Shadows of carcosa, p.1
A Stolen Shadow, page 1
A Stolen Shadow
A Chief Inspector Shadow Mystery
H L Marsay
A Stolen Shadow
Copyright© 2024 H L Marsay
EPUB Edition
The Tule Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
First Publication by Tule Publishing 2024
Cover design by Patrick Knowles
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
AI was not used to create any part of this book and no part of this book may be used for generative training.
ISBN: 978-1-961544-53-6
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Dedication
We lost our two beautiful dogs within three months of each other, between December 2022 and March 2023. This is the first book I have written without my ever-present companions sighing and snoring at my feet or loudly interrupting me whenever a squirrel trespassed into the garden.
I would like to dedicate A Stolen Shadow to all the other dogs out there who are keeping their authors company. You make the lonely business of writing much more fun.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Acknowledgements
A Stolen Shadow Crossword
The Chief Inspector Shadow series
More books by H L Marsay
About the Author
Author’s Note
A Stolen Shadow includes Shadow and Jimmy watching a performance of the pantomime Snow White. For any non-UK-based readers who are not familiar with pantomimes, I thought a brief explanation might be helpful.
Pantomimes are a form of family entertainment and are traditionally staged after Christmas. They are usually based around a fairy tale or folk story such as Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk or Robin Hood and feature familiar characters including a pantomime dame (a middle-aged man in drag) and a pantomime horse or cow (two actors in an animal costume). There are musical numbers, dancing, slapstick comedy, lots of jokes and double entendres.
Audience participation is a big part of pantomime. Sweets are often thrown from the stage, and those watching are encouraged to join in with singing, to boo and hiss whenever the villain appears and call out phrases like, “He’s behind you!” or whenever a character says “Oh yes it is,” the audience responds with “Oh no it isn’t.”
As readers of other books in this series can probably guess, Shadow is not a fan of the pantomime.
Chapter One
Across 5 (5 letters)
The foot had the middle stolen
Through the gloom, the towers of York Minster were slowly coming into view as the wipers swished rhythmically back and forth across the windscreen of the BMW travelling along the A64. From his position in the back seat, Chief Inspector John Shadow stared out of the window. He knew this sleety January rain well. It was the sort that would last all day, falling from leaden clouds that meant it would never get properly light. It wasn’t much of a welcome home.
His mood wasn’t improved by the fact that he seemed to have been picked up from Leeds Bradford Airport by the county’s most talkative taxi driver. In his experience, Yorkshire taxi drivers usually limited themselves to a brief comment about the weather then spent the rest of the journey in silence shaking their heads and tutting at the behaviour of other road users. However, the man behind the wheel this morning had so far informed him of his wife’s shortcomings when it came to making stuffing for Christmas dinner, the failings of the current Leeds United manager and the incompetence of York council’s transport policy. At least Shadow hadn’t been required to do more than issue the occasional nod and grunt of agreement. Until now.
“Were you in London long, mate?”
He hated being called mate.
“Only for the night.”
“I don’t blame you, mate. I wouldn’t go to London if you paid me.”
“I see.”
“No. The place is full of southerners.”
Shadow merely nodded again. He couldn’t fault the man’s logic, but he didn’t feel inclined to explain that he’d only spent the night in an airport hotel after arriving at Heathrow from Bari, via Milan. He had spent Christmas and New Year in southern Italy, where Luisa, the woman he had loved and lost almost thirty years ago, had grown up. Luca, Luisa’s brother, had invited Shadow to spend the festive period with him and his family. It felt a lot longer than twenty-four hours since he’d left the warmth of their hospitality and the Apulian sun behind.
The car and its talkative driver weaved through the city streets until they arrived on Skeldergate Bridge. There they pulled up by the steps that led down to the River Ouse. Shadow stepped out and looked across the dark expanse of water. He could see the outline of Florence, the narrow boat he had called home for nearly thirty years. However, inside right now and probably fast asleep were Jake and Missy. He’d left Florence in their care and didn’t have the heart to wake either of them up this early. Jake and Missy, his belligerent dog, normally lived on the streets, but Shadow had let them stay aboard his barge while he was in Italy. Reluctantly, he climbed back into the taxi.
“Take me up to the Guildhall instead, will you?” he asked.
His driver shrugged. “Whatever you say. You’re the one paying, mate.”
The ancient medieval Guildhall had played many roles over the centuries but was now home to the city’s police. Lugging his suitcase along, Shadow walked beneath the archway, across the stone-paved courtyard and through the doors into the reception. There was no sign of the desk sergeant, or anyone else. He trudged up the stairs to his office and flicked on the fluorescent light. He was relieved to see Jimmy Chang, his sergeant, had removed the artificial Christmas tree he’d insisted on putting up on Shadow’s desk. Predictably though, he’d done a less than adequate job of clearing up after himself. He swept some stray strands of tinsel and glitter from his chair, took off his damp wax jacket and sat down. Various reports and memos were stacked in a pile on his desk, but Shadow ignored them. Instead, he put his feet up on the sill of the window that overlooked the river and waited for the sun to rise.
