Lavender paused for a moment to allow his words to sink in. ‘Take this vicious assault on William Sculthorpe, for example. Everyone in this community assumed the motive was greed: that Sculthorpe was attacked because the old gentleman was wealthy and kept a large stash of money in his home.’
‘But, Detective,’ Constable Sawyer interrupted, laughing. ‘The villains pulled up the floorboards of the bedroom and took Sculthorpe’s money! What else were we supposed to think?’ Some of the others laughed with him, nodded and said, ‘Aye.’
‘There’s a lot more to this crime than meets the eye,’ Lavender said. ‘What Constable Woods and I didn’t understand was the viciousness of this attack on the old man. Sculthorpe told the robbers where he hid his money – yet they still assaulted him. Doctor Wallace can verify this. They slammed Sculthorpe’s head back against the wall in the kitchen. He was beaten around the head too – by someone who appears to have been a left-handed man.’
‘Aye, Lavender is right,’ Doctor Wallace confirmed.
The room fell silent now. Lavender had their attention. ‘Why did they hurt him so badly when he had already given them what they wanted? We decided there was more to this attack than just greed and suspected that at least one of the attackers who entered Sculthorpe’s house was out for revenge.’
‘Revenge?’ Frank Bunning looked as though he regretted his exclamation immediately.
‘Yes, Mr Bunning. Revenge.’
‘But what harm had the old fellah ever done to anyone?’
‘William Sculthorpe was a blackmailer.’
‘A blackmailer!’ A murmur of shock and disgust rippled round the room. Some of those present were more surprised than others. Morgan Turnbull-Thatcher, the haberdasher, looked particularly uncomfortable and stared down at the floor. Caleb Liquorish turned grey and a muscle twitched below his left eye.
Lavender held up his hand for silence. ‘And in addition to this, William Sculthorpe was also a discredited and disgraced Catholic priest.’
The disgust in the room now turned to anger but no one was more vocal than Old Pete Jarman.
‘To think of the nights I sat here drinkin’ with the old goat,’ he shouted. ‘I never knew he were a Creepin’ Jesus! Never! Why I’d have spat in his bloody drink!’
Lavender held up his hand again. The grumbling subsided into silence.
‘When Constable Woods and I did a thorough search of Sculthorpe’s cottage we made several remarkable discoveries. The main one was Sculthorpe’s real secret hiding place, which contained amongst other things a large cache of money.’
Sawyer’s jaw dropped open. ‘How much?’
‘Over six hundred pounds in guineas.’
Someone whistled but it was Harry Goode’s turn to lead the vocal outrage this time. ‘Six hundred guineas?’ he yelled. ‘Six hundred guineas!’
‘Yes, Mr Goode,’ Lavender said. ‘A small fortune. It would have made a huge difference to a poor man like you, wouldn’t it?’
Isaac Bunning placed a restraining hand on Goode’s shoulder. The young cobbler looked pale compared to the vivid redness of Goode’s face. Goode scratched behind his huge jug ears and tried to shrug off his outburst. ‘Most of us could do with a bit extra,’ he said.
‘But you need more than just a bit extra, don’t you?’ Lavender’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You see, Goode, I happen to know that you’re up to your eyeballs in debt with every trader and shopkeeper in the area. You owe a lot of money and this gives you a strong motive to rob and kill William Sculthorpe.’
‘Well, I didn’t kill him,’ the labourer muttered. ‘I were in here when those bastards did for Sculthorpe and his son.’
‘Yes, he was.’ Isaac Bunning nodded his head vigorously. ‘I were with him.’ The young man had a high-pitched, almost squeaky voice.
‘I thought you said the motive for this attack wasn’t just greed?’ Doctor Wallace interrupted.
Lavender nodded. ‘That is right. Apart from the money, we also uncovered a ledger containing the initials of those from whom Sculthorpe was extorting money.’
‘The evil old bastard!’ Another murmur of anger and disgust swept round the room and Lavender faced a barrage of questions. He held up his hand again and waited for silence to fall.
‘This, gentlemen, was one of the reasons I wanted this gathering, so I only had to explain this once. William Sculthorpe was blackmailing five people: four men and a woman.’
‘A woman?’
