The Fossil Murder

by Evelyn James

  He handed them both small green boxes, they were oblong in shape and roughly the span of a hand.

  “You might want to open them indoors,” Victor seemed to have finally noticed the rain.

  They entered the house through the garden room and Tommy propped his umbrella in the fireplace, where it could drip without harming anything. He opened the box in his hands and whistled in delight as he found it contained a miniature car, perfect in every detail. It was a Rolls Royce, with a shiny green enamel body and white-walled tyres.

  “You can open the bonnet to view a perfect replica of a Rolls’ engine,” Victor informed him proudly.

  O’Harris had opened his box to reveal a matching model.

  “These are beautiful Victor, but you really didn’t need to,” O’Harris’ eyes twinkled as he examined the car.

  “I wanted to, you stood up for me and you helped me out when many would not have bothered,” Victor shoved his hands in his pockets and looked awkward. “People don’t think I should be with Miss Holbein, I know how it is. They think I am out for her money.”

  Tommy had not expected such candidness from Victor, he decided he ought to be candid in return.

  “Are you, Victor? I’m not judging, just curious.”

  Victor traced a rose in the carpet with the toe of his shoe.

  “At first I was, I have to be honest with you two because of how kind you have been,” he said. “I read about the death of Miss Holbein’s mother in a newspaper, and it said how the daughter was now a wealthy heiress. The newspaper forecast that the girl would draw the attention of money hunters. It made me stop and think, why should some other fellow marry her for her money when it could be me?”

  Victor did not look ashamed at this comment. Tommy decided they would have all acted more shocked, had they not met the abominable Miss Holbein. His ears still rang when he thought about her.

  “I was cynical, that’s the truth of it. I was looking for a way to pursue my dreams, but I didn’t have the money.”

  “What are your dreams, Victor?” O’Harris asked.

  Victor gave a long sigh.

  “I want to break the world land speed record in a car,” he said. “It’s all I have ever wanted to do. But only rich men can afford such dreams and I am not rich.”

  Victor looked between the two of them.

  “I think you had already guessed that.”

  “We had,” Tommy nodded. “We know you work for the Red Lion Engineering company.”

  “It’s a reliable job, and not badly paid,” Victor said. “But not enough to make a man rich. I was feeling pretty rough when I read that piece in the newspaper. Something inside me said, ‘why shouldn’t I marry a rich girl?’ I’m a nice fellow, I have manners, I would look after her. I would make a jolly good husband, and I didn’t have any attachments to worry about.”

  “And you came to Brighton to find Miss Holbein?” O’Harris elaborated.

  “Yes, and I saw some of the men hovering around her and they made me shudder. Real sharks, they were. It would be a terrible thing if they got their claws into her,” Victor shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I convinced myself it was my duty to rescue her from them. That made it simpler. Of course, I hadn’t actually met Miss Holbein then.”

  Victor smiled at them shyly, knowing what they must think of Nellie Holbein.

  “She is a difficult woman.”

  “You can say that again, Victor,” Tommy shook his head.

  “She’s challenging, but there are other qualities to her,” Victor could see they did not believe him, and laughed a little. “I know, they are hard to see, but she does have some nicer qualities. I believe, with a little work, she could blossom into a lovely…”

  Victor caught himself.

  “Into a reasonable human being,” he corrected. “I suppose, in a funny sort of way, I’ve taken to her. I don’t know if I can call it love, but certainly a deep affection. Maybe it’s foolish, but I can’t deny the way I feel. I hope she can learn to feel affection for me too.”

  Victor glanced at Tommy, then at O’Harris.

  “You think I am kidding myself?”

  “No,” Tommy lied. “I’m just worried she will disappoint you.”

  “I’m prepared to take the chance,” Victor said. “Anyway, I may get my dream of taking on the land speed record through her, so there is always that. And that is why I am grateful to you both for getting me back in her good graces, but not just that. I took your advice that I should not let her push me around. I’m being firmer now. I think it is making her respect me a little more.”

