A Forgotten Shadow, page 13
“Which officer was leading the investigation?” asked Shadow.
“Grunwell,” replied George. “He was only a DI back then but…”
George hesitated, but Shadow didn’t need to hear any more. Grunwell had been a chief inspector at the station before Shadow. Since his retirement Shadow had unearthed countless previous investigations where his predecessor had acted less than professionally. He had grown used to it, but to hear Grunwell had been at best lax and at worst corrupt when he was in charge of investigating his own father’s death was a shock.
“The Lumley gun FitzAllan had has been used quite openly by the DeVeres for years before he inherited it. Even with Grunwell investigating, surely they wouldn’t have continued using the gun that killed my father so blatantly. And if it wasn’t that gun and Lumleys are meant to be as rare and expensive as Ben tells me, how would a poacher have got his hands on one?”
“No, no it’s even more complicated than that,” said George, glasses perched on his nose once more as he referred to yet more notes. “On the night your father was killed, there was a break-in at Kirkdale Castle. Only in the gunroom though, and the only thing taken was one of the Lumleys. They came as a pair originally, you see. The one FitzAllan had was the one left behind.”
Shadow shook his head. It didn’t make any sense. If the criminal’s plan was to break into the castle and steal valuable guns, why would they risk getting caught just to bag a few pheasants?
“Who reported there was a poacher?” he asked. “I was told it was the old gamekeeper’s wife?”
“Yes, that’s right. She phoned your dad. She said she saw a light in the woods, couldn’t find her husband and called the police out instead. However, the gamekeeper did make the call to us and the ambulance when your dad was shot.”
Shadow nodded. What George was telling him tallied with Bill Greenwood’s story, but the old gamekeeper had failed to mention the theft from the castle gunroom.
“Was anyone else in the village involved that night?”
“No, I don’t think so. The duke was away at the time. The duchess was at home and of course your mother and grandparents were informed.”
Shadow nodded. He tried to imagine how they must have felt receiving that call. One of his few memories of living in the village was of his mother wearing black and the house being full of people all talking in hushed tones.
“What about the forensics report back then?” he asked. “I know it would have been more basic, but did they find any fingerprints in the castle gunroom?”
Before George could answer, Carol bustled in carrying a tray of tea and homemade shortbread biscuits.
“Oh now, George, I told you not to bother John with all that business about his poor father.” She put the tray down and patted Shadow on the shoulder. “It must be difficult enough for him to be back in Kirkdale investigating another death. I think you are being very brave, love.”
Shadow felt his cheeks begin to burn. “It’s fine really, Carol,” he insisted. “I was very young. I don’t remember what happened.”
Carol shook her head and smiled indulgently, as if she didn’t believe him. He thought it best to change the subject.
“What’s been going on with you two? Have you contacted a lawyer?”
“Cornelius Rutherford is our family solicitor,” replied Carol, while George quietly sipped his tea. “He said if necessary, he’ll contact a barrister in Leeds who specialises in our sort of case, if it comes to it. She’s meant to be very good.”
George looked up briefly.
“I know Rutherford meant to reassure me, but he made me feel worse to be honest.”
“Nonsense,” chided Carol, “it’s best to be prepared.” She paused and turned to Shadow. “Have you made any progress yet, John?” She tried her best to sound casual, but he knew how desperate they must be for news.
He put down the piece of shortbread he had been about to pop in his mouth and cleared his throat “Unfortunately no witnesses have come forward as yet, but as you said yourself there were no other cars on the road at the time of the accident. We have found the weapon used to injure O’Doyle, so that’s something. Nothing as yet on the CCTV. We are looking into a lead we have on the victim’s phone messages, but we haven’t managed to find who was contacting him before he died, not yet anyway. But once we find who attacked him, well that should have an impact on the decision about your case.” Despite his best efforts to sound upbeat, the looks of disappointment of his friends’ faces told him he’d failed.
