Flesh and Blood

by Bill Kitson

  Eve and I decided we needed a breath of fresh air. It was a cold, clear, crisp afternoon, with the promise of frost later. I took her hand as we meandered down the steps and across the extensive lawn. I still got a thrill from that highly personal contact. ‘Did I do right volunteering us to collect the professor?’ I asked, noticing that Eve had barely spoken since then, and still looked preoccupied.

  ‘What? Oh, yes, of course you did. In fact, I think the sooner she gets here, the better.’

  ‘Because of the runes? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know, to be honest. I think it might be far more than merely translating those runes. Don’t ask me to explain, Adam, because I can’t. I just have this feeling that Professor Riley might hold the key to the whole mystery, and why I should think that is beyond me. I could be completely wrong in this, but I’ve been having strange thoughts ever since we got here, and I’m not sure what any of it means.’

  ‘Do you want us to leave?’

  ‘No, certainly not. I didn’t mean that I was upset by them, or that they were bad thoughts. It’s simply that my imagination seems to be working overtime, and more often than not it turns out to be accurate. Like with checking that photo album, for example.’

  ‘That wasn’t your imagination, Evie darling; that was sheer deductive brilliance. They say that brains and beauty don’t mix, but you prove that to be completely wrong.’

  Eve squeezed my hand. ‘The album might have been deduction, but I have a feeling the safe hasn’t yielded all its secrets up yet, and that is certainly my imagination.’

  It might well have been, but if it was, as I explained to her, my imagination and hers were in tune, for I had also thought exactly the same.

  The following day, Eve and I set off in the Mercedes, along with Alison. Before we left, I warned Robert to keep his guard up. ‘Remember, there’s only you and Frank, plus Tammy and Mary.’ I handed him the pistol. ‘Don’t hesitate to use it. This killer has struck three times. Another body or two isn’t going to faze him.’

  ‘You really have a way of cheering people up.’

  Once we’d dropped the negatives in the photographic store, we parked outside Thorsby station to await the professor’s train. Anyone less like the music hall character that had inspired her nickname would be difficult to imagine. Victoria Riley was slim, elegant, and handsome, with fine-boned features framed by superbly groomed hair. It seemed incongruous to think that she had retired on the grounds of her age. She appeared little more than fifty, I thought. I wondered flippantly if, like Dorian Gray in Oscar Wilde’s story, she had a rapidly ageing portrait in her attic.

  After Alison had performed the introductions we returned to Barton Manor. To be honest, I was glad to get back there, and relieved to find that nothing untoward had happened during our brief absence. As Alison and Tammy were showing the professor to her room, Robert covertly returned the Glock to me, admitting that he didn’t feel comfortable carrying a handgun.

  ‘It’s their purpose that disturbs me,’ he said. ‘I’d be perfectly content wandering the estate with a shotgun, knowing that I was after pheasant or other game, or even carrying a stalking rifle, but a pistol is only designed with one target in mind, and that’s to take another human’s life.’

  I shook my head in mock sorrow. ‘With an attitude like that, Robert, you wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in Tombstone or Dodge City.’

  When we took our places for dinner I noticed that Robert ensured he had Professor Riley next to him. Conversation was light for the most part. Robert began by asking the professor how she was occupying her time since retirement.

  ‘I’ve written a couple of books on Ancient Britain that missed the best seller list by a wide margin and I’m busy with a third book at the moment dealing with the Celtic age.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have retired at all, then we wouldn’t have that dickhead Locke to contend with,’ Tammy muttered.

  ‘I’m afraid the University authorities didn’t consult me about my successor,’ Victoria told her dryly. ‘If I had been consulted, I certainly wouldn’t have opted for Professor Locke. That, I might add, is a strictly private opinion I’ll deny having passed if challenged.’

  ‘I know Alison and Tammy have a fairly low opinion of him, but why do you say that?’ Robert asked.

