerous individual.

  ‘Be careful Robbie,’ the detective said. ‘The woman is an unknown quantity. Be careful. We suspect that Felicity Brown knows more about the deaths of Peter and Matthew Mace than she has so far admitted. We know Matthew Mace had a boyfriend, Timothy. There was some chat about it in the village shop and their liaison was not so private as they had imagined it to be. You probably already know about him. He was on the river bank on the day of the accident but declined to admit that he had been there to meet Matthew or admit that he had seen the woman in the green Barbour. We think that woman was Felicity but we have no proof.’

  Robbie could not answer. He too thought Felicity was involved in Peter and Matthew’s deaths. He would certainly be careful as the detective had suggested.

  DI Holmes found Robbie’s latest suspicions about Felicity very interesting. Human beings are greedy things, he thought. So many crimes he had dealt with had been committed in the pursuit of money. He continued to mull over some of the recent disturbing events in which he was convinced Felicity Brown had been involved.

  DI Holmes did not trust Richard West. In his opinion he was a bent copper who would stop at nothing to line his own pockets and would not care whom he cheated to obtain money from clients. He knew he would charge Felicity as much money as he could get away with and would not conclude the case too quickly.

  ‘I will keep an eye on Richard West, you may rest assured. It will be a pleasure,’ DI Holmes had told Robbie before he left his office.

  He had been in communication with the Canadian police and they had a few unresolved queries about Felicity Brown in the past and her fingerprints and details were on file. He thought once again about the death of Peter Mace. The blow to the side of the head was not consistent with a fall but more likely to be the result of a deliberate attempt to crush his skull with a stone to ensure his demise. The stone had been sent to the police forensic laboratories but unfortunately the one smudged fingerprint did not match those of Felicity Brown and there was no DNA. Robbie’s visit had re-opened a can of worms.

  In the meantime Felicity was getting impatient for news from Richard West. A few weeks had passed. It is about time he had some results, she groused to herself, and resolved to tackle him the next time she went into Brinton.

  Following Robbie’s visit, DI Holmes’s assistant DS John Cross had taken to spending some evenings in the Green Man in order to watch the despicable Richard West. John wore jeans and an old jacket and claimed he was on an extended holiday in the area when asked if he was just visiting by the red-headed publican. Richard West did not know him, though he would have recognised DI Holmes. John enjoyed the beer and had a few good games of darts with the locals. Richard West, however, had found out what he needed to about Robbie. He was biding his time and had decided that there was no point in spending any more of his cash on beer in the pub.

  Felicity tackled Richard West when she next went into Brinton. He was evasive and, as DI Homes had expected, said that he needed more time. He was making progress but would require some more cash to cover his expenses. A frustrated and annoyed Felicity paid up.

  Richard West decided that he could keep the investigations going a little longer then arrange a meeting with Felicity. By that time he should have lined his pockets reasonably well for very little work.

  Three weeks later he told her he had some interesting results for her. Felicity met Richard in his office. She was excited and agog with anticipation.

  ‘I’m really looking forward to meeting my long-lost relative,’ she said. Her face was unusually flushed and her fingers itched to pick up the papers Richard had displayed so tantalisingly in front of her on his desk.

  ‘You have already met him,’ Richard said, watching her reaction with undisguised interest. ‘He changed his surname to Barker, his adoptive parents’ name. His name is Robert Thomas Barker, Robbie to his friends, and he is working, as he has been for the past ten years, as your Aunt Janet’s handyman.’

  Felicity clutched the edge of the desk. She thought for a moment that she might faint but she soon recovered her wits.

  ‘Robbie!’ she almost screamed. ‘I can’t believe it. I will look forward to telling him.’

  That was in fact the last thing she had in mind. She needed time to digest the information and then decide what to do.

  She settled her bill with the detective, which she thought was far too large, but who was she to argue? She had discovered the whereabouts of Tom Hands. It was a shock. What on earth was Robbie trying to do? No wonder he looked familiar. She could not remember him clearly from their early meetings when she was very young but recalled that there was a photograph of him as a young boy that her aunt kept in a silver frame for a while in the lounge after Uncle James had left. The way he stood … his eyes … yes there was no doubt. She was certain her aunt did not know that she had employed the precious evacuee for so long. She would not tell her. She needed time to think about the situation. It was strange but intriguing.

  Robbie met Felicity in the market place where he always parked the car when he took her shopping. She was laden with the usual groceries and bags indicating she had purchased even more new clothes. She was very quiet on the journey back to Primrose House. She knows, he thought. He smiled to himself and wondered what she would do next. It would be necessary to be on his guard. At least he had alerted DI Holmes to her unsavoury activities and that knowledge provided him with some comfort and reassurance.

