Lord James Harrington and the Autumn Mystery

by Lynn Florkiewicz

  ‘Sounds exotic,’ replied George. ‘He’s an insightful chap, isn’t he? I got to know him quite well over the last couple of days and he certainly knows how to speak to people, no matter where they’re from or what they do.’

  James sipped the froth off the top of his bitter and agreed, commenting on what an asset he must have been during the war. He placed his glass on the table.

  ‘So, how is the finest of the force this evening?’

  George struggled to retrieve the contents of his inside jacket pocket. They waited patiently until he finally brought out an envelope.

  ‘Hah, here we are. A few people took some photographs at the festival and we had all the films developed.’ He slid them across the table. ‘Do either of you see anything untoward or someone you don’t recognise?’

  James shared the prints with Beth and discussed the images. Most were taken along the route as the scarecrows were making their way toward the village green. They shared a laugh at the costumes and the expressions of the residents. Beth picked out one photograph.

  ‘Oh, this is a lovely one of Charlie’s children. Are these his photographs?’

  ‘His and Graham Porter’s. We had others, but they were just family photos – no crowd scenes.’

  ‘Ah ha,’ said James. ‘This, I believe, is young Boyd.’

  The black and white photographs showed the majority of scarecrow entrants dancing behind the band. At the side, a number of spectators were viewing the parade; including Boyd who had dressed in a moth-eaten jacket and a floppy hat and sported a lopsided moustache and sideburns.

  Beth narrowed her eyes. ‘How can you tell that’s him?’

  ‘His shoes. He was wearing them up at Cory House. I think they must be a favourite pair or something. He’d drawn pictures on the toes – you can just make them out.’

  Beth and George examined the photo as James continued leafing through the rest. ‘A-ha!’ He pulled out another print. ‘Here’s Jeannie Cameron. See her expression.’

  Beth peered in. ‘Goodness, she looks furtive.’

  ‘And this is before she reached the marquee. This is still in the high street.’ James flicked through some more images and snatched one out. ‘Here. This is the man I saw. Jeannie gaped at him as if she’d seen a ghost.’

  ‘Sweetie, she must have arranged to meet him. Why else would she be there?’

  George took the image from him and squinted. ‘Not very clear, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not and it’s not face on, either. But you can see a bushy beard and he’s pretty bulky. Do you think he’s Locksmith Joe?’

  His friend shrugged. ‘Got the right build.’

  James tidied the photos together and handed them back. ‘Not a great deal of help then. Sorry, old chap. You were rather pinning your hopes on those.’

  ‘George,’ said Beth, ‘have you spoken to the local paper? They took some photographs.’

  George tapped his nose with his index finger, opened the folder and brought out several wide-angled shots of the festival parade as it arrived on the green. James took them and he and Beth examined the prints. One, in particular, caught his eye.

  ‘Here he is again, I think. He’s coming in from the opposite end to the parade. It’s not terribly clear.’

  ‘The road leading past this place,’ observed George. ‘You haven’t got him stashed away here, have you?’ he said with a glint in his eye.

  James grinned and continued checking the photograph. He couldn’t help but feel frustrated. ‘He’s certainly camera shy. If he approached the village from this direction, he’s either holed up near Charnley or camping in our woods.’

  George took the prints from him and replaced them in the folder. ‘D’you mind if I send a few officers over tomorrow? Just to check? We’ll dress ’em up so they don’t look like coppers.’

  James spread his hands to indicate his permission.

  ‘You said that this Locksmith Joe chap killed Gwen Cameron in a robbery gone wrong. Why on earth would he want the rest of the Camerons killed?’

  ‘Yes, I’m struggling with that one. Perhaps this is some sort of revenge thing. I had a chat with one of the prison officers today who said Joe always claimed it wasn’t him; that he was serving time for something he didn’t do. And he was a model prisoner, never any trouble.’

  ‘But surely,’ Beth put in, ‘he’d be best putting his efforts toward clearing his name?’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I’ve spoken to the prison officials and there doesn’t seem to be anything deranged about the man. But, you never know what people are thinking. Until we find him, we’re keeping a police presence at Cory House.’ He inclined his head. ‘Which brings us nicely to your visit there today.’

