A branch snapped.
They turned.
Out of the gloom came a large, bulky man with a bushy beard and a floppy hat. James raised his eyes heavenward.
‘Locksmith Joe, I believe.’
James allowed himself a wry smile as the man bowed.
‘Guv’nor.’ He spoke in a similar Cockney accent to Bert but a little more deeply. ‘I’m sorry I’ve caused problems. I’ll move on tomorrow if you want me to. I followed Bert. I wanted to hear what you had to say.’
‘What I have to say, Joe, is that you should turn yourself in. You’re not doing yourself any favours.’
‘That ain’t gonna ’appen,’ said Bert. ‘Not until he’s done what ’e has to do.’
‘And what is that, Bert? What can he possibly do that will make this remotely easier for him?’ James moved forward to join his friend. ‘Do you have any idea of the position you’re putting me in?’
‘Hear us out, that’s all I’m asking.’
Locksmith Joe came closer. ‘I wanna clear my name, Lord Harrington.’
‘But you were seen killing Mrs Cam—’
‘No.’ Joe grabbed his arm. James flinched. The old boy backed off slightly. ‘I didn’t kill that Mrs Cameron, Lord Harrington. Christie Cameron killed his wife. I saw ’im do it. I was set up.’
James stared into the man’s pleading eyes. He didn’t know what to think; having an escaped prisoner suddenly turn up out of the blue had thrown him off track.
He turned in frustration to Bert. ‘I can’t do this now, Bert. Beth’s in the car, it’s late. I’ll borrow my gardener’s Land Rover and come to you tomorrow. Where’s he hiding out?’
‘Two fields back. In the clearing of the woods back there, about ’undred yards in.’
‘I’ll be there at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’
He watched as the pair of them disappeared into the trees and realised his heart was thumping nineteen to the dozen. He didn’t know whether to be livid with Bert or commend him for standing by a friend. He marched across the lawn toward his car. There was only one thing he was sure of. The mystery surrounding Christie and Jeannie Cameron had taken an unexpected turn and thrown up all sorts of new questions.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Land Rover bumped and swerved as James drove across the fields behind Harrington’s. It was not unusual for him to borrow the vehicle to make an inspection of the land and surrounding fences, so no one was surprised to see him take off in his tweed jacket and traditional flat cap. Beth had hugged him goodbye, promising to stay quiet until his return. Later that day, they would return Kushal to Richmond but, for this morning, the Indian was spending time with GJ to impart as much as information as possible to the young man about the mother he never knew.
The gold and red leaves of autumn blended with the pale blue cloudless sky. Rabbits scurried across the field to the side of him. Ahead was a small wood where, decades ago, the foresters lit their charcoal burners. He manoeuvred the Land Rover through the trees and parked as far into the wood as he could. He pulled a small rucksack from the passenger seat and checked his watch. It was ten o’clock precisely. He swung the rucksack over his shoulder and strode deeper into the forest toward the clearing. Two minutes later, he saw Bert waving. He acknowledged the wave and threaded his way through the undergrowth.
Joe had set up a small tent with a piece of green tarpaulin. James guessed the man had regular army training as it appeared well constructed and professionally camouflaged. It inclined slightly to allow for rainfall. The old man poured tea from a Thermos flask that James presumed Bert had supplied. His friend pointed to a tree stump where James sat down and tossed the rucksack to Joe. He opened it gingerly, then delved inside and brought out a tin-opener, a tiny calor gas stove, a small frying pan, some bacon and a tin of baked beans. A grateful smile spread across his face.
‘Blimey. Thanks, guv’nor.’
Bert’s astonishment was not lost on James. He shrugged. ‘He’s here now, so the least I can do is make sure he doesn’t starve to death.’ He accepted a bottle of lemonade from Bert and took a swig. ‘I hope what you’re going to tell me is good, otherwise I shan’t have any choice but to call George in.’
Joe’s ears pricked. ‘George? Who’s he?’
‘DCI Lane. His officers have been searching for you.’
Bert sat on the ground and leant back against a tree. ‘He’s an old friend, Joe. He won’t have any choice.’
