The Twisted Root (38 page)

"What woman? Just a minute!" He held up his hand. "What has happened in court? I wasn’t there."

With words falling over each other, she told him about Rathbone’s calling Cleo to the stand and her story of how she had first met Miriam, and then Aiden Campbell’s denial and explanation.

"We’ve got to find the woman that Miriam said was murdered," she finished desperately. "That would prove what she said was true! At least they would have to investigate."

"She’s been out there for twenty-two years," he protested. "If she exists at all!"

"Can you think of anything better?" she demanded.

"No—but..."

"Then, help me! We’ve got to go and look!"

He hesitated only a moment. She could see in his face that he considered it hopeless, but he was feeling lonely and guilty because Cleo had helped him in the way he valued the most and he could do nothing for her. Silently, he picked up his bull’s-eye lantern and followed her out into the gathering dusk.

Side by side they walked towards Green Man Hill and the row of cottages where Cleo Anderson had lived until her arrest. They stopped outside, facing the Heath. It was now almost dark; only the heavy outlines of the trees showed black against the sky.

"Where do you think we should start?" Robb asked.

She was grateful he had spoken of them as together, not relegating the search to her idea in which he was merely obliging her.

She had been thinking about it as they had traveled in silence.

"It cannot have been very far," she said, staring across the grass. "She was not in a state to run a distance. If the poor woman really was murdered—beaten to death, as Miriam apparently said—then whoever did so would not have committed such an act close to the road." She pushed away the thought, refusing to allow the pictures into her mind. "Even if it was a single blow—and please God it was—it cannot have been silent. There must have been a quarrel, an accusation or something. Miriam was there; she saw it. She, at least, must have cried out—and then fled."

He was staring at her, and in the light of the lantern she saw him nodding slowly, his face showing his revulsion at what she described.

"Whoever it was could not follow her," she went on relentlessly. "Because he was afraid of being caught. First he had to get rid of the body of the woman—"

"Mrs. Monk... are you sure you believe this is possible?" he interrupted.

She was beginning to doubt it herself, but she refused to give up.

"Of course!" she said sharply. "We are going to prove it. If you had just killed someone, and you knew a girl had seen you, and she had run away, perhaps screaming, how would you hide a body so quickly that if anyone heard and came to see, they would not find anything at all?"

His eyes widened. He opened his lips to argue, then began to think. He walked across the grass towards the first trees and stared around him.

"Well, I wouldn’t have time to dig a grave," he said slowly. "The ground is hard and full of roots. And anyway, someone would very quickly notice disturbed earth."

He walked a little farther, and she followed after him quickly.

Above them something swooped in the darkness on broad wings. Involuntarily, she gave a little shriek.

"It’s only an owl," he said reassuringly.

She swung around. "Where did it go?"

"One of the trees," he replied. He lifted the lantern and began shining it around, lighting the trunks one after another. They looked pale gray against the darkness, and the shadows seemed to move beyond them as the lantern waved.

She was acutely glad she was not alone. She imagined what Miriam must have felt like, her child lost, a woman she loved killed in front of her, and herself pursued and hunted, bleeding, terrified. No wonder she was all but out of her mind when Cleo found her.

"We’ve got to keep on looking," she said fiercely. "We must exhaust every possibility. If the body is here, we are going to find it!" She strode forward, hitching up her skirts so as not to fall over them. "You said he wouldn’t have buried it. He couldn’t leave it in plain sight, or it would have been found. And it wasn’t. So he hid it so successfully it never was found. Where?"

"In a tree," he replied. "It has to be. There’s nowhere else!"

"Up a tree? But someone would find it in time!" she protested. "It would rot. It..."

"I know," he said hastily, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the idea. He moved the lantern ahead of them, picking out undergrowth and more trees. A weasel ran across the path, its lean body bright in the beam for a moment, then it disappeared.

"Animals would get rid of it in time, wouldn’t they?"

"In time, yes."

"Well, it’s been over twenty years! What would be left now? Bones? Teeth?"

"Hair," he said. "Perhaps clothes, jewelry, buttons. Boots, maybe."

She shuddered.

He looked at her, shining the light a little below her face not to dazzle her.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Monk?" he said gently. "I can go on my own, if you like. I’ll take you back and then come back here again. I promise I will..."

She smiled at his earnestness. "I know you would, but I am quite all right, thank you. Let’s go forward."

He hesitated for a moment, still uncertain, then as she did not waver, he shone the lantern ahead of them and started.

They walked together for forty or fifty yards, searching to left and right for any place that could be used for concealment. She found herself feeling more and more as if she was wasting her time—and more important, Robb’s time as well. She had believed Miriam’s story because she wanted to, for Cleo’s sake, not because it was really credible.

