‘Again? I thought you had asked all your questions.’

  ‘Not here, somewhere quiet where there is no risk of us being overheard.’

  He saw alarm flicker across her face. ‘Why?’ she said. Her voice had dropped to a whisper too.

  ‘Let’s try the billiard room. I don’t suppose anyone will be there at this time of day.’

  She paused, as if about to disagree with his plan, but then shrugged, turned around and began to walk down the long corridor. Kite followed, and when they had both entered the room, he shut the door quietly behind him. She sat down on one of the four chairs ranged on the far side of the room. He took hold of one of the others and positioned it opposite her.

  ‘Well, what is this all about?’ She spoke briskly, as if this was an irritation to her programme for the day.

  ‘Yesterday, before the telephone was sabotaged, I spoke to a Miss Kempton at Greystone.’

  ‘Miss Kempton?’ She frowned. ‘The name rings a bell.’

  ‘She is the matron there. You would most certainly have met her when you visited your husband at Greystone.’

  ‘I suppose I must have.’ She put on a display of struggling to remember. Kite waited unimpressed. ‘Let me see. Steel grey hair, overweight, and a rather sharp manner. Would that be her?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know that as I haven’t met her. But certainly a firm manner. One thing I do know with great certainty is that it was she who had to tell you to go home because your attempts to talk to your husband were upsetting him a great deal.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘I also know he wasn’t in there just for his shoulder injury. He had shell shock, so badly that when you visited him he didn’t know who you were.’

  She shifted in her chair and placed both hands over her bulging stomach as if to hold it in place. ‘What exactly are you trying to say, Sergeant?’

  ‘Elizabeth, what I am saying is that to judge from what Miss Kempton told me, your husband could not possibly have impregnated you during the three days you tried to see him at Greystone. So I do therefore have to ask you who the father of your child is.’

  She stood up suddenly. Her face was a mask of fury. ‘How dare you! I only have to ask, and my husband will horse-whip you out of this house.’

  Kite stood up too. ‘But you won’t ask him and he won’t do it. Because you and he have to believe that it is his baby.’ He paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing, in a calmer tone. ‘Mrs Walker.’ He was pleading now. ‘I need to know the truth. I need to know it so that I can prevent anyone else in this house being murdered like poor Mary. I am convinced that your secret is at the centre of this murderous mystery. But that does not mean it will have to be revealed in court or indeed to anyone else. I understand the shame you would be subjected to, and let me assure you I will protect your secret if I possibly can.’

  She stepped forward and before Kite could react she swung her right arm and slapped him hard on the side of his face. He almost yelped.

  ‘You know nothing about what it is like to be in my shoes. You know nothing about what it is like to be a powerless woman. You think you are a good man, but in reality you want to ruin our family. You want to make an arrest, and you don’t care what damage you wreak on the rest of us.’

  ‘I seek only the truth.’

  ‘You sound like that wretched Reverend Ransom. “I seek only to do God’s will on earth.” That’s what he says when he comes knocking on our door. When actually what he wants is my father-in-law’s money, not to mention a free meal and as much wine as he can drink.’

  ‘Please, Mrs Walker. I will ask you again. I beg you to trust me. Who is the father of your baby?’

  She looked at Kite and said nothing. Then it was as if all the fury and blood had been drained from her face until it was as colourless and cold as the sky outside.

  ‘Is it Frank Tomkin?’ he said softly.

  Again she said nothing.

  ‘Because David Graves was away at the Burton munitions at the time. So it couldn’t have been him. So if it wasn’t Tomkin, then there are not very many possibilities left. In fact—’

  ‘It was him,’ she hissed, before turning away and exiting the room, one hand protectively cradling her unborn child.

  Kite sat down. He wished a hole would open at his feet and he would disappear deep into the earth. What was he doing? Why had he forced the poor woman to answer his appalling question. What sort of man was he? And what had been the point? Because the fact was that he didn’t believe her. Not for a minute.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ said Kite.