Joe screwed the top back onto the flask. ‘Right, I’d best make a start then.’ He faced James. ‘I was in Yorkshire with two mates. First time I’d ever been there. They ’ad a job on, a bank job. They ’ad two drivers. One as a lookout, one as a getaway. One of the drivers had let ’em down, so they asked me to keep watch. That’s all I did. Parked up by the bank and kept a lookout. If I saw anything dodgy, I was to toot the horn three times and drive away. Anyways, they did the job, no problem.
‘I met up with ’em that night and there were some other people there. They starts talking about robberies they’d done and some of the big ’ouses in the area. Then they starts talking about that Cameron bloke. That he’s rolling in it.’ He took a slurp of tea. ‘So I finds out where this bloke lives. I figured that, if he’s rolling in it, I’d nick a couple o’ nice pieces that he wouldn’t miss.’
He sat upright.
‘I weren’t gonna pinch lots. Just a few things.’
James’ lips tightened. ‘If you’re trying to justify your living, you’re failing miserably.’
Joe shrugged. ‘One of the geezers involved in the bank robbery gave me a camera by way of a payment. He knew the way I operated for people, taking pictures and all. An Exakta it was, right good little camera. Told me to get in there and take some pictures of any antiques on show. If there were, they said they might get over there and do the place over ’emselves.’
‘You really have no qualms about any of this, do you?’
‘That night,’ continued Joe unabashed, ‘I got a bus to where he lived. Outside of Bradford it was, place called Otley ̶ easy to find. I had a torch with me and I waited until it was proper dark before I did anything. They had two young lads there; one was more a toddler and they were put to bed. I saw the lights go out in their rooms. I got in a bit closer and could see through the kitchen window. I ’ad the camera ready, but I had to wait for them to go upstairs before I could get in. The flash would ’ave given me away.’
He slurped more tea.
‘Well, I sat on the grass for ages and they starts ’aving an argument.’
‘The Camerons?’
‘Yeah. They were going at it like hammer and tongs. Right argy-bargy there was.’
‘Do you know what about?’
‘Not really. Got little snippets ’ere and there, but I couldn’t make no sense of it. Anyway, I got up and peered through the window. That Cameron bloke was pretty sturdy, quite muscular, but she was having none of his lip and slapped ’im round the face.’
He let out a silent phew.
‘When she did that, Cameron got up – stood tall over her, and put his ’ands around her throat. I couldn’t believe it. She started choking, spluttering, trying to claw him off, but he kept squeezing. Her eyes were bulging and she went red in the face. I don’t know what made me do it, but I got the camera and snapped a picture and then all ’ell broke loose.’
James sat forward.
‘He let ’er fall to the ground cos, by then, I’d busted through the door. I pushed Cameron to one side and went to pick ’is wife up. Take her away.’
‘She was still alive?’ asked James.
‘Oh yes,’ said Joe, a hint of anger behind the statement. ‘She was struggling to breathe but, yeah, she was alive.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then I got knocked out. Out cold I was. When I came to, I ’ad handcuffs on and ’is wife was dead. The police ’ad come out. Cameron said I’d broken in and demanded money and threatened to kill ’em.’ His voice was shak
y. ‘I wouldn’t ’ave done that. Cameron said he went to get money and, when he got back, he found his wife dead and that I then attacked him. He said he hit me with a saucepan in self-defence.’ A tear fell down his cheek. ‘I didn’t touch ’em, guv’nor. I did nothing wrong. I didn’t even nick anything.’
The silence that followed was a welcome one. Bert moved across to Joe and put an arm around him. Joe brushed away tears that kept falling.
James watched him. He hated to admit it, but his instinct was telling him to believe this man. Instinct invariably was correct. How many times had he gone to do one thing and allowed logic to take over, only to discover that his initial decision had been correct? He gazed at the canopy of autumn leaves above him and then at Joe.
‘I take it this camera never materialised?’
A shake of the head supported his statement. Joe sniffed and wiped the last of his tears away. ‘I’ve no chance now, have I? Now he’s dead.’
