Fear on the Phantom Special

by Edward Marston

  ‘I’d like you to answer a few questions, if you will. I believe that you belong to a group of poets.’

  ‘Well, yes, I do but I’m a barber, really. Norm Tiller is the real poet in this town. I’m just a dabbler, Mr …’

  ‘It’s Detective Sergeant Leeming. I’m in Kendal to look into the disappearance of Mr Alexander Piper.’

  ‘My customers talk of nothing else. Most of them reckon he was carried off by a phantom of sorts. This part of the country is full of them.’

  ‘You mentioned Mr Tiller a moment ago.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a wonderful man. To my shame, I had very little education, but I’ve always wanted to write poems. He encouraged me.’

  ‘What sort of things do you write about?’

  ‘I’m a kind of nature poet like Mr Wordsworth, though I’d never be able to match him, of course. He’s even better than Norm.’

  ‘You’ve read Mr Tiller’s poems, then?’

  ‘I’ve done better than that, Sergeant. I’ve heard him reading them out to us. It’s what we do, you see. When we meet up together, we take it in turns to read something we’ve written. I was hopeless when I started but I’ve slowly got better.’

  ‘How many of his poems have you heard?’

  ‘Dozens of them, I suppose,’ said Garside. ‘He lets us write out copies of some of them so that we can take them home to study them. Unlike me, he has a real talent yet he’s so modest about it.’

  ‘That’s what impressed me about him.’

  Leeming had the feeling that he might have had the good fortune to stumble on the right person at the first attempt. It would save him having to locate and question a local butcher, an engineer, a chimney sweep and three men who worked in a woollen factory. The urge to write poetry had driven each one of them into the group run by the bookseller.

  ‘The landlord at the King’s Arms mentioned the last time you met there,’ said Leeming.

  Garside sighed. ‘Oh, yes, it was dreadful.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Hasn’t Hugh already done that?’

  ‘I want to hear from someone who was a victim of the intruder. You admire Norm Tiller’s work. It must have been awful to hear someone poking fun at it.’

  ‘It was so spiteful,’ said Garside.

  Then he went on to give his version. The barber’s respect for the bookseller was obvious. The latter had obviously become his mentor. He’d copied out a number of the man’s poems and claimed to be able to recite some of them by heart.

  ‘Are they that good?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘I think so. Norm has the gift of language.’

  ‘Which is your favourite?’

  ‘It’s difficult to say.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘All right, then – there’s one about witches that I like to read aloud. It scares my wife, but I love it.’

  ‘He wrote one about the disappearance of Gregor Hayes, the blacksmith,’ said Leeming. ‘I don’t suppose you have a copy of that poem, by any chance?’

  Colbeck arrived at Culverhouse Court to learn that Alexander Piper’s parents were also there. He was delighted by the coincidence because it saved him another journey to Ambleside. Shown into the drawing room, he found all four of them seated. Since Lord Culverhouse was near his sister, Colbeck could see the striking contrast between the two of them. In her plain, black dress, Emma Piper looked more like one of the servants than a member of the Culverhouse family. Rodney Piper was the same spectral figure Colbeck had met once before.

  As he’d done so with Melissa Haslam, he told them that he felt confident of finding out exactly what had happened to Alexander Piper, though he warned them that it might take time. He poured scorn on the notion of supernatural intervention of any kind and assured them that, having visited Hither Wood at midnight, he refused to believe that it was haunted.

  The archdeacon was critical. ‘I’m sorry that you don’t believe in ghosts, Inspector,’ he said, ‘because I’ve had cast-iron proof of their existence.’

  ‘I’d be interested to hear what it was,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘I’d rather not distress the ladies.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Lady Culverhouse. ‘Your wife and I are not shrinking violets. Besides, I daresay that Emma has already heard the story.’

  ‘I have,’ confirmed Emma, ‘and, disagreeable as it is, I believe every word.’

  ‘And so must the rest of you,’ warned her husband. ‘The bishop’s word is akin to Holy Writ.’

