Mydworth Mysteries--Murder wore a Mask

by Matthew Costello

“Letters, affidavits, diary notes. The lot.”

  “Sounds like motive to me.”

  “Me too. But here’s where it gets interesting. The boy wrote to Palmer, told him if he didn’t acknowledge him as his son he’d kill him.”

  “Wow. When was this?”

  “Just weeks ago. And there’s something even more interesting.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The boy’s name: Todd. Charlie Todd.”

  “Wait – that’s the lad in the kitchen – the one who disappeared!”

  “Exactly,” said Harry.

  “He must have known Palmer was going to be here last night! Hey – maybe he went after him, down to the grotto?”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “In which case, he may have seen something. Something that made him run. Harry, we have to find him! Do you know where he lives?”

  “I do – got an address from Mrs Woodfine who hired him. Littlehampton.”

  “But that’s just half an hour away.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” said Kat.

  “The tide, actually,” said Harry, smiling. “Pound to a penny Todd’s out on a fishing boat today. And the fleet won’t be back in until seven, earliest. Until then, nothing we can do.”

  *

  Kat let her fingers slip into the cool lake water, dangling, as she listened. The whole setting here peaceful and serene.

  “Something that worries me, Harry.”

  “Go on.”

  “We’re so certain it’s Palmer that did it. But quite how – well, we don’t know, right? And though we’ve got motive now – do we have means? And opportunity?”

  “The classic trio! And true!”

  “How about this: what if Forsyth and Quiller are making this up? What if they’re behind it?”

  “Well, that wins the ‘interesting’ prize. Forsyth – he’s genuinely scared. And he and Carmody together were in – your word – cahoots? To destroy Palmer. So, amazingly, it makes sense.”

  “But only if Palmer knew.”

  “Ah, there you go. You’re right. We don’t know that yet.”

  “There is another question, Harry.”

  “Which is?”

  “Even if Palmer did know that his loyal aide was about to betray him, reveal all that dirty laundry…”

  “Yes, go on.”

  Kat pulled her hand out of the water. Brushed it across her brow – the water on her skin delightfully cool.

  “Would that be enough for Palmer to murder Carmody? Risk everything?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Your whole life shamed? Political plans crushed? Seems like a pretty good motive to me.”

  “No doubt. But then the question – how did he do it? And, if he did, how did he get back to the house so quickly?”

  “One of a plethora of questions we have.”

  “You know, when we went down to Carmody, by the lake?”

  “Yes?” Harry said.

  “Did you notice anything odd? At the time, maybe not seeming relevant?”

  “Dead man, in costume, weird mask and… ah, hang on. Mask.”

  Kat smiled. “Right. His costume, Harry. I didn’t see a mask. Did you?”

  “You’re right. Isn’t that interesting? Didn’t really register at the time.”

  Kat laughed. “However, just as I thought we were getting close to the solution, that confuses things.”

  “Sometimes confusion can be quite useful.”

  And Kat grinned. “If you say so, Harry. It does give us a good reason to have another chat with Palmer.”

  “Indeed.”

  Kat looked away, thinking, there still has to be more going on here that we don’t know.

  “I’ll row us back.”

  “Nope. My turn,” Kat said.

  “Absolutely.”

  And then they both stood up in the small boat, which did a funny wobble, as they slid past each other.

  A sweet moment, Kat thought.

  Changing places, brushing by each other.

  She grabbed the oars, their ends smooth with the patina of years of people grabbing them tight.

  Harry’s eyes, catching full sunlight now, always piercing.

  Kat started rowing.

  “One more thing, Lady Mortimer.”

  Kat had found a good rhythm – the oars rising from the water, then cutting into the lake again – the boat moving steadily back to the shore, and Lavinia’s small boathouse.

  “Yes?”

  “This whole thing – dangerous for Forsyth. And maybe dangerous for anyone trying to get to the bottom of things.”