‘Did you see his sister, Jeannie Cameron, in the house?’
‘I didn’t see anyone else except the boys going to their room. If she was there, I never saw her.’
‘So this was your word against Christie Cameron?’
‘I didn’t stand a chance.’
James pondered the scenario. The word of a wealthy businessman against a known robber; it was clear why the verdict went as it did.
‘Was there any evidence against you?’
‘My pockets were stuffed with some notes. I didn’t put ’em there, though.’
Bert slapped Joe on the back and wandered across to James. ‘What d’you think?’
James stood up and brushed himself down. ‘His innocence depends on whether Christie kept that camera.’
‘That’s not likely, is it?’
‘I’m not so sure. There are killers who like the idea of a memento or a punishment.’
‘Punishment?’
‘Christie Cameron was a God-fearing man. The act of killing someone would have gone against everything he stood for. Placing blame on an innocent man, again, contradicts the essence of who he was. He may well have kept the camera to punish himself, torment himself about the ultimate sin. His own son commented on how strictly he followed his faith after his wife died.’
Bert took it all in slowly. ‘Sounds a bit like that farmer whose death you investigated last year.’ He pushed his cap back. ‘So, what now? He can’t give ’imself up. They’ll cart ’im back to Wandsworth and throw away the key.’
‘He’ll need to move from here. George is sending some officers to scour the woods later today. I don’t want to know where you take him. The less I know the better. But please, not on my land.’
His friend’s face lit up. ‘I knew you’d hear me out.’
‘We have to trust that he kept that camera,’ continued James. ‘Cory House is devoid of ornaments and nick-nacks. If he had it, it would be easy to find. My fear is that he discarded it when he left Yorkshire. A new start, so to speak.’
‘You’ll look, though.’
James said that, yes, he would. He poked Bert in the chest. ‘You, meanwhile, have been conspicuous by your absence. Even George was wondering where you were. I know you’re concerned about Joe, but you must act normally. Are you coming to the Harvest Festival tomorrow?’
‘I weren’t,’ replied Bert. ‘But, now you’ve said all that, I s’pose I’d better.’
‘Good chap.’ James checked his watch and wandered over to Joe. ‘Bert is shifting you somewhere else, Joe. I’ll be in touch via him.’
Joe offered him his hand. ‘Thanks, guv’nor.’
James went to go, but turned. ‘I say, were you at the scarecrow festival in the village?’
‘Yeah, I was. I remember bringing my nippers to see it years ago. I wanted to see it for old times’ sake. I watched the parade go by and came back ’ere. I didn’t go near the tent, though.’
‘You didn’t see anyone else dressed similarly to you?’
The convict’s quizzical stared answered his question.
Ten minutes later, James’ Land Rover emerged from the woods. Goodness, what on earth would George say if he knew? And where did this leave the investigation? He sent up a silent prayer as he pulled out onto the main road.
‘Please Lord, don’t let George find out that Bert’s shielding Locksmith Joe.’
On arriving home, he learnt that Kushal had already taken his leave. He watched Beth as she prepared tea.
‘He and GJ hit it off magnificently and the pair of them returned to Richmond. I think Kushal has some old photographs of Delphine Brooks-Hunter, so GJ offered to take him home. He also went to sit with Boyd and assure him that he can always contact him. They’ve established quite a bond. It’s a shame, you’ve just missed him.’
‘Yes, I’ll telephone him later to thank him for coming down. I’m pleased that he’s seeing Boyd again – the lad will get a lot of confidence from that.’
She poured boiling water into the teapot. ‘How was your inspection?’
‘The less you know, the better.’
‘I guess from that comment you are not reporting this to George.’
James put his arms around her waist. ‘Not yet. That probably doesn’t sit comfortably with you.’
‘Not really. Is he still on our land?’
‘Bert’s moving him on.’
She swivelled round to face him and poked him gently on the chest. ‘I’ll not mention it again unless you want to discuss it, but be careful. That man is a criminal, a killer.’
‘I’m not so sure he is, darling.’ He fondled her fingers. ‘Let me think on this for a while. I’ll go through it with you later.’
