The Celtic Dagger (6 page)

CHAPTER 9

The next morning, James arrived at Vera’s office to find the door closed.  He knocked and waited before it opened.

‘Oh, James.  Thank goodness, it’s you.  Come in.’

‘Are you all right, Vera?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I’ve seen the torque,’ Vera whispered.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The torque.  One of the artefacts that’s still missing.’

James glared at her.  ‘But how did you know...’

Miles told me all about it last night after the police had finished speaking to him.’

‘Well, he shouldn’t have passed that information on.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, James, I won’t breathe a word.’

Vera closed the door as James stepped into her office.

Doubtful that would be the case, James sat down in the chair beside Vera’s desk.  ‘Where did you see it?’

‘In Tristan Harrow’s office.  It’s similar to this.’  Vera pointed to a photograph in a book open in front of her.  ‘I only saw it for a second or two because Tristan came into the room, but I’m certain that’s what it was.’  James looked down at the photograph of a gold torque displayed on a dark background.

‘I went to his office to retrieve a book I'd lent to him.  It's due back at the library this afternoon.  That’s why I looked through his desk.  He keeps books in the bottom drawer.  Anyway, when I opened it and took the book out, there was the torque at the back.’  Vera paused.  ‘Do you think the theft of the artefacts, has anything to do with, Professor Wearing’s, death?’

James frowned.  ‘I don’t believe it’s been established they were stolen, Vera.’

‘Oh, I assumed... that is, with the police grilling Miles, I thought they must have been.’

James got to his feet.  ‘I think we’d better contact the police.’

‘I did that a few minutes ago.  Chief Inspector Fitzjohn’s on his way.’

‘I see.  Well, I’ll go have a word with Tristan before they arrive.’

‘Do you think that’s wise?  In case it’s something to do with Professor Wearing’s death, I mean.’

James did not reply but left the room and made his way along the hall to Tristan Harrow’s office, where there was a muffled response to his knock.  When he opened the door, he found the room in near darkness and Tristan wearing the same green jumper and brown corduroy trousers as the day before.  He sat in one of the armchairs, his head in his hands.

‘Are you all right, Tristan?’  James stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust before he picked his way through the books and papers that littered the floor.  He sat down in the armchair opposite Tristan.  The remains of what looked like lunch lay on top of the morning paper on the small table between them.

Tristan looked up, his eyes dull and lifeless.  ‘No, I’m not all right.’  He leant back in his chair.  ‘What brings you here?’

‘I’ve just spoken to Vera.’

‘About this damned library book, I suppose.’  Tristan picked up a book that rested on his lap and threw it onto the table, knocking the plate to the floor.  ‘She was in here when I came back from my lecture, raving on about the library.  I swear that woman’s senile.  The sooner she retires the better.’

‘It’s not about the book; it’s about the torque she saw in your desk drawer.’

‘Torque.  What torque?’

‘It’s one of the artefacts we borrowed through the museum for the open day.

‘Then what would it be doing in my office?  The woman’s talking nonsense.’

‘Perhaps, but maybe not.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The artefacts were found missing on the morning of Alex’s death.’

‘What?’

James recounted his conversation with Miles Bennett.

Tristan frowned.  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this when we spoke earlier?’

‘The police asked me not to,' answered James.

‘I don’t give a damn what the police said.  Acquiring the artefacts for the open day was my idea.  How dare you keep me in the dark?  Has Edward Sommersby been informed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right.  Well, I’ll have a word with him myself as well.  And as far as the torque being in my desk drawer is concerned, that’s preposterous.’

‘Even so, Vera says she saw it there not more than half an hour ago.’

Tristan glared at James.  ‘I don’t suppose I need to ask how Vera Trenbath knows about this.  That woman minds everyone’s business but her own.’  Tristan stood up and walked to his desk where he started to pull out the drawers.  ‘You see, as I expected.  There’s nothing here.’

‘I believe Vera said it was in the bottom drawer at the back.’  Tristan bent down and peered into the last drawer.  ‘Good God!  The old bitch is right.’

James moved over to the desk to look at the torque.  Its strands of gold wire intertwined and twisted to form a large loop, the orb-like ends elaborate in their engravings.

Tristan stood back with his arms folded.  ‘Well, I can assure you I didn’t put it there.  Take it back where it belongs.’

‘It’s not as simple as that, Tristan.  You see, Vera telephoned the police.  Chief Inspector Fitzjohn’s on his way here now.’

Tristan frowned.  ‘What does Fitzjohn have to do with this?’

‘The artefacts are part of his investigation.’

