Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (23 page)

Myra pulled Natalie’s card out of her pocket. She picked up the phone receiver and started to dial the number on the card. Nothing happened. Then she saw the ‘send’ button. She pressed it. The phone numbers beeped loudly as it dialed, and she quickly used her sleeve to muffle the sounds.

The driver’s side door opened!

Myra quickly set the receiver down on the large phone base, somewhat askew in order to keep the line connected, as Ian let his rotund weight drop into the leather seat.

Ian started the car again and drove off. He frowned,
"
Looks like it’s starting to snow.
"

Myra said nothing. She just started to nervously tap her finger against the phone receiver.

. . .

Natalie flipped through the file folder that Denise had brought. She felt like a fool. She was trained to watch for signs of lying and now in hindsight she could see that there were reasons to doubt Ian’s credibility. Then something in
the
file folder caught her eye. Under personal effects she saw
,
hand written,
Gold Locket on a chain – with the inscription: To Myra, Happy Anniversary! Archie December 31.

"
Did you see this locket?
"
Natalie asked as she pointed to the description.

"
Yes, there’s a picture of it,
"
said Denise as she reached for the folder.

"
Where?
"

Denise flipped to
the
pocket at the front of the folder and pulled out a Polaroid picture.
"
Here it is.
"

Natalie looked at the photo. There it was. Just as Myra had described it. Even the chain was distinctive with unusual Celtic-style ornate links. Suddenly Natalie felt the blood drain from her face. She had just seen that chain earlier today. It was around Ian Kybartis’ neck when he first entered her office!

_ _ _

The visibility was starting to get worse, making the driving treacherous on the rural winding road. Suddenly, the car started to fishtail. As Ian tried to regain control, the phone receiver rolled onto his lap. The number pad was illuminated! There was a connection. He pressed ‘End’ and turned to Myra.

"
Who did you call?
"
he yelled harshly.

"
Watch out!
"
Myra screamed as she pointed ahead.

Too late!
The road curved to the left. The sports car continued straight - and careened off the road.

Chapter
XXVIII

Light was dimming through the stained glass windows of the Scottish Record Office. Callum turned on the lamp on his table.

Something wasn’t right. After a great deal of searching, Callum had been able to locate some files on the Alice Cleaver case. There was an arrest photo taken of her. Since none of the newspapers covering the 1909 murder trial used photographs, Callum had not seen her face before. Now here was a photo of her, taken at the Glasgow police station at that time.

She looked different from the photos in the American newspapers proclaiming her a heroine for saving the young boy, Trevor Allison. Rummaging through his satchel case he pulled out the copies he had made from the microfiche and compared photos. There was a noticeable difference in the shape of face and the bone structure around the eyes. It was only a three-year difference between photos, and no one’s features change that quickly in just a few years.

He paused for a moment, looking about. There were staff members doing some filing, and a few other people seated at other tables. Everyone seemed busy, but Callum had the odd sensation that he was being watched. After a moment, he shook it off. He was just becoming paranoid since his incarceration.

Searching through some more files, he discovered the birth certificate for Alice Catherine Cleaver, born on 5 July 1889 in Kentish Town, St. Pancras, London. Her mother was Lavinia Alice Cleaver (née Thomas) and her father was listed as Joseph Cleaver, who was employed as a postman. This last point contradicted what Callum had read; that Alice Cleaver and her mother were each abandoned by their fathers before birth.

Flipping back through his notes, he found Alice Mary Cleaver born in Glasgow Scotland, Father: unknown. There was the difference: the middle names. Alice Catherine Cleaver worked for the Allison family and then returned to England, married a surgical appliance manufacturer and moved to Winchester, Hampshire.

By contrast, Alice Mary Cleaver, who worked for Agatha Gilcrest, had been sentenced to time in jail for the murder of her own child. She had just started her prison term when Agatha Gilcrest was murdered. She couldn’t have killed her former employer. Alice Mary Cleaver did not have a happy endi
ng to her miserable existence: s
he died at the young age of 26 of Tuberculosis while still in prison in 1915. Obviously, she was still in jail when the
Titanic
sank. Irrefutable evidence that she was not the same Alice Cleaver that had taken Trevor off the sinking ship. Yet so many newspaper articles and experts claimed they were one and the same. It was downright slanderous.

In a statement that Alice Catherine Cleaver made to the press regarding the death of the Allison family aboard the
Titanic
:

"I was serving as a nurse to Mr
.
and Mrs
.
Allison’s two children, for two weeks prior to sailing on the
Titanic
. Loraine was three years old and Trevor was only
10 months old. After the crash, I had some difficulty in persuading Mr. Allison to get up and go to see what had happened. He did not hear at all and thought it was my imagination. Some long time after the engines had stopped he decided to go and
make inquiries
.