  Rose turned round. He had been searching for her round the house, and had finally found her in the large sitting room. Her face was red and she was holding a cloth in her left hand. She looked flustered. And her response to him wasn’t welcoming. ‘Detective Sergeant Kite. It’s you again.’

  ‘It’s me again. Turning up like the bad penny.’

  ‘I am rather busy.’

  ‘I need to ask you something.’

  ‘I really can’t stop now or I’ll have Lady Beatrice to answer to. Or if not her, then Maud.’ She turned away and began to rub hard at the large dresser.

  ‘Well, I do have one query.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Her left hand was working like a piston.

  ‘I seem to remember you saying that from about half past nine on the night Sir Wilfred was killed, you were in bed reading a magazine – The Lady.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘I don’t suppose anyone can corroborate that?’

  ‘Corroborate? What are you talking about?’ She had paused in her dusting, but now returned to it with a vengeance.

  ‘Your brother was killed in a factory owned by Sir Wilfred.’

  ‘Everyone knows that.’ Her dusting became even more ferocious.

  ‘But everyone was careful not to mention it to me. But that is by the by. My understanding is that Paul only started working in the factory after you went to work in the munitions factory.’

  She didn’t respond, but she did stop polishing, and stood very still.

  ‘And that it was Sir Wilfred who insisted that Paul go and work in the factory.’

  She turned round. Her face was taut. ‘I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t here.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask around? You had expected him to be looked after and—’

  ‘Yes, of course I expected him to be looked after. Paul could be useful as long as he was properly supervised. He was a help round the house for me, getting firewood and coal, carrying the laundry and anything heavy. But the women they hired to take my place were fussy old women who made no allowances for him. They were horrible to him. And they complained to Lady Beatrice and Sir Wilfred and that is why he was moved to the factory. Because of them. The accident was very unfortunate, and I was very angry about it at the time. But it was the war and I can see now that Paul had to do something.’

  ‘And I can see that it might give you a very strong motive to kill Sir Wilfred.’

  Rose twisted the rag in her hands, tighter and tighter, as if it was wet and she was determined to squeeze every last drop of moisture out of it. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Kite waited. He was in no rush.

  ‘I did not kill him,’ she said finally, her voice hoarse and breathless. ‘How could I when I was in my room?’

  ‘You say you were in your room, but I only have your word for it. As far as I can see, you could easily have slipped down the back stairs in a dressing gown and night clothes, out the back door, circled round to the garage where Sir Wilfred was sitting in his car, and killed him, before retracing your steps. Then when the car exploded, you just joined everyone else in the confusion as they rushed down to find out what had happened.’

  ‘Couldn’t any of the others have done just that? Why pick on me?’ Her voice had reached a startling pitch. ‘Because I’m a servant and I’m an easy target? Is that it? You’ll arrest me and everyone will be convinced that I must have done it. How could one of his own family have killed him, they’ll say. Much more likely to be his slatternly slut of a maid servant.’

  ‘Rose, it is my opinion that you have a very powerful reason to want to kill him. Above all, I cannot think that it is merely coincidence that he died on the anniversary of your brother’s death. I can imagine how much that must have gnawed away at you until you reached the point where you just had to take revenge for Paul.’

  ‘You think you’re so clever don’t you.’ The words flew fast and furious from her lips. ‘You think you’re the big detective from the Metropolitan Force in London. Except that they couldn’t wait to get rid of you after the strike. And now you’re not too popular in Lincoln either. Which is why you’re desperate to catch Sir Wilfred’s murderer, to prove to your new boss how good a detective you are. And if you can’t actually discover who did it, you’ll pin it on someone, anyone – and that anyone is me.’

