by Bill Kitson
He took another sip of his tea, eyed a biscuit longingly, then resumed. ‘That in itself was a first. Before then, we had always conducted estate business here. I asked my father, and he was astonished. He said that as far as he could remember, neither Stephen nor his father had ever set foot in our premises. Add to that the urgency behind Stephen’s request, and I was naturally more than a little curious. Once the paperwork was complete, I asked him what had caused his sudden change of mind about making a will. In view of what has happened since then, I think his reply is … interesting, to put it mildly.’
Robert interjected, ‘This is the bit I particularly wanted you to hear.’
‘I didn’t think Stephen was going to reply,’ Alderson continued, ‘and he didn’t for some time. Then he told me, “I’ve come to realise how fragile and uncertain life can be. Who knows what might happen tomorrow, the next day, or even as I cross the road after leaving here. Things that I’ve learned recently make me concerned as to what might be around the next corner, both figuratively and literally”. Naturally, at the time I didn’t think there was any reason for his fears, but now I wonder if he had some sort of foreboding.’
‘Either that,’ Eve said, ‘or he had become aware of a specific and very real threat, which in the circumstances seems far more likely.’
I agreed, and so, it seemed, did all the others.
‘Do you think it worth telling Sergeant Holmes about this?’ Alison asked.
Everyone agreed with that too, but I had more questions in mind. ‘What were the provisions of the will, and what about that letter he lodged with you, what happened to that?’
Robert held up a sheet of paper. ‘I’ll tell you about that in a few minutes, when Nigel has finished.’
‘Was there anything unusual in the terms of the will?’ I asked.
Alderson looked surprised, and I could tell my guess was correct.
‘Adam’s like that,’ Eve told him with a touch of pride, ‘he spots things that everyone else misses.’
‘Eve does too,’ Alison told the solicitor. ‘They’re very astute.’
‘Well, you’ll be pleased to learn that you were right. The will is curiously phrased. Not in the bequests themselves, those are relatively straightforward. There are only four beneficiaries. Mr and Mrs Jolly will each receive £1,000 for every year of their service, as will Tony Bishop.’
Frank and Mary looked stunned at the news. Not surprising, I thought, as they had just become £20,000 better off. ‘Apart from that, the estate goes to Robert Pengelly. It is in the wording surrounding that bequest that the odd part comes.’ He glanced down at the document. ‘It reads, the residue of my estate, comprising that property entitled Barton Manor and all my other properties, assets, and holdings, I give and bequeath to my brother Robert Pengelly, and in so doing I deny and exclude any other claimants to any part of my estate whatsoever. This bequest acknowledges the great hurt and suffering I have caused to Robert Pengelly, and is in part an apology for that mistreatment.’
‘That exclusion clause seems a bit belt-and-braces,’ I commented. ‘Did he give any reason for that wording?’
‘No, and although I told him it was unnecessary, he insisted it remain in.’ Alderson shrugged. ‘He was paying the piper, so I allowed him to call the tune.’
‘Do you have any idea what the estate is worth?’ Eve asked.
‘You can always rely on Eve to take the mercenary point of view,’ I told him. ‘She only agreed to marry me because of my immense fortune.’
‘Hah! I got that wrong.’
‘Ignore them,’ Robert told him, ‘they always go on like that. It’s quite harmless.’
‘I can’t give you a precise sum, or even an approximation, because there’s still a lot of work to do before we even think of applying for probate. We haven’t even got the land valuation yet, but taking the manor, the other houses on the estate, and even the land alone, you’d be looking at a sum in excess of seven figures, I guess. It could be more, depending on bank balances, shareholdings, insurances and so forth.’
‘I suppose that means Robert will face a huge bill for death duties,’ I said. I can always be relied upon to cheer folk up.
‘Actually, that isn’t so. Stephen took out an insurance policy covering the potential liability. It even covers events such as death by violent means, which is highly unusual. The only exclusion is suicide, and of course that does not apply.’