Carol attempted a weak smile. “I know you are doing everything you can,” she said.
Shadow quickly drank the rest of his tea and stood up. “I should be getting back to the station and see if there’s been any progress. Before I go, there was something I wanted to ask you about the night of the accident, George.”
His friend’s face clouded. It was clear he wanted to get back to his diaries and keep his mind off the accident.
“I don’t think I’ve got anything else to say, John. I must have gone over it in my head a million times.”
“You said you thought you saw a fox and that’s why you swerved. Are you sure it was a fox? Could it have been something else?”
George paused and thought.
“It sounds stupid now, but all I really saw was a flash of colour in my lights on the edge of the racecourse. It was a lovely rusty-red colour. My first thought was—fox! I made a split-second decision, thought it was about to run out in front of me and I swerved. I’ve always liked them. Never understood why anyone would want to hunt them.”
“So, it was on the roadside not in the road when you swerved?”
“Yes, like I said I jumped to the wrong conclusion and swerved the other way. There were no cars behind me or coming towards me, only those few bin bags. I knew I was going to hit them, but I thought at the worst I’d dent my bumper.” He paused and shook his head. “How wrong I was.”
Shadow turned to Carol. “Did you see it too?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “But like George said, it was just a flash of colour caught in the headlights at the side of the road.” She paused. “But rather than rusty red, I’d have said chestnut.”
*
Shadow left the house in Heworth, having promised to keep in touch. He had refused Carol’s offer of lunch and instead called into the Cross Keys on Goodramgate. However, he stepped through the doors and found that the place was full of young men in shiny suits and young ladies in short skirts and big hats getting a few drinks in before they headed to the races. He promptly turned on his heel and walked out again. He didn’t have much of an appetite anyway.
Perhaps Carol was right he thought as he walked slowly back up Stonegate. Maybe this case and its connection to his past was affecting him more than he’d admitted. He certainly hadn’t slept well the last two nights and no doubt his colleagues would say he’d been even more irritable than usual. He was still mulling this thought over when he arrived back at the station and saw Ben hovering in reception.
“Are you waiting for me?” asked Shadow. The young scientist shifted from one foot to the other and his face had turned a deep shade of red.
“Yes, Chief. I’ve got some information about the gun, but I wanted to tell you face to face.”
Shadow raised an eyebrow. “I see, you’d better come up to my office then.”
A few minutes later they were facing each other across Shadow’s desk, although the scientist was having difficulty looking the chief inspector in the eye.
“What do you have to tell me?” asked Shadow, trying not to sound impatient.
“Well, I contacted someone at the Lumley Guns head office about the gun we found with FitzAllan and he told us originally it was one of a pair. I thought it was strange, that FitzAllan was the only one shooting with a single gun. The man at Lumley’s told me the police had…”
“Reported that the other one was stolen over fifty years ago from the gunroom at Kirkdale Castle,” interrupted Shadow.
“You know about that?” asked Ben looking surprised.
“Yes, George has just told me. It was stolen the night my father was killed.”
Ben had turned red again. “That’s the bit I really wanted to talk to you about. You see we, Ollie and I, thought it was weird—you know too much of a coincidence. As George isn’t around, we asked Sophie to check the records at her place and see if there was a file on the, um, on the, er, examination of your dad.”
“And?”
“Well, the pellets that were found in him were the same as the ones Donaldson found in FitzAllan. Not similar, but identical. They are the old-fashioned lead ones and the cartridge caps in each batch were printed with the same serial number. The serial number on the ones found the night your dad died and on the fragment of cap we found near FitzAllan are from the same batch.” He paused again. “I…well we…didn’t want to tell you over the phone or incident room.”
Shadow let this information sink in for a second, then he stood up and held out his hand to Ben.
“Thank you for coming to tell me in person. It was good of you. I appreciate it.”
Ben rose to his feet too, looking rather taken aback. He shook Shadow’s hand.