  Kite found himself reeling under her assault, and he found himself doubting his own judgement too. Perhaps he had got it wrong. Sir Wilfred was clearly a man who could make enemies in his sleep. What about that secretive meeting Lincoln? And how did the pregnancy of Elizabeth fit in? Had Sir Wilfred discovered that Alec couldn’t possibly be the father? Had he threatened to expose the lie, or maybe disown her and get Alec to divorce her? And why did the killer use Tickler’s jam as his coup de grâce in the killings of both Sir Wilfred and Mary? Kite was sweating, but he felt a sudden chill too, not through fear, but something equally elemental: his body’s need for food. If he didn’t have some soon—

  ‘I can prove I didn’t kill Sir Wilfred,’ Rose said quietly.

  Kite didn’t register what she was saying because he was struggling to stay on his feet. Rose repeated her words, more forcefully this time. ‘I said, I can prove it wasn’t me.’

  Kite looked at her, trying to focus on what she had to say. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was in my bed from about half past nine until the moment the car exploded. Lady Beatrice had let me borrow The Lady magazine. But I was not reading it. Frank will confirm that, because he was in bed with me. All of that time too.’

  ‘He was?’ Kite’s head was beginning to spin. He forced himself to his feet. ‘Can I have a glass of water?’

  Rose hesitated, studying him as if he was some unusual garden insect that she had come across in her kitchen. He could imagine her squashing any such intruder without mercy in order to protect her.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. She moved swiftly to give him a glass of water fresh from the tap.

  He drank it greedily. He would have liked something to eat too, a sandwich rather than yet more cake, but unusually he could see no sign of bread or cake anywhere. In any case, he told himself, he needed to speak to Tomkin.

  He made his way to the front door, pulled his coat on, and was just buttoning himself up when the door opened and in stepped Sparrow.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Kite wasn’t particularly concerned, but he felt he should say something.

  ‘Just been talking to the captain.’

  ‘Well I need to talk to Tomkin. And I want you there.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Any particular reason why you want to speak to him?’

  ‘Of course there is,’ Kite snapped. ‘I wouldn’t be going out into the cold unless there was a damned good reason.’

  ‘I merely meant…’ Sparrow started to speak, but then thought the better of it.

  Kite was aware that he was being unreasonably irritable, but that was the least of his problems. He had almost convinced himself that Rose was the person most likely to have killed Sir Wilfred, and yet when confronted with the accusation she had rolled out proof that it couldn’t have been her. Or at least an alibi that he would have trouble breaking – unless Tomkin denied he had been in bed with her.

  ‘Constable,’ he snapped, ‘did you happen to see Frank Tomkin while you were chatting to the captain?’

  ‘No, sir. Not since I brought the motorbike back.’

  ‘Ah, the motorbike. Well that’s where he’ll be. Trying to fix it, I hope. Let’s go and find him.’

  They made their way across the yard in silence except for the crunch of ice and snow underfoot. The clouds were dark and low. Kite stopped and looked up. ‘More snow soon if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘That’s what the captain said.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Kite said, as he resumed his steady plod, ‘what exactly were you and the captain talking about?’

  ‘The war mostly. He was telling me he wants to write a book about it.’

  ‘A book?’

  ‘Telling everyone what it was really like fighting in the trenches.’

  ‘Did he by any chance mention his time at Greystone?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Did he admit to having shell shock?’

  ‘No. I asked him about his shoulder, and he merely said it had taken time to get right. Then he started asking me questions about my time in France.’

  ‘Did you ever see him while you were on the front line?’

  ‘Once, from a distance. He was giving someone an earful. I stayed clear. Besides, I was looking for his colonel. I had some despatches I needed to deliver.’

  Kite grunted. They were approaching Tomkin’s workshop. The doors were closed against the cold, but when they got there and Sparrow pulled them open, there was no sign of Tomkin.

  ‘Is this the right place?’ Sparrow said.

  ‘Of course it’s the right place. Look at it!’ He swung his arm in a wide arc. ‘What do you think it is? A ladies millinery store?’

  ‘And you left him repairing the motorbike? Because it’s not here either.’

  ‘I have noticed that, Constable.’

  ‘Maybe he’s taken it out for a test run.’

  ‘How long were you out here talking to the captain? Didn’t you hear anything?’