  ‘To which diocese are you referring?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘Gloucester – my dear old friend, Simon Overton, has been bishop there for several years. He’s a remarkable man and an experienced exorcist. When I last saw him, he told me about a house in one of the villages nearby that was so frightening to live in that the people who bought it never stayed more than a few months. It was too upsetting.’

  ‘What form did the disturbance take?’

  ‘Inhabitants complained of weird noises, Inspector, as if people were in great pain and pleading for help. Every so often, a strange smell permeated the house.’

  ‘Was the cellar examined?’

  ‘Everyone who lived there did that, but they found nothing to explain either the voices or the stench. The tragedy was that the house was eventually abandoned and would have become derelict if someone hadn’t had the sense to call in the bishop.’

  ‘What did he do?’ wondered Culverhouse.

  ‘Well, first of all, Simon spoke to people who’d slept under that roof. Once he’d taken their testimony, he spent a night there himself.’

  ‘That was brave of him,’ said Colbeck. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He heard none of the strange noises,’ explained the archdeacon, ‘but the stink was almost overpowering. Search hard as he did, he could find no source for it. Next morning, miraculously, it had gone.’

  ‘How peculiar!’ said Lady Culverhouse. ‘Did the bishop ever find out the cause of the unpleasant smell?’

  ‘Yes, he did. He searched through the cathedral archives and discovered that Gloucester had been afflicted by the plague on more than one occasion. Rather than have the victims rotting in the city,’ said Piper, ‘they were taken out to a huge pit and thrown in.’

  ‘So the house was built on top of it, was it?’ said Colbeck.

  ‘That’s what Simon established. Once he’d identified the problem, he was able to perform a ceremony of exorcism and drive away the troubled spirits from the house. Since then, there’s never been a hint of trouble at the property.’ He looked at Colbeck. ‘What do you make of that, Inspector?’

  ‘I can’t challenge the bishop’s account because I wasn’t there at the time, but I recall a scholarly article I once read. When the plague struck, people were so desperate to avoid infection that they had the bodies of the victims collected as soon as possible and tipped into pits before being covered by quick lime. In this article,’ Colbeck went on, ‘the author claimed that they didn’t always wait until a plague victim was actually dead.’

  Emma was horrified. ‘They were still alive?’

  ‘It was felt that they were so close to death that it made no difference. They were tossed uncaringly onto the carts with the real corpses.’

  ‘That’s inhuman!’

  ‘It explains what happened in the case I told you about,’ contended Piper. ‘Those piteous cries in the night must have come from poor wretches who were buried alive.’

  ‘Could we please talk about something else?’ said Lady Culverhouse with a shudder.

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought that the bishop’s experience was instructive. It might even have made the inspector think again.’

  Colbeck smiled. ‘It’s an interesting story,’ he said, ‘but it has no bearing on what happened here at Hallowe’en. I’m convinced that no ghosts, apparitions or plague victims were responsible for your son’s disappearance.’

  ‘That brings me to the wall of flame,’ said the archdeacon.

&nb
sp; ‘Yes,’ said Culverhouse, ‘Rodney has this wild idea that it was symbolic of hell and that Alex has descended into the nether regions. I thought the notion ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m slowly coming to believe it,’ said Emma.

  ‘It’s what you were meant to believe,’ said Colbeck. ‘What really happened that night, I would suggest, was an example of careful stage management devised to spread confusion.’

  ‘Have you any idea who is behind it all?’

  ‘I’m building up a very clear picture of him in my mind. As to his confederates, I feel I’m getting closer to them all the time. I’m well aware of your desire for an early resolution but I ask you to be patient.’

  ‘Someone must have despised our son,’ said Piper, ‘and that troubles us. We know that he could be impetuous at times, but did he really provoke someone into killing him?’

  ‘It appears so.’

  ‘Find him, Inspector. Make him pay the ultimate price for his crime. Before they hang him, however, I’d value a word with him alone. I want to look into his eyes and ask him why he dared to take our son’s life. When I know the bitter truth,’ he went on, ‘I’ll pray for the salvation of the killer’s soul.’