‘You mean they have something to do with Alex’s death?’

James shrugged.  ‘You’ll have to ask Fitzjohn.’

‘I will.’  Tristan slammed the drawer shut, pushed past James and returned to the armchair where he slumped down heavily.  James followed.

‘So, the torque is in my desk drawer, but the dagger and the ring are still missing.’ 

James hesitated.  ‘No.  They’ve both been found.’

‘Where?’

‘Catherine found the ring in Alex’s study at home.’

‘Good grief.  What was it doing there?’

‘I don’t know, Tristan, but I’m sure there’s a legitimate reason.’

‘Well, I can’t think of one.  There’s absolutely no excuse for that ring to leave the university.  None whatsoever.  And what about the dagger?  Was that there too?’

‘No.  It was on my desk when I arrived yesterday.’

‘And the police know this?’  Tristan smirked.  ‘I’d venture to say you’re in as much hot water as me.’

James nodded, not keen to discuss his own precarious situation.

‘Tristan is there anyone you can think of who might have a grudge against you?’

The smirk left Tristan’s face.  ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if you didn’t put the torque in your desk, who did?’

‘I can’t imagine.  I don’t have any enemies.  Except for my estranged wife, that is.’  Tristan paused.  ‘Caroline told me to leave last night and, about an hour ago, she asked for a divorce.  I had to spend the night in a hotel.’  Silence followed.

‘I’m sorry, Tristan.  I had no idea.’  James sat down again.  ‘Did she give a reason?’

Tristan drew a breath.  ‘Oh, she’s got some silly idea I’ve been seeing someone else.  Ridiculous, of course.’

Aware of Tristan’s reputation as a womaniser, James, felt no surprise.  ‘Is there any chance of reconciliation?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’  Tristan put his head in his hands again.  After a moment, he looked back up.  ‘Puts me in a bit of a bind, really.  I can hardly demand a property settlement with our terrace house here in the city and the property at Bowral both having been left to Caroline by her parents.'  James could see that Tristan was more disturbed by the threat to his comfortable existence than by the loss of Caroline.

‘Well, perhaps when everything’s settled down, you can come to some amicable settlement.’

Tristan thumped his fist on the arm of the chair.  ‘This business with this torque is the last thing I needed.  I have nothing to do with it being in my desk, and I refuse to be dragged into a murder investigation.’

‘It’s too late, I’m afraid.  You’re already involved.

‘Well, what about you?  Seems to me you have the same problem.’

James returned to his office to find Fitzjohn at the door, impeccably dressed in a dark grey suit, Sergeant Betts at his side.

‘Ah.  There you are Dr Wearing.  I wonder if we might have a word.’

‘Yes.  Come in, Chief Inspector.’  James opened the door and ushered Fitzjohn and his Sergeant into the room ahead of him.  He gestured for them to sit down.

‘Dr Trenbath tells us she’s seen the torque in Dr Harrow’s office.’

‘Yes.  I’ve just seen it there.’

‘So, it’s not a figment of her imagination.’

‘No.’

Fitzjohn glanced at Sergeant Betts.  ‘Very well.  We’ll go and speak to Dr Harrow.  Perhaps you can accompany us.’

James knocked again on Tristan’s door.  He found him still in the darkened room.  ‘Tristan, Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn’s here to see you.’  Fitzjohn and his Sergeant walked in the room.  Tristan brushed down his jumper as he got to his feet.

‘Dr Harrow, we'd like to speak to you.’

‘Yes, Chief Inspector.  James said you’d be along.’

‘So you know why we’re here.’

‘About this torque, Vera Trenbath found in my desk?  Yes.’

‘You admit, then, that you have this artefact in your possession?’

‘Yes, I do, but I didn’t put it there and I have no idea where it came from.’

‘Perhaps you can show it to us, Doctor.’

‘It’s over here.’  Tristan walked to his desk and opened the drawer again.  Fitzjohn and Betts followed.

‘Can we have a bit more light, Dr Harrow?’  Tristan turned and opened the curtains, letting a flood of light fall across the desk and into the drawer.  Fitzjohn removed his glasses and peered inside.  After a moment, he straightened up.

‘Get forensics to come in, Betts.’  Fitzjohn turned to Tristan.  ‘Dr Harrow I’d like you to come down to the station this afternoon to make an official statement and to have your fingerprints taken.’

Tristan gaped at Fitzjohn.  ‘I beg your pardon?  That’s preposterous.  I had no idea this torque was in here.  I can’t be fingerprinted like a common criminal.’

