The Haunted Lady (16 page)

‘I see I was wrong about David Kershaw,’ the solicitor said after greeting us. ‘Naturally it’s sad what happened to Harfleur, but from what I hear he was killed by the same weapon as Bennett. That tends to destroy the jealousy motive that had Kershaw in the frame according to the police and local gossip.’

‘Yes, it does rather put the scandalmongers to shame,’ I agreed, careful not to point out that Martin had been one of those. ‘And as far as we can see it appears to be a complete mystery.’ I paused before adding, ‘You seem to have some good sources of information.’

Martin tapped the side of his nose. ‘It’s essential to know what’s going on in my line of work. That’s only part of it, though. Extracting the information is an art in itself but there’s far more to it than that. You have to be able to sift it and learn which bits to retain and which to discard as irrelevant.’

‘Irrelevant, or of no use to you?’ I asked. ‘It wouldn’t be much good getting a set of facts only to find out that they all worked against you.’

‘That’s very true, and I suppose that’s yet another talent entirely. The best advocates can make or break a case as much by what remains inside their briefcase as what is presented to a judge and jury.’

Such a frank admission of the manipulation of the judicial process shocked Eve far more than it did me. All in all, almost by default, it seemed that Johnny Pickersgill’s condemnation of the solicitor was now less unreasonable.

Apart from Martin, we encountered a number of people we knew, including Tom Fox, who seemed rather subdued. I’d noticed him earlier in deep conversation with David Kershaw. Whatever the topic of their discussion had been, it appeared to have little to do with the game of quoits they were watching. As I’d turned my gaze from them I noticed the stranger from the train once more, reinforcing my earlier statement to the effect ‘that man gets everywhere’, which seemed to include social events of all descriptions. Although it wasn’t easy to be certain from the angle I was looking, it appeared that his attention was focused on Chloe Kershaw and Michael Phillips, who were intent on winning a soft toy by testing their angling skills on plastic ducks.

Eve said, ‘Why don’t we find a seat so we can eat our burgers in comfort?’ She pointed to a newly vacated bench. ‘We’ll need to be quick before someone else grabs it.’

As I turned to follow her I almost forfeited my refreshment when I collided with another visitor to the gala. I apologised, but without evoking a response. I muttered something about bad manners as I stared after him, and as he turned to one side got a good view of him for the first time. I recalled Chloe’s description of the private detective who had called at Elmfield Grange. ‘I bet that’s the bloke who went to visit Susan Bennett and put the wind up her,’ I told Eve as I took my place alongside her on the bench.

‘What bloke, where?’ Eve looked round.

I pointed to the retreating figure. ‘You won’t be able to tell unless he turns round, but he’s very much as Chloe described him. That chap from the train is also here. He’s over by the side of the big marquee.’

I pointed across the field, but the figure had vanished. ‘Or rather, he was here until a few minutes ago. That man is like a wraith. Now you see him, now you don’t. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Marjorie Phillips also saw him at the railway station I’d be almost convinced that I was seeing another ghost.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Adam, as an aberration it seems to be relatively harmless so far.’ Sometimes, Eve has a talent for comforting me that is equal to one of Job’s friends.

On the drive home I remarked to Eve that, for once, it seemed that our jaunt had not resulted in serious consequences for anyone. I thought I heard her mutter something that sounded like the word ‘paranoia’, but my thoughts had moved elsewhere. We were passing Dinsdale Museum and, as I glanced sideways at the building, I stamped on the brakes, to the alarm of my passenger and the annoyance of the driver behind me. I pulled to the roadside to allow him to pass and waved an apologetic hand in response to his glare.

‘What on earth did you do that for?’ Eve demanded. ‘Is there something wrong with the car?’

‘No, I’m sorry, but I suddenly thought of something.’

‘It must have been really important for you to risk life and limb in that manner, not to mention that gentleman’s temper. What was this sudden thought?’

‘When DS Holmes told us about the attempted burglary at the museum, didn’t he say that the intruder had been trying to break into the storage area?’

‘Yes, he did, but that hardly seems like a valid reason for dangerous driving.’