  Adam arrived with three plates of steak and kidney pudding, mashed potatoes with a medley of wild mushrooms and runner beans from the Harrington estate. The enticing smell of beef juices and gravy prompted them to delay their discussion. James’ fork halved the feather-light suet and the kidneys were as soft as sponge. The steak fell apart and the gravy, mixed with onions, was thick and beefy.

  In the corner of the room, the pianist played a soothing nocturne by Chopin.

  Near the end of his meal, James put his cutlery down and dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. He picked up his beer and took a short sip to clear the palate.

  ‘Calvin Cameron is an extremely likeable young man. Not knowing him before puts me at a disadvantage, of course. Although he didn’t elaborate, he hinted at having been a rebellious child; certainly a rebellious teenager.’

  Beth asked, ‘Do you think his behaviour involved girls?’

  ‘I’m almost certain of it, yes. But how to find out if anything untoward happened? I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘Untoward, for Christie Cameron, could mean seeing Calvin simply looking at a girl.’

  George marshalled suet and kidney onto his fork. ‘I’ll see what I can dig up. If he got a girl in the family way, there must be a record of it somewhere.’

  ‘Not necessarily, old chap. If the respective families wanted to cover the whole thing up, I’m sure they could. If there was a child, he or she could be living abroad.’

  His friend grunted. He swallowed the last of his dinner and pushed his plate back a couple of inches. ‘Right, James, let’s take it from the beginning.’ He picked up the pepper pot. ‘Christie Cameron, cantankerous and overbearing, moves from Otley to Cavendish, where he knows no one. Why?’

  ‘Calvin suggested that he might have upset someone in Yorkshire.’

  ‘Enough to move so far south?’

  Beth slid her own plate away. ‘A coward’s way out?’

  George placed the pepper pot down. ‘Did Calvin have any other thoughts?’

  ‘Not really. He seemed pretty stumped about the whole thing himself.’ James felt for his cigarettes. ‘Have you found out much about Christie your end?’

  George let them know that Christie Cameron didn’t have a criminal record of any kind. The only information the police had, emerged at the time of the murder of his wife: he had come across as being moody and stubborn, as well as somewhat derogatory about his wife.

  Beth tut-tutted. ‘That’s dreadful. The man didn’t seem to have a caring bone in his body. It makes you wonder how he managed to have children.’

  James turned, surprised at her forthright observation, but highlighted something that Calvin had said. ‘An off-the-cuff remark really, but suggesting that Christie married to ensure he had an heir.’ He turned to George. ‘Sounds rather harsh, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Especially as he turned against those heirs. Did Calvin go into much there?’

  Adam approached and asked permission to clear the table. When he had done so, he left the dessert menus with Beth. James picked up the salt pot.

  ‘Christie blamed Mrs Cameron for bringing a child into the world that was not perfect.’ He heard Beth catch her breath. ‘And Calvin appears to have gone off the rails. If this
isn’t Locksmith Joe and you’re considering the family as suspects, anger could be a motive. Calvin was angry at his father for the way he treated them. Lucy and Suzie are both angry over the treatment of Boyd.’

  ‘You think they’re all in it together?’

  James shrugged. ‘But who had access to Christie’s room? Jeannie Cameron, certainly. I’m not sure that Boyd had. Christie didn’t seem to want the boy near him. I even resorted to hunting for a secret passage today.’

  George and Beth stared. He shrugged. ‘I found nothing. Calvin came up with me. We knocked on walls, tried to turn taps and doorknobs to find secret handles, but all to no avail.’

  Beth sat forward and linked her fingers together. ‘Jeannie blamed Boyd for killing Christie, but do you think she meant as a process over the years? It seems that, after Gwen Cameron died, Christie became bitter, stricter in his beliefs. Without Gwen, who Suzie suggested was a loving mother, something ate into Christie.’

  George nodded slowly. ‘That’s a good point.’