‘Even so, Dr Harrow, it is necessary.  We need to be able to eliminate your prints from any others we may find on the torque.’  Fitzjohn started to move toward the door.

‘But I haven’t touched the damned thing.’

Fitzjohn's left eyebrow rose.  ‘Dr Harrow, I’m conducting a murder investigation and this object, found in your desk, may well have a connection to that murder.  Therefore, these procedures have to be followed.’

Fitzjohn glanced at James as he continued to the door.  ‘Dr Wearing, I’d like a word with you in your office.’  James followed Fitzjohn out of the room.

‘Dr Harrow doesn’t look well,’ said Fitzjohn as they walked along the corridor.

‘He’s not.  His wife asked him for a divorce about an hour ago.’

A look of shock came over Fitzjohn’s face.  ‘I see.  I dare say this business hasn’t helped matters, then.’

‘No, the thought of being fingerprinted wouldn’t sit well with Tristan in the best of situations, let alone at this time.’

When they reached his office, James unlocked the door.  ‘I do have a concern, Chief Inspector.’  Fitzjohn stepped inside.

‘Oh?’

‘I appreciate it’s not one of your priorities, but I’m worried about Alex’s reputation and that of the university if the media get word about the apparent theft of these artefacts.’  James perched himself on the front corner of his desk.

‘You’re right, it’s not one of my priorities.  Finding your brother’s killer is.’  Fitzjohn paused.  ‘Unfortunately, there’s always the possibility of such matters being leaked to the press.  All I can say is that we do endeavour to keep details of our investigations confidential.  It’s in police interest too, of course.  I’m afraid that’s all the assurance I can offer.’

James nodded.

‘Now, there is some news I need to convey to you before I go,' Fitzjohn continued.  'The coroner has released your brother’s body for burial, so you’re at liberty to make the necessary arrangements.  I did inform Mrs Wearing earlier this morning.’

CHAPTER 10

James scanned the arrivals monitor for his parents' flight as he waited at the barrier and pondered what to tell them of the events of the last few days.  He saw his mother first as she came through the glass doors, her strength and resilience not obvious beneath a diminutive frame.  With his years spent away at boarding school, there had always been a polite decorum between them, but even so, when she reached him, James put his arms around his mother and kissed her on the cheek.

‘James, I’m glad we’re here.  It’s been a good journey but tiring, hasn’t it, dear?’  His mother glanced down at her husband, who was in a wheelchair being pushed by an airport attendant.  She turned back to James, her eyebrows raised.  ‘Your father’s cross about the wheelchair.  The cabin crew insisted he disembark in one.’

‘I didn’t need this contraption, Em.’  Harold Wearing got to his feet and turned to the attendant.  ‘You can take this thing away now.’

Reminded of his father’s brusque manner, James turned to him and felt again the distance that had always existed between them.  ‘Dad, I’m glad you’re here.’

‘Good to see you, son.’  Harold Wearing took James’s outstretched hand.

‘Why not keep the wheelchair for the time being, Dad, until we’ve retrieved your bags?  There’ll be a crowd in the baggage claim area and nowhere to sit down.’

‘I prefer to walk.’

‘It’s no good arguing with him, James.  It won’t make the slightest bit of difference.’  Emily Wearing put her arm through her husband’s.  ‘Shall we go?’

The city at five in the afternoon, bustled with pedestrians and traffic as they made slow progress through its streets.

Emily Wearing turned to James and smiled.  ‘How’s Catherine, dear?  I’ve telephoned her a few times, but haven’t managed to catch her.

‘She’s doing well, considering.  Eve’s been a godsend, of course.’

‘I’m sure she has but, at a time like this, I think Catherine needs family around her.  I’d like her to come back to Port Macquarie with us after the funeral and stay for a while, until this whole investigation is finished.  It can’t be pleasant for her here at the moment.’

James thought about the letters Catherine had received from the bank and finance companies.  He knew she could not get away until she had seen to the matter, but decided not to mention it to his mother.  ‘Well, you can ask her tomorrow.’

‘Won’t we be seeing her tonight?’

James looked across at his father, noting his sunken eyes and pallid face.  ‘No, Dad.  I thought after your flight, it might be wise to have a quiet evening.  I told Catherine we’d see her in the morning before the funeral.’

Emily Wearing caught James’s eye.  ‘I think that’s best.  Your father and I are both tired.’

The air felt cold and damp when they got out of the taxi in front of James’s house.  James opened the front door and they stepped into the warmth.  ‘Oh, that’s better,' sighed his mother.  'I’d forgotten how cold it can be in Sydney in July.’  James put the bags down and helped his mother with her coat.

