by Bill Kitson
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Again it’s only gossip, but round here gossip usually turns out to be true. Someone said that Joe and his wife were killed in a road accident soon afterwards.’
‘So Annie would have been on her own?’ Ellis seemed to be knocking all the potential suspects for a revenge attack out of the running with every sentence.
‘Not exactly. I think her grandparents were still alive. I seem to remember them visiting here now and again. And then there was her uncle, of course. He doted on Annie. I used to see him regular away cycling down from the moors to Joe’s house. The keeper’s place was too small for him to stay, so he went to the trouble of buying a cottage in Langstrop village. It’s let out as a holiday place nowadays. Anyway, I heard it said that the reason he was so fond of Annie was because he couldn’t have kids of his own, but that’s speculation, I reckon.’
Did you know anything more about the uncle? Was his name Flood too?’
‘No; I can’t remember his name, but it wasn’t Flood. He was Annie’s uncle on her mother’s side.’
‘It would be useful to trace the family if we could,’ Eve told him, without revealing the reason for our interest. ‘Can you think of anyone in the village who might know whereabouts Annie Flood and her family moved to? Nottinghamshire is a big county and the surname Flood isn’t that rare. It’s quite important that we trace them.’
Ellis thought for a moment. ‘I suppose I could ask Carrie. She and her husband used to keep the village shop and post office. Carrie kept the business on after her husband died. She might have been given a forwarding address at the time. If so, with a bit of luck she might remember it.’
‘Do you think she’d be prepared to release that sort of information?’
Ellis cast a wary glance towards the bar, where his daughter was busy serving a group of customers who had just entered. Reassured, he gave us a sly grin. ‘Carrie would tell me. Don’t let on to Emma, but Carrie and I have been seeing one another since my divorce. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. If I find out anything, shall I ring you at the manor?’
Chapter Fifteen
Conversation on the return journey was restricted with Tony and Emma being in the car, and only when we reached the privacy of the Rose Room were Eve and I able to discuss what Emma’s father had revealed.
‘The more I hear about Stephen Pengelly’s character; the more I believe his murderer had ample justification.’ The anger in her eyes and in her voice was unmistakeable.
‘I agree that he comes across as unspeakably vile, but I don’t think that’s enough of an excuse for killing him.’
‘You’re not defending Pengelly, surely? There can be absolutely no excuse for taking advantage of a child that way.’
‘I’m neither defending him nor making excuses for what he did. It was just that something Chris Ellis told us that made me wonder if the blame was all one-sided.’
Eve, to give her due, paused and considered what I’d said. ‘What was it: what did I miss?’
‘Ellis said people thought Annie threw herself at Stephen in the hope that he would marry her. Maybe in her naivety she saw it as a great romantic love affair with her ending up as mistress of Barton Manor. That certainly doesn’t excuse Stephen Pengelly’s behaviour, but we already know from what we’ve been told about him that where women were concerned he was unable to resist temptation.’
‘Six of one and half a dozen of the other, you think?’
‘Maybe nine of him and three of her would be more accurate. I’m also willing to bet Annie Flood was pregnant when her family shipped her off to Nottinghamshire, despite Ellis saying there was no evidence to that effect. Certainly if his statement about their behaviour is anywhere near accurate.’
‘Why are you so convinced that she was pregnant, though?’
‘Because I don’t think anyone as hard and unfeeling as Pengelly senior would have paid out unless he absolutely had to. Joe Flood might well have threatened him with police action, but that would have involved a lot of unsavoury publicity, and even if the girl wasn’t mentioned by name in court, word would have spread like wildfire, especially if Pengelly senior had disputed the case and insisted on paternity tests, or proof that his son had been screwing her. Stephen wouldn’t have cared if she got pregnant, and if she did have eyes on the manor, Annie might have thought that represented her best chance.’
‘I see your point, Adam, but where does it leave us regarding Stephen’s murder?’
‘With two, maybe three potential suspects, I reckon.’
Eve looked startled. ‘How do you work that out?’
‘There’s Annie Flood herself, plus the doting uncle. Additionally, if she was pregnant, there could be a third, in the shape of Stephen’s illegitimate son or daughter.’
‘That’s a whole lot of assumptions with very little to back them up,’ Eve remarked, ‘but some of our wildest theories have been proved right too often for them to be dismissed.’ She smiled. ‘Just one of the many things we have in common. Sometimes, when we’re talking like this, it’s a bit like hearing an echo of my own thoughts. Do you feel that way?’
‘Of course I do, and perhaps it has to be mutual for it to work.’
The terrible discovery at the antiques shop weighed heavily on my mind, added to which I felt curiously disturbed by our conversation. I was left with the feeling that we were nearing the crux of the whole problem, and that it represented something truly evil; truly frightening. The consequence of my disquiet was that I was unable to sleep. Alongside me, Eve’s rest was again troubled by dreams.