  ‘Jeannie Cameron,’ said James, ‘appeared to be more of a housekeeper than a sister. Do you think there was some resentment there? Could they have moved to Cavendish and she was thinking it was a new start? Yet there she was, back to being his skivvy. Perhaps that took her over the edge and she drugged and smothered him.’ He picked up the dessert menu. ‘After all, she did seem a little potty herself.’

  Beth peeked over his shoulder at the menu. ‘But then, who killed her?’

  ‘The pair of you are forgetting something,’ said George. ‘Locksmith Joe. He picks locks. He’s connected to that family.’

  James groaned. ‘But why kill Jeannie Cameron? I mean, was she definitely in the house when Gwen Cameron was killed?’

  George gave a despondent shrug. ‘Yes, she was, but she didn’t see anything. It makes no sense. I want to believe this convict is guilty. I don’t like the coincidence that he escapes just as the Camerons move down here. That’s too convenient. And, like you say, Beth, if he wants to clear his name, what’s he doing going around killing people?’

  Adam approached and took their dessert order: three pear tarts with chocolate sauce. James leant back.

  ‘Then, of course, we have the inheritance. Both Calvin and Boyd – and the two cousins – come off rather nicely from these deaths.’ He sat up. ‘I say, you don’t think they know Locksmith Joe, do you?’

  George looked quizzical. James held his hands up in surrender. ‘Yes, perhaps that’s a little far-fetched.’

  ‘I’m sure Locksmith Joe’s still in the area,’ said George. ‘We had a few sightings a couple of days ago, but he’s doing a good job of hiding.’

  James reached across and nudged Beth, bringing her out of her daydream. ‘What are you thinking, darling?’

  ‘Just trying to make sense of it all.’

  George stretched back. ‘It’s difficult, isn’t it? If Christie Cameron was so against his wife and seemingly abhorred his children, why did he leave them such a huge inheritance?’ He massaged the back of his neck. ‘Something must have happened, because the will was changed earlier in the year. Before, he’d not included Calvin in the will and had set Boyd up to go into an institution. It was changed so that everything went to the boys and the nieces.’

  James reminded them that, going by his letters, Calvin’s marriage would have built bridges with his father. ‘It sounds as if this coincided with Calvin’s wedding.’

  George dragged his chair closer with an expression of exasperation. ‘What letters?’

  James groaned. He’d forgotten that George didn’t know. He hesitatingly described the package that had arrived and the letters contained therein.

  George gritted his teeth. ‘And when did you intend to tell me about these?’

  The relationship between them was a good one but, every now and again, James felt like the pupil to George’s headmaster. This was one of those occasions.

  ‘Someone sent them to me and asked me to keep them safe. We’ve read them through, only briefly, haven’t we, darling?’ Beth agreed. ‘They appear to be updates from one brother to another, that’s all.’

  ‘Could I possibly be the judge of that?’ said George. ‘That could be vital evidence.’

  Adam delivered the tarts and Beth scooped up her spoon and fork. ‘Oh George, stop being a fuddy-duddy. Don’t you think we would have shown you if there was something incriminating?’

  ‘It’s evidence,’ insisted George. ‘And who are you two to decide what’s relevant and what isn’t?’

  ‘He’s got a point, darling,’ said James. ‘George, why don’t I pack them all up tomorrow and bring them over?’

  ‘Why were they sent to you in the first place?’

  James rotated his plate. ‘I’ve no idea. I’m not even sure that I was supposed to read them, but my sleuthing head got the better of me. I skimmed through most of them because they seemed to be just news from India.’ He scooped a small piece of tart and chocolate cream onto his spoon. ‘There were a couple of things that struck me as odd this afternoon.’

  He was aware that all eyes were upon him as he brought his spoon up.

  ‘Boyd appeared vulnerable,’ he continued. ‘It’s as if he felt there was something odd going on. I mean, he’s a timid boy at the best of times, but I sensed an underlying fear or anxiety of some sort.’

  George grimaced. ‘Christ, James, you’ll cost me my job. I’ll let you have those letters for one more day. See what you can glean from them. Then you hand them over.’