Lavender nodded again. ‘Some of his male victims are in this room now.’
There were gasps of surprise and a few short laughs followed by an uneasy silence as the men of Middleton looked with fresh interest at their neighbours. Absolute silence now fell on those gathered, broken only by the sonorous ticking of the old, glassless clock in the corner.
‘It’s not my intention to embarrass anyone,’ Lavender said. ‘I do not intend to publicly name Sculthorpe’s victims – and victims they were. Blackmail is a crime.’ Someone sighed with relief but Lavender couldn’t identify who. ‘But obviously these people became of great interest to Constable Woods and myself. Nobody hands over their money to a blackmailer happily. Many of Sculthorpe’s victims would have been bitterly angry and resentful, maybe even angry enough to want to silence the old man forever.’
‘Ah, I see where you’re going with this now, Lavender,’ said the schoolmaster, Howard.
‘It even crossed my mind that several of Sculthorpe’s victims might have colluded to exact punishment on the old man.’
‘A conspiracy, eh?’ Howard asked.
‘Yes, and I think this is exactly what happened. Some of Sculthorpe’s victims – let’s call them “the murderers” from now on, because that is what they are, murderers. The murderers decided to go in the dead of night to deal with the old man. Whether they intended to kill him or simply frighten him at that point, I don’t know. But they did kill him in the end so their initial intentions are irrelevant. They robbed the house to throw the constables off the scent of their true motives and make it look like the work of the Panther Gang.’
‘Well, they had me fooled, for sure!’ Constable Sawyer said, laughing.
‘Hold on a minute, Detective,’ interrupted Mr Howard. ‘You said some of Sculthorpe’s blackmail victims are in this room now. Does that mean that his murderers are here also?’
Lavender paused for a moment. ‘Yes, they are.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
In the uproar that followed, the militia had to set forward and bar the door. Several people including Caleb Liquorish, Frank Bunning and Harry Goode tried to leave the room.
‘Who are these bastards?’ Old Pete stood up and glared at his neighbours.
Captain Rushperry rose to his feet and raised his voice above the furore. ‘Sit down, everyone, now! Sit down, I said! Put us out of our misery, Lavender,’ he added when order was eventually restored to the room.
‘I wasn’t sure who all Sculthorpe’s blackmail victims were at first,’ Lavender confessed. ‘In his ledger, he only used initials, and it has taken us some time to identify everyone. For example, one of the villains was known by the initials J.W.’ Lavender fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out the tatty old bag and the crumpled note Rushperry had given to him on the first night in Market Harborough.
‘I recognise that bag,’ Constable Clancy said.
‘Yes, the sharp-eyed Constable Clancy found this in Middleton the night after the storm. It doesn’t belong to any of the shopkeepers in the village and we believe it’s the bag used by William Sculthorpe. Within it was a crumpled note. It reads: “This is the last payment you old bastard. Leave me alone. J.W.”’
‘It sounds like that J.W. was one of Sculthorpe’s victims,’ Mr Howard said.
Doctor Wallace laughed, coughed and looked amused. ‘Speakin’ as the only J.W. in the room, Detective, if you planned tae accuse me of the man’s murder, then you will be disappointed. I havna the energy to swat a fly these days
, niver mind tae kill a man.’
‘Yes,’ Lavender agreed. ‘But even sickly men can hire assassins – and so can their wives.’ Doctor Wallace stopped smiling.
‘However, you’ll be pleased to know,’ Lavender continued, ‘that I dismissed the notion that you were J.W. less than two hours after I first saw this note.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I knew you didn’t write it when I opened the coroner’s report from Sculthorpe’s inquest.’
‘Ah,’ said Doctor Wallace. ‘It’s mah handwritin’, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir, it is. May I congratulate you on owning the most awful handwriting I have ever had the misfortune to read? I followed the doctor’s report you penned with great difficulty and knew you didn’t write that note – despite sharing the initials J.W. with the author.’
Doctor Wallace smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘So imagine my surprise when – only a moment later – I turned to a witness statement in the coroner’s report and saw the same handwriting staring back up at me.’