By now I was convinced that Stephen Pengelly had become aware of a threat against his life. I could tell that Eve was of the same mind, but neither of us thought it wise to mention that. The contents of the letter Stephen had lodged with the solicitor simply reinforced our point of view.
Alderson looked across at Robert, who lifted the single piece of paper he was still clutching and began to read. The knowledge that the writer was dead, and in such horrific circumstances, lent extra poignancy to the message.
‘Dear Robert,
I am handing this letter to our solicitor in the knowledge that when you receive it, I will be dead. Whether that death is from natural causes or otherwise is anyone’s guess. Either way, I know my time is short, and although I have tried every means I can think of to defer my demise, those efforts have ended in failure.
I am writing this, not because I have left Barton Manor to you; that is yours by right, now that I am gone. The reason for this letter is to tender a much belated and abject apology for the mistreatment I handed out to you as a child.
Please believe me; the guilt I felt at the time, the guilt I still feel to this day, has been a heavy burden, but no greater than I deserve. My only excuse, and I know it is a poor one; is that I was influenced by our father, who used it as a vehicle to expiate his own self-hatred. His only way of avoiding the guilt and shame he felt over the way he misbehaved and caused such distress to our mother, was to heap the blame on you for her death.
I understand that you might find it hard to excuse my conduct, but to help you appreciate the way I felt, I have to explain that I was overwhelmed with grief at Mother’s death, a grief that has not abated, even with the passage of years. It cannot be easy for you, because you did not have the luxury of knowing her, and that is another cause for much regret. Had you done so, it might possibly have helped you gauge the extent of the loss I felt.
She was such a radiant person, with a bright, bubbly personality which was only surpassed by her gentle, loving nature, her tolerance and understanding. She graced any company with her presence in a way no other person I have ever encountered could do.
I have written enough, and yet all the words I can think of are insufficient to make amends for my behaviour. I have also come to realise how important our family is, and I urge you to seek out that importance for yourself. If you should doubt either my sincerity or my sanity; a detailed scrutiny of the Barton Manor estate records will prove my point.
I will close this wretched letter now, but before I do, I hope and trust you will find it in you to enjoy Barton Manor. In this respect, I commend Frank and Mary Jolly, and also Tony Bishop, who are steadfast and loyal. I hope you will be able to dismiss the bad memories; to make the manor your home; to settle there and, perhaps with Miss Powell alongside you, raise a family there. For that is what the manor needs. To have the laughter of children, their voices echoing as they run along the corridors, is something the old house has lacked for far too long.
I wish you all the best for the future, your future, and hope that it may be filled with peace and contentment.
Your brother,
Stephen.’
There was a long silence after Robert finished. ‘That is some apology,’ Tammy said eventually, ‘but how did he know about Alison?’
‘I think I can explain that,’ the answer came from Alderson. ‘My father was commissioned to employ a private detective and a credit reference agency to keep track of Robert on an annual basis since the time Stephen’s guardianship ceased.’ He turned to Robert and added, ‘It seems tha
t even back then, your brother was sorry for your treatment, and anxious to see how you were faring.’
‘What do you make of it, Robbie?’ Alison asked him.
It was clear that the letter had affected him deeply. ‘I just wish I could have spoken to him,’ he said at last. He shrugged and sighed. ‘But it wasn’t to be.’
Later, when we were alone, Eve and I discussed the contents of the letter. Whereas the others had been more affected by the emotional tone of the contents, Eve, like me had noticed the less personal aspects.
‘It sounds to me as if Stephen knew he was in danger,’ Eve commented. ‘That bit about natural causes or otherwise seems to show he was aware of a specific threat.’
‘I agree, but it was obvious he didn’t believe that danger extended to Robert, because he didn’t warn him that there might be someone out there determined to do him harm. That’s only half of it, though. There was something else. We need to ask Holmes if he has the post-mortem findings. It sounds to me as if Stephen was aware he had some terminal illness or other. Something untreatable, by the sound of it, going from the way he wrote about his life being over.’