‘I’ll look forward to it. In the meantime, Stephen and Anne are on their way. Anne for a chat, but Stephen wants to discuss the Camerons’ remembrance service. I think he wants a bit of reassurance.’
James chuckled. ‘I would have agreed if he had to deliver it to Christie and Jeannie. I can’t imagine Boyd and Calvin getting upset about the content of his speech.’
The doorbell rang. Beth untied her apron and hung it on the back of the kitchen door. ‘That’ll be them. Would you mind taking that teapot through? Everything else is in the lounge.’
James gave her a mock salute and took the said teapot through, while Beth ushered Stephen and Anne in.
‘Ah, hello,’ said James in welcome. ‘I don’t seem to have seen you for a while. Did Luke and Mark enjoy the scarecrow festival?’
Anne described two very excited children who were so looking forward to it that they hadn’t been able to sleep. ‘And now we have the Harvest Festival, which I’ve been counting the days to. It’s such an uplifting celebration.’
They took their seats and Beth played mother while Anne distributed a selection of butterfly cakes.
‘M-Mr Patel gone?’ asked Stephen.
Beth repeated her explanation to the Merryweathers. Anne perched on the edge of the sofa.
‘And how’s the investigation going?’
‘Stuttering, I think is the word I would use,’ replied James. ‘Even George is having problems. But, that aside, I believe your reason for visiting is to run the remembrance ideas past me. Let’s resolve that before we move on to any other business.’
Anne sighed. ‘I’ve heard this too many times, Stephen. I don’t know why you’re worrying about it.’
Beth suggested that she and Anne go into the study. ‘Catherine dropped the patterns by for the bridesmaid dresses.’
‘Oh, that sounds much more enjoyable.’
They took a selection of cakes and grabbed their cups and saucers and, within a minute, were ensconced next door.
Stephen fidgeted and couldn’t seem to settle.
‘Stephen, I’m sure that whatever you’re going to say will be fine,’ said James. ‘Let’s put things into perspective. You’re not doing the funeral. Boyd and Calvin are not Christie Cameron. I’m not entirely sure they’re terribly religious. Suzie and Lucy don’t strike me as
the sort of people to take offence. It’s not as if either Christie or his sister was well-liked. And no one knew them in Cavendish. What exactly is it that frets you?’
‘I-I think it’s that I know what h-he was like. I feel that he’ll be listening to everything I s-say tomorrow.’
James laughed. ‘And strike you down if he disapproves? Really Stephen, I think you’re getting worked up over nothing. You’ve only to say a couple of lines. No one is expecting anything more. It’s Harvest Festival. That’s your main focus for tomorrow.’
Stephen brightened and placed his hands on his knees. ‘Y-you’re right. I-I had composed a long, drawn-out speech about the Camerons, but it would be inappropriate. A few lines. Yes. That’s all I n-need.’
James reached across to the shoebox of letters. ‘I say, you don’t fancy having a rummage through some of these, do you?’
He confided in Stephen that he’d been sent the letters and wondered if the reverend would see anything that he and Beth hadn’t.
‘W-why not? It’ll pass an hour while the wives are c-conspiring.’
James leafed through the envelopes. ‘I thought I’d concentrate on the last year to eighteen months. I feel sure something happened. Kushal suggested it when we read through them a couple of days ago. Everything was going well until Calvin appeared and he seems keen that Boyd join him in India straight away.’
‘And has Calvin i-indicated any urgency?’
James said he hadn’t and joined Stephen on the sofa. They read through several letters that simply offered snippets of information on Bombay, Calvin’s accommodation, the sights, the sounds and smells, the bars he frequented and the people he’d met. A number had photographs enclosed of elephants and exotic birds.
The letters went from handwritten to typewritten and expressed much the same message. Stephen went to hand the second typewritten letter back, but reread it. James waited patiently as his friend dragged a finger across the paper.
‘I-I think this is a telling phrase.’
‘What’s that?’
‘“I cannot live a lie. It’s s-surprising how powerful love is.”’
Lord James Harrington and the Autumn Mystery Page 14