  Victor looked pleased with himself and Tommy felt he could not take what little hope the man had away from him. If he wanted to believe he could turn the fearsome Miss Holbein into a loving wife, so be it, after all, he might be right. Stranger things happened. At least now he had answers for Clara.

  “What about Red Lion Engineering?” O’Harris asked Victor.

  “I’ll have to hand in my notice. I thought to hang onto the job a while, but I am worried about Miss Holbein finding someone else if I have to be away in London working.”

  Tommy wasn’t convinced that Victor should burn his bridges so swiftly, but he kept his mouth shut. It was not his decision.

  “If it all goes pear-shaped, Victor, pop over here. I am sure I can make use of a good car engineer for teaching the lads mechanical skills,” O’Harris offered generously.

  “That’s very kind,” Victor smiled. “I hope you won’t think me being rude if I say I am sure I will not need to take you up on the offer.”

  “Not at all,” O’Harris assured him. “But the offer stands, nonetheless.”

  “Thank you, but now I must go. I have arranged a lunch date with Miss Holbein.”

  They escorted Victor to the front door and watched him walk down the path to the gates. Tommy wondered if they would ever see him again, or whether his plans with Miss Holbein would work out.

  “You are right, Mrs Wilton will not be pleased,” O’Harris remarked, closing the front door on the rain. “Weren’t you supposed to find out who Victor was so she could get rid of him?”

  “She wanted him discredited, revealed to be a money hunter. Well, we have discovered that he planned on taking Miss Holbein’s money to begin with and then he got swept up in this romantic image of himself as some sort of knight in white armour, saving the woman’s wicked soul,” Tommy chuckled. “People are remarkable how they twist around reality to make it fit their own fantasies.”

  “Hmm,” O’Harris was staring into the middle distance, his mind elsewhere.

  “I suppose that’s that,” Tommy tried to attract his attention. “Anyway, I promised Annie I would be home for lunch.”

  “Oh, thank you for coming by,” O’Harris remembered himself. “Give Annie my best.”

  Tommy retrieved his umbrella yet again and prepared to set out into the rain. The temperature had dropped too, and he shivered, wishing he had brought a coat. It was the first sign that the long summer was drawing to a close. He was about to step outside when O’Harris paused him.

  “About twisting ideas to suit our fantasies,” he said, “would you say that… erm…”

  O’Harris frowned.

  “I mean, there seems this spark between me and Clara, but maybe… maybe…”

  “She is head-over-heels for you, old man,” Tommy smirked at him. “Sooner you realise that the better. You two are both so damn independent.”

  O’Harris looked relieved.

  “And what about you and Annie?” He said, returning Tommy’s grin.

  “What about us?” Tommy asked in surprise.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Clara was on her third cup of tea as she tried to make a decision on what she was going to tell Dr Browning about the threatening letters. There was only a circumstantial link between Reverend Parker and the messages, she was just not convinced they were his style. She had asked to borrow one of the letters and the inspector was happy to gi
ve her one. He had five, after all, and there were many more in the drawers of police stations across the country. Clara had taken the most recent one and had compared the text to that found in the pamphlet from the League for Christians Against Evolution. Aside from them both being of a religious bent, there was no similarity that she could see.

  For instance, Reverend Parker was fond of heavily quoting Bible passages to make his point. Most of his pamphlet was made up of these quotes, with very little in the way of actual explanation of his dislike for Darwin. There was nothing to say why he felt Darwin was wrong, no carefully worded argument to counter the Theory of Evolution. In short, it was a waste of paper.

  On the other hand, the threatening letters did not quote scripture, though they cast their threats in seemingly Biblical language and mentioned God regularly.