"Sergeant Robb," she began.

He turned around, the beam of light swinging across the two trees to their right. It caught for a moment on a tangle in the lower branches.

"What’s that?" he said quickly.

"An old bird’s nest," she replied. "Last year’s, by the look of it."

He played the light on it, then moved forward to look more closely.

"What?" she asked, with curiosity more than hope. "Clever how they weave them, isn’t it? Especially since they haven’t got any hands."

He passed her the lantern. "Hold this onto it, please. I want to take a closer look."

"At a bird’s nest?" But she did as he requested, and kept the light steady.

With hands free it was easy enough for him to climb up until he was level with the nest and peer inside where it was caught in a fork in the branches, close to the trunk.

"What is it?" she called up.

He turned around, his face a shadowed mask in the upturned beam.

"Hair," he answered her. "Long hair, lots of it. The whole nest is lined with hair." His voice was shaking. "I’m going to look for a hollow tree. You just hold the light, and keep your eyes away."

She felt a lurch inside. She had no longer believed it, and now here it was. They were almost there—in the next half hour—more or less...

"Yes," she said unsteadily. "Yes, of course."

Actually, it took him only fifteen minutes to find the tree with the hollow core, blasted by some ancient lightning and now rotted. It was closer to the road than the nest, but the spread of branches hid the hole until it was deliberately sought. Perhaps twenty-two years ago it had been more obvious. The entire tree was hollow down the heart.

"It’s in there," Robb said huskily, climbing down again, the lantern tied to his belt. His legs were shaking when he reached the ground. "It’s only a skeleton, but there’s still cloth left..." He blinked, and his face looked yellow-gray in the beam. "From the head, she was killed by one terrible blow... like Treadwell... and Mrs. Stourbridge."

13

RATHBONE HAD SLEPT LITTLE. A messenger had arrived at his rooms after midnight with a note from Hester:

Dear Oliver,

We found the body. Seems to be a woman with gray hair. She was killed by a terrible blow to the head—just like the others. Am in the police station with Sergeant Robb. They do not know who she is. Will tell William, of course. I shall be in court in the morning to testify. You MUST call me!

Yours, Hester

He had found it impossible to rest. An hour later he had made himself a hot drink and was pacing the study floor trying to formulate a strategy for the next day. Eventually, he went back to bed and sank into a deep sleep, when it seemed immediately time to get up.

His head ached and his mouth was dry. His manservant brought him breakfast, but he ate only toast and drank a cup of tea, then left straightaway for the courtroom. He was far too early, and the time he had expected to use in preparing himself he wasted in pointless moving from one place to another, and conversation from which he learned nothing.

Tobias was in excellent spirits. He passed Rathbone in the corridor and wished him well with a wry smile. He would have preferred a little fight of it. Such an easy victory was of little savor.

The gallery was half empty again. The public had already made up their minds, and the few spectators present were there only to see justice done and taste a certain vengeance. The startling exceptions to this were Lucius and Harry Stourbridge, who sat towards the front, side by side, and even at a distance, very obviously supporting each other in silent companionship of anguish.

The judge called the court to order.

"Have you any further witnesses, Sir Oliver?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord. I would like to call Hester Monk."

Tobias looked across curiously.

The judge raised his eyebrows, but with no objection.

Rathbone smiled very slightly.

The usher called for Hester.

She took the stand looking tired and pale-faced, but absolutely confident, and she very deliberately turned and looked up towards the dock and nodded to both Cleo and Miriam. Then she waited for Rathbone to begin.

Rathbone cleared his throat. "Mrs. Monk, were you in court yesterday when Mrs. Anderson testified to the extraordinary story Miriam Gardiner told when she was first found bleeding and hysterical on Hampstead Heath twenty-two years ago?"

"Yes, I was."

"Did you follow any course of action because of that?"

"Yes, I went to look for the body of the woman Miriam said she saw murdered."

Tobias made a sound of derision, halfway between a cough and a snort.

The judge leaned forward enquiringly. "Sir Oliver, is this really relevant at this stage?"

"Yes, my lord, most relevant," Rathbone answered with satisfaction. At last there was a warmth inside him, a sense that he could offer a battle. Assuredly, he could startle the equanimity from Tobias’s face.

"Then please make that apparent," the judge directed.

"Yes, my lord. Mrs. Monk, did you find a body?"

The court was silent, but not in anticipation. He barely had the jurors’ attention.

"Yes, Sir Oliver, I did."

Tobias started forward, jerking upright from the seat where he had been all but sprawled.

There was a wave of sound and movement from the gallery, a hiss of indrawn breath.