‘Harold.  You’re tired.  Why don’t you go into the living room and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’

‘Stop fussing, Em.  I’m not tired and I don’t want tea.’  Harold Wearing handed James his overcoat and walked into the living room.

Emily Wearing shook her head.  ‘Oh, very well.  Have it your way.’

James listened, thinking how familiar his parents sounded.

‘Perhaps you’d like a whisky, Dad,’ he said.

‘Sounds like a good idea.’

James looked around at his mother, who stood next to the desk.  ‘Mother, what can I get for you?’

Emily Wearing turned, Louise’s photograph in her hand.  ‘Oh, nothing for me, dear.  I’m going upstairs to change while you and your father talk.’  She put the photograph back down, touched James’s arm and left the room.

Harold Wearing settled himself into an armchair.  ‘She’s as bossy as ever, but having said that, she’s a wonderful woman.  These past few weeks can’t have been easy for her, what with my heart attack and Alex’s death.’  James handed his father a drink and they sat in silence for the next few minutes.

‘It’ll be good to see Catherine again.  The last time we saw her was about nine months ago when she and Alex drove up to see us.  They were such a devoted couple.’  James knew his parents believed the happiness that Alex and Catherine had presented was real, and he decided to leave it that way.

Harold Wearing took a sip of his whisky before putting his glass down on the table next to his chair.  ‘I want to ask you about the investigation while your mother’s out of the room.  No point in upsetting her with all the details.’

‘I didn’t come all this way to be kept in the dark about what’s going on, Harold.’  At the sound of her voice, James and his father looked around to see Emily Wearing coming back into the room with the evening paper under her arm.  She glanced at James, put the newspaper on the coffee table, and sat down on the sofa next to him.

‘I just don’t want you getting upset, Em.’

‘We’re all upset, Harold.’

‘Very well.’  Harold Wearing looked back at James.  ‘Have the police recovered the weapon?’

‘Yes, they have.’  James hesitated.  ‘It was found on my desk when I arrived back from Melbourne.’

Emily Wearing grabbed James’s arm. ‘On your desk?’

‘Yes.’  James paused.  ‘The fact is, the weapon is one of three artefacts that went missing, the day Alex died.  They’d been on loan through the Australian Museum for an open day.

‘What were they?’ asked Emily Wearing, her voice just a whisper.

‘A gold torque, a ring and a Celtic dagger.’

She gasped.  ‘Oh dear.  The dagger was on your desk.’

‘Yes.’

‘They can’t think that you had anything to do with Alex’s death.  Surely.’  Silence fell on the room.

Harold Wearing frowned.  ‘What about the other two artefacts?  Have they been found?’

‘Yes, and therein lies another problem.’

‘What do you mean, dear?’ asked Emily.

‘Catherine found the ring in Alex’s study at home.’

Harold Wearing sat forward in his chair.  ‘What was it doing there?’

‘I don’t know, Dad.’

‘What about the torque?’

‘It was found in Tristan Harrow’s office.  He’s a colleague.’

Harold nodded.  ‘Yes, we’ve met on occasion.  A bit of an obnoxious fellow, as I remember.’  He paused.  ‘Do you think he had anything to do with Alex’s death?'

James hesitated.  ‘The thought did cross my mind but, no, I don’t think Tristan would be capable of such an act.’

‘What do the police say about all this?’

‘So far very little.’

Eve Lawrence greeted them when they arrived at Catherine’s the next morning.  A softly spoken woman in her late sixties, she had been housekeeper to Catherine and Alex for twenty years.  She rarely spoke of her earlier life.  Except for a sister in Mittagong, the only information Catherine had managed to glean was that Eve’s husband had died a few months prior to her arrival.

‘Mr and Mrs Wearing, I’m so pleased to see you.  Come in.  It’s been a long time since you’ve been to Sydney, hasn’t it?  Here, let me take your coats.’

At that same moment, Catherine came down the stairs, dressed in a calf length black woollen dress, her blonde hair pulled back from her face and tied at the nape of her neck.  She smiled when she saw them.  ‘Emily.  Harold.’

‘It’s been too long, Catherine.’  Emily Wearing put her arms around her daughter-in-law and kissed her on both cheeks.  ‘I’m so sorry about this, my dear.  You’ll have to be strong.’  Catherine nodded.  ‘I want you to come and stay with us.  You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.’