  “Yes. Best we take care. We want to solve this mystery, not become part of it.”

  And Harry, bright sun on his face, nodded seriously as he lay back against the bow and Kat rowed them back.

  14. A Trip to the Sea

  Harry – this is absolutely beautiful.”

  Kat watched as Harry navigated the winding road, much too narrow in her opinion for vehicles moving in both directions. But her husband – behind the wheel of their Alvis – seemed unfazed.

  Even when they had to pass a farmer’s truck that seemed to be barrelling right at them.

  “This – ah yes – the Sussex Downs. The rolling hills, the perfect stands of trees, as if someone arranged it all.”

  “Haven’t seen anything like it, especially now, sun setting.”

  Harry turned to her.

  Something she wished he wouldn’t do while driving. Despite her own comfort behind the wheel almost anywhere, here she’d much prefer his eyes straight ahead.

  “Whenever I used to think of home, fond thoughts from abroad and all that, I’d think of just this place. To me, well… it was England.”

  Kat turned from Harry to look ahead as they entered a tunnel made by over-arching trees, encircling the road and the car.

  Making it nearly as dark as night.

  Harry flipped the lights on.

  “These trees. They just grow this way?”

  “Good question. One for Grayer? Always assumed they did. Does make it rather dark though, even in daytime!”

  They emerged at the other end of the tree tunnel, to a small rise, and then…

  “The sea, Harry!”

  “Knew we were heading in the right direction.”

  Again, he turned to her. “Ready for a visit to the exciting fishing port of Littlehampton?”

  *

  Harry had parked the car in a space right near the beach. With the sun low in the west, the sand and shingle beach looked inviting, and some people, shoes off, were walking near the edge.

  But Kat noticed – no one swimming.

  “You know, Harry, when I was a kid my dad would take me to a beach called Riis Park. We’d stay till just about dusk. Swimming at that time… somehow the water felt… silky, magical in the orange light.”

  “Well, the only thing magical about the water here is that it’s bloody cold. Not the Med, you know?”

  But then she saw him looking out to sea and sensed a change in his mood.

  “My parents would bring me here as a boy. When I was little, on the sand, I once tried to dig my way to China.” He laughed. “So they said.”

  Kat laughed as well – but she still sensed something serious to come.

  “One time though, they brought me to see the fishing boats, buy some fresh fish, right off the boat. My father could be like that. I was eleven I imagine… twelve.”

  Still Harry hadn’t turned his eyes away from the sea.

  “And he put a hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Harry my boy, I think you’re old enough for a big trip to see the Wonder City’.”

  “Wonder City?”

  “Why, your very own New York, Kat. And shortly after that, he made plans, booked us on a transatlantic crossing.”

  He stopped.

  And Kat remained silent because moments like this were important, fragile.

  She knew that that trip
was the last time he’d ever seen his parents.

  Kat listened. Harry was not the crying type. He had some inner core that was too tough for that.

  Outside of a deep breath – she could hear nothing.

  Then he turned to her, took her hand.

  “Shall we head over to the quay? Boats probably all back by now. Find our Charlie Todd?”

  “Yes. Let’s.”

  And as they walked together away from the beach, she noted that he had his confident smile back in place.

  But in his blue eyes? A different story.

  *

  “This stretch, where the river comes down, always been here, but it’s been made wider, more boats.”

  As they walked, Harry saw the fishing trawlers on both sides of the narrow harbour made by the river. Decks being washed down, the catch being dragged up from below decks. Soon trucks would show up, loaded with great blocks of ice.

  But also, locals wandered by, eager to see what, for a bargain price, could be purchased fresh, and wrapped tight in newspaper – which did little to absorb the smell and slipperiness.

  “Todd’s boat, the one we’re looking for… The Marie-Belle? Think that’s probably it over there,” he said pointing.

  Kat nodded. In minutes they’d be beside the boat. But, as they walked, he felt her touch his arm.