  James made a mental note of the days. ‘That takes us to Sunday. It’s Harvest Festival – are you attending Stephen’s service? I believe he’s also conducting a small remembrance for the Camerons, so it may be worth your while.’

  ‘Yeah, he told me. I’ll pop in and see if I can observe anything suspicious. Not that I’ve ever seen anyone suspicious at funerals and services. I think that just happens in the films.’

  In ten minutes, they’d polished off the pear tarts and had moved on to a small glass of port each to complete the meal. George prepared his pipe.

  ‘You said there were a couple of things that struck you as odd this afternoon. You only gave me one.’

  James waved his cigarette smoke away from the table. ‘Yes, the other thing was when Lucy arrived. I told her that Calvin was here and she had a certain demeanour about her.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ asked Beth.

  ‘Something in her behaviour. It was as if she wasn’t expecting him just yet. She seemed a little flustered and started teasing her hair as if she were...’

  Beth’s eyes gleamed. ‘As if she were preparing to flirt with him.’

  He snapped his fingers. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what it was like.’

  ‘Goodness, do you think she has designs on him?’

  ‘Well, if she has, she needs to remind herself that he’s married. I say, do you have anything on the girls, George?’

  His friend made a face to indicate he had nothing. ‘Seem pretty normal. We made a few enquiries at their workplaces and they knuckle down, work hard, don’t have any troubles. The girls said they struggled with rent and bills and they pay them at the last minute. Not frivolous with money. No criminal records. Lived in Shoreham until their parents died and now live in a flat in Hove. Pokey accommodation, but it’s all they can afford.’

  James suggested that a windfall wouldn’t go amiss where the girls were concerned. Adam approached and presented the bill on a silver salver. James pulled out his wallet and paid, asking for compliments to go to Didier. He was aware of George’s bemused expression. His friend had commented after a previous engagement that he couldn’t believe James was paying for a meal in his own hotel. But he’d made a point of doing that since Harrington’s opened. Taking free meals and drinks simply went against the grain.

  Ten minutes later, they said goodbye to George and watched his car disappear down the drive. James opened the passenger door of the Austin Healey for Beth. A movement in the
shadows caught his eye. He stopped and stared at a clump of trees across the grass. Someone was beckoning him over. He frowned. Beth wound the window down.

  ‘What’s up, sweetie?’

  ‘Stay here. I’ll be two minutes.’

  It was a clear night and the chill of autumn struck him as he approached the trees. He wrapped his suit jacket around him. He hadn’t anticipated walking across a field and wished he’d put an overcoat on. He scanned the area.

  ‘Psst.’

  James turned and closed his eyes in relief.

  ‘Bert, what the hell are you doing here?’

  Bert crept out from the darkness and sheepishly slid his cap off. He screwed it up in his hands.

  James clapped his hands together. ‘Right, what’s all the cloak and dagger stuff about?’

  His friend fidgeted and struggled to keep eye contact.

  ‘I say, Bert, whatever is it? You know you can tell me.’

  Bert shifted his attention skyward, then met James’ gaze and blurted out. ‘I’m looking after Locksmith Joe. He’s in the woods on your estate.’

  ‘What?’ James didn’t know whether to punch him or lecture him. ‘Why here? Why on the estate? Good heavens, Bert, you’re harbouring a criminal.’

  ‘Hear me out. If you walk away once you’ve heard what I’ve gotta say, so be it. But, hear me out.’

  James let out a frustrated sigh. He and Bert had a long-standing friendship but the man infuriated him at times.

  ‘I never ’elped him escape,’ Bert said. ‘But I knew he was being sprung. His mum’s elderly, she lives the other side of Lewes. His family’s in Bognor. I’m the only bloke he knows around here, so I offered to shelter ’im.’

  ‘All this so he can see his mother?’

  ‘No, mate. Nothing to do with her, she just told me he was being sprung. He’s not a killer, Jimmy boy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Joe’s one of the nicest blokes you’ll ever meet. He’d rob you blind, yes, but he’d never hurt you.’

  ‘Bert, everyone is capable of killing. When Beth was taken last year, I would have killed to protect her.’