Catherine glanced at James before looking back at Emily.  ‘Thanks, Emily, that’s very kind and I will do, but there are matters I must attend to first, I’m afraid.’  She smiled at Emily and put her arm around her.  ‘Come into the living room and make yourselves at home.’  Looking around at Eve, she asked, ‘Can you make coffee for us please, Eve?’

An hour later, when the cars arrived, they stepped out into the bleak morning and made their way to the memorial service and then on to the cemetery.

A sombre atmosphere hung over those assembled at the graveside.  There were many unfamiliar faces amongst the familiar.  James realised then how far-flung Alex’s reputation must have been.  Beside him, Catherine stood rigid, her eyes cast down at the casket, oblivious to the cold breeze that swept through their midst.  Moments later, the sky darkened and the first drops of rain fell.  James raised his umbrella while others followed; all huddled under a mass of black.  His gaze travelled to the edge of the gathering and fell upon Ashley Manning.  Their eyes met and James reflected on their last encounter and her annoyance at his questions.  Moments passed before Ashley turned her head and moved away from the graveside.

As the service ended, the gathering dispersed and they walked to the waiting cars.  Emily and Harold Wearing walked ahead with Eve Lawrence, his mother sobbing quietly, his father silent.  James glanced at Catherine at his side; tears rolling down her face.  Just then, she stumbled.  He put his arm around her.  ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes.’

When they reached the car, the driver opened the door and James helped Catherine in.  Eve Lawrence climbed in after her.  ‘I’ll see you back at the house.’

Emily Wearing moved over when James got into the other car.  ‘The poor dear,' his mother said.  'Such a difficult day for her.’

Rain fell steadily while they drove, each of them silent, lost in their own thoughts.  At the house, a steady stream of people started to arrive.  James took off his coat and turned to Catherine, while Eve Lawrence guided his parents into the living room.  ‘Catherine, you don’t have to stay down here.  Would you rather go upstairs?’

Catherine took her coat off, her face white.  ‘No.  I’d sooner see to the guests, James.’  She turned without another word and walked in amongst those gathered in the living room.

‘James.’  James turned to see Nicholas Ellis, his best friend.  A tall man in his early forties, his short-cropped grey hair framed an angular face.  He moved with an awkward gate and took James’s outstretched hand.  ‘My condolences.’

‘Thanks, Nick.  I’m glad you could come.’  James knew Nicholas had had experience with sudden and violent death when he served in Afghanistan.  After losing his leg, and with his military career ended, he had returned to the Blue Mountains and the village of Blackheath, where they both grew up.  Now, he lived a quieter life as the proprietor of a bed-and-breakfast inn.

‘How’s Catherine holding up?’  The two men looked through to the living room in Catherine’s direction.’

‘She's managing, but only just.’

‘And you?’

James raised his eyebrows.  ‘We’ll talk later.  Are you staying in Sydney for the night?’

‘No.  I have to get back.  We have a few guests at the moment.  A bit much for Mrs Thompson to manage on her own.’

When Nick moved away to mingle with the other guests, James made his way back to the front door, where he found Vera Trenbath.

‘A very nice service, James.’

‘It was, Vera.’  James took Vera’s coat and placed it over a chair next to the stairs.  ‘Come through.’  James led the way into the living room, where Simon Rhodes stood talking to Tristan Harrow.  As James and Vera approached, Tristan glared at Vera, who changed direction and made her way to the other side of the room.  Tristan excused himself from his conversation and followed Vera.

‘My condolences, James,’ Simon said, shaking James's hand.

‘Thanks, Simon.  It’s good of you to come.’

Simon undid the top button of his suit coat and took a drink off the tray offered by one of the caterers.  ‘Your brother was a dear friend.  I’ve been away from Sydney for some years, I know, but we did keep in touch to a certain extent.’  He sipped his drink.

‘So what brings you back?’

‘Divorce.’

James frowned.  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Yes, it’s a shame.  The business side of things couldn’t have been better.  We had an antique business on Toorak Road in South Yarra.  But as is the case with many couples, I suspect, on the domestic front we couldn’t get on.  In the end, it became intolerable, so we worked out an amicable arrangement and went our separate ways.’  Simon took another sip of his drink.  ‘I must admit, I was a bit lost afterwards.  That’s why I decided to return to Sydney to make a fresh start.’  James nodded.  ‘I’ve opened a financial consultancy business.’

‘Tristan did mention that.  How’s it going?’

‘Well, it’s small, but I’m sure it’ll grow.  I have a card here somewhere.’  Simon fumbled in his inside coat pocket.  ‘Yes, here’s one.’  He handed the card to James and smiled.  ‘If ever you’re in need of financial advice, let me know.’