by Bill Kitson
FLESH AND BLOOD
An Eden House Mystery
Bill Kitson
Flesh and Blood is the fourth volume in Bill Kitson’s acclaimed Eden House Mysteries, featuring sleuthing journalist Adam Bailey and his partner Eve Samuels. The pair investigate more dastardly deeds as ancient legends come unexpectedly to life.
For Val.
Proof-reader, copy-editor, unpaid agent, publicist, events manager, wife, lover, and best friend, with all my love and admiration.
Acknowledgements
My thanks to Hazel Cushion and the team at Accent Press for their hard work and professionalism, especially to Greg Rees, whose meticulous editing went far beyond correcting my punctuation and grammar.
Finally, to my wife Val for the countless hours she spent getting the manuscript into order.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
The Eden House Mysteries
Chapter One
1982
I had been opening a champagne bottle to celebrate the royalty cheque received from my publisher earlier that day, when the phone rang. Eve answered it, and a moment later called out, ‘Adam, it’s somebody called Jeremy Powell. He says you know him.’
I took the phone from her, whispering, ‘He’s a lawyer. Used to work for the TV company I reported for.’
After a lengthy conversation with Powell I said, ‘Let me have a word with Eve and I’ll get back to you.’
Eve eyed me curiously. ‘What was all that about?’
‘He was asking for a favour, well actually, it’s for his younger sister, Alison. Her boyfriend’s brother has been murdered, but the police don’t know how. Apparently the wound was like no other they’ve ever come across and he wondered if I’d seen anything similar anywhere on my travels. The wound was perfectly circular, like a gunshot, but when they did the post-mortem they couldn’t find a bullet. But a core of skin, flesh, tissue, and bone had been removed, right the way to his heart. He’d been cored.’
I saw Eve grimace. ‘Cored?’
‘I told him it doesn’t ring any bells with me, I can’t say I’ve encountered anything as unusual as that, and I’ve seen some strange sights. He wanted to know if I could make a few enquiries. I told him I’d have to check with you first.’ There was no doubt the snippets of information Powell had given me were intriguing, but I was cautious about promising anything. ‘I don’t understand what could have caused a wound like that,’ Eve said. ‘Are you sure he’s got his facts right? I mean, it sounds a bit unlikely, doesn’t it? If the police told his sister-in-law’s boyfriend, he repeated it to her, then she relayed it again to her sister, and she told her husband. By the time he phoned you it was fifth-hand. The original message could have been totally different to the one you heard.’
‘You mean like send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘It’s a story from World War One. It may be apocryphal, but it’s about a message getting distorted in the retelling. The commanding officer in the front line sent a message to HQ which said, “send reinforcements, we’re going to advance.” It got passed from one unit to another, and by the time it reached headquarters, it had become, “send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance.”’
‘Ah. Yes, that was what I meant. Well, I suppose there’s only one way to find out, and that’s by talking to the people involved.’ She eyed me suspiciously. ‘That was what you were hoping I’d say, wasn’t it?’
There was a time when I’d have denied it, but I wouldn’t get away with that now. Eve knew me far too well. I had to defend myself somehow, though. ‘Come off it, Evie, you’re as curious as I am!’
‘Ring Powell back and tell him we’ll talk to his sister and her boyfriend.’ It was as close to an admission as I was going to get.
An hour later, we’d arranged to see the couple the next day.
‘That’s a bit quick,’ Eve commented.
‘I know, but Jeremy seemed to think Alison is really spooked by this, which I suppose is only natural.’
‘Ought we to be getting involved?’
‘Let’s be honest, Evie, wild horses wouldn’t keep either of us away after that tale. Besides which, the police are baffled. Added to all of that, according to what Jeremy told me, the detective in charge of the enquiry is our old friend Detective Inspector Hardy.’
‘Perhaps we ought to ring him before we go haring off. He might not want us sticking our noses in.’
Eve’s suggestion was a good one, but when I tried to contact Hardy the following morning, I was told by a less-than-helpful telephonist that he was unavailable and that they couldn’t tell us when I would be able to speak with him. Having made the effort in vain, we were on the road by mid-morning. As we drove, we discussed what little we knew.
‘Where is the place this murder was committed, do you know it?’ Eve asked.
‘The house is called Barton Manor, on the outskirts of a village called Barton-le-Moors, but we’re not going there. We’re going to talk to Alison Powell and her boyfriend. They’re staying at the King’s Head in Barton-le-Dale, the nearest town.’
‘You were on the phone with your lawyer friend for quite a while; did he tell you anything about the boyfriend or his family?’
‘There isn’t anyone else, apparently, and he reckons Robert Pengelly is a really decent bloke who’s had a rough time of it. He didn’t go into too much detail, but he did say Robert wasn’t on speaking terms with his brother Stephen, the victim.’
‘That doesn’t sound good. I mean, it suggests a strong motive.’
‘I agree, but he also said that Robert hasn’t seen Stephen in years, and hasn’t been anywhere near Barton Manor.’
‘Did Jeremy say what Robert Pengelly does for a living?’