  ‘History, my dear Robert, is based on sound research and accurate interpretation. It is no part of the historian’s duty to write ostensibly authoritative conclusions based on shaky evidence and supposition presented as hard fact. Nor should a serious historian suppress information that doesn’t fit with their own theories. An even worse crime is to manufacture evidence to bolster their position. All those devices are the province of the novelist, not the historian.’ Victoria smiled wryly. ‘Perhaps that is why novels outsell history textbooks by such a wide margin. I’m afraid Professor Locke stepped over the boundary between factual reportage and fiction a long time ago. His approach to teaching the subject does not appear to reflect well on his tutelage at Bristol University, but a teacher cannot instil talent, all they can do is nurture it, so it would be totally unfair to blame the deficiencies he now exhibits on the way he was taught. However I believe the poor man is seriously ill, so perhaps it is unfair of me to judge him too harshly, despite my strong feelings on the matter.’

  ‘I heard that too, what’s wrong with him, do you know?’

  ‘According to what I was told, I believe he has cancer. It’s both inoperable and terminal. He has only a few months to live. However, enough of Professor Locke, I’m really looking forward to getting to work on your runic inscriptions tomorrow. Tell me where you found the text.’

  By the time Eve and I went down for breakfast next morning, Professor Riley was already ensconced in the study working on the runic inscriptions in the notebook. Later, when Alison took her a coffee, she emerged with disturbing news. ‘There’s a lot of bad language flying around in there,’ she told us, pointing to the study door. ‘The runes may be Celtic, but what Victoria says about them is pure Anglo-Saxon.’

  ‘I take it from that she’s having problems,’ Eve said. Sometimes, Evie is almost as perceptive as me.

  ‘That’s the polite way of putting it,’ Alison agreed, ‘but nowhere near as colourful as Victoria’s description.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  Alison smiled. ‘The problem is that she doesn’t know what the problem is. That sounds weird, but it’s true. She can’t work out what language the runes have been transcribed in, for one thing. She says it’s either one she hasn’t come across before, or the person who wrote them in that notebook encoded them beforehand. A lot of the symbols are ones she has never encountered. That’s the situation in a nutshell, or in other words, with the expletives omitted.’

  It was disappointing, to say the least. We had pinned our hopes on the runes to provide, at least in part, a motive for the murders. They might still do that, but for the moment, their secret remained hidden.

  Victoria had been no more successful by the time we assembled for dinner. We were gathered in the entrance hall, where the huge log fire was countering the severe frost outside, and were about to make our way into the dining room when Johnny Pickersgill phoned. He wanted to update me about their prime suspect. I chatted to him for some time, and when I emerged from the study, found the hall deserted. Everyone had moved to the dining room and taken their seats around the table.

  ‘The police have decided to release Graeme Fletcher,’ I told them. They only have circumstantial evidence against him regarding the first two murders, and he has a very good alibi for the third one. Added to which they still haven’t found or identified the mystery weapon.’

  ‘What murders, and what weapon?’ Professor Riley asked.

  ‘Didn’t Alison tell you when she asked you to decipher the runes?’ Robert asked.

  ‘No, she mentioned something about your brother’s papers, but that was all.’

  ‘I didn’t want to scare her
by explaining that Stephen had been murdered,’ Alison said, ‘or that his mistress had been killed as well.’

  ‘That wouldn’t have scared me, Alison; history is littered with the corpses of murder victims. However, I had no idea your brother had been murdered, Robert. What happened? Was he shot, or stabbed, or poisoned?’

  ‘That’s just the problem, we’re not sure,’ Eve told her. ‘We can rule out poisoning, though.’

  ‘It sounds like the plot of one of those films by Mr Hitchcock, or a rather lurid mystery novel.’ She accompanied the final remark with an accusing glance in my direction.

  ‘It’s certainly a mystery,’ I agreed, ‘and a rather singular one indeed. I’m afraid even my lurid imagination couldn’t dream up a weapon that inflicts wounds such as this one, though.’

  Riley frowned. ‘I don’t understand. What was so special about the wounds?’