In the shocked silence that followed, Lavender turned to the Middleton constable. Sawyer’s Adam’s apple jerked in his throat as he struggled to swallow. ‘May I congratulate you, Constable Sawyer, on the clarity and fine penmanship of your handwriting? You could teach Doctor Wallace a thing or two about the cursive style.’
‘You accusin’ me of writin’ that damned note?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is bloody daft,’ Sawyer snapped, scowling. ‘So I write similar, so what?’
‘Do you have the coroner’s report about your person?’ Captain Rushperry asked.
‘I do, sir.’ Lavender pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over to the magistrate.
‘And the note, if you please, Lavender.’
Sawyer slammed his tankard down on the table, rose to his feet and pointed an angry finger in Lavender’s direction. ‘He’s mistaken, sir,’ he said. ‘I didn’t write that note.’
‘I shall be the judge of that, Constable Sawyer,’ Rushperry said. He pulled Sawyer’s statement out of the coroner’s report and placed it on his table next to the crumpled scrap of paper Lavender had handed to him. ‘There is a similarity, Lavender, I agree. However, this would never be enough to convict a man.’
Sawyer’s lips curled into a snarl. ‘There, I told you so! You’re a bloody idiot, Lavender!’
‘Fortunately, gentlemen, there is more.’
‘There is?’
‘I was even more surprised when I realised Constable Sawyer had written this beautiful statement for the coroner with an injured right arm.’
‘Ah well, I’m caudge-pawed,’ Sawyer said. ‘I write with my left.’
‘Left-handed? Yes, I realised this the first time we met. Your right arm was bandaged but you still tossed money around, shifted furniture and grabbed the barmaid with ease.’
Sawyer laughed but there was no humour in his eyes. ‘Where does this get you, Detective? I may be left-handed and have pretty letters but there’s no crime in that. And I’m not J.W., am I? My name’s Sawyer, Jedediah Sawyer – and I’ve been the respected constable of this village for years!’
‘Aye.’ Several of the men in the room nodded. Constable Clancy looked pale and worried. His glance swung between Lavender and Sawyer as they exchanged comments.
Lavender walked closer to Sawyer and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Your name isn’t Sawyer. It’s Walton.’ Most of the room gasped. ‘You’re Jedediah Walton – an army deserter, which is why William Sculthorpe was blackmailing you.’
Sawyer leapt towards him. The table overturned between them. ‘That’s a lie! Damned calumny!’ He swung back his left arm to punch Lavender but Woods and one of the militia men grabbed him from behind. Sawyer swore and tried to shake them off but they forced the red-faced and protesting constable back down into his seat.
‘Easy, fellah,’ said Woods.
‘I already had my suspicions about you when we first met,’ Lavender said. ‘When you told us about your old regiment, the 33rd, and claimed you fought under Lord Cornwallis in the Americas, I decided to write to the 33rd for confirmation of your military service.’ He pulled out a letter from his coat pocket. ‘I received this reply earlier today from your regiment. The colonel replies that although they have never heard of a Jedediah Sawyer who answers to your description, they did have a Jedediah Walton who took part in the Siege of Charleston.’ He folded the letter, replaced it in his coat pocket and stared down at Sawyer. ‘Jedediah Walton deserted before the Battle of Yorktown. That’s you, isn’t it, Sawyer?’
‘These are lies, damned lies!’ Sawyer tried to stand up again but Woods and the soldier held him. Several others in the room were on their feet now, shouting – mostly they hurled abuse at Sawyer.
‘Quiet!’ Captain Rushperry was on his feet again but it took several minutes before the melee subsided.
‘According to the army records, Jedediah Walton was also a Catholic,’ Lavender continued. ‘What happened, Sawyer? Did you make your way back from the Americas to London, go to confession – only to find yourself in the clutches of a blackmailing priest called Father William Sculthorpe? Did you confess your desertion to him? Did he try to blackmail you? Was that when you fled north to Middleton to begin a new life with a new name?’
‘I’m sayin’ nothin’ more!’
‘You don’t have to,’ Lavender snapped. ‘There are still officers in the 33rd who will recognise you as the deserter. It will be a simple matter to have you identified as Jedediah Walton. And if you aren’t a murderer, then I will definitely have you for desertion.’