‘He’s some kind of boffin. He works for an electronic equipment manufacturer in Leeds, on the development side. He met Alison in Leeds. She’s a postgraduate history student at the university.’
We arrived at Barton-le-Dale, a sleepy market town located at the very north-western tip of the county, almost where North Yorkshire becomes Cumbria. The region is sparsely populated. The buildings are mostly grey limestone, weathered over the centuries and blackened by the soot from the chimneys of countless open fires. Combined with the dark, brooding moorland that surrounds the town, this lends the area a sombre effect, which was accentuated that day by grey clouds that scudded across the sky driven by a strong, cold north-easterly wind.
We parked in the cobbled marketplace in front of the hotel. As we got out of the car I shivered. ‘It’s a coat colder up here.’
‘Yes, and we’ve still got winter to come,’ Eve said as she turned her collar up and thrust her hands into her pockets.
I held the hotel door open and ushered Eve inside, adding, ‘At least it hasn’t started snowing yet.’
I’ve never counted weather forecasting as one of my talents. Perhaps it’s as well I don’t rely on it.
I think the most accurate description of the King’s Head would be that it was comfortable. All the furniture and fittings in the lounge were long in the tooth, well-worn but presen
table. There were only four people in the lounge, all seated at one of the coffee tables. The younger couple I assumed to be Alison Powell and her boyfriend. We stepped forward and as we identified ourselves, Alison introduced the others.
‘This is Robert Pengelly, my boyfriend, and this is Mr and Mrs Jolly.’
Alison invited us to sit down and ordered more coffee. When it arrived, she poured fresh cups for everyone as Robert Pengelly explained the reason for the older couple’s presence.
‘Mary and Frank worked for my brother and it was Mary who found Stephen’s body. They have just been at the police station giving their statements to the detectives, so I asked them to join us here.’
‘I acted as Mr Stephen’s cook and housekeeper,’ Mary Jolly told us. ‘Frank worked as his chauffeur, gardener, and general handyman. We live at the lodge to Barton Manor.’
‘All we know is what Alison’s brother told us on the phone. He suggested there was some confusion as to what killed your brother.’
‘I think that’s putting it mildly,’ Robert replied. ‘To begin with, the police were convinced I’d killed Stephen. There was certainly no love lost between us, and as I am the only surviving relative, they thought I had a strong motive for killing him as I now inherit the estate.’
Having said that, Robert Pengelly seemed to think there was nothing more to add. I found that a little puzzling, but then, we didn’t know much about him or his circumstances at that stage.
‘You don’t sound too upset by your brother’s death,’ Eve pointed out, ‘nor do you seem particularly excited by the thought of your inheritance.’
‘I’m not.’
The answer was nowhere near as curt as it looks on paper, but it was definitely less than forthcoming. I decided it was going to need some probing to get Robert Pengelly to open up, so I began questioning him, mixing my reporter’s style with that I imagined a detective such as Hardy would use. ‘When did you last see your brother?’
‘It was seventeen years ago. That was when he sent me to boarding school. I was ten years old.’
‘In all that time you’ve never seen him, not even briefly? Never visited your home?’
‘That’s correct. I doubt if I’d have recognised him if I passed him in the street. I’m certain he wouldn’t recognise me.’
‘What about the fact that you’ve now inherited the Barton Manor estate?’ Eve asked him. I think she’d guessed what I was up to and decided I needed help.
‘Inheriting the estate might seem like a motive to you, but I’m not interested. I haven’t given the place a thought in years. My memories of Barton Manor aren’t particularly happy ones, to be honest. I’m sorry, but if the police want to find the killer they’ll have to look at someone a lot closer to my brother. I admit that I detested him, but not to the extent of wanting to kill him.’
‘Did Stephen pay for you to go to public school?’
‘Yes – and no. What I meant is that Stephen made the payments, but the money came from part of the sum set aside for my education in the terms of my father’s will, not from affection, believe me.’
‘You said that you hadn’t seen Stephen,’ I commented. ‘Did you have any form of contact with him?’
‘Yes, but it was one-way contact. I wrote to him three times a year as I was instructed to by my tutors. The last letter was on my eighteenth birthday, the day he ceased to be my legal guardian. By then I was glad to be rid of the chore, and I’d guess Stephen was bored rigid by the turgid drivel I sent him.’
His account did much to explain his seeming disinterest in his brother’s fate, or the manor he was in the process of inheriting. ‘This is how things were as I grew up in what I laughingly refer to as my family. Stephen didn’t like me, and neither did my father. I’d go further than that and say they both hated me. My mother died giving birth to me and they blamed me for causing her death; and they made that fact perfectly clear from the moment they judged I was able to understand the meaning behind their words. Stephen didn’t want anything to do with a much younger brother he referred to as “the brat”, and as a consequence I soon learned to feel the same about him. I’m not in the slightest bit bothered that he’s dead, or that he was murdered, because I couldn’t care one way or another. I shan’t miss him, but I won’t dance on his grave either. To be honest, hearing about his death was a bit like getting news that someone you met a few times long ago and didn’t particularly like had been killed.’