  As soon as he heard of the latest arrest, the superintendent went in search of Alan Hinton. The latter was seated at a desk as he wrote out his report. When Tallis walked into the room, the detective constable jumped up to his feet.

  ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, Hinton.’

  ‘You took me by surprise, sir.’

  ‘I just came to congratulate you on the latest arrest.’

  ‘It wasn’t me who actually put the handcuffs on him. We knew that the robbers had help from someone who worked at the bank and the man in question almost gave himself away.’

  ‘You were part of a successful team,’ said Tallis, ‘and I wanted to acknowledge that. You’d only just finished with that case of attempted arson, so you’ve had two triumphs in a short period of time.’

  ‘I only did what I’ve been trained to do, sir.’

  ‘Colbeck would be proud of you.’

  ‘The inspector is my idol.’

  ‘I rather disapprove of idolatry but at least you’ve chosen the ideal detective on whom to pattern your own career.’

  ‘My ambition is to work alongside him one day.’

  ‘That day may have to wait,’ cautioned Tallis, ‘but you are taking steps in the right direction. Well done, Hinton.’

  ‘Thank you, Superintendent,’ said the other, glowing. ‘Is there any news of the inspector?’

  ‘I had a full report from him in this morning’s mail. It’s a complex investigation but Colbeck loves a daunting challenge.’ He chuckled. ‘There was a time when working for me might be viewed in that light.’

  ‘That’s how we all thought of it, sir,’ said Hinton.

  ‘Did you, indeed?’ growled Tallis.

  ‘Well, no, not really, sir.’ The grin froze on his face. ‘What I mean is that—’

  ‘I know only too well what you mean and I resent it strongly. Things have obviously become far too lax in my absence and I’m serving notice that we’re going to have some real discipline here again. Do you hear that, Hinton?’

  ‘Yes, Superintendent, I do.’

  ‘Then spread the word,’ said Tallis, tapping his own chest. ‘I’m back and I’ll brook no mockery.’

  Leeming sat in the room at the rear of the shop and pored over the poems that the barber had given him. Garside, meanwhile, was busy cutting the hair of his latest customer. There was a problem. Careful and precise with a pair of scissors in his hand, the barber was far less competent with a pen between his fingers. His handwriting was so wayward that Leeming had to guess at some of the words. Ink blots were another hazard. They were sprinkled liberally over the pages.

  The first poem that the sergeant tried to read had been written by Garside himself. Its title was ‘Beneath the Water’ and the barber had transformed himself into a creature that lurked in the depths of Lake Windermere and surfaced from time to time to bask in the sun and admire the beautiful landscape on all sides. The kindest thing that could be said of the halting verse and the thudding rhymes was that the poem was a worthy effort by a writer with a lot to learn. After a couple of verses, Leeming gave up in despair.

  When he turned to the work of Norman Tiller, the contrast was striking. ‘Railway of Ruination’ was a devastating attack on the Kendal and Windermere Railway for its destruction of the countryside. What fascinated Leeming was the passion that inspired Tiller to write it. Where the barber’s language had been trite and woolly, the honeyed words of a real poet soared to heights that Garside could never reach. The sergeant was also sympathetic to the claim that railways defaced the British countryside. He could imagine Tiller declaiming his poem from a stage and being cheered to the echo by those who protested against the building of the railway.

  Leeming searched for the poem about the disappearance of Gregor Hayes. When he read the opening verse, he realised that it was a very different piece of work. It was dark, mysterious and troubling.

  Geoffrey Hedley was in his office, trying to work his way through the backlog of letters and tasks that had built up while he’d been otherwise engaged. It was not long before he was interrupted by the arrival of a visitor. Colbeck was shown into the office. Hedley was on his feet at once.

  ‘Do come in, Inspector, and please take a seat.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Hedley,’ replied the other, sitting next to a small table. ‘I heard from Sergeant Ainsley that you were looking for me.’

  ‘That’s true. You’re proving hard to track down.’