The judge leaned across to Hester. "Do I hear you correctly, madam? You say you found a body?"

"Yes, my lord. Of course, I was not alone. I took Sergeant Michael Robb with me from the beginning. It was actually he who found it."

"This is very serious indeed." He frowned at her, his face pinched and earnest. "Where is the body now and what can you tell me of it?"

"It is in the police morgue in Hampstead, my lord, and my knowledge of it is closely observed, but only as a nurse, not a doctor."

"You are a nurse?" He was astounded.

"Yes, my lord. I served in the Crimea."

"Good gracious." He sat back. "Sir Oliver, you had better proceed. But before you do so, I will have order in this court. The next man or woman to make an unwarranted noise will be removed! Continue."

"Thank you, my lord." Rathbone turned to Hester. "Where did you find the body, Mrs. Monk, precisely?"

"In a hollow tree on Hampstead Heath," she replied. "We started walking from Mrs. Anderson’s house on Green Man Hill, looking for the sort of place where a body might be concealed, assuming that Mrs. Gardiner’s story was true."

"What led you to look in a hollow tree?"

There was total silence in the court. Not a soul moved.

"A bird’s nest with a lot of human hair woven into it, caught in one of the lower branches of a tree near it," Hester answered. "We searched all around until we found the hollow one. Sergeant Robb climbed up and found the hole. Of course, the area will have grown over a great deal in twenty-two years. It could have been easier to see, to get to, then."

"And the body?" Rathbone pursued. "What can you tell us of it?"

She looked distressed; the memory was obviously painful. Her hands tightened on the railing, and she took a deep breath before she began.

"There was only skeleton. Her clothes had largely rotted away, only buttons were left of her dress, and the bones of her... undergarments. Her boots were badly damaged, but there was still more than enough to be recognizable. All the buttons to them were whole and attached to what was left of the leather. They were unusual, and rather good."

She stood motionless, steadying herself before she continued. "To judge by what hair we found, she would have been a woman in her forties or fifties. She had a terrible hole in her skull, as if she had been beaten with some heavy object so hard it killed her."

"Thank you," Rathbone said quietly. "You must be tired and extremely harrowed by the experience."

She nodded.

Rathbone turned to Tobias.

Tobias strode forward, shaking his head a little. When he spoke his voice was soft. He was far too wily to be less than courteous to her. She had the court’s sympathy and he knew it.

"Mrs. Monk, may I commend your courage and your single-minded dedication to seeking the truth. It is a very noble cause, and you appear to be tireless in it." There was not a shred of sarcasm in him.

"Thank you," she said guardedly.

"Tell me, Mrs. Monk, was there anything on the body of this unfortunate woman to indicate who she was?"

"Not so far as I know. Sergeant Robb is trying to learn that now."

"Using what? The remnants of cloth and leather that were still upon the bone?"

"You will have to ask him," she replied.

"If he feels that this tragedy has any relevance to this present case, and therefore gives us that opportunity, then I shall," Tobias agreed. "But you seem to feel it has, or you would not now be telling me of it. Why is that, Mrs. Monk, other than that you desire to protect one of your colleagues?"

Spots of color warmed Hester’s cheeks. If she had ever imagined he would be gentle with her, she now knew better.

"Because we found her where Miriam Gardiner said she was murdered," she replied a trifle tartly.

"Indeed?" Tobias raised his eyebrows. "I gathered from Mrs. Anderson that Mrs. Gardiner—Miss Speake, as she was then—was completely hysterical and incoherent. Indeed, Mrs. Anderson herself ceased to believe there was any woman, any murder, or any body to find."

"Is that a question?" Hester asked him.

"No—no, it is an observation," he said sharply. "You found this gruesome relic somewhere on Hampstead Heath in an unspecified tree. All we know is that it is within walking distance of Green Man Hill. Is there anything to indicate how long it had been there—except that it is obviously more than ten or eleven years? Could it have been twenty-five? Or, say, thirty? Or even fifty years, Mrs. Monk?"

She stared back at him without flinching. "I am not qualified to say, Mr. Tobias. You will have to ask Sergeant Robb, or even the police surgeon. However, my husband is examining the boots and has an idea that they may be able to prove something. Buttons have a design, you know."

"Your husband is an expert in buttons for ladies’ boots?" he asked.

"He is an expert in detection of facts from the evidence," she answered coolly. "He will know whom to ask."

"No doubt. And he may be willing to pursue ladies’ boot buttons with tireless endeavor," Tobias said sarcastically. "But we have to deal with the evidence we have, and deduce from it reasonable conclusions. Is there anything in your knowledge, Mrs. Monk, to prove that this unfortunate woman whose body you found has anything to do with the murders of James Treadwell and of Mrs. Verona Stourbridge?"