  Robert took over the tale. ‘Adam’s right, it is difficult to grasp. Imagine some sort of a blade that leaves a surface wound similar to a bullet hole, but then goes in a perfectly straight line to reach the heart. During its passage, the weapon removes skin, tissue, flesh, blood vessels and bone, everything in its path. A weapon that has literally extracted a core from the victim’s body.’

  As he was speaking I saw Victoria’s expression change. All the colour drained from her face, her eyes widened with shock, and suddenly, for the first time, she looked her true age. She pushed her chair back, stood up, then swayed and crumpled towards the floor, striking her head against the corner of the table as she fell, to remain, eyes closed.

  We watched as the ambulance crew stretchered Professor Riley into the emergency vehicle for the dash to Thorsby Hospital. Despite their anxiety, we managed to dissuade Alison and Tammy from going with their former tutor. Instead, they agreed to my suggestion that Eve should drive them, with Robert, to the hospital. ‘That means you’ll be guarding the manor on your own,’ Eve objected. ‘I thought we agreed that nobody should be left to do that.’

  ‘I won’t be alone. I’ll have Frank and Mary with me, plus my guardian angel.’ I patted the pocket of my coat, which contained the pistol.

  ‘Just make sure you don’t open the door to anyone except us.’

  ‘Yes, Evie, but you must phone to tell me when you’re setting off back. Then I’ll know not to shoot you.’

  My fear that Victoria had suffered a heart attack had not been assuaged by the ambulance crew’s reassurances. ‘We don’t believe it was a heart attack or stroke,’ they told us. That was a long way from stating it with certainty, I reflected. My concern was heightened by the thought, implanted by Eve, that the manor might be subjected to another assault during the absence of most of the inhabitants. In the event, the evening was trouble-free, but nevertheless I was immensely relieved when the phone rang shortly after 10.30. I heard the bleep that preceded the coins being inserted and knew this would be Eve’s promised call.

  ‘How is she?’ I asked immediately.

  ‘She’s conscious at last, but extremely confused, according to what the staff nurse told us. They’re going to keep her in for a couple of days at least. It sounds as if they’re erring on the side of caution, because the doctor who examined her doesn’t think she had either a heart attack or a stroke. Having said which, once we told them how it happened they said they wouldn’t take any chances. They’ve scheduled a barrage of tests for tomorrow, and until they’re satisfied with the results, she’s not going anywhere. Unlike us, because we’re setting off for the manor shortly. They’ve allowed Alison and Tammy to see Victoria for a few minutes, and then we’ll be on our way. How are things there? Is everything OK?’

  ‘It is indeed. The roast lamb was delicious, and the apple crumble and custard absolutely divine.’

  ‘Adam Bailey, I hate you, I really do.’ Eve rang off then, as her money ran out, and I went through to the kitchen to warn Mary when to expect the delayed diners, and to collect a mug of coffee.

  Later, when the travellers had returned unscathed from their expedition and claimed their delayed meal, Eve and I resumed our night patrol. There was no shortage of a conversational topic, our discussion centring mainly around Victoria’s dramatic collapse.

  ‘I’m beginning to think this house is jinxed,’ Eve said. ‘Even without the murders there have been a lot of nasty incidents. First there was Inspector Hardy’s car crash, which happened as he was travelling to get here. Then Frank Jolly’s broken arm. They were both freak accidents. Tammy was tied up, and now Professor Riley has such a dramatic fall, or faint, whatever you want to call it.’

  ‘I agree there does seem to have been a chain of mishaps, but I don’t think you can blame a curse on the house for the latest incident.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I was watching Victoria’s face as Robert was speaking. She looked absolutely fine until he began to describe the wounds made by that weapon. The effect of hearing the details was truly dramatic. She went as white as a sheet, and when she tried to stand up I could see she was trembling, then she seemed to faint. I can’t prove this, but I am absolutely certain in my own mind that our worthy professor of history knows something about that weapon, and whatever it is, it scared the living daylights out of her.’

  ‘I’m not sure I go along with that, Adam. What is it that she could possibly know?’