  Chapter 18

  Ronald Brown

  Ronald was intrigued to find that Primrose House was still so pretty. The strong red bricks contrasted with the grey stormy sky behind the building. The edges of some of the bricks showed grime and dirt that had collected on their surface over many years but this did not detract from the attractiveness of the building. He stood near the front gate under the shelter of a large bush that grew on one side where he could see but not be seen from the house. The old oak front door looked much the same, at least from his vantage point, fine grainy oak, though slightly scratched, and the trees planted by Janet many years ago were now tall and towered above the roof in some places, but strategically placed so that the lovely view across the fields to the river was not spoilt by drooping branches. Memories of things he thought were buried and forgotten began to intrude upon his thoughts.

  Enderly itself had not been changed by large modern estates or new shops. The small post-war estate by the school looked neglected but the Green Man pub was well cared for and inviting. He made a bed and breakfast booking for one night in the pub, had a bar snack and looked forward to revisiting his old haunts. He made brief enquiries about Primrose House and Janet Lacey.

  ‘She’s still living there,’ the red-headed publican told him. ‘Are you a friend?’

  ‘Oh, no, she was a friend of my father’s many years ago.’ He was anxious not to draw attention to his interest in her and hoped he had not said too much. Ronald wanted to bide his time and consider with care how he would approach Janet. It had been a long time.

  Holidays with Aunt Janet and Uncle James, and later briefly with Janet, had been a refuge for the quiet and introverted child after his mother had died and his father had been away from home most of the time. He hated Northumberland and the time he spent there with his father’s aunt and uncle. They were old wrinklies, fussy and lacking in affection, far too ancient to understand his needs although he had understood that they were well meaning. Two young children must have been hard work for them. He could not wait to escape from them so he st
udied hard and eventually obtained a degree in dentistry, after which he emigrated to Australia as soon as he could make the arrangements. A new start in a new country was what he needed. Felicity was now remembered as an unfortunate relative, spiteful and lacking in conscience, a sister whom he did not want to see again as long as he lived. He received the odd postcard from her, views of mountains and bears, but, after a brief check to see if she, horror of horror, was anticipating visiting him and his family, relegated them to the dustbin. He sent her the occasional Christmas card and postcard and that was more than enough.

  At the age of sixty-two he found himself a widower and alone in Melbourne, his only daughter having married and moved to Queensland. He set off on his travels after taking a well-earned retirement from his practice and after stops in Singapore and Paris eventually arrived in Russetshire. From there he planned to revisit Northumberland and his first home in London. There was no hurry and Australia and the retirement residence he planned to buy, possibly on the Whanregarwen Road in Alexandra, not too far from Melbourne, could wait. The incentive was not the same without his wife and soulmate of so many years. Primrose House was the first place that had roused a real spark of interest in him during his trip. He wondered if Aunt Janet would welcome him with open arms after so many years. She had been kind to him, unlike his Uncle James.

  Ronald stepped gingerly along the brick path in front of Primrose House, which was uneven and flaking in places, invasive moss and weeds were wrecking havoc despite Robbie’s intensive efforts. As Felicity had earlier, he noticed the new knocker and bell push. He tried them both after attempting to rehearse for a few moments in his mind what he would say to Janet if she answered the door.

  Silence pervaded. He tried the bell once again. It appeared that nobody was coming to open the front door. It’s quite likely that Aunt Janet is deaf, he cogitated as he walked round the side of the house to where he remembered the kitchen door had been years ago, with a small flight of rickety iron steps leading up to it. I’ll try that, he thought, there was a light shining from a window on the side of the house, someone must be around. The steps and door to the kitchen were there, just the same as he recalled them.

  He climbed the icy steps with care noting the frosty white crystals glittering on their edges. He knocked on the door but the only sound he could hear was the wind whistling through the bare branches of a nearby birch tree. The normally attractive and well cared for garden was deserted and cloaked with grey-white winter dullness. He tried the black iron latch that protruded from the kitchen door and discovered it lifted easily under his hand. Stepping into the kitchen on to the red polished tiles, just as he had as a small child, he called out ‘Hullo,’ several times but nobody came, causing him to glance with unease around the large old kitchen that looked much the same as it had in the past. The scrubbed pale pine kitchen table he remembered was in the centre of the room and a battered tin tray was placed in the middle of it. There were some tea cups, saucers and small plates on it together with what he imagined were sandwiches or cakes covered with a clean cloth. The smell of smoked salmon and egg sandwiches reached his nostrils. Hmm, Aunt Janet must be expecting someone to tea, he thought. He called out again to try and rouse Janet or a possible house maid, to no avail. He looked at the old Aga; memories of sitting on a wooden stool next to it when he was a small lonely child mourning for his mother came back with startling clarity. A picture of Felicity trying to force his hand and thin young arm on to the hot plate on the top of the stove in the hope that he would squeal like a pig going to the slaughter came into his mind. It was a sharp memory and so clear that it could have happened yesterday. More often than not he did squeal and he still had some scars on his arms to prove what had happened but had not told anyone how he got those, even his wife. She had asked him a few times but he had been too frightened and ashamed to tell anyone about the burns. There had been no doubt in his mind at the time it happened that Felicity would have thought of something more cruel with which to torment him if he had told anybody. He realized now that she had been jealous of her little brother, unhappy and restless, and had forced some of her misery upon him.