My strategy had worked, in that Robert was now talking freely. ‘Weren’t you at all bitter at the way you’d been treated?’
‘Of course I was bitter, wouldn’t you be?’ For the first time Robert showed some emotion. ‘Not that I blame Stephen entirely. I believe some of his feelings came from my father, whose favourite remark about me was addressed not to me, but to my nanny. He’d say, “Get that little brat out of here; I can’t stand the sight of him”. Nice, that, don’t you think? Quite the doting parent. As soon as I was old enough, he sent me away to prep school. I was nine when he died. The headmaster told me the news, broaching the subject with great tact.’ Robert smiled. ‘The poor man was shocked when he started talking about travel arrangements for the funeral and I said that I didn’t intend to go.’ He paused and sipped his coffee, which must have been cold by then. He stared moodily into the liquid, and I guessed his thoughts were as dark as the coffee.
‘So Stephen became your legal guardian?’
‘Yes, and I was brought home for one last time, to make preparations for moving on to senior school. Stephen told me that he was going to give me a handsome allowance, which in fact was also from the fund set aside in my father’s will. He kindly told me that he didn’t want me at Barton Manor any longer. After that, I was farmed out to teachers, who were well paid to look after me during the holidays.’ He gestured to his surroundings. ‘This is the closest I’ve been to what you could call my home since I was ten.’
As Robert finished speaking I glanced round. I could tell Eve was shocked by Robert’s account of his callous treatment, as were Frank and Mary Jolly. Alison too was moved, although I guessed she’d heard some, if not all, of it before.
‘Why were they so cruel and unpleasant to you?’
Robert looked at Eve, his dark eyes laden with sadness, amounting almost to pain. ‘Not only had my mother died when I was born, but my twin sister was stillborn. As far as I’m aware, the only thing I did wrong was to survive. Father and Stephen hated me for that, and made sure I was aware of their feelings.’
‘Is that all there is to it?’ Eve persisted and was rewarded with another insight into the Pengelly family.
Robert shrugged. ‘Possibly, possibly not. Perhaps they realised I wasn’t going to turn out like them, even from an early age.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I believe that my father was totally unsuited to married life. I’m going by what I heard and saw as a young child. It surprises me that many adults don’t realise that small children can hear everything that goes on within earshot, even if at the time they don’t understand it. I didn’t have many people to talk to, so I learned to listen to everything that was being said, whether it was intended for my ears or not. Much of it I didn’t grasp at the time, but later, when I recalled it, what I’d heard made sense. My father had lots of women visitors when I was growing up, and when they came I was forbidden to leave my own quarters. Of course I had my nanny for company. That was OK until she’d had her third gin, when she usually fell asleep. She snored, so I couldn’t follow suit. Anyway, from rumours I heard, it sounded as if my father had been carrying on with other women long before my mother died.’
‘And you say Stephen was of the same inclination?’
‘Yes, although he wasn’t hampered by the inconvenience of having a wife to answer to.’
‘How did you find out? About Stephen, I mean?’
‘I eavesdropped on a row he had with my father. I didn’t understand much of what they said, I was too young, but I
was intrigued by the argument as it was such a rare event.’
‘I take it the subject was a woman?’
‘Yes, it must have been from what was said. My father was shouting and carrying on, and I remember him saying, “If you can’t keep it in your pants at least check the bitch’s birth certificate. This is going to cost me a small fortune”. That was when they really started having a go at one another. Stephen came back with “At least I wasn’t shagging my way around every slut in the county distressing my wife”. I was really enjoying listening, but then my nanny came along and dragged me away. She wasn’t at all impressed when I asked her what the word shagging meant.’
Out of my eye corner I saw Frank and Mary exchange glances, before she spoke. ‘I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but Mr Stephen did have lots of women friends stay at the manor. Not the sort of women you’d class as ladies, either. It was difficult keeping up with their names, at least until about a year ago.’
‘How long have you worked at the manor?’ Eve asked.
‘We’ve been there ten years. What will happen now, I don’t know.’
I looked at Robert, who seemed taken aback by Mary’s comment. ‘I hadn’t thought of anything like that,’ he admitted.
I decided it was time to concentrate on the reason for our visit. ‘You said earlier that Mary found the body, would someone tell us exactly what happened, if it isn’t too distressing?’
Again, Mary and Frank exchanged glances before she spoke, and I noticed that he held her hand throughout. It was obvious that both of them were distressed by what had happened, even if Robert Pengelly wasn’t. I wondered if that was out of affection for their late employer, or doubts over their own future.
‘It happened last Friday afternoon,’ Mary began. ‘I hadn’t planned on being at the manor, but Mr Stephen had been difficult that day. Out of the blue, he demanded that I prepare three guest bedrooms. I didn’t mind the extra work, but it would have been nice if I’d had a bit more notice, or if he’d asked in a more polite manner. It took me a long time, and by four o’clock in the afternoon I hadn’t finished, and I still had Mr Stephen’s meal to prepare.