  ‘That’s just the problem, I can’t imagine what it might be. I certainly don’t think a woman of Professor Riley’s standing would have any guilty knowledge. All we can hope is that she makes a full recovery and will tell us what she does know. The other thought that crossed my mind was regarding something you said before Victoria arrived here. You told me that the professor might hold the key to the whole mystery, but that might have been your wild imagination. I don’t think it was at all wild, and if she can help identify that mysterious weapon, it will be a huge step forward.’

  The dramatic events had caused me to omit telling the others about the rest of my conversation with Johnny Pickersgill. It wasn’t until he called me again that I rectified the omission. ‘I forgot to say that I told Pickersgill about Fletcher’s involvement with Wharton and Kathy King in that company Stephen paid so much money to,’ I explained.

  ‘He and DS Holmes paid Fletcher a visit this morning. That man must be sick of the sight of police officers. The upshot was that Fletcher claims that Overtring is a genuine company, used by Stephen to conduct historical research and when Holmes asked what that research entailed, Fletcher said it was mainly to do with Pengelly family history from before the Norman invasion. He claimed that because the period covered is shrouded in mystery, the cost was huge, which explains the large sums of money involved. Apparently, when Holmes asked Fletcher for paperwork to back up his story, Fletcher told him that Wharton kept copies of it all, but handed the originals to Stephen.’

  ‘That sounds very iffy to me, Adam,’ Robert told me.

  ‘I agree, but as everyone else connected to that company is now dead, I don’t see how we’re going to be able to prove it.’

  ‘Maybe the historical-cum-family research thing is simply the tale they cooked up in case anyone started asking awkward questions,’ Eve suggested. ‘People such as Stephen’s accountants, for example.’

  ‘And they used that as a cover story in the event, you mean?’ Alison interjected.

  ‘If that’s true, what was Stephen really paying the money for?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you think it might be?’ Robert asked.

  ‘I don’t think it was trafficking in drugs, or stolen property. Not with what we do know. If that had been the case, Stephen’s accounts would have shown a correspondingly larger income. My best guess would be that they were blackmailing him, but over what I’m not sure. If Stephen had a guilty secret, he might have been prepared to pay out large sums, given his position in local society. However, if Fletcher won’t talk, unless we can think of some other way to get at the truth, the only way we could hope to find out would be by the u
se of a medium.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘I’m beginning to develop a hearty dislike for this road,’ Eve said.

  We were passing the point where Hardy had crashed his car, on our way to Thorsby hospital to collect Victoria. When Alison had enquired that morning, the ward sister had told her that as the test results had shown no permanent damage, Victoria could safely be released from medical care.

  ‘What has the road done to upset you?’ I joked.

  ‘It isn’t the road itself, but every time we travel along it, something weird happens soon afterwards.’

  Eve had a point, but I don’t think either of us could have foreseen the outcome of our trip to collect the professor, or what she would reveal. We called at the shop in Thorsby and picked up the prints developed from the negatives we had left there days earlier. Eve stuffed them in her handbag and promptly forgot about them.

  Professor Riley was extremely quiet during the journey back to Barton Manor, and seemed on edge. At first, I put this down to the effects of her fall, and it was only later that I realised the true reason. When we arrived at the manor, she responded to the greetings and enquiries after her health by pleading a headache. There was ample evidence to support this, via a large, unsightly, multi-coloured bruise on her cheekbone. She asked if she could go to her room until the headache wore off.

  Her condition seemed to have improved by dinner time, because she responded to Alison’s summons and joined us for the meal. As we were awaiting her arrival, Robert and I had a private conversation regarding Professor Riley. I was surprised to discover that Robert shared my suspicions regarding the cause of Victoria’s collapse.

  ‘I’ll leave you to try and find out what she knows,’ Robert said. ‘You’re the expert, after all. However, I do want answers, and if Victoria has something to tell us, I want to hear it, especially if it impacts on Stephen’s death. I know we had been estranged for years, but it’s only now, when I have no family left, that I realise how much I missed having one.’