“You’re back, Chief. Did you have a good time? I thought I saw a light on in here.”
Shadow woke up with a start to find his sergeant beaming at him, despite the large white foam collar around his neck.
“And your observational skills are as sharp as ever, Sergeant Chang. I suppose I should be grateful you’re only in a neck brace and not on crutches,” snapped back Shadow with a frown. He’d said all along that a honeymoon in the Alps was a bad idea.
“Oh, I didn’t do this skiing. I slipped on some black ice getting out of the taxi home. Sophie thinks I might have whiplash and told me I should wear this for a couple of weeks. Technically, Chief, it’s a cervical collar, not a neck brace.”
“Is that so? And what are we busy with this morning, assuming you are capable of working in a cervical collar?”
“Of course, Chief. It does make getting in and out of cars a bit awkward though.”
Shadow could well imagine. Jimmy’s tall angular frame struggled to be accommodated in some of the city’s low-ceilinged buildings and the smaller pool cars as it was. He stood up, stretched his shoulders and yawned.
“Then I suggest you walk to wherever you are next called out to.”
“It’ll be Tadcaster Road, Chief. A report of a stolen weapon has just come in,” replied Jimmy, consulting his ever-present electronic notebook.
“What sort of weapon?”
“A sabre. An antique sabre to be exact. Thought to date from 1854.”
“Who on earth had one of those?”
“The army, Chief.”
“Oh well, that makes sense, I suppose.”
“Can you give me five minutes? I need to find an umbrella. I’m not supposed to get my collar wet.”
Shadow reached for his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. “Take as long as you want. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had some breakfast. You know where to find me.”
Five minutes later, Shadow was wiping the raindrops from his face as he took a seat at his favourite table in the corner of Bettys Tearoom. He placed his order, unfolded the copy of the Yorkshire Post he’d picked up at the airport and hoped his fellow diners couldn’t hear his stomach growling in anticipation. There were many things he loved about Italy and the Italians, but they hadn’t really got the hang of breakfast. The small piece of almond cake and cap
As he swallowed the last mouthful of bacon and pushed his knife and fork together with a sigh of satisfaction, a massive multi-coloured umbrella appeared from the entrance to the Guildhall. Wearily he rose to his feet, paid the bill and stepped outside. He watched, bemused as Jimmy struggled to keep the umbrella steady as he skipped and dodged around puddles littering St Helen’s Square. No doubt he was attempting to protect his latest pair of expensive trainers.
“I don’t think much to your Gene Kelly impression,” he commented.
“What’s that, Chief?” his sergeant replied, looking confused.
“Never mind. Let’s go.”
The two of them set off, huddled together beneath the unwieldy umbrella. Shadow had to endure almost an hour of endless chatter from his sergeant, who was reporting every detail of his fortnight in the Alps as if it was a murder investigation. Shadow was only grateful he hadn’t made notes. The first week, he and Sophie, his new wife and one of the pathologists they worked with, had been alone, but during the second week, they were joined by a large group of friends. Shadow heard all about who was great at skiing: Sophie. Who was useless at snowboarding: Jimmy. And who had made fools of themselves after overindulging in the après-ski: Ben and Ollie, the two forensic scientists they also worked with.
“What about you, Chief?” asked Jimmy when he’d finally finished his report. “Did you have a good time in Italy?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You’ve got a suntan. It really suits you. I’ve never seen you with a tan before.”
“They aren’t as easy to acquire in North Yorkshire as they are in Southern Italy.”
“How was Luisa’s family?”
“Fine. How did Sophie take finding out the woman who married you was a killer?”
“Actually, she took it really well. She said she was just relieved we hadn’t had to rearrange the ceremony and that I should thank you for not arresting the dean until we’d left.”
Shadow smiled and shook his head. Jimmy and Sophie’s marriage had taken place at York Minster, and almost immediately afterwards, he’d had to arrest the dean on suspicion of murdering her husband’s lover.
“Your wife might be the most pragmatic woman I’ve ever met. You are a lucky man.”
“I am,” he agreed immediately. “And like I told Soph, I bet there is an ancient proverb from the Greeks or Egyptians or someone about ‘the worse the person that shall marry thee, the happier the marriage shall be.’ That kind of thing.”
“I hope for your sake you’re right,” murmured Shadow, although he wasn’t convinced any culture had ever considered being married by a murderer to be a fortuitous sign. However, when it came to misplaced optimism, nobody could compete with his sergeant.