  ‘We weren’t talking here. The captain wanted to go and see the Reverend Ransom about his father’s funeral, so I went along with him in case I could learn anything useful.’

  ‘And did you discover anything useful?’

  Sparrow frowned. ‘The problem was that the captain wanted to talk to him in private. They walked across to the church, and I was left in the cottage with his wife. She made me a cup of tea, so I reckon I got the best deal!’

  ‘So you didn’t learn anything useful from either of them?’

  ‘No… I mean it was clear from what she said that neither of them liked Sir Wilfred, and she was fed up with being in that tiny house with just him to talk to. He’s rather old for her and I—’

  ‘We are trying to catch a killer, not entertain the ladies, Sparrow.’ He stamped his feet on the hard ground, as frustration took a grip of him. ‘Let us go and see if we can find Tomkin. Maybe he fixed the bike and it’s broken down again.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I hope he has fixed it because otherwise I’ll have the chief constable tearing my ear off for failing to look after police property.’

  Kite sighed loudly. ‘I dare say it will be me who gets the blame. Not you.’ He knew how these things worked. He was, after all, top of Bostock’s persona non grata list.

  Outside it took very little time to establish that the few motorbike tracks headed out towards the main front gate. It was clear from the footprints where Tomkin had trudged to his workshop with the broken bike. A fresher set of tyre tracks were roughly parallel, also towards that same gate.

  They stopped after a short while, and Sparrow squatted down. ‘To judge from these footprints, he was pushing the bike, not riding it at this point.’

  Kite frowned. ‘Maybe he was trying to avoid attracting attention.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Can you hear the sound of a distant motorbike anywhere, Constable?’

  Sparrow looked around, staring into the distance towards Lincoln. ‘No.’

  ‘Tomkin has driven off on the motorbike and, if he hasn’t broken down, that means—’

  ‘He’s ruddy well scarpered!’

  ‘Yes.’

  For several seconds, they were both silent. Then Sparrow spat out his thoughts: ‘Bloody hell, he’s the killer, ain’t he! He killed Sir Wilfred and Mary. Not only that, he’s now done a runner on my ruddy motorbike.’ He made it sound as though the theft of the motorbike was a worse crime than a double murder.

  Kite scratched at his chin. ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Why not, sir? It stands to reason.’

  ‘Unfortunately he has an alibi.’ Kite let his words hang in the stillness of the winter air.

  ‘What on earth are you talking about, sir?!’

  ‘At the time that Sir Wilfred was murdered – from half-past nine until the time the explosion took place – he was in Rose’s bed.’

  ‘What? Him and Rose? But I’m sure she said she had been reading a copy of The Lady magazine. I bet it is in my notebook.’

  ‘That is what I remember her saying too. But I needed to put some pressure on her because I thought she was not being entirely truthful, so I accused her of killing Sir Wilfred. Of course, she denied it at first, but then she told me that she could prove she hadn’t because Frank Tomkin would vouch for the fact that they were in bed together in her room.’

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘I know what she said. Whether she is lying… well, that’s the reason I need to talk to Tomkin.’

  ‘So… so why has he done a runner if he didn’t do it?’

  ‘I really don’t know, Constable. I wish I did.’

  ‘But what made you think that Rose had killed Sir Wilfred?’

  Kite began to walk again, up as far as the gate and then beyond until he could see where Tomkin’s footprints disappeared, where he must have started the motorbike and headed off on the Lincoln road. He stood and looked around at the landscape still white and flat as far as he could see. Above the sky was an uninterrupted expanse of lowering grey cloud. He wondered if they were due more snow that night.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts, sir.’ Sparrow was like – Kite smiled at the thought – Sparrow was just like a sparrow, hopping around seeking out tit-bits to keep his curiosity satisfied.

  He shivered. ‘Let’s get inside.’ He trudged back to the house, desperate to get into its shelter. He fumbled at his buttons, heaved his coat off and hung it up, then leant against the wall.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21