‘What do you make about that bit about the importance of family?’
I shrugged. ‘Simply part of the regret he felt, I guess.’
Which just shows how wrong I can be.
Later that afternoon, Johnny Pickersgill called me. ‘I’m not sure if this is good news or not. Graeme Fletcher says he knows nothing about a break-in at Barton Manor. To be honest, that’s about all he has said, about that or anything else. Apart from telling us that he killed Stephen Pengelly and Kathy King because of jealousy, he refused to elaborate. Holmes pressed him time and again, but his stock reply was “no comment”. However, we believe we have the right man, because when we executed the search warrant at his house we found a bloodstained pair of trainers in his bedroom wardrobe, and there are stains inside his BMW, on the driver’s floor mat, that look like blood.’
‘I don’t suppose you found the weapon, did you?’
‘No such luck. There was no trace of it, either in his house, the shop, or his car, but nobody suggested that this detection lark was easy.’
‘Well, I have some interesting news for you.’ I repeated what we’d learned from Alderson and gave him the solicitor’s details should he require confirmation. ‘One other thing, Johnny: can you get your hands on the post-mortem findings regarding Stephen Pengelly?’
‘Why do you want those? I’d have thought the cause of death was obvious.’
‘Yes, but that’s not what I’m after.’ I explained what I was looking for.
‘OK, but it’ll have to be tomorrow. The files are all locked away now. I’ll call you back when I’ve taken a look.’
I’d just finished talking to Johnny when Robert entered the study. ‘One good thing that’s come out of Alderson’s visit is that he’s agreed to your suggestion about the finances. For the time being he’s handling everything, so all the bills can be directed to him. Wages and so forth are all dealt with either by standing order, apparently, or by Tony Bishop via the petty cash account, so that’s another worry less. About all I have to do is go into the bank and provide signatures plus proof of ID. Luckily, I have my passport with me. I thought it best not to leave it in my flat in Leeds.’ He paused and smiled wryly. ‘There have been a few burglaries near there recently.’
Next morning, after breakfast, everyone was pondering how to spend the day. Eve and I came up with ideas simultaneously, which quite often happens. They were connected too, which is also not rare.
‘I was thinking about the desk in the study,’ Eve told the others, ‘and in particular the contents of the hidden compartment.’
‘That’s interesting, I was also thinking about that,’ I said.
‘What’s your idea?’
‘I wondered why Stephen kept those keys in there. If he had no interest in guns and shooting, why bother hiding the keys away?’
‘My thoughts were on that folder. The one that’s labelled “Pengelly Family Tree, Part One”. I thought it might be worth looking inside it, and also trying to find the other part or parts to it.’
‘I think Adam and I ought to investigate the gun cabinets,’ Robert suggested.
‘That’s fine, but where should we start?’ I asked. Sometimes I have a knack of asking the obvious.
‘I think the gunroom would be the place, don’t you? Unless Stephen had it converted into a sauna or Turkish bath.’
We smiled at the absurdity of Robert’s remark. ‘We’ll let you boys go play with guns,’ Alison told us, ‘Tammy and I will help Eve search for the dodgy Pengelly ancestors.’
‘From memory of the past few generations you’ll have plenty to choose from. Finding some that aren’t dodgy might be a harder task.’
Robert and I left the girls studying the first page of the papers inside the folder. We found Frank in the kitchen, attempting to dice carrots one handed. ‘I’ve been put to work,’ he told us. ‘I’m just glad the oven isn’t an old-fashioned spit, otherwise I think Mary would possibly have me turning on it.’
Robert asked him about the gunroom, and was relieved to hear that it still served that purpose.
‘I don’t think anyone has been in there for years,’ Frank told us. ‘The key is hanging up there.’ He pointed to the set of hooks alongside the kitchen door.
‘Not exactly security-conscious,’ Robert remarked.
‘Possibly, but if intruders didn’t know it was a gunroom, they wouldn’t have bothered about breaking in there,’ I pointed out.