  Reverend Parker’s pamphlet did not make threats. It did not call Darwin or those who believed in his theory wicked. It did not suggest that the wrath of God would come down upon them. There was none of the violence or aggression seen in the threatening notes. While it was not impossible that both the letters and the pamphlet were written by Reverend Parker, they were of such a different style and attitude that it seemed unlikely. Clara believed Reverend Parker when he had said such threats would be against the purpose of his campaign. All they would do was alienate and frighten people, make them angry at the League for Christians Against Evolution; they would not change minds.

  That being said, there was nothing to suggest the letters could not have been written by one of Reverend Parker’s followers without his knowledge.

  Clara felt she had nothing of use for Dr Browning as yet. She could not justify telling him that the League for Christians Against Evolution were behind the threats, just because the police and Sam Gutenberg thought so. For that matter, she ought to talk to Sam again…

  There was a ring on the doorbell. Clara was in the front parlour and was sooner at the door than Annie who appeared from the kitchen at the back of the house. Emma Beasley was on the doorstep, looking extremely distressed. She had her hands clasped together and her eyes were red from crying.

  “S…sorry to bother you,” she mumbled.

  Clara invited her in at once and took her through to the parlour. Annie went on immediate tea duty and appeared within a minute with a cup. Knowing Annie, it would be heavily laced with sugar. Emma Beasley was so racked with emotion that she could hardly catch her breath. She looked fit to collapse as Clara helped her into a chair.

  “Sorry… so sorry…” Emma repeated, rocking forward as she clenched her hands into her lap.

  “Don’t apologise,” Clara told her firmly. “Take a sip of tea and try to calm down.”

  Emma obeyed, though her hands shook, and Annie hovered in anxiety over the china teacup being dropped and smashed.

  “This is about Harry,” Clara said to Emma, trying to help her.

  Emma nodded her head hard.

  “They’ve… a…arrested him…”

  “Yes, I know. I tried to speak to him at the police station, but I was not allowed since I had not been specifically asked by anyone to investigate the death of John Morley.”

  Emma gulped.

  “If I ask you… c…can you speak to him?”

  “That would be different,” Clara confirmed. “If I was privately employed to investigate the matter, then the Inspector should grant me leeway to speak with Harry.”

  “I would l…like you to,” Emma continued. “I don’t have much m…money, but…”

  She started to fumbled in the pocket of her skirt. Clara pressed her hand over Emma’s and stopped her.

  “Do not worry about that,” Clara told her. “I would be glad to help you.”

  Emma looked surprised. Clara just smiled.

  “I have been trying to investigate the death of John Morley off my own back, I simply can’t ignore a crime, I suppose. Now, at least, I can be justified in what I am doing and should be allowed to speak to your husband. But, first Emma, I must ask you, is there any possibility of Harry being angry enough with John to kill him?”

  Emma shook her head at once.

  “You must be honest with me, if I am to help you,” Clara persisted. “Your husband seemed to hate his brother-in-law.”

  “He did,” Emma admitted, her voice firmer. “There was no love-loss between them. Harry hated how John treated Ruby, but he is not a murderer.”

  “The theory the police are pursuing is that John asked Harry to help him break into the town hall, presumably offering a share of the money he was getting for the job. Harry took the opportunity to kill him,” Clara said.

  “If you knew those two, you would know that John would never ask Harry for help!” Emma scoffed at the idea, her tone bitter. “Harry would go over to his sister’s house and see if she was all right, maybe he would mend something that John’s bad temper or the people he upset had broken. If John caught him at the house, he would kick him out, and he would hammer on our door and yell at Harry for fixing things. That man would never have asked Harry for help, if he was the last man on earth.”

  Emma had calmed, her voice was steady as she defended her husband.

  “And Harry would never take part in breaking and entering into the town hall. He is a law-abiding man, and he would never have participated in trying to smash the cases of those rocks. He was going to go look at them, he was enchanted by the idea of that bird thing.”

  Clara recalled her conversation with Harry about Darwin and the exhibition. He had seemed genuinely interested in the exhibits. There was too much of the police’s theory that failed to add up.

  “If only we knew who John did ask to help him that night,” Clara said. “You don’t know a person he was likely to have involved?”