  A cold voice calling out to Janet that tea would soon be ready cut across his reminiscing. Footsteps approached the kitchen. Oh God, a Canadian accent and a grating familiar voice like chalk being sharpened by a blunt tea knife reached out to him from the past – it could be Felicity – yes, he was sure it was. His heart was beating and bumping so fiercely in his chest that he was convinced it could be heard. What on earth could she be doing here? Sponging on Janet was the first thing that came to mind. He turned with unusual speed towards the back door and opened it but as he stepped out he collided with an elderly man. Instinctively his arm shot forward to fend off the newcomer. There was a sickening bouncing sound and final thud as the man fell down the steps and hit the ground. The stranger opened his eyes briefly and appeared stunned. Panic set in. The man was not dead, thank goodness, but Ronald would, quite out of character, have to make sure he remained unconscious for a while. He could not risk meeting Felicity or having the man describe him, at least not until he was well away from the scene. He carefully shut the kitchen door, crept as quietly as he could down the metal steps and picked up a large stone from the side of a bed that had been planted with wallflowers by Robbie ready for the spring. Without thinking he brought the stone down with some force on the side of the man’s head. Not too hard he thought, at worst that would give him a bad headache. It should enable him to get away from Primrose House without being spotted by Felicity or recognised if the man gained consciousness too quickly. He was not wearing gloves. Oh God, fingerprints and DNA. He dipped the stone into a watering can that had been left at the side of the steps. That would deal with some of the problem anyway. He looked round the deserted garden, heaved a sigh of relief and made his way to the gate as fast as he could walk. The whole venture had been a mistake. He had forgotten what tumultuous emotions Felicity evoked in him as a child and could even now after so many years. At last he could admit that he hated her. It was a relief. She was a psychopath and he would like to get rid of her once and for all if the opportunity ever came his way, though he was not sure if he had enough courage to murder anyone. He was highly principled and it was alien to his naturally gentle nature. What had she done to him?

  He scurried down the road to the Green Man and told the landlord that he had decided not to stay the night after all. He swiftly placed his luggage into the boot of his hired car and without delay left Enderly and its associated memories behind him. He needed time to think and recover from the feelings of sheer blinding panic that had reared up when he heard his sister’s voice. He turned the car northwards when he got on the motorway at Russhampton. Northumberland could be a good peaceful place for a while, but he would be back when he had recovered from the shock of the recent events at Primrose House. A clever man like he was should be able to plan a suitable revenge for the misery Felicity had inflicted upon him in the past. He had not thought about that for many years but bile now rose up and he felt an unpleasant burning in his chest which would not be easy to remove. His hate was beginning to override his commonsense.

  The red-headed landlord was for a moment perplexed when Ronald cancelled his booking. He was sure he had seen the man somewhere before. That tapir like nose and the strange flecked blue eyes appeared familiar. Perhaps he resembled someone he knew. Oh well, he would probably remember later on. He shrugged his broad rippling shoulders and disappeared into the cellar to do some stocktaking before his busy evening began.

  Chapter 19

  A Bridge Evening

  The bridge sessions in the Green Man at Enderly were becoming very popular. Some new members had joined the club and there were at least eight tables in play on Tuesday evenings. Overall they were a friendly bunch of people. Felicity and Marianne had a few arguments but were soon able resolve their difficulties. Felicity was far more interested in watching Robbie, or Tom Hands as
she thought of him, and wondering how she was going to deal with him. He was a respected member of the club and her Aunt Janet needed his assistance in Primrose House. He drove her to the shops and was generally, she had to admit, useful. What was his game though, working incognito? There was no doubt in her mind that he did not need the money. He must be peculiar but not so odd that he would not take a good chunk of money if it was left to him in the old girl’s will; nobody was that daft she told herself, or were they? She attempted to ignore any pleasant feelings she had towards him. She found her thoughts centring far too often round the enigma and she wondered too how much longer Janet would live. She estimated that she could not live more than another year or two. She would have to resolve the Tom Hands problem fairly soon though she had begun to wonder if Robbie’s share of her aunt’s money was large enough to worry about.

  Jeremy Mace, shattered by the death of his son and father within such a short time, was admitted to Russhampton Hospital after suffering a stroke and was not expected to live more than a few days. Felicity anticipated with interest that there would soon be another funeral to attend. Jeremy was now unlikely to inherit any of Aunt Janet’s money and that at least was, for her, a good result. That silly lazy old Jeremy has got his come-uppance, she told herself with satisfaction.

  One evening at the bridge table a few days later she had to stop herself laughing out loud during a game when she thought about him and found her mind wandering. Marianne’s puzzled and annoyed stare urged her to concentrate on the cards in her hands. Their opponents did not mind and were quick to take advantage. Felicity felt Marianne’s warning foot touch hers. She instantly relaxed and knew she was being silly to be thinking about Jeremy’s imminent demise and worrying about Robbie’s name being on Auntie’s will. She should be concentrating on her game of bridge which was more enjoyable and important than her daydreams about money; they could wait.