‘I’ve told you – you bumblin’, bloody saphead – I’m Constable Jed Sawyer . . .’
He got no further. Woods gave him a sharp cuff around the back of his head. ‘You’re no soddin’ constable,’ he said. ‘You’re a disgrace to the rank!’
‘Aye!’ yelled Constable Clancy. ‘He is!’
Sawyer swore and rubbed the back of his head.
‘But I don’t understand, Detective.’ Doctor Wallace’s voice rose above everyone’s and all heads turned in his direction. ‘How did Sawyer kill William Sculthorpe? He wasna there. The murderers attacked him when he left Sculthorpe’s cottage – I treated his injuries meself.’
Everyone turned towards Lavender. ‘Sawyer and his accomplices carried out the robbery and attacked William Sculthorpe. When they left his cottage, the other two men roughed up Sawyer to give him an alibi. Then he staggered in here, claimed he’d been attacked and raised the alarm. After all, who would suspect Middleton’s brave police constable of such a heinous crime? The man was a hero for attempting to stop the gang – not a murderer!’
‘Good God! Well, he fooled me.’ Doctor Wallace looked horrified.
‘Like I said, Doctor Wallace, murderers are often the people we least expect. And that wasn’t the only trick the gang played.’ Lavender strode over to the ancient longcase clock in the corner with its juddering, exposed hands on the glassless dial. ‘They intended to carry out the attack late at night when there was hardly anyone about – but they still wanted witnesses to back up their story about an attack on Jed Sawyer by five men.’ He reached out and flicked the minute hand of the clock back five minutes. The clock hesitated for a second, then continued with its sonorous ticking. ‘So slowly, bit by bit.’ He reached up to the minute hand and did it again. ‘Someone, here in The Woolpack, put this clock back by half an hour.’
‘That’s right!’ shouted Old Pete. ‘I told yer Bunnin’ opened up late.’
‘You did indeed,’ Lavender said. ‘And he closed up late as well. When he thought it was nearly ten, it was in fact nearly half past ten.’
‘I hope you don’t think I had anythin’ to do with this,’ snapped the landlord indignantly. Sweat gleamed across his bald pate. ‘I were here all night with my customers.’
‘Aye, that he was,’ said Old Pete.
‘No, Mr Bunning,’ Lavender said calmly. ‘It wasn
’t you – it was your nephew Isaac. He and Harry Goode were Sawyer’s accomplices.’
The taproom erupted again. Even Doctor Wallace rose to his feet shouting.
Harry Goode made another futile dash for the door – only to find his way barred by two soldiers. Isaac Bunning trembled when he rose to his feet. ‘This is ridiculous! I were in here all night – my uncle will testify. He’s my witness – I were here all night!’
‘No, you bloody weren’t!’ Old Pete Jarman waved his cane menacingly in the direction of the young man. ‘You came in late – with Harry Goode. You both arrived just before Sawyer fell through the door with a bloodied nose!’
Lavender pulled three arrest warrants out of his pocket and waved them in the air.
‘Jedediah Walton, known as Sawyer,’ he shouted above the noise, ‘Isaac Bunning and Harry Goode. By the power vested in me by his Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, in the name and on behalf of His Majesty King George III, I arrest you on suspicion of the murder of William Sculthorpe, the robbery at his property and the vicious assault on his son, also known as William Sculthorpe . . .’
It took a while to secure the prisoners. The three murderers were clapped in irons and led out onto the street to wait for the long march back to Market Harborough. All three protested their innocence loudly but their complaints fell on deaf ears. Frank Bunning continued to declare that Lavender must have made a mistake with regard to his nephew. It wasn’t until Woods took the landlord quietly aside and explained that Sculthorpe had been blackmailing Isaac – and why – that Bunning blanched and fell silent.
Lavender, Clancy and Woods searched the men’s homes for any further evidence pertaining to the case but found nothing.
‘The money they stole will have been spent by now,’ Woods said.
They returned to The Woolpack, where the prisoners, now subdued, stood shivering in the cold street.
‘Shall we get a drink of ale afore we leave?’ Woods asked. ‘I don’t know about you, Constable Clancy, but I find it thirsty work solvin’ these crimes.’
The Sculthorpe Murder Page 25