  Emma shook her head.

  “I rarely saw John, other than when he was angry at Harry. I only called on Ruby when he was out, or too drunk in his bed to come downstairs. I avoided him and he certainly would not speak to me.”

  “Someone must know,” Clara sighed. “How is Ruby?”

  Emma pulled a face, it did not suggest she was hopeful for her sister-in-law.

  “She wakes from time-to-time, enough to have a little to eat and drink. I’m not sure she knows where she is, or that John is dead. Maybe that is just as well,” Emma dipped her head. “I asked my neighbour to watch over her while I came here. It was why I could not come sooner. I was so torn between finding help for Harry and watching over Ruby. You must help my husband, Miss Fitzgerald! He does not deserve to hang for this.”

  “I will do everything in my power,” Clara promised her. “I believe in your husband’s innocence.”

  Tears of relief sparkled in Emma’s eyes, she clutched at Clara’s hand.

  “I was so scared you would tell me there was nothing you could do.”

  “There is always something,” Clara smiled. “Now, if you think of anything that could be of use, let me know. What time did Harry go to work the night John died?”

  “He works from eight in the evening until eight in the morning,” Emma said. “He left the house around half seven, just after his supper.”

  “And he arrived home as usual?”

  “Yes,” Emma said.

  “Thank you,” Clara squeezed her hand.

  Emma finished her tea, thanked Annie and Clara profusely and then headed for home. She had Ruby to think of and could not impose on her neighbour for too long. Once she was gone, Clara grabbed her hat and her handbag. Annie watched her.

  “What if he did do it?” She asked solemnly. “What if Emma is wrong?”

  “I don’t think she is,” Clara told her friend. “I think there was someone else behind this murder. I just haven’t discovered them yet.”

  Clara left the house and hurried to the police station. She arrived late in the morning, a little out-of-breath as she had run from the bus stop. She felt a sense of urgency she could not quite explain. As she entered the police station, she saw Inspector Park-Co
ombs escorting a man towards the front door. The man was well-dressed in a smart suit and his bearing suggested someone of authority. There was an arrogance to his swagger as he walked out of the station. The inspector held the door open for him and as it closed, he turned and met Clara’s eyes with a look of slight despair.

  “That was the Earl of Rendham,” he said. “Come down to Brighton to see that this mess is straightened out speedily.”

  Clara glanced at the door, as if she would see the earl disappearing down the road.

  “I have it on good authority that the earl hopes to make a small fortune selling his own collection of fossils, including an Archaeopteryx, with all the publicity generated by the exhibition he has sponsored,” she said.

  Park-Coombs raised an eyebrow.

  “Which good authority?” He asked.

  “Reverend Parker,” Clara gave a shy smile, appreciating that others would not consider him a reliable source. “I have no reason to doubt the statement.”

  “No reason to trust it, either,” Park-Coombs snorted. “The earl is the enemy of Reverend Parker.”

  “I don’t think the man sees things quite like that, he is not looking at those hosting the exhibition as the enemy.”

  “Don’t be naïve, Clara, they are his nemesis. A useful nemesis, of course, as they sustain his desire for glory and adoration. Reverend Parker travels the country, enjoying the hospitality of people with more money than sense and being fawned over by his followers,” Park-Coombs laughed coldly. “That man has an enormous ego. His little league is a way of feeding it.”

  “You are such a cynic,” Clara grinned at the inspector.

  “I believe that is why we get on so well,” Park-Coombs chuckled. “But I imagine you are not here to talk about Reverend Parker and the Earl of Rendham?”

  “No,” Clara said, becoming serious. “I’ve just had a visit from Emma Beasley, she has asked me to look into the situation regarding her husband.”

  “Mrs Beasley?” Park-Coombs was surprised. “I would not have thought her able to afford a private detective.”

  “She can’t,” Clara shrugged her shoulders. “I said I would help her for free. She is in a terrible state.”