  “Harry. This man Todd. He had a knife. Remember?”

  “Think he might turn nasty? In which case, we’d better stay out of reach of that first lunge, eh?”

  Harry turned to her.

  “I’ll rely on your instincts here, Kat. Think you sense danger a lot quicker than I do.”

  She laughed. “And I think you may be better dealing with the after-effects once it rears its nasty head.”

  “Not so sure about that. Okay. Here we are. And there’s Todd, if I’m not mistaken.”

  He gestured to where a young man in dark-green rubber fishing overalls stood on one of the decks, stacking crates.

  The same young lad he’d seen the previous night in the kitchen at Mydworth Manor.

  “You think he’ll talk?” said Harry.

  “Don’t think he’s got much choice. We can paint a pretty dark picture of what he was up to last night. Put him at the heart of it.”

  “Leverage?”

  “Persuasion,” said Kat as they reached the Marie-Belle. “Shall we?”

  *

  Kat saw Harry wait until Todd and his fellow workers put down their crates of fish. Other crewmen were already scrubbing the deck, something Kat guessed had to be done daily with so many fish being pulled aboard in big nets.

  “I say, Todd. What was running today?”

  At that, Charlie Todd looked up. His eyes instantly narrowed. A man with a pipe and lopsided cap, the image of a trawler captain, came over.

  “Good run of cod, sir. Some nice Dover sole as well.” The captain shot Todd a look as if curious how these two well-heeled people on the pier knew him. “Like some?”

  Kat saw Harry scratch his head. Todd stood stock-still.

  “Would indeed. Good size crate of both. Maybe have them loaded into the back of my car? The Alvis, down the quay there. But I wonder if we might have a quick word with your crewman here.”

  “Todd? The man still has a lot of work to do… just to go off, talking and all. Missed a whole day already and—”

  Kat saw Harry pull out his wallet.

  “Oh, I completely understand. Take this for the fish. And maybe a little extra, hmm?”

  Todd had turned to the captain. Kat thought he had the look of someone who could – any minute – bolt. But right now, the choice was either jumping into the water, or trying to barrel past them.

  “Don’t mind. I’ll talk to them,” he said quietly.

  Surprising, thought Kat.

  And she waited with Harry as Todd peeled off his rubber overalls, stained with fish guts, and clambered out of the old trawler.

  “Just a few minutes, you hear,” the captain barked.

  Kat was not at all sure that was how long it would be.

  There were so many questions.

  *

  Harry watched as the fisherman, fists actually clenched, stood on the pier, looking from him, then to Kat, as if ready to “pop”.

  He saw Kat take a breath.

  Such things didn’t intimidate her.

  “Charlie, why don’t we take a little walk, down towards the beach? Away from the boats.”

  While that didn’t seem to make the young fisherman relax, he did nod. And then the three of them began to walk away.

  Harry looked over his shoulder, the grizzled old captain watching them, definitely wondering what the hell was going on.

  “I imagine you want know the reason we’re here?”

  Charlie nodded again, “Bloody well do. Got my work to do, and you two? From your big house, coming here? Why?”

  “Oh, the manor house – that’s my aunt’s. Our own place is not that big, not that big at all.”

  The attempt at humour did little to dissipate the tension.

  “You see, Charlie,” Kat began, her voice low, soothing.

  Harry could well imagine that if he had a dark secret, such careful probing might get him to open up. Part of that was just who Kat was. But he knew she’d also picked up a few tricks during her time working with a law firm back in Manhattan. Not all of them pleasant.

  “We know why you went to Mydworth Manor, and got that job in the kitchen.”

  Charlie turned like he was about to snarl at Kat.

  “What you talking about? Just a spot of extra cash, is all it was. They needed—”

  Kat looked away from him; no more was needed to cut off the false explanation.

  “Right,” said Kat, “guess most people might believe that story. If they didn’t know the true one.”

  All the time, Harry had his eyes locked on the man.