Ten minutes later we were inside the room, which was situated in the corridor leading from the kitchen to the back door. I half expected the light bulb to be broken, but it came on as soon as Robert pressed the switch. I looked at the far wall, which had three identical cabinets bolted to it. ‘Bingo!’ he breathed.
Having opened the first one, Robert swung the door open. I whistled with surprise and admiration. ‘Those are absolutely beautiful.’
‘They’re shotguns, Adam. What’s special about them?’
I lifted one of them clear. ‘These aren’t just any old shotguns, Robert. This one and the one alongside it are Purdeys. Unless I’m very much mistaken the other pair in the cabinet was manufactured by Holland and Holland. What you have here are the Rolls-Royce and Bentley of twelve-bore shotguns. I can’t say how much they’re worth, but I’d check with your insurance broker. If they’re not listed on the policy, they should be. And you will also need a certificate if you intend keeping them.’
‘Could you make a guess? At the value, I mean?’
‘Not really, but if it was into six figures I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’
The second cabinet yielded a smaller. 410 shotgun plus a pair of stalking rifles, which, although I was no expert, also looked expensive. ‘If your father bought these, he had good taste,’ I told Robert. ‘Let’s see what treasures the third cabinet has to offer.’
At first sight, the final cabinet seemed only to have ammunition inside. One box in particular caught my attention. I lifted it out and stared at it in surprise.
‘Something wrong?’ Robert asked.
‘This is odd.’ I showed him the label. It clearly meant nothing to him.
‘I don’t understand. It’s ammunition, isn’t it? And it’s in the right place.’
‘It might be in the right place, Robert, but the ammunition is wrong.’
‘I still don’t get you.’
‘This ammunition doesn’t fit any of the guns in these cabinets. These are Parabellum 9mm rounds. They are for a handgun, not a rifle or shotgun. These are the standard issue NATO ammunition.’
I peered inside the cabinet, and after a second, noticed a dark case at the bottom, almost obscured by the boxes of shotgun cartridges stacked in front of it. I lifted it clear, opened the lid and stared at the contents. My jaw dropped as I stared in open-mouthed amazement. ‘What the heck is that doing in here?’ I mutter
ed.
‘It’s a pistol, isn’t it? Maybe my father was into pistol shooting, although I don’t remember him doing any. He was forever off shooting pheasant or grouse, or deerstalking, but I don’t recall him doing any target shooting.’
‘You don’t understand, Robert. Your father didn’t buy this. The only member of your family who could have purchased this was your brother. The gun has only been on the market a couple of years. I read an article about it a year or so back. This is a revolutionary design. It’s made by an Austrian company called Glock.’ I lifted the automatic from the case and handed it to Robert.
He looked at it. ‘Are you sure this isn’t a toy? It feels too light.’
‘That’s the revolutionary bit. It’s made from some sort of cast polymer, I believe. What I want to know is why Stephen bought such a gun as this. I wasn’t even aware they were widely available. The other question you might like an answer to is: what happened to the other one?’
‘The other one?’
I nodded, and turned the case round so that Robert could see the inside. The inner part of the container had been moulded so that two guns could fit alongside one another. Coupled with Stephen’s statement in his letter, the sudden urge to make his will, and the life insurance policy clauses regarding violent death, I was now more convinced than ever that Stephen Pengelly had known he was in imminent danger. The only unresolved issue was, if that threat was as lethal as he believed, why had he opened the door to the manor, and what’s more, done so unarmed.
The only reason I could think of didn’t make sense. It was almost as if he’d ceased to care whether he was in danger or not. The answer to the riddle, or part of it, became clear almost immediately after we left the gun room. As Robert was locking the door, Alison came in search of us. ‘Your friend the policeman is on the phone,’ she told me.
I’d forgotten that Johnny Pickersgill had promised to call me back. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re psychic. I’ve got the post-mortem findings here. Your theory was correct. The pathologist reported that Stephen Pengelly was suffering from the early stages of cirrhosis of the liver. That is untreatable, isn’t it?’