By now, they had arrived outside an impressive detached Regency villa. The large rather ugly metal gates carried a sign that read “Regiment Headquarters Yorkshire Hussars” above a crest showing a white rose over two crossed swords. Jimmy pressed the button on the intercom, and a second later a loud voice barked at them out of the tinny-sounding speaker.
“Yes, who is it? Look into the camera. Show yourselves.”
Jimmy raised the umbrella, showering them both with raindrops. He and Shadow both squinted at the tiny camera.
“It’s the police, sir,” replied Jimmy. “Chief Inspector Shadow and Detective Sergeant Chang.” He began rummaging in his pocket, but before he could produce his warrant card, the voice shouted again.
“Yes, yes. Excellent. I’ll see you at the front door.”
A second later, the heavy metal gate slowly opened with a loud grating sound. The two detectives walked through and up the steps leading to the polished oak front door. Neither of them needed to ring the doorbell, as it was immediately opened by a tall, grey-haired man with a neatly trimmed moustache and dressed in army fatigues. His right arm shot out, and he grasped first Shadow’s hand and then Jimmy’s.
“Major Ian Armitage. Good of you to come, Chief Inspector, Sergeant,” he said while pumping each of their arms up and down vigorously. “Come in, come in.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Shadow, stepping inside while Jimmy followed, wincing slightly and rubbing his wrist. Major Armitage’s well-polished boots marched across the parquet flooring of the grand reception hall. The walls were covered in the regimental colours and huge portraits of men in dress uniform. Shadow assumed they were generals or the regiment’s past colonels-in-chief.
“As I told the chap I spoke to on the phone,” the major barked over his shoulder, “I’m sure it will turn up. I don’t want to waste your time, but it is an offensive weapon after all and rather valuable.”
“Quite right, sir,” replied Shadow, quickening his pace to keep up.
The major led them through double doors into the dining room, past the vast table that, after a quick tally, Shadow noted seated thirty, and pointed to the wall above the ornate fireplace. Screwed to the wall there were four brass brackets. Two were holding an antique rifle but the other two were empty.
“That’s where it should be.”
“Are you able to give us a description, sir?” asked Shadow.
Major Armitage frowned for a second. “Well, it’s a sabre, Chief Inspector. You know, a curved sword.” He held his hands out in front of him about three feet apart. “It’s about so long. Traditionally used by the cavalry. This particular one was used at the Charge of the Light Brigade.”
“What was that, Major?” asked Jimmy, who was busily noting down all the details.
Shadow groaned inwardly. His sergeant’s grasp of history was worse than his trainers’ grip on wet surfaces. However, the major seemed to think he’d only been misheard.
“I said, it was used at the Charge of the Light Brigade,” he bellowed. “Not the British army’s finest hour admittedly, and of course the Russians were making a nuisance of themselves again.” Shadow could see Jimmy open his mouth, so he quickly stepped in.
“When did you first become aware that the sabre was missing, sir?” he asked.
“Actually, it wasn’t me who noticed it, but Stanley Beresford. He was here yesterday afternoon and called me to ask if I knew where it was. I came and had a look for myself, then telephoned you chaps.”
“Stanley Beresford?” queried Jimmy.
“He’s a good man, Stan. Used to be one of our sergeant majors. Retired about three years ago when his wife became ill. Now he looks after the regiment’s regalia and keeps a check on our archives. He’ll be the one to ask about the valuation. It made sense he was the one to spot the sabre was missing. I can tell you that it was definitely here on Saturday evening though, Chief Inspector. We had a regimental dinner. A belated celebration to commemorate the birthday of John Manners, the Marquess of Granby, our first colonel-in-chief.”
“It was on view in quite a prominent position, and someone would need to stand on a stepladder to take it down. How do you think someone was able to remove it without anyone noticing, Major?” asked Shadow.
“Oh, it had already been removed from its usual position in anticipation of the dinner, Chief Inspector. Traditionally we use it to open the champagne.”
“Really? That sounds amazing,” said Jimmy, looking up from his notes.
“It is rather a fun party trick, Sergeant,” agreed the major with an almost childish grin. “It’s known as sabrage. Here let me show you.” He removed his phone from one of his trouser pockets, pressed a few buttons and turned the screen towards the two detectives. Shadow fumbled to put on his reading glasses as a video began playing of a rowdy dinner consisting exclusively of men wearing the red dress uniform of the regiment. The camera scanned along the diners, then focused on the major, who was standing at the head of the table with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a sabre in the other. “The Marquess of Granby,” he declared. Then with one swift motion he swung the sword down and sliced the top off the bottle. A small cloud of gas was released but barely a drop of champagne was lost. This was met by much cheering and clapping from his audience. Jimmy joined in with the applause.