Eventually, rather than lie awake listening to the rain, which had returned in full-force and was lashing against the manor windows, I slipped out of bed, and reached the fireplace, where I switched on the table lamp alongside the armchair. I donned dressing gown and slippers and looked around for something to read. I didn’t feel in the mood for Le Morte d’Arthur. There had been little honour or chivalry in anything we had seen or heard that day. On the contrary, it seemed that evil had triumphed over good rather than the other way round.
Instead, I picked up the ledger we had retrieved from the safe and began, rather laboriously, to attempt a translation. The journal would either grab my attention or send me off to sleep, I thought. In the end, it achieved both. It aroused my curiosity within the first few sentences, but the long periods of intense concentration eventually wearied me, causing my eyelids to droop as I fell asleep in the chair.
I was awakened by a sound. It was a dull thud, as if someone or something had either fallen or been knocked over. For a few seconds, as I struggled to recover my wits, I was convinced something untoward had occurred. Then I realised that the tome had slipped from my grasp as I slept and had landed on the parquet floor alongside the fireplace. The noise had also woken Eve.
She sat up, blinking in the light. ‘What happened? What was that noise?’ her voice was heavy with sleep.
‘Sorry, that was my fault. I dropped a book.’
‘Come back to bed, Adam. It’s still pitch black outside.’
I obeyed, and my presence provoked an immediate protest. ‘How long have you been sitting there? You’re absolutely frozen.’
‘I’ve no idea. I couldn’t sleep, so I started translating that journal. I must have nodded off.’
‘Come here and let me warm you up.’
Now that is true love.
Next morning, Eve sat on the edge of the bed as I read the translation I’d made of the first journal entry. I took it slowly, because my Latin was rusty, and without a dictionary I could only guess at the meaning of some of the words by their context.
‘I can scarce believe; as I recall the events that have befallen me over the past four years, and the adventures I and my companions have endured; that our adventure began in such mystery; and with our hopes and expectations set so high.
‘As is only to be expected during the travel through life, one encounters death in her many forms. The silence
of the tomb has overcome every member of our small band in diverse ways, coming from the sword to the plague.
‘It is sometimes difficult to comprehend that of the eight of us who set out on this quest; I am the only one remaining to recount our adventures and misadventures; the only survivor with hope, if not a burning flame, at least a flickering ember, hope that I can still claim the prize we were charged to discover and to bring it to its rightful home.
‘I will not bore any reader who might chance upon this volume in later times with a wearisome account of the journey that brought us here; for the moment I will only recount the most germane facts. The chief of these being that of the eight of us, who set out with the greatest blessing available to man speeding us, only five of our company reached our destination and the sanctuary offered by our Holy Brothers in Christ with safety.’
‘What does all that mean? What was this prize they were seeking? Do you think it was something valuable?’ Eve asked.
‘I’ve no idea, beyond guessing that it might have had some religious connotation, because I feel sure they were either monks or priests.’
On Monday morning we got a phone call from Johnny Pickersgill. DS Holmes, it transpired, had been summoned to a meeting with the chief constable, and would be absent until lunchtime.
‘Did you advise him to wear two pairs of underpants?’ I asked.
‘Oh, very droll, Adam. Anyway, he asked if you would come into the station this afternoon. Both you and Eve, I mean.’
‘Any particular reason?’
‘A small matter of some written statements. As amateur detectives such trivial items won’t concern you, I know, but they are an essential part of police procedures. We need statements from you both regarding your discovery of Fletcher’s body, and also that of Kathy King.’
‘I shall have to consult my diary first. I have a really hectic schedule, so fitting something like this into it could be quite tricky.’
‘See you this afternoon then.’
I replaced the receiver and went to relay the news to Eve. She looked concerned for a moment. ‘On the last two occasions we travelled to Barton-le-Dale we ended up staring at corpses, but I don’t suppose that will happen this time.’
On hearing of our intended visit to town, Mary asked if we would mind visiting various shops to collect food she would order. ‘I need supplies from the butcher, the baker, and the greengrocer. I need to restock far more frequently with their being so many more people to cater for.’
Robert, who was listening to our conversation, said, ‘This must be causing you a lot of extra work. I hope it isn’t proving too much for you.’
‘Not a bit of it, Mr Robert. It’s great fun, and I love seeing the old house full of life. Apart from that, I get a kick from seeing how much everyone enjoys what I’ve made for them. Added to which I do get a lot of assistance in the kitchen, even if one of my helpers only has one usable arm.’
Robert eyed Mary’s husband. ‘I understand now why Frank has to work so hard on the grounds. He needs to burn off all the calories you feed him. Have you ever considered catering as a career? Not that I want to lose you,’ he added hastily.
‘We did talk about it once over,’ Mary admitted, ‘but we don’t have the money for one thing, even with the bequest in Mr Stephen’s will. And, to be honest, we’re really content here.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
Tammy volunteered to go along with us. ‘I could collect the food that Mary orders while you’re giving your statements, then meet you at the police station. That would save you time, and you wouldn’t have the bother of finding parking places.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘I wouldn’t want you to go to all that trouble just for our convenience. Especially if there are things to do here.’
‘No, no, it would be no trouble, and I’ve nothing here that won’t keep.’