  ‘I’ve been here and there, following my instincts.’

  ‘Have they led you in the right directions?’

  ‘I believe so,’ said Colbeck. ‘The first person I tackled was Dr Dymock. I’m grateful that he’s not in charge of my health. He was altogether too spiky for my taste.’

  ‘What did you learn from him?’

  ‘I learnt that he had a very good motive for locking his antlers with Alexander Piper. Apart from the boundary dispute, he had to put up with the rumpus from the frequent parties held next door. I daresay you attended some of them.’

  ‘I always tried to make Alex keep the noise down.’

  ‘What about the boundary dispute?’

  ‘In my role as his legal advisor, I told him that he would never win the case, but he insisted on pressing ahead with it. Once he got a bee in his bonnet, he was out of control.’

  ‘I gather that Walter Vine came to the parties.’

  ‘That was in the early days, when Alex had just moved in. Having so much in common, they were on good terms then.’

  ‘What about Miss Treadgold? Was she invited as well?’

  ‘No,’ said the lawyer. ‘They were almost exclusively celebrations with his male friends. Besides, Alex was trying to distance himself from Miss Treadgold. Once he’d met Melissa Haslam, he wanted to spend as much time as he could with her.’

  ‘Incidentally,’ said Colbeck, ‘I spoke to Miss Haslam earlier on. She was rather put out that you’ve made no attempt to visit or write to her.’

  ‘I felt it was unwise.’

  ‘I would have thought it was obligatory.’

  ‘Miss Haslam is well aware that I put the idea of the excursion into Alex’s head. She is bound to blame me. I didn’t wish to make things worse by turning up in person.’

  ‘A letter or a card would have been welcome.’

  ‘I felt too embarrassed to send either. As for those parties,’ he went on, hurriedly, ‘they quickly tailed off and Miss Treadgold was gradually eased out of his life.’

  ‘It didn’t sound very gradual to me,’ said Colbeck. ‘Her version is that she was dropped abruptly like a red-hot brick. She is still wounded by the way that he treated her.’

  ‘And yet she was eager to join in the search party.’

  ‘What emotion prompted that, do you think?’

&n
bsp; ‘I believe that it was love.’

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t guilt?’

  ‘I’m certain, Inspector. I saw Alex and Miss Treadgold together. They were very happy in each other’s company. It’s just that he never saw her as … well, the sort of person he’d choose to marry.’

  ‘Most women in her position would feel that he’d been trifling with their affections. Was that your opinion as well?’

  Hedley looked uncomfortable. ‘It was to some degree,’ he said. ‘I felt that Miss Treadgold merited more than brusque dismissal. On the other hand, she was worldly enough to know full well what she was letting herself in for when she befriended Alex. The relationship would never have achieved longevity.’

  ‘That’s a polite way of saying that it was doomed.’

  ‘Sadly, that was the case.’

  ‘Miss Treadgold was cast off and became the first victim,’ noted Colbeck, ‘then it was Mr Piper’s turn to suffer. That gave immense satisfaction to the three men you named as potential suspects – Cecil Dymock, Walter Vine and Norman Tiller. Which one of that trio is the likeliest to seek revenge?’

  ‘I’d have to say that it would be Walter.’

  ‘You must have been present at that duel he fought.’

  Hedley gulped. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, eyes darting. ‘Duelling is illegal.’

  ‘That wouldn’t have stopped Mr Piper. He flouted the law at every turn. And if he did – as is quite likely – inflict that nasty wound on Vine’s arm, you would certainly have been there to see it happen.’

  ‘I deny that wholeheartedly.’

  ‘To whom else would Mr Piper turn in such a situation?’ asked Colbeck, pointedly. ‘You supported him in every way. I fancy that you’re the only person in his life that he could trust.’

  ‘I was his friend.’

  ‘Friendship means standing by during a duel.’

  ‘It never took place, Inspector.’

  ‘Then why did Sergeant Leeming and I reach the same conclusion about Mr Vine?’

  ‘Did Walter admit there’d been a duel?’