‘Yes, I admit it was a bit over-dramatic, but I suddenly remembered what you’d told me and I believe I know what the burglar was after. I’m only surprised that neither of us thought of it earlier.’

‘Go on then, explain what you think he was trying to steal. Take your time, because it might give my stomach chance to return to its normal location.’

‘If Andrew Kershaw arranged for Casper Harfleur to renovate that diptych on behalf of St Mary’s Church and then gave it to Mark Bennett to store until the church roof repair had been completed, where would the most logical place for Bennett to put it be?’

‘In the museum storeroom, naturally, but that doesn’t make sense, Adam. Surely, once the church was reopened there would be no reason for Bennett to hold onto the painting, would there?’

‘Possibly not, but by the time that situation arose circumstances had changed dramatically.’

‘In what way?’

‘The old vicar had died, and Debbie Kershaw was either dead or dying. Added to that, following his wife’s death, Andrew was in no fit state to bother with anything like the painting, from what we’ve heard.’

‘That may be true, Adam, but there was nothing wrong with Bennett, either physically, mentally or emotionally.’

I was unable to provide a counter-argument to Eve’s logic at the time, and it was only much later, that I came up with a possible explanation. Even to me it seemed a bit far-fetched, but then, we do far-fetched extremely well at Eden House.

‘What if Bennett had been acting on instructions? What if someone told him to leave the diptych in store and forget about its existence?’

‘Why would anyone have done that? And who are you referring to? Who is the mysterious “they” in your argument?’

‘I can’t say why they would want it to remain hidden, unless there’s something about that painting we don’t know. As to who might have asked Bennett to hide it, there again I can’t say, but if I had to hazard a guess, Andrew or David Kershaw would be my joint favourites.’

This new theory, wild though it was, would require testing, if only to disprove it. But to do so we would need to enlist the help of someone with a vested interest. With that in mind, despite Eve’s reluctance to accept my hypothesis, I decided to contact Rev. Phillips and put the evidence before him. If he bought into the idea, he could then contact the museum’s new curator to request a search of the storage are for what was, in effect, church property.

My phone call to the vicarage must have inspired Michael to action, because within half an hour he rang back. ‘Would you be free tomorrow morning? I’ve provisionally arranged with James Evans, the new curator to go through the museum storeroom and archives to look for the diptych.’

‘I’ll check with Eve, but I think we’re OK. What time do you have in mind?’

We decided on eleven o’clock which gave us chance for a leisurely breakfast before the drive to Dinsdale. I offered to collect Michael and Chloe from Elmfield on the way through.

––––––––

W
hen we arrived at the vicarage next morning, I can’t say I was surprised to see three people emerge.

‘Mum couldn’t bear the thought of being left out of the action,’ Michael told me apologetically as they got into the car.

‘Seeing that she was the one who started this treasure hunt, I think it would have been grossly unfair not to include her.’

I was interested in the way the relationship between Chloe and her future mother-in-law – subject to Chloe and Michael actually getting married, of course – was developing. From their body language it seemed that they were getting along very well. I concentrated on the road while listening to the conversation between Eve and Chloe taking place in the back seat.

Eve asked Chloe about getting to and from the vicarage. ‘It’s a fair distance from Elmfield Grange,’ she pointed out.

‘That’s true, though it’s a lovely walk as long as the weather’s fine, but it can be horrid if it’s raining. As I can’t get a driving licence Michael insists on ferrying me back and forth, or making me stay at the vicarage. That’s OK while Marjorie is here, but I couldn’t do it at any other time. The more prudish of Michael’s parishioners would frown on that. The very thought of their vicar and his fiancée sleeping under the same roof without a chaperone would be enough to turn them into Methodists.’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Michael smile quietly at Chloe’s joke. His smile died, however as she continued. ‘Happily that isn’t a problem at the moment. Michael’s more concerned about my stalker.’

‘What stalker?’ Eve asked.

‘Oh, it’s nothing serious, just my joke really, but there’s this man who keeps following me around.’

‘That doesn’t sound good.’

‘Chloe’s exaggerating a bit,’ Michael interrupted. ‘We’ve seen him a couple of times, that’s all, but I’m not prepared to take any chances. You read such terrible things in the newspapers these days.’

‘Do you know who he is?’

‘Not by name or anything like that,’ Marjorie chipped in, ‘but I’ve seen him before and so have you. It’s that man you described, the one we saw at the railway station. I saw him yesterday evening, standing outside the vicarage.’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry too much about him. It’s probably nothing more than coincidence, because he seems to get everywhere. He was at Dinsdale Gala yesterday.’

‘Adam’s right,’ Eve said, ‘he’s seen that man loads of times in all sorts of places.’

‘He’s a bit strange though, because he never seems to speak to anyone. Nor does there seem to be any purpose behind his appearances. He simply stands there looking around at what’s going on. It’s almost as if he’s afraid that someone will accost him, or try to start up a conversation, because one minute he’s there and the next minute he’s vanished.’

‘Well I’m not going to let him worry me, or stop doing things or going places because of him,’ Chloe stated emphatically.

We reached the museum ahead of schedule and there were only a handful of cars and a coach standing outside the building. The reason for the coach became apparent when we went into the foyer, where a group of children in the uniform of Dinsdale Grammar School were being marshalled for a tour of the exhibits by a harassed-looking teacher and one of the guides.

When the party entered the art gallery I wondered idly if the guide would include a description of the murder in his commentary, but decided that would be in extremely poor taste.

We moved past the chattering group and reached the curator’s office. The newly appointed incumbent introduced himself after Michael identified each of us. ‘I’m Jim Evans, and I’m still getting to grips with this job. What happened at the reopening didn’t help.’

Evans was a sturdily built man, in his early thirties, I guessed. For a moment I wondered if he was a little on the young side to be awarded such a prestigious position, but then remembered that Mark Bennett had been even younger when he’d been appointed.

The curator led us to the rear of the building, where he paused to unlock a connecting door. ‘The storage facility is on three levels,’ he explained. ‘In addition to what you can see from the outside there is also a large basement that stretches the length of the building.’

He pushed the heavy door wide, correcting his statement as we filed through. ‘Actually, I suppose you could say it has four levels, because in addition to the first floor there’s a section in the attic – a mezzanine floor, you could call it. That was added when the museum ran out of space elsewhere and they had to create an additional area. It’s used for a lot of the smaller artefacts, giving more room for the larger exhibits below. However, in view of what we’re looking for, I don’t think we need to spend too much time up there, unless the paintings have been removed from their frames. I believe the items are mostly ancient and prehistoric artefacts. Sadly there are no dinosaur skeletons, which would doubtless have appealed to groups such as the one visiting today.’

Having delivered his little joke, Evans flicked a couple of switches. As we waited for the fluorescent lights to warm up, I sniffed cautiously. The musty smell of undisturbed items that had been gathering dust over the years was unmistakeable.

‘I suggest we start on the upper floor, then work our way down, ending with the basement,’ Evans told us. ‘To be honest, I haven’t been down there yet, so I’m quite keen to see what it contains.’

There could well be more boring ways of passing a few hours on a bright, warm sunny day than examining relics in the dim light of a museum storeroom, but offhand I can’t think of any. By late lunchtime we had completed our search of the upper level and almost finished rummaging through the ground floor without any success. If my theory was correct and the diptych
was
in the museum, we had either overlooked it, which was a distinct possibility given the quantity of items and the way they were stacked, or it was in the basement.

It was mid-afternoon before we emerged into the relative glare of the museum proper. In addition to being grimy, having acquired a liberal coating of the dust that covered most, if not all of the storage area, we were weary and somewhat dispirited by our failure.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t appreciate how bad it was in the cellar,’ Evans told us. ‘At a guess, I’d say the building work contributed a lot of the dust.’

Even he seemed a little subdued, although his search of the basement had revealed several treasures of which he’d previously been unaware. The others seemed to have accepted that the diptych hadn’t been stored in the museum after all, but I was still unconvinced and voiced my opinion that we might have missed something.