  A fisherman could be damned quick with a knife. And despite the fact they’d reached the far end of the harbour, Charlie Todd could still be feeling trapped and desperate.

  “True story?” he said, spitting out the words. “What’s that then?”

  Another big breath from Kat, her timing – Harry thought – impeccable.

  “That you went to the house because Cyril Palmer would be there. You went there because that man is your father, and he is responsible for your mother’s death. Now isn’t that right?”

  At this, though they kept walking in unison, Harry felt an immediate grimness – despite the blue-sky day turning a wondrous purple, sun just going down, clouds picking up splotches of flaming red and orange.

  A beautiful scene if they weren’t discussing murder.

  But Todd said nothing.

  And Kat continued.

  “You went there because you had decided to kill him.”

  And, at that, finally Charlie Todd stopped.

  *

  “How the hell d’you know anything like that? You two don’t know me, don’t know—”

  Kat took a step closer to the man and – if anything – she made her voice lower.

  Crucial moment here, she thought, if she wasn’t to simply set the young man off.

  “We know, Charlie. The reporter at the party? He knew all about your story, your plans, how you’d threatened Palmer. How Palmer ignored you. So – is that why you were at the house, Charlie? To murder him? ’Cept, you killed the wrong man?”

  Charlie shook his head. “No. That’s not what happened.”

  Harry cleared his throat.

  Kat loved the way he sensed when it was time for him to enter the fray.

  Because this definitely had the makings of a “fray”.

  “See now, Charlie, we have other evidence,” he said. “We even have the note you sent. And yet somehow it ended up that poor Carmody was the one down by the grotto – the one you killed. By mistake, of course. But to a judge, murder is murder.”

  Charlie could not be shaking his head more violently.
<
br />   Kat saw Harry turn, look around, as if giving Todd time to think.

  To fabricate a more intricate lie perhaps? Or maybe tell the truth.

  And what Harry then said – considering this little fishing port, and what they had been talking about before – made perfect sense.

  15. A Confession

  Kat watched as Harry pointed across the mouth of the river here, the water so flat, calm, the churn of the big boats gone, as if the sea itself here was ready for night, ready to rest.

  “See over there, Charlie? Littlehampton Yacht Club. And see that 30-footer, up at the back? Up on the hard?”

  Whatever is Harry doing? she wondered.

  “That – is my boat.”

  Really? thought Kat. My husband has a big sailboat in a yacht club, and I learn of it now?

  Or is this some kind of clever trick?

  “Actually,” Harry said, then paused. His face again, showing… something.

  “She’s my father’s boat, but I helped build her. He was good that way. Great sailor, too. Took my mother and me out all the time. Right out there, where you were probably fishing. Day like this, well, is there anything better?”

  “Yacht club,” Charlie said dismissively. “Place for toffs.”

  “Oh, you’re right, I’m sure. But still, you – doing what you do – must love the sea, the way it changes, the way it never stops. But my sailing days with my father and my mother ended. Lost them both. I was just a boy, really. So, you see, Charlie—”

  Kat thinking: If this was a trick it was a dammed good one…

  “I know what it’s like to lose a mother, not to have parents. And if I knew what you know about whoever did it? Would I want to kill him?”

  Harry let the question hang there.

  Then: “Damn right I would.”

  And somehow, whether it was the fading light, night coming fast, the image of the boat, the way Harry could amazingly connect to this possibly murderous fisherman, Charlie Todd’s fists unclenched. He sniffed the air.

  Like something slowly breaking, a fortress of sand melting at that first gentle wave that finally reaches it.

  He looked at them both, and began.

  *

  “All right, I’ll tell yers everything. The truth. First, the hard stuff. So yeah, I did sign up to work in the kitchen for one reason. Palmer had ignored me. He didn’t care a damn what happened to my poor mother, what he did, her life destroyed. Not me either. Only one thing good enough for that man. Murder.”