"Yes! You said Miriam Gardiner was talking nonsense because no body of a woman was ever found on Hampstead Heath such as she described. Well, now it has. She was not lying, nor was she out of her wits. There was a murder. Since she described it, it is the most reasonable thing to suppose that she witnessed it, exactly as she said."

"There is the body of a woman," Tobias corrected her. "We do not know if it was murder, although I accept that it may very well have been. But we do not know who she was, what happened to her, and still less do we know when it happened. Much as you would like to believe it is some support to the past virtue of Miriam Gardiner, Mrs. Monk—and your charity does you credit, and indeed your loyalty—it does not clear her of this charge." He spread his hands in a gesture of finality, smiled at the jury, and returned to his seat.

Rathbone stood up and looked at Hester.

"Mrs. Monk, you were at this tree on the Heath and made this gruesome discovery; therefore you know the place, whereas we can only imagine. Tell us, is there any way whatever that this unfortunate woman could have sustained this appalling blow to her head and then placed herself inside the tree?"

"No, of course not." Her voice derided the idea.

"She was murdered and her body was afterwards hidden, and it happened long enough ago that the flesh has decomposed and most of the fabric of her clothes has rotted?" Rathbone made absolutely certain.

"Yes."

"And she was killed by a violent blow to the head, in apparently exactly the same manner as James Treadwell and poor Mrs. Stourbridge?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Monk." He turned to the judge. "I believe, my lord, that this evidence lends a great deal more credibility to Mrs. Gardiner’s original account, and that in the interest of justice we need to know who that woman was and if her death is connected with those murders of which Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Anderson presently stand charged."

The judge looked across at Tobias.

Tobias was already on his feet. "Yes, my lord, of course. Mr. Campbell has informed me that he is willing to testify again and explain all that he can, if it will assist the court. Indeed, since what has been said may leave in certain people’s minds suspicion as to his own role, he wishes to have the opportunity to speak."

"That would be most desirable," the judge agreed. "Please have Mr. Campbell return to the stand."

Aiden Campbell looked tired and strained as he climbed the steps again, but Rathbone, watching, could see no fear in him. He faced the court with sadness but confidence, and his voice was quite steady when he answered Tobias’s questions.

"No, I have no idea who the woman is, poor creature, nor how long she has been there. It would seem from the state of the body, and the clothes, that it was at least ten years."

"Have you any idea how she came by her death, Mr. Campbell?" Tobias pressed.

"None at all, except that from Mrs. Monk’s description of the wound, it sounds distressingly like those inflicted on Treadwell, and"—he hesitated, and this time his composure nearly cracked—"upon my sister..."

"Please," Tobias said gently. "Allow yourself a few moments, Mr. Campbell. Would you like a glass of water?"

"No—no thank you." Campbell straightened up. "I beg your pardon. I was going to say that this woman’s death may be connected. Possibly she also was a nurse, and may have become aware of the thefts of medicine from the hospital. Perhaps she either threatened to tell the authorities or maybe she tried her hand at blackmail..." He did not need to finish the sentence, his meaning was only too apparent.

"Just so." Tobias inclined his head in thanks, turned to the jury with a little smile, then went back to his table.

There was silence in the gallery. Everyone was looking towards Rathbone, waiting to see what he would do.

He glanced around, playing for time, hoping some shred of an idea would come to him and not look too transparently desperate. He saw Harry Stourbridge’s face, colorless and earnest, watching him with hope in his eyes. Beside him, Lucius looked like a ghost.

There was a stir as the outside doors opened, and everyone craned to see who it was.

Monk came in. He nodded very slightly.

Rathbone turned to the front again. "If there is time before the luncheon adjournment, my lord, I would like to call Mr. William Monk. I believe he may have evidence as to the identity of the woman whose body was found last night."

"Then indeed call him," the judge said keenly. "We should all like very much to hear what he has to say. You may step down, Mr. Campbell."

Amid a buzz of excitement, Monk climbed the steps to the stand and was sworn in. Every eye in the room was on him. Even Tobias sat forward in his seat, his face puckered with concern, his hands spread out on the table in front of him, broad and strong, fingers drumming silently.

Rathbone found his voice shaking a little. He was obliged to clear his throat before he began.

"Mr. Monk, have you been engaged in trying to discover whatever information it is possible to find regarding the body of the woman found on Hampstead Heath last night?"

"Since I was informed of it, at about one o’clock this morning," Monk replied. And, in fact, he looked as if he had been up all night. His clothes were immaculate as always, but there was a dark shadow of beard on his cheeks and he was unquestionably tired.