"
While he was away, a s
teward warned us to leave the ship, so I helped prepare the children, but Mrs. Allison became hysterical and I was unable to calm her. About that time another officer came round to close the cabins and urged us to go on deck. That’s when Mr. Allison returned and seemed too dazed to speak. I quickly handed him some brandy and asked him to
look after Mrs. Allison and Lo
raine, and I would look after Trevor, the child I managed to get off the ship. There was confusion as to which deck we should go to and that is how we
be
came separated. Later, I learned from one of the staff that Mrs. Allison
became
hysterical again and that Mr. Allison had difficulty
calming her
. I can only assume that is how they perished, as there was plenty of room in the lifeboats. It was surprising how many people refused to leave
Titanic
, believing it was safer to stay on the ship."

Callum dismissed the idea of contacting her. She had probably lived with the guilt that most of the Allison family had perished, complicated by the fact that her name was connected to a child murderer. Callum decided to leave the poor woman alone.

This revelation did prove one thing, though:
Loraine
Kramer, who claimed to be
Loraine
Allison, had lied to him. Callum looked over his notes, realizing that he was once again without either a suspect or a lead.

Beep, beep, beep

His pager went off, startling everyone in the records hall. He quickly hushed it. Taking his satchel case, he trudged down to the payphone at the base of the stairwell. As he descended the stairs, he heard solemn footsteps following him down. He thought nothing of it as there were others doing research. Each step echoed over the entire stairwell, bouncing off the walls. He paused to look at the time on his watch. The other set of footsteps stopped.
Odd,
he thought. Then when he started down again, the other set resumed. It was likely Callum’s own footsteps that he was hearing echoing back to him. He stopped.

The other footsteps shuffled an extra step, then stopped as well. These were not his steps he heard. He looked up. And saw no one.

"
Hello?
"
Callum called out.
"
Is anyone there?
"

He heard the other steps shuffle and fade off
o
n the floor above him. Callum continued down the steps and out the door. He dashed across the street to the cover of the wooded park of Charlotte Square. He watched the West Register House from behind a tree. A man stepped out and looked up and down the street.
Was he looking for me?
The man disappeared down the alley adjacent to the West Register House toward Queensferry Street.

Once the man was out of sight, Callum turned in the opposite direction and cut through the park, checking over his shoulder constantly and almost running straight into a statue of a man on a horse.

Callum felt relief as he entered the crowded Oxford Bar on Young Street. After ordering a pint, he recalled the page he’d received and found the phone box.

"
Five-Zero-Five,
"
Callum spoke his code into the phone.

The operator’s voice crackled,
"
Message from Lumina. Urgent come quick!
"

Lumina?
He hadn’t spoken to his sister in years. What could be so urgent?

. . .

DCI de Kirkhaugh sat at his electric typewriter, carefully using Liquid Paper to correct an error on his report, when his phone rang. Rolling his chair closer to the phone, he pressed the flashing ‘line 3’ and answered,
"
de Kirkhaugh!
"

"
This is Janna from the file room,
"
the voice in the receiver whispered.

"
Yes,
"
de Kirkhaugh replied trying to hide his sudden enthusiasm. After all it isn’t every day you get
to look at the evidence of a 70-year-
old murder.

"
I had to go to the Scottish Criminal Record Office to retrieve file HH-13/31.
"

"
If that’s the Agatha Gilcrest file, that’s the one. Did you find it?
"

"
Yes… and no.
"

"
What do you mean, yes and
no? You either did or didn’t.
"

"
I know where it is,
"
replied Janna.

"
Good. When can I get it?
"

"
You can’t,
"
she said softly. He would normally have thought she was fooling with him but there was something in her tone of voice that seemed odd.

De Kirkhaugh asked,
"
Is there a reason I can’t get the file?
"

"
Yes, sir.
"

"
Are you going to tell me?
"
de Kirkhaugh was trying to remain calm.
"
Or do I have to hire a detective?
"

"
You’re a detective.
"

"
I’m aware of that. And I’m going to be a very cross one if you don’t quit beating around the proverbial bush.
"

"
The file is sealed.
"

"
Is that all?
"
laughed de Kirkhaugh.
"
Well, bring it up and I’ll unseal it.
"

"
No, you don’t understand sir,
"
continued Janna.
"
It has been sealed with an order that it not be opened until the year 2000.
"

"
Two Thousand? That’s…
"
de Kirkhaugh did the math quickly.
"
I’m not going to wait eighteen bloody years for it!
"

"
I’m sorry there is nothing I can do,
"
said Janna in an apologetic voice.
"
I don’t have the authority.
"

"
Well I’m Detective Chief Inspector. I have the authority.
"

"
No sir…
"
interrupted Janna.

"
I beg your bloody pardon?
"
fumed de Kirkhaugh.

"
I’m afraid you don’t have authority here.
"

"
Who sealed the file?
"
demanded de Kirkhaugh.

"
The Lord Advocate.
"

De Kirkhaugh laughed,
"
I hardly think James Mackay would be interested in it. I can call…
"