“No problem, Chief. I’ll go now. Get back to the lab, see what’s happening with the phones.”
Shadow watched him go. Then turned his chair around and stared out of the window at the river and the racegoers in their brightly coloured outfits, laughing and joking as they trooped across Lendal Bridge. Had someone really held on to the gun and the same ammunition that killed his father all these years and then used them against FitzAllan? Could they have been hidden somewhere and found by chance? He gave his head a shake. There were too many questions and what he and more importantly George needed now were answers.
*
He left his office and went in search of Jimmy. He found his sergeant in the incident room staring intently at the screen of his phone.
“Anything to report?” he asked.
“Yes, I think I might, Chief. Hold on a second,” he replied before moving over to one of the computers and tapping away at the keyboard. “You know how you had the idea of Siobhan riding her horse back here to the Lucky Horseshoe?”
“Yes, but Tom checked, and nothing showed up on the CCTV.”
“I know, but I was checking up on FitzAllan—nobody has a word to say against him, by the way—then I started thinking. Seeing a horse at that time of night would be pretty unusual and so if anyone had spotted him, they might have put it on social media.”
“If you say so,” muttered Shadow, who didn’t understand the appeal of Facebook and Twitter no matter how often Jimmy enthused about them.
“Anyway,” continued his sergeant, “I did a search and found something on Instagram. Someone posted a picture of a chestnut horse on the Knavesmire the night Aidan was killed with the caption: ‘Races started early for this horse.’ I thought that was pretty funny and they used the hashtags #Knavesmire, #onlyinYork, and #toomanyshandies. Whoever posted it has got a great sense of humour.”
“But not a steady hand. It’s a bit blurred,” said Shadow as he stared at the unclear picture of a chestnut horse tethered to a tree in the dark. He couldn’t let himself get too carried away, but this might be the breakthrough they needed. “It looks like Carol was right.”
“Chief?”
“She described the flash of colour they saw in the headlights as being chestnut. I don’t think it was a fox George saw, but Parnell’s tail swishing out as Siobhan rode away along the edge of the Knavesmire after she’d hit Aidan.”
“That would make sense. Talk about bad timing on George’s part,” said Jimmy. “I was thinking maybe whoever took the photo was in a car too. That would explain the blurring. I’m going to DM them and ask them about it. They might have a clearer image.”
“No,” replied Shadow briskly, “let Tom do that. We shouldn’t waste any time. Let’s head back to Kirkdale. You go to the stables. Get as many photos as possible of Parnell. Make some excuse. Tell Clancy you need to see Flynn’s diary or something.”
“Should I show that picture to anyone at the stables? See if they can identify it as Parnell?”
Shadow shook his head firmly. “No, it’s tempting as Siobhan won’t be there—she’ll be here at the races—but I don’t want anyone warning her or she might do a disappearing act. While you go to the stables, I want to go and speak to Plum again and find out if she could really be LP.”
*
As they drove through the North Yorkshire countryside yet again, Shadow told Jimmy about seeing Sir Charles and George, and about the gun and ammunition.
“So that’s why Ben was looking for you. I thought he seemed nervous. You know, Chief, I’ve been thinking maybe we should concentrate on Ireland a bit more. Both the victims were from there and I’ve been working on a theory.” He paused, but there was no sarcastic comment from Shadow. “So, fifty years ago things in Northern Ireland were pretty bad and there was a lot of terrorist activity. If the duke was a soldier there and high-profile, he could have been a target. Maybe some terrorists broke into the castle stole the gun, got disturbed by your dad, chased him into the wood and killed him. They held on to the gun and ammunition and then came back and used it against FitzAllan and O’Doyle. Those two could have seen something or said something they shouldn’t. We know O’Doyle had to leave the country quickly. Perhaps the terrorists finally caught up with them and they were killed in revenge.”