Afterwards, when we were alone, Eve accused me of sadism. ‘You knew very well that Tammy was only using it as an excuse to see DS Holmes again. Teasing the poor girl like that was cruel.’
We reached the police station and had finished giving our statements when Holmes walked in.
‘How did your meeting go?’ I asked. Tact has always been my strong point.
‘It was nowhere near as bad as I feared. I expected to be hauled over the coals for failing to find the killer, especially in view of the latest murder, but the chief constable was extremely understanding.’
I glanced at Johnny Pickersgill, who was the chief constable’s cousin. He was staring out of the window, a look of innocence on his face. My bet was that Johnny had interceded on Holmes’ behalf. However, I certainly wasn’t going to humiliate Holmes by mentioning it.
‘We’re almost done here,’ Johnny told him. ‘We’re only waiting for the statements to be typed and then they can be signed. I doubt whether they will reveal anything we didn’t already know.’
‘I didn’t think for a minute that they would. It’s purely for the record. But, as you’re here, I have some news that will interest you.’ Holmes paused and smiled. ‘And that’s putting it extremely mildly. I’d like your opinion, because quite frankly, I don’t know what to make of it.’
He glanced down at the papers he was holding, which I could see had been torn from the telex. ‘I heard back from South Africa a short time ago. You were quite correct with your theory. The police there did recognise the names of all three. Apparently they have quite bulky dossiers on Graeme Fletcher and Kathy King, and a similar one on Arnold Wharton.’
‘I take it they weren’t exactly pillars of society?’ Eve asked.
‘Far from it; Kathy King and Graeme Fletcher disappeared just as warrants for their arrest were being issued. Police reckon they were tipped off. Having read the file extract, that doesn’t surprise me. The charges being brought against them were blackmail and, in Kathy’s case, prostitution. There is one fact that knocks the sexual jealousy motive on the head. Unless Fletcher added incest to his other crimes, that is. Kathy was his half-sister.’
Holmes paused to allow us to think about that. ‘There was nothing original in their scheme. Kathy was a high-class call girl, with a clientele of rich and powerful men; most of them in positions of authority. According to the report, there were businessmen, politicians, high-ranking police officers, lawyers, doctors, and even judges in her little black book. Many of them were married. Almost all of them would be highly embarrassed should their liaisons with Kathy be made public. Graeme’s part in the conspiracy was to shoot compromising videos of their activities in Kathy’s bed and threaten the victims with the resulting porn movies.’
‘As you say, hardly original, but by the sound of it very effective. What went wrong?’ I asked.
‘They worked the racket for quite a while without problem. Their success was down to them not asking more than the victim could pay without having to give awkward explanations. They never attempted to bleed them dry. They tried it once too often, though, because one of their clients called their bluff and got the police involved. When they went to interview the couple, they’d vanished, leaving all the evidence behind. It was only by examining this that police were able to assess the extent of their crimes.’
‘Was Arnold Wharton part of their scheme?’ Eve asked.
‘Not directly. He was a client of Kathy’s, but not one that got blackmailed. He was also their lawyer.’
‘Why do the police have a dossier on him?’
‘Wharton had taken a law degree in South Africa to allow him to practice there. He built up a good clientele, but couldn’t keep his hand out of the till. By that I mean he embezzled a large amount from the client accounts. In doing so, he upset some very unpleasant people, and as a result he’d received a number of death threats.’
Holmes paused, he seemed to be enjoying his role as narrator and was making the most of the drama in it. ‘Five years ago, it seemed that someone had carried out one of those threats. Arnold Wharton was crossing a street in Joha
nnesburg when he was knocked down in what at first appeared to be a hit-and-run accident. That was until police heard from an eyewitness. They reported that having hit him, the vehicle stopped, reversed over his body, drove over it again and then zoomed off into the distance. Wharton was so badly disfigured that it was only possible to identify him by the driving licence and other personal items in his pockets.’
‘What about dental records?’ I asked.
‘The police checked, but either Wharton had perfect teeth or he hadn’t visited a dentist in the time he lived in South Africa.’
‘Hang on, though,’ Eve interjected, ‘if Wharton was killed five years ago, who was the man using his name here?’
‘That is a very good question,’ Holmes acknowledged, ‘and one I don’t have an answer to, unfortunately.’
‘Did those eyewitnesses mention noticing anything unusual in Wharton’s behaviour prior to him being struck by the vehicle?’ I asked.
Holmes stared at me, his surprise obvious. ‘How on earth did you work that out?’
Eve and Johnny looked equally perplexed, although to me, the answer was clear. ‘I take it from that the answer is yes?’
‘It is indeed. Had the car not gone back and forward over the body, police would have marked it down as an accident. Eyewitnesses reported that Wharton appeared to be drunk. He was reeling around, totally unsteady on his feet, and actually fell over a couple of times. However,’ Holmes turned the page, ‘when the pathologist sent a blood sample for testing, it came back negative for alcohol.’
‘Did they conduct any other toxicology tests?’
‘No, it wasn’t deemed necessary, given that the cause of death was so obvious. Where that leaves us, I have absolutely no idea.’