Jimmy glanced across expectantly at his boss and for once Shadow didn’t dismiss his suggestion immediately. It did indeed sound like a plot for a film Jimmy might have watched, but this case seemed to be getting more complicated by the day, so instead he simply said, “Hopefully, the information Tom is finding about the late duke’s time in Ireland will shed some light on his connection to FitzAllan. Did you find out anything about Eastwold?”
“Yes, I ran a check through Companies House, and he’s been a director of loads of companies all of which have gone into receivership. His family estate, Eastwold Hall, is now a limited company. He’s the sole director. He’s taken out a second charge on the property and I’m no accountant, Chief, but the last lot of figures he filed don’t look too healthy.”
“No wonder he can’t pay his bills and is selling stories to the tabloids.”
“That was him?” asked Jimmy.
“I think so, I saw him talking to a journalist at the village pub.”
“Well, that’s not very loyal and when Sir Charles has just bailed him out at the restaurant as well.”
“I don’t think it was him Sir Charles was really helping,” replied Shadow without any further elaboration.
*
Jimmy dropped him off at the entrance to Bluebell Farm and with his jacket now folded over his arm, Shadow crunched up the gravel drive in the blazing sun. The donkey and two goats all raised their heads and watched his progress silently for a moment before returning to chewing the grass. Shadow approached the front door. There appeared to be no sign of human life at Bluebell Farm and Plum’s ancient Volvo was missing from the yard. Undeterred Shadow rang the doorbell. It was an old-fashioned wrought-iron pulley contraption. It grated and creaked as he moved it but from somewhere deep inside the house, he could hear the distant sound of a clanging bell. A few seconds later, Seb opened the door. The young man was wearing ripped jeans and a faded rugby shirt. His feet were bare, but he still towered over Shadow.
“Hello, Chief Inspector, would you like to come in?”
“Hello, I was hoping to speak with your mother,” he said as Seb led him through the farmhouse to the sitting room. It was a long thin house and the rooms all led into each other. The sitting room had a light and airy feel despite the low-beamed ceilings. The floors were red quarry tiles and covered with rugs scattered here and there. The walls were all painted white and hung with African tribal masks and brightly coloured canvases.
“Sit down, Chief Inspector. I’ll go and put the kettle on. Mum’s at a meeting. I don’t know how long she’ll be, but you are welcome to wait,” said Seb as he disappeared through the doorway into the kitchen. Shadow watched the young man go. With his easy manner and need to duck his head as he stepped under the low doorframe, he reminded Shadow of Jimmy. It was hard to imagine that one day he would be sitting in the House of Lords and have all the responsibility of running the vast Kirkdale estate. Shadow sank into one of the sofas that wasn’t already occupied by a snoozing cat and glanced around the room.
Amongst the squishy sofas and leather elephants, rhinos and crocodiles were several low wooden tables. On one of these tables a collection of old photos was spread out. Shadow began to look through them. Seb returned carrying a tray with two mugs of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits. He placed it on the table in front of Shadow, who was starving having missed lunch and couldn’t resist helping himself to one.
“Mum’s making a montage of those,” Seb said nodding towards the photos. “She found them in a box in the castle attics and she’s going to give it to Granny as a present for her birthday next month.”
“There’s plenty to choose from. Your grandmother has certainly led an eventful life,” replied Shadow as he peered at some of the images. There was one of Sybil sitting in the cockpit of a biplane, jumping a fence on a horse and another of her holding a shotgun and a trophy.
“You can say that again,” said Seb with a laugh, “but she’s had to slow down since her stroke last year. Then they diagnosed her with angina, so no more flying, riding or shooting. She’s really pissed off about it.” He flushed. “I mean extremely upset about it. She’s convinced the bout of scarlet fever they all had damaged her heart as well as Uncle Bertie’s.”
Shadow pointed to a photo of the dowager duchess with two very familiar ladies. “Are they